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[WP] Powerful, feared, and respected. One of the greatest villains in history just vanished after an intense battle with one of your superhero colleagues that left your colleague dead. It's been years, but you find the villain again, working as a volunteer at an addiction recovery center.
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Trigger warnings for drug use, overdose, suicide and death.
Written on mobile, so excuse any poor formatting please.
"So, this is where you disappeared to?"
The canteen worker before you looks quizzically at you. He's in his mid-50s, you reckon, quite fit for his age, and you wouldn't be surprised to see someone with his looks in a clothing catalogue...
And yet, here he is, dressed in a pale blue apron and latex gloves, serving meals to former addicts and recovering addicts alike. Not what you thought you'd find after tracking down the man that killed your mentor, Phaseshift, all those years ago.
He stares a moment longer, and you swear for a split second you can see recognition of who you are. A moment later and the signs are swallowed by a gently-smiling facade.
"I'm sorry sir, I don't think we've met. Perhaps you've got someone else in mind?" He chuckles. "I'm told I look like one of those movie stars the kids like, can't remember which."
"Maybe." You concede, stepping back to let the queue forming behind you past. Eventually the queue dies again, and you step close once more.
"So tell me, do you volunteer for any more activities here?" You probe. "Art workshops? Cooking lessons?...Beekeeping?"
This time you elicit a small frown before that facade, that gentle smile like an elderly relative, returns to the face of the man you had thought dead in the same fight as Phaseshift. The villain, Hivemind.
Hivemind was known for seemingly impossible robberies, using incredible acrobatic feats and a variety of bee-themed gadgets to steal most anything he felt like, and often managing to pull incredible getaways out of seemingly nowhere. The number of times he'd slipped out of prison rivaled even some of the greatest villains of this age. When Phaseshift confronted him that one last time, the world may have cried for the loss of Phaseshift, but the underworld wept for Hivemind.
Time to be more blunt. "Who's your favourite hero? Most say Flitter or Platinum, but mine was always Phaseshift. Remember him?"
This time, the man's face turns stony. He stands, fists balled, for a few moments, and you wonder if he'll leap at you, make a scene. Instead his hands relax, and he gives you an appraising look before leaning into the kitchen.
"Sharon, I need to take a break, if you don't mind? This lad wants to talk with me."
He gestures for you to follow as Sharon takes his place behind the counter. Wordlessly, the two of you make your way out to a large park, fenced off for the facility's use. There are plenty of trees, flowerbeds, and a quiet seating area you find yourself wandering to. Taking a seat at a nearby bench, he sighs deeply.
"Phaseshift..." He murmurs, "now there's a name that I haven't heard in a while."
"So it is you? You're Hivemind?" The words spill from your mouth, and a slight grimace passes over the man's face.
"Lad, that name's been buried as long as Phaseshift has. Now, I'm just plain old Charlie Fisher and he..." His voice grows soft, "He was Benny Crane, and he was my friend."
Part 2 will be in the comments!
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As thunder quieted and the smoke cleared we all noticed two things; we had lost a good friend, and the villain was gone. Nobody saw him for five years, so we all assumed he had also died. But I had a problem with drugs, and finally went to a detox program. That's when I saw him, front and center with an unmistakable scar along his face and going down to his neck.
”Hello everybody, I thank you for coming to this meeting today. I used to be addicted to super-enhancers, but I realized that I was being unstable after killing someone.” He monologued calmly ”I have turned around and now I host this weekly session as a way to help others now”
”You mean after you killed a hero.”
”What do you mean?”
”You killed a hero five years ago, and you say that you just killed someone. At least respect them.”
”I'm sorry. I wasn't myself then. And I can guess that you are not yourself right now either. If you choose to stay I will do my best to help you recover from this.”
”Why didn't you turn yourself in? You could have repented through a legal process. So why didn't you?”
”If I had gone under arrest, then I could not help others. I understand that you feel grief for your friend, but you didn't need to use drugs at any point. I help people like you accept that they are not the only ones affected by this, and people who have taken that step to rehabilitate. Now if you want to come in so the meeting can start then please take a seat.”
I went in, sat down, and never mentioned who he had been again. Now I believe that I came out better for it.
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[WP] You find a black envelope in your mailbox. It has a note that says, "You are no longer under our protection. You are being hunted. Good luck."
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Omnious letter. Less omnious was the return adress on the enveloppe. You do what every well-mannered Scots would do in this situation: write back.
*Dear correspondant,*
*I am shocked and amazed, you protected me? Had I known, I would have invited you for a pint and chat. I am in a whirlwind of questions at the moment, why did I need protection? Why were you so nice as to provide it? Who hunts me? For what? Vengeance, send me a gift, hide-and-seek? I await your reply and hope for some answers, or, if not, some more hints to keep the suspense up.*
*Regards,*
*Sylvester.*
There, stamped and sent, it's good when God sends a new curiosity your way to break the routine a little bit.
Two days later, a new letter from the mystery correspondant. In it, a laconic message.
*The husband of the gal you shagged a month ago, he's after you. He suspected something, I had to tell him it's you, I'm sorry. Hide, the guy's savage and dangerous.*
My, oh my, Silvester thought. The desire for the flesh, of course, as it often was. It is hard to look at a failed relationship and admit it as such, much easier to seek a simple yet cathartic revenge. He took a blank paper and a pen.
*Dear correspondant,*
*I believe in standing your ground and facing what is sent your way with the head held up high. I will talk to him, if need be, show him the other cheek. I appreciate your concern and it warms my heart, know that I am in no way angry at you for giving up my adress, there is no good way to handle such a situation and I am glad you tried. Be proud of yourself.*
*Kind regards,*
*Sylvester.*
Stamped and sent. Sylvester went to make himself some coffee before going out on a walk.
Two days later, in a cold morning, he found the reply in his mailbox. The missive, once more, stood on the laconic side of words.
*Good luck dude, just don't end up in the hospital.*
And the man came, angry, violence raging in his eyes, eager to be translated into his fists.
"Come inside my good man."
The man followed Sylvester and stood paralysed in the entry. Pictures praising God littered the home, a bible verse stood next to a welcome for guests. Finally, he spoke.
"Praise god and make another man a cuckhold, you fucking hypocrite," the man's fists tightened.
"I'm the local catholic priest, my son," said Sylvester.
"Wait, aren't catholic priests supposed to be celibate and not have sex?"
"Indeed, and I can proudly say I never indulged in the pleasures of the flesh."
The man left in a hurry.
Sylvester took a blank paper and wrote.
*Dear correspondant,*
*Did you happen to mix up Masserston street and Mastersson street?*
*Kind regards,*
*Sylvester.*
A few days later came the answer.
*Oh shit.*
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"Oh shit! They're after me," I thought. I was not prepared for this. It seemed to me I was getting all too comfortable with the life I was living. They only had one rule and that was to make sure I could be independent.
Obviously I wasn't paying attention. I had failed on multiple accounts to maintain the status quo. They say that when opportunity knocks, you should answer the door. Unfortunately I just sort of cracked it open and barely looked out.
When I did happen to actually open the door, it was more like a flaming bag of doody, and I stomped on it to put the fire out. The consequence being quite a mess. If only I had adhered to their one rule.
It turns out I never really was ambitious enough to climb a ladder. I tried all the time and sometimes succeeded, but never took it seriously enough. Now they are after me. I am no longer under their protection. Like prey in the wild, I'm on my own. Maybe that's the point. Perhaps I should have left this comfort behind and sought out experiences that would not trap me.
Fucking debt collectors!
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[WP] You find a black envelope in your mailbox. It has a note that says, "You are no longer under our protection. You are being hunted. Good luck."
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The color was the first hint. I kept trying to delude myself while walking back inside. “Maybe it’s the funeral home, those sometimes use black” I mutter under my breath, steeling myself to open it. The letter was barely out of the envelope when I knew the truth. It was time to go. Three minutes later I was standing in the door of my kid’s bedroom with a duffle bag slung over my shoulder and a Glock in my pocket. It was against protocol, but I grabbed a single stuffed bear to keep me company in the long campaign ahead. I grabbed the flash drive from my computer. Odd to think how something so small might win us the war. I knew they had pulled their protection to keep other assets out of suspicion, but it still felt like a small betrayal.
I took one last look at my home of ten years. The front lawn was strewn with toys, and the mid-autumn chill told me that soon it would be time to rake the-“No no no, I can’t think like that any more, never again, it’s gone, I can’t think like that” I had to mutter under my breath, trying to force myself back into the mindset ingrained in my 20 years earlier in training. By the time the Uber came around I had control over myself. I knew what to do. I had three priorities: Survival, shelter, and getting out of the country. A four-digit tip helped the driver see speed limits as optional, and we were almost out of the city by the time I spotted the first one on the highway. There, three cars back behind the red sedan, two men with partial face masks and AK-47s loudly gesturing at my car. Lunging over to the steering wheel, I wrenched us to the side before the bullets splitting the air could hit us. This was bad. I couldn’t get bogged down; the city was filled with cameras, I needed to get out into the countryside before I stood a chance of escape. My gun was firing out the window before I knew it, two shots straight to the temple of the driver. His partner was forced to grab the wheel before they crashed, and I used the brief reprieve to shove the driver to the backseat and reload.
Stomping on the gas pedal shot us in front of the assassins, and we soon lost sight of their car around a corner. The driver behind me was beginning to ask some questions beyond terrified screaming, which meant this was a dead end. $20,000 and a “this never happened” later, I was racing through the countryside in my dubiously acquired transportation towards an equally dubious future.
Five hours of driving later had me arriving at a tiny town in the middle of Soviet Russia with enough guns and ammunition to outfit a small revolutionary army. Hopefully the others will be here soon. Waiting inside the hangar was a piece of technology that had no place outside top-secret government research laboratories. Fifty feet of gleaming, radar-reflective steel fighter jet would hopefully keep the radar off us as we made our way back to the homeland. Turns out I was the late one. Three people I had never seen before stood in a rough circle yelling about something in harsh tones. Before I could take more than a step into the room there were about six guns pointing across the room directly at me. “I’m Baltimore, Code 54” was all it took for them to put away their guns and resume yelling at each other with increasingly offensive expletives. “When’s takeoff?” I asked as innocently as possible. “That’s the problem 54,” a tall, bearded man growled in a heavy accent. “They remotely deactivated the jet.” Thirty years of indoctrination warred with the surety of his tone. “What? Why would they do that? They need the codes, don’t they? Maybe they just have a different exit strategy for us” I grabbed my sat-phone to ask command for permission to wipe these traitors off the map. Before the phone could leave my pocket my hand was pinned beneath a woman’s arm. “You don’t get it. It’s not another plan, or a different exit. They left us. Here. Alone.”
They had to pin me down for a full minute before I could calm down enough to think anything other than killing the heathens. It took thirty minutes after that for me to find out that not only was the pane indeed not accepting our access codes, it also displayed a message straight from command saying our brave sacrifice was necessary for the good of the homeland, and that all of command appreciated our choice to stay here and give our lives for the war effort. Any semblance of calm was gone. My carefully crafted mental state broke in minutes. The three of us just sat there in mute silence. It was all supposed to be worth something; that's what they told me. When I got home there would be commendation, and medals, and my family would be given the support they needed to live. Ten years of hope and anticipation drained out of me as I thought about my little brother who would never go to college, and my elderly mom who would die in days without her medication. My two lives crashed together. I was no longer a double agent, just a lonely, hated man with nobody in the world but three similarly betrayed agents who saw him as a number and a bounty on his head. “What… What do we do now?” The woman beside me choked out. “What else is there to do?” I replied. “We fight back.”
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"Oh shit! They're after me," I thought. I was not prepared for this. It seemed to me I was getting all too comfortable with the life I was living. They only had one rule and that was to make sure I could be independent.
Obviously I wasn't paying attention. I had failed on multiple accounts to maintain the status quo. They say that when opportunity knocks, you should answer the door. Unfortunately I just sort of cracked it open and barely looked out.
When I did happen to actually open the door, it was more like a flaming bag of doody, and I stomped on it to put the fire out. The consequence being quite a mess. If only I had adhered to their one rule.
It turns out I never really was ambitious enough to climb a ladder. I tried all the time and sometimes succeeded, but never took it seriously enough. Now they are after me. I am no longer under their protection. Like prey in the wild, I'm on my own. Maybe that's the point. Perhaps I should have left this comfort behind and sought out experiences that would not trap me.
Fucking debt collectors!
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[WP] In a world where people receive superpowers on their 13th birthday, you have the unenviable job of being an 8th Grade teacher.
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A flash of wet paper zipped towards the back of my head, attempting to lodge itself between the patches of my exposed scalp. Fortunately I spotted Erin preparing the wad earlier and was easily able sidestep out of the way long before the spitball crashed into the whiteboard in front of me.
"You have eyes in the back your head Mr. Mace. It's not fair."
"Nope that's not it." I replied while taking another quick glance at the refection of my graduating class picture just in time to see Stephen detach his middle finger and raise it towards me. "And if I catch any one of you levitating spitballs or flipping me off with detachable limbs I will send you to to Principal Sylvester."
"But how do you know?" Erin asked, "You have to have eyes in the back of your head."
"Principal Sylvester" I said again, ignoring the question.
The threat of Principal Sylvester always worked as he was a well known telepath, and no 13 year old wanted to sit in the presence of someone who could read their mind.
"Mr. Mace?" a voice said from the back row "Can I use the bathroom."
"Yes Erica you may, but don't dilly da-lly."Erica had already teleported out of the classroom in such a fashion that would have every delivery company knocking on her door when she turned 18.
"Now does anybody have any questions before we start the test?" I asked looking over my students who all stared back at me with blank stares. "Ok then, lets get started."
As I walked past each student and handed out their algebra tests I could tell that Heidi was nervous. But it wasn't because of the test. Today was her 13th birthday and at any moment her powers would manifest themselves. Not long ago, Principal Sylvester had dropped her off at my room.
"Careful with this one." he had said "bad family life. Mom's a necromancer and her dad, well let's just say he's not really alive. If you know what I mean. Of course you do." He said with a wink not pausing for me to speak. "But we're mostly just worried that things can take a turn for the worse once her powers manifest as she's been known to get into a few fights. But I know you can handle it."
His words replayed in the back of my mind as I sat at my desk, gripping the nozzle of a fire extinguisher. The seconds dragged by as I watched the students. Erica had already returned and was racing through her test, while Stephen fidgeted with his hands, routinely detaching them in a nervous manner while Erin showed off to the younger students by levitating the pencil in front of her.
Somewhere in the midst of juvenile powers I had forgotten about Heidi until she suddenly exploded into flames. Quickly, I aimed the fire extinguisher directly at her feet and pulled the trigger.
"Congratulations Heidi" I said as she silently stared at me with a wet glare.
"I bet he's a time traveler" I heard one student whisper. "That's how he's prepared for everyone's manifestations."
"My guess is that he can run at the speed of light." whispered another
I just silently chuckled to myself and reminded the children to return to their tests. I was never going to tell them the truth about my powers. As my power was only rumored to exist. You see I have the power to know a persons powers long before they manifest. And then I prepare.
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"Good Morning"
"Good Morning Mis Marschall" the class answered in unison.
It's the small things at the begging of the year. Where most of my children are still normal humans. It will soon change. I read Jeroen has his birthday in 2 weeks.
I need to teach them right. Most teachers are too fearful. That why the elites of the teachers get to do this job.
We are the 8-grade teachers and we will fall before no one.
"Ok, class it's time for physical training. And don't forget conflicts should be resolved with words or your fists. Never use ur powers."
"Yes. Mid Maschall." They answered in unison again.
This will be a good year. Let's hope we don't need to rebuild to building again.
r/tz4
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[WP] A blind women suspects her husband is invisible.
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Anne was a young wife living in the country. She had a farm and workers that handled the farm. Peter, her husband, did odd jobs here and there. Her life was good and comfortable. The only thing she missed was the light. The light which her eyes once had been able to see but saw no longer. Even so, she suspected that her husband was up to something. He had been lying about his whereabouts.
Dani, the farm girl, had said, "Peter? I haven't seen him? Is he someone important?"
Sam, the housekeeper, didn't remember him, "Peter who? No, Mrs Wilkins, I have no idea."
Peter wasn't around during the day. He snuck in at night. "Hon, I was down at Wendy's. Their lighting went bad."
Anne remembered that and with Dani as her guide -- Peter had to deliver a package in town -- she went to the local Wendy's.
"Peter? No. The landlord's man handles fixing things around here."
"Were there any lighting issues? Some lights that broke?"
"Yes there were some, but they're still broken."
Dani wanted to get a hamburger, and Anne got one too. The place was nearly empty, Anne could tell from the lack of sounds. But the few people that were there talked loudly.
"There was another robbery in town."
"What? Another? When will they catch the guy?"
"Oh, it's not that easy. The fella is very clever. He's never been seen robbing a place."
"Could be a woman too."
"Perhaps."
And.
"Isn't that Anne. It's her, isn't it? Poor girl. Lives alone in that little farm."
"I heard she's married. They call her Mrs Wilkins, you know."
"I haven't seen no one down there anytime. She a widow?"
"Could be."
That night at the farm when Peter returned, Anne confronted him.
"What're you hiding, Peter?"
"What? Nothing babe. Why would you say something like that."
"I went over to Wendy's today. They didn't call any man to fix things."
Peter exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, babe. I couldn't tell you. I didn't wanna let you know. I know you hate Lowry, but the man offered good money."
"No. You're lying again. I can tell."
Silence.
"How come no one knows you, Peter? Why do them people, down at Wendy's, call me a widow?"
She started to sob.
"Annie. Babe. I don't know how to say this, but -"
"But what Peter? Are you cheating on me? Do you spend your days with some young girl up in town? Is that it?"
Another loud sigh from Peter.
"No. That's not it. That's not true. The thing is Annie, nobody can see me."
"I cannot see you, yes. But others? They also?"
"Yes, Annie. I'm invisible."
Anne sat silently for some time, then she balled up her fists and started swinging wildly.
"You lying, cheating bastard," she screamed.
"I'm not lying Annie," he said while dodging her blows. "I'm not lying."
"Prove it, then," she said and fell silent.
"Okay, Annie. You know, I don't go to town to work. I'm a robber."
"The one that can't be found?" Anne's voice was quivering.
"Yes, the one that can't be found. Can't be seen."
Hot tears streamed down Anne's face. Her husband wasn't a lying, cheating bastard, only a robber. An invisible robber.
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I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Well I could, I just couldn’t see it. I was born blind and had never been able to see. That’s fine. I just assumed others could see, well everything. But I’ve grown suspicious recently, of my husband to be precise, who seems to be invisible.
I know he can see. He describes it for me. He paints perfect pictures through my mind. It’s... incredible! I don’t know what colours are yet he can explain it so perfectly and descriptively I can almost picture the surrounds. Well at least the emotion within them. Yet when I’m with others, they all seem to ignore him, as though they can’t see him.
I try and stay with him at social events, so that he can keep me safe from walking into things as best as he can (while I can manage alone having someone by my side is much more preferable). Yet no one seems to talk to him. I try to include him in conversations but he never seems to speak. As though he wants to remain hidden.
So I spoke to him about it. “Honey, are you invisible?” I bluntly asked one Sunday evening after having brunch at his parents.
“No. What makes you say that dear?” His robotic voice responded. It was very different to any other I had ever heard.
“Well, everyone seems to ignore you, as though they can’t see you. And well, that’s the only explanation I can come up with.”
“Oh.” He hesitated for a minute. I felt his grip grow sweaty. “Well. I am deaf and mute he said.” His voice didn’t falter, yet his body felt nervous and afraid.
“What? When did? Why didn’t you?”
I pulled my hand back.
“I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I know I should’ve told you. It was a few years ago. Before we were married I was in a work accident. They gave me experimental technology to hear and speak again. Sadly it only works at home. But at least I can hear and talk with you. They mimicked my voice so that it would sound no different.”
“Why did you hide it from me though?” I felt hurt. Blue. Just like how he described it.
“I was... ashamed. I was afraid that you wouldn’t accept me,” he said.
“I felt tears roll down my cheeks of course I would silly! Just like you have accepted me and my blindness all these years. I love you!” I leapt forward to give him a massive hug and face planted into the cushions on the couch. I felt his arms lift me up and hug me tightly.
“I’m sorry that I kept this from you my love. I just didn’t know how to show you.”
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[WP] A blind women suspects her husband is invisible.
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"I need to tell you something John," Janice said. "I'm starting to think you're invisible."
"Um, I've been telling you that for years," he said.
"Not in a metaphorical way, like when people don't notice you, because you're mediocre, and nothing special--"
"I get it Janice--"
"Because you're old, and balding, and just okay in bed--"
"Get to the point Janice--"
"No, what I'm saying, is that you're really, really invisible," Janice said. "No one can see you. It's not just me."
"Well yeah," John said. "Janice, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were blind."
"I am blind," Janice said.
"Mother of--"
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I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Well I could, I just couldn’t see it. I was born blind and had never been able to see. That’s fine. I just assumed others could see, well everything. But I’ve grown suspicious recently, of my husband to be precise, who seems to be invisible.
I know he can see. He describes it for me. He paints perfect pictures through my mind. It’s... incredible! I don’t know what colours are yet he can explain it so perfectly and descriptively I can almost picture the surrounds. Well at least the emotion within them. Yet when I’m with others, they all seem to ignore him, as though they can’t see him.
I try and stay with him at social events, so that he can keep me safe from walking into things as best as he can (while I can manage alone having someone by my side is much more preferable). Yet no one seems to talk to him. I try to include him in conversations but he never seems to speak. As though he wants to remain hidden.
So I spoke to him about it. “Honey, are you invisible?” I bluntly asked one Sunday evening after having brunch at his parents.
“No. What makes you say that dear?” His robotic voice responded. It was very different to any other I had ever heard.
“Well, everyone seems to ignore you, as though they can’t see you. And well, that’s the only explanation I can come up with.”
“Oh.” He hesitated for a minute. I felt his grip grow sweaty. “Well. I am deaf and mute he said.” His voice didn’t falter, yet his body felt nervous and afraid.
“What? When did? Why didn’t you?”
I pulled my hand back.
“I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I know I should’ve told you. It was a few years ago. Before we were married I was in a work accident. They gave me experimental technology to hear and speak again. Sadly it only works at home. But at least I can hear and talk with you. They mimicked my voice so that it would sound no different.”
“Why did you hide it from me though?” I felt hurt. Blue. Just like how he described it.
“I was... ashamed. I was afraid that you wouldn’t accept me,” he said.
“I felt tears roll down my cheeks of course I would silly! Just like you have accepted me and my blindness all these years. I love you!” I leapt forward to give him a massive hug and face planted into the cushions on the couch. I felt his arms lift me up and hug me tightly.
“I’m sorry that I kept this from you my love. I just didn’t know how to show you.”
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[WP] A blind women suspects her husband is invisible.
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I couldn't really tell you what led up to this whole debacle but I can tell you the background. The thing that makes this whole mess complicated.
Started right about when Randy told me not to hold his hand in public. Or talk to him. Kinda suspicious, right?
Oh we've lived together some fifty-odd years. Good amount of time to be with a man, I think. As my friends always told me, I was lucky to have Randy.
They weren't wrong. Not every man wants himself a woman who can't see. It was God's will that we ever ran into each other.
I moved across the country for some fancy schooling, made special for people like me. It was there that I meant Randy. He worked at the place, see. Was a janitor, or so he sad.
Every time we'd pass in the hall, he'd say 'How to do, Miss Genie?'
And I'd say 'Oh is that young Randy? I do say, you've missed a spot.' Or maybe I'd say 'well I'm a fair bit more productive than you. Tell me why is it that whenever I pass you, I never see you doing a lick of work.'
It was all a joke between the two of us, of course, and he'd laugh all the same and say 'I'm on it, I'm on it.'
My girlfriends all tittered when I talked about him. Saying I was crazy, to which I'd say 'crazy in love'.
He claimed to work under Old Drew, the head of custodial staff. In Randy's words, Old Drew was the glue. He kept the place running and was decent enough to give a high school flunkout a job.
Old Drew didn't want to talk about him too much though. Gruffly brushed off any questions I had about where Randy would be working today.
"Keep your eyes on your studies, Miss Genie," he said. "Keep notions of 'Randy' out your head."
Well that was alright with me. I didn't need them anyways!
Was two years later, when I graduated, that he first asked me if I'd do him the honor of accompanying him on a walk to the park. I told him I would.
Him courting wasn't much like a regular boy courting but that was alright with me because courting me wasn't like courting a regular girl. He'd stop by my rooms most often, bringing good food or heavenly scented bouquets. He'd read to me, which was lovely, and for our first anniversary, he bought me a radio.
But we didn't much go out in public. Truth be told, I figured one of us were ugly. Didn't ruffle my petticoat nor did it seem to fluster him, but I assumed we didn't strike a handsome couple, so we kept our handholding to parks and wooded trails. Besides, I liked nature better. Cleaner smells and nicer sounds. Birds chirping beats car horns tooting any day.
We went and eloped because my parents weren't keen on me marrying a man who worked with his hands. They said I needed a state-educated boy who wrote fancy papers or worked in an office building to provide for me with my condition. I told 'em that Randy did work in an office building, taking out the trash, which was a damn whit better than being the trash.
What really did it for us, though, was when I sent a picture of the two of us home to my parents. They rang us rather in a tizzy after that. I couldn't make heads or tails out of what had them whipped up in such a fuss and hung up in short order.
The joke was on them when they received notice that we'd gone and become man and wife in a small chapel on the outskirts of the city. The pastor himself was a doddering old man, very sweet but very superstitious. He had a lot to say but what we needed was his legal signing and that's what we got.
Randy went off to work every morning and I stayed around the house and made myself useful. He came home in the evening and we played games, enjoyed ourselves, had the odd fights that married folks have. Nothing big though.
Never blessed with kids but it was for the best as I couldn't really have raised them.
It wasn't til seventeen years into the marriage that I had a girlfriend come over. I'd been experimenting with making friends at the bridge club and Marge always helped be my eyes when I played. We made a grand team, Marge and I.
She came in and I'll admit, I was a nervous Nelly the whole visit. Was the house clean? Were the colors good? The drapes? The rug? Was there a stain in the kitchen I couldn't see?
Thankfully, the house was apparently a clean sight. But this didn't stop the hemming and hawing from Marge. She wouldn't elaborate at first but I slowly wore her down with my twittering til I got a resounding answer.
"It's all well and good, Genie, but the pictures are so funny."
I laughed. "What good am I gonna have with pictures? And I live here most of the time and don't exactly need the decoration."
"Oh sure," she said, "but they're only ever of you! I was hoping to see your beaux."
And that's when I started thinking.
The first theory was vampires. Oh we didn't know much about them back then versus now. Now every teenage girl wants nothing more than her blood drained by some dark and brooding man, but a vampire to me as a girl was a dead faced man with no reflection.
It was hard to do research back then, what with limited amounts of books in Braille and my unwillingness to have Randy involved in my little secret. But it only took a few nights of spaghetti dinners with garlic bread to rule out that theory.
The next was that he was just shy. Yes, I thought of vampires before I thought of shyness. I think you can see what being alone in a house all day does to a girl. But then I thought of his boldness approaching me in the halls back at school. No, man wasn't shy.
Then I thought, well maybe he just wants pictures of me everywhere. Maybe I am a sight to be seen! For a year after that I held my head high, thinking that Randy only kept photos of me cause I was the belle of the ball.
Poor Margy disproved that without meaning to. She was combing my hair once for a bridge tournament and made a comment about 'the chunk that came out'. Turns out my hair is a thin, mousy mess, even when combed. I asked about makeup for my face, all casual, and she laughed saying 'makeup isn't going to help you Genie'.
So I wasn't a looker. Poor dear was mortified when she realized what she'd said. Funny response, but then I guess you can't sell a blind girl on the value of looks.
Invisible was what I settled on after that. Really, it all fit. No one at school remembered Randy, which was a real hoot I thought, back then when everyone talked about my imaginary janitor friend. I thought it was all blindness jokes, but now it makes sense.
I'm not bothered by it. I wonder sometimes how he gets paid but I figure Randy's a good man. Maybe he goes to those office buildings and keeps them squeaky and pays himself from the til. I wouldn't call it stealing. Just secret business. Keeps them clean and keeps our lights on.
So fifty years passed, the blind bride and see-through groom. We had us a good time. Sometimes I wondered if Randy got lonely but he never told me his secret and I never asked. We both seemed happy and I trusted him to not lie.
I never thought about the invisibility ever causing me any trouble until just about now. Well, three days ago, which was two weeks after our fifty-third anniversary.
I remember the day well cause bridge had been canceled and so had my favorite radio show. It was a day I remembered cause I thought 'well now, today can't get much worse, can it?'
But it did cause Randy didn't come home that night. Nor did he come home that morning.
I told Margy and she said I oughta ring the police.
I tried to, I really did, but as my hands hovered over the landline, the thought struck me hard.
How do the police find an invisible man who's missing, with only his blind wife to help?
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
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I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Well I could, I just couldn’t see it. I was born blind and had never been able to see. That’s fine. I just assumed others could see, well everything. But I’ve grown suspicious recently, of my husband to be precise, who seems to be invisible.
I know he can see. He describes it for me. He paints perfect pictures through my mind. It’s... incredible! I don’t know what colours are yet he can explain it so perfectly and descriptively I can almost picture the surrounds. Well at least the emotion within them. Yet when I’m with others, they all seem to ignore him, as though they can’t see him.
I try and stay with him at social events, so that he can keep me safe from walking into things as best as he can (while I can manage alone having someone by my side is much more preferable). Yet no one seems to talk to him. I try to include him in conversations but he never seems to speak. As though he wants to remain hidden.
So I spoke to him about it. “Honey, are you invisible?” I bluntly asked one Sunday evening after having brunch at his parents.
“No. What makes you say that dear?” His robotic voice responded. It was very different to any other I had ever heard.
“Well, everyone seems to ignore you, as though they can’t see you. And well, that’s the only explanation I can come up with.”
“Oh.” He hesitated for a minute. I felt his grip grow sweaty. “Well. I am deaf and mute he said.” His voice didn’t falter, yet his body felt nervous and afraid.
“What? When did? Why didn’t you?”
I pulled my hand back.
“I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I know I should’ve told you. It was a few years ago. Before we were married I was in a work accident. They gave me experimental technology to hear and speak again. Sadly it only works at home. But at least I can hear and talk with you. They mimicked my voice so that it would sound no different.”
“Why did you hide it from me though?” I felt hurt. Blue. Just like how he described it.
“I was... ashamed. I was afraid that you wouldn’t accept me,” he said.
“I felt tears roll down my cheeks of course I would silly! Just like you have accepted me and my blindness all these years. I love you!” I leapt forward to give him a massive hug and face planted into the cushions on the couch. I felt his arms lift me up and hug me tightly.
“I’m sorry that I kept this from you my love. I just didn’t know how to show you.”
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[WP] A blind women suspects her husband is invisible.
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"I need to tell you something John," Janice said. "I'm starting to think you're invisible."
"Um, I've been telling you that for years," he said.
"Not in a metaphorical way, like when people don't notice you, because you're mediocre, and nothing special--"
"I get it Janice--"
"Because you're old, and balding, and just okay in bed--"
"Get to the point Janice--"
"No, what I'm saying, is that you're really, really invisible," Janice said. "No one can see you. It's not just me."
"Well yeah," John said. "Janice, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were blind."
"I am blind," Janice said.
"Mother of--"
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Anne was a young wife living in the country. She had a farm and workers that handled the farm. Peter, her husband, did odd jobs here and there. Her life was good and comfortable. The only thing she missed was the light. The light which her eyes once had been able to see but saw no longer. Even so, she suspected that her husband was up to something. He had been lying about his whereabouts.
Dani, the farm girl, had said, "Peter? I haven't seen him? Is he someone important?"
Sam, the housekeeper, didn't remember him, "Peter who? No, Mrs Wilkins, I have no idea."
Peter wasn't around during the day. He snuck in at night. "Hon, I was down at Wendy's. Their lighting went bad."
Anne remembered that and with Dani as her guide -- Peter had to deliver a package in town -- she went to the local Wendy's.
"Peter? No. The landlord's man handles fixing things around here."
"Were there any lighting issues? Some lights that broke?"
"Yes there were some, but they're still broken."
Dani wanted to get a hamburger, and Anne got one too. The place was nearly empty, Anne could tell from the lack of sounds. But the few people that were there talked loudly.
"There was another robbery in town."
"What? Another? When will they catch the guy?"
"Oh, it's not that easy. The fella is very clever. He's never been seen robbing a place."
"Could be a woman too."
"Perhaps."
And.
"Isn't that Anne. It's her, isn't it? Poor girl. Lives alone in that little farm."
"I heard she's married. They call her Mrs Wilkins, you know."
"I haven't seen no one down there anytime. She a widow?"
"Could be."
That night at the farm when Peter returned, Anne confronted him.
"What're you hiding, Peter?"
"What? Nothing babe. Why would you say something like that."
"I went over to Wendy's today. They didn't call any man to fix things."
Peter exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, babe. I couldn't tell you. I didn't wanna let you know. I know you hate Lowry, but the man offered good money."
"No. You're lying again. I can tell."
Silence.
"How come no one knows you, Peter? Why do them people, down at Wendy's, call me a widow?"
She started to sob.
"Annie. Babe. I don't know how to say this, but -"
"But what Peter? Are you cheating on me? Do you spend your days with some young girl up in town? Is that it?"
Another loud sigh from Peter.
"No. That's not it. That's not true. The thing is Annie, nobody can see me."
"I cannot see you, yes. But others? They also?"
"Yes, Annie. I'm invisible."
Anne sat silently for some time, then she balled up her fists and started swinging wildly.
"You lying, cheating bastard," she screamed.
"I'm not lying Annie," he said while dodging her blows. "I'm not lying."
"Prove it, then," she said and fell silent.
"Okay, Annie. You know, I don't go to town to work. I'm a robber."
"The one that can't be found?" Anne's voice was quivering.
"Yes, the one that can't be found. Can't be seen."
Hot tears streamed down Anne's face. Her husband wasn't a lying, cheating bastard, only a robber. An invisible robber.
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[WP] A blind women suspects her husband is invisible.
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I couldn't really tell you what led up to this whole debacle but I can tell you the background. The thing that makes this whole mess complicated.
Started right about when Randy told me not to hold his hand in public. Or talk to him. Kinda suspicious, right?
Oh we've lived together some fifty-odd years. Good amount of time to be with a man, I think. As my friends always told me, I was lucky to have Randy.
They weren't wrong. Not every man wants himself a woman who can't see. It was God's will that we ever ran into each other.
I moved across the country for some fancy schooling, made special for people like me. It was there that I meant Randy. He worked at the place, see. Was a janitor, or so he sad.
Every time we'd pass in the hall, he'd say 'How to do, Miss Genie?'
And I'd say 'Oh is that young Randy? I do say, you've missed a spot.' Or maybe I'd say 'well I'm a fair bit more productive than you. Tell me why is it that whenever I pass you, I never see you doing a lick of work.'
It was all a joke between the two of us, of course, and he'd laugh all the same and say 'I'm on it, I'm on it.'
My girlfriends all tittered when I talked about him. Saying I was crazy, to which I'd say 'crazy in love'.
He claimed to work under Old Drew, the head of custodial staff. In Randy's words, Old Drew was the glue. He kept the place running and was decent enough to give a high school flunkout a job.
Old Drew didn't want to talk about him too much though. Gruffly brushed off any questions I had about where Randy would be working today.
"Keep your eyes on your studies, Miss Genie," he said. "Keep notions of 'Randy' out your head."
Well that was alright with me. I didn't need them anyways!
Was two years later, when I graduated, that he first asked me if I'd do him the honor of accompanying him on a walk to the park. I told him I would.
Him courting wasn't much like a regular boy courting but that was alright with me because courting me wasn't like courting a regular girl. He'd stop by my rooms most often, bringing good food or heavenly scented bouquets. He'd read to me, which was lovely, and for our first anniversary, he bought me a radio.
But we didn't much go out in public. Truth be told, I figured one of us were ugly. Didn't ruffle my petticoat nor did it seem to fluster him, but I assumed we didn't strike a handsome couple, so we kept our handholding to parks and wooded trails. Besides, I liked nature better. Cleaner smells and nicer sounds. Birds chirping beats car horns tooting any day.
We went and eloped because my parents weren't keen on me marrying a man who worked with his hands. They said I needed a state-educated boy who wrote fancy papers or worked in an office building to provide for me with my condition. I told 'em that Randy did work in an office building, taking out the trash, which was a damn whit better than being the trash.
What really did it for us, though, was when I sent a picture of the two of us home to my parents. They rang us rather in a tizzy after that. I couldn't make heads or tails out of what had them whipped up in such a fuss and hung up in short order.
The joke was on them when they received notice that we'd gone and become man and wife in a small chapel on the outskirts of the city. The pastor himself was a doddering old man, very sweet but very superstitious. He had a lot to say but what we needed was his legal signing and that's what we got.
Randy went off to work every morning and I stayed around the house and made myself useful. He came home in the evening and we played games, enjoyed ourselves, had the odd fights that married folks have. Nothing big though.
Never blessed with kids but it was for the best as I couldn't really have raised them.
It wasn't til seventeen years into the marriage that I had a girlfriend come over. I'd been experimenting with making friends at the bridge club and Marge always helped be my eyes when I played. We made a grand team, Marge and I.
She came in and I'll admit, I was a nervous Nelly the whole visit. Was the house clean? Were the colors good? The drapes? The rug? Was there a stain in the kitchen I couldn't see?
Thankfully, the house was apparently a clean sight. But this didn't stop the hemming and hawing from Marge. She wouldn't elaborate at first but I slowly wore her down with my twittering til I got a resounding answer.
"It's all well and good, Genie, but the pictures are so funny."
I laughed. "What good am I gonna have with pictures? And I live here most of the time and don't exactly need the decoration."
"Oh sure," she said, "but they're only ever of you! I was hoping to see your beaux."
And that's when I started thinking.
The first theory was vampires. Oh we didn't know much about them back then versus now. Now every teenage girl wants nothing more than her blood drained by some dark and brooding man, but a vampire to me as a girl was a dead faced man with no reflection.
It was hard to do research back then, what with limited amounts of books in Braille and my unwillingness to have Randy involved in my little secret. But it only took a few nights of spaghetti dinners with garlic bread to rule out that theory.
The next was that he was just shy. Yes, I thought of vampires before I thought of shyness. I think you can see what being alone in a house all day does to a girl. But then I thought of his boldness approaching me in the halls back at school. No, man wasn't shy.
Then I thought, well maybe he just wants pictures of me everywhere. Maybe I am a sight to be seen! For a year after that I held my head high, thinking that Randy only kept photos of me cause I was the belle of the ball.
Poor Margy disproved that without meaning to. She was combing my hair once for a bridge tournament and made a comment about 'the chunk that came out'. Turns out my hair is a thin, mousy mess, even when combed. I asked about makeup for my face, all casual, and she laughed saying 'makeup isn't going to help you Genie'.
So I wasn't a looker. Poor dear was mortified when she realized what she'd said. Funny response, but then I guess you can't sell a blind girl on the value of looks.
Invisible was what I settled on after that. Really, it all fit. No one at school remembered Randy, which was a real hoot I thought, back then when everyone talked about my imaginary janitor friend. I thought it was all blindness jokes, but now it makes sense.
I'm not bothered by it. I wonder sometimes how he gets paid but I figure Randy's a good man. Maybe he goes to those office buildings and keeps them squeaky and pays himself from the til. I wouldn't call it stealing. Just secret business. Keeps them clean and keeps our lights on.
So fifty years passed, the blind bride and see-through groom. We had us a good time. Sometimes I wondered if Randy got lonely but he never told me his secret and I never asked. We both seemed happy and I trusted him to not lie.
I never thought about the invisibility ever causing me any trouble until just about now. Well, three days ago, which was two weeks after our fifty-third anniversary.
I remember the day well cause bridge had been canceled and so had my favorite radio show. It was a day I remembered cause I thought 'well now, today can't get much worse, can it?'
But it did cause Randy didn't come home that night. Nor did he come home that morning.
I told Margy and she said I oughta ring the police.
I tried to, I really did, but as my hands hovered over the landline, the thought struck me hard.
How do the police find an invisible man who's missing, with only his blind wife to help?
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
Anne was a young wife living in the country. She had a farm and workers that handled the farm. Peter, her husband, did odd jobs here and there. Her life was good and comfortable. The only thing she missed was the light. The light which her eyes once had been able to see but saw no longer. Even so, she suspected that her husband was up to something. He had been lying about his whereabouts.
Dani, the farm girl, had said, "Peter? I haven't seen him? Is he someone important?"
Sam, the housekeeper, didn't remember him, "Peter who? No, Mrs Wilkins, I have no idea."
Peter wasn't around during the day. He snuck in at night. "Hon, I was down at Wendy's. Their lighting went bad."
Anne remembered that and with Dani as her guide -- Peter had to deliver a package in town -- she went to the local Wendy's.
"Peter? No. The landlord's man handles fixing things around here."
"Were there any lighting issues? Some lights that broke?"
"Yes there were some, but they're still broken."
Dani wanted to get a hamburger, and Anne got one too. The place was nearly empty, Anne could tell from the lack of sounds. But the few people that were there talked loudly.
"There was another robbery in town."
"What? Another? When will they catch the guy?"
"Oh, it's not that easy. The fella is very clever. He's never been seen robbing a place."
"Could be a woman too."
"Perhaps."
And.
"Isn't that Anne. It's her, isn't it? Poor girl. Lives alone in that little farm."
"I heard she's married. They call her Mrs Wilkins, you know."
"I haven't seen no one down there anytime. She a widow?"
"Could be."
That night at the farm when Peter returned, Anne confronted him.
"What're you hiding, Peter?"
"What? Nothing babe. Why would you say something like that."
"I went over to Wendy's today. They didn't call any man to fix things."
Peter exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, babe. I couldn't tell you. I didn't wanna let you know. I know you hate Lowry, but the man offered good money."
"No. You're lying again. I can tell."
Silence.
"How come no one knows you, Peter? Why do them people, down at Wendy's, call me a widow?"
She started to sob.
"Annie. Babe. I don't know how to say this, but -"
"But what Peter? Are you cheating on me? Do you spend your days with some young girl up in town? Is that it?"
Another loud sigh from Peter.
"No. That's not it. That's not true. The thing is Annie, nobody can see me."
"I cannot see you, yes. But others? They also?"
"Yes, Annie. I'm invisible."
Anne sat silently for some time, then she balled up her fists and started swinging wildly.
"You lying, cheating bastard," she screamed.
"I'm not lying Annie," he said while dodging her blows. "I'm not lying."
"Prove it, then," she said and fell silent.
"Okay, Annie. You know, I don't go to town to work. I'm a robber."
"The one that can't be found?" Anne's voice was quivering.
"Yes, the one that can't be found. Can't be seen."
Hot tears streamed down Anne's face. Her husband wasn't a lying, cheating bastard, only a robber. An invisible robber.
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[WP] Your father was a Minotaur, your mother was a Mermaid. You got the human half of both parents and now you’re just some guy.
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This first date is actually going better than most. Probably because she hasn’t asked me about my family yet. Usually, my dates end right after I tell them about my parents. Sometimes women “go to the ladies’ room” to make a clean getaway and others are more direct and splash their cocktails in my face after I repeatedly swear that I was telling them the truth.
I met tonight’s date from Plenty of Fish. In her profile she said she loves animals, so I’m cautiously optimistic. I snooped her Instagram page and noticed a lot of sci-fi and fantasy memes, so I’m hoping she’s as open-minded as she appears.
We discussed our favorite music and movies. Her favorite movie is Splash, the one with Tom Hanks where Daryl Hannah plays a mermaid. I react with surprise but I bite my tongue as I’m tempted to ask a follow-up question like “so, do you really like mermaids?” or “could you imagine having a mother-in-law who’s a fish?”
Things are going so well, I don’t want to ruin it with cliché first date small talk like “So, do both of your parents have two legs?”
The conversation hits a natural lull as we finish our crab cakes.
“So, tell me about your parents. Are they still together?” She asks.
I say, with a hint of dread, “Yeah, they’re still together. You might say they were cut from the same cloth. It’s kind of a fairy tale relationship I’d say.”
“What do you mean?”
This is where I have to be careful. You can’t just blurt out that your dad is a bull and your mom is a fish. That kind of thing is probably accepted somewhere like Portland, celebrated even, but this is Houston, Texas.
“My parents are like… They complement each other, like surf’n turf. My dad is more of a land lover and my mom just ‘lives’ in the water. She can swim like a … I mean, she used to be on the swim team in college. That’s where they met. He ran track at UH.”
“That’s interesting. My dad played football there. I remember him telling me about his teammate, who he said was the strongest, fastest linebacker he'd ever seen. He said the guy got disqualified for performance enhancement drugs or something. I think his name was Barnett. Isn’t that your last name?”
I took a sip of my old fashioned and followed with an audible ‘gulp.’
“Oh… yeah… Small world huh?”
“Yeah, it was Barnett! Clint Barnett! Did you say your dad’s name was Clint? That must be him. Did he tell you about what happened? My dad said he heard the guy was on “cattle pills” or something. He said the newspaper referred to him as the “Human Bovine” and he married “Dolphin Girl” who dominated in swimming. I remember rolling my eyes and telling my dad that the whole thing sounded like bull to me.”
I pause for a few moments and debated with myself. I decided to just come out and say it.
“Ok. I…. I need to come clean. My dad. He’s a minotaur. My mom is a mermaid.”
She drops her gin and tonic and her face goes still. She looks me in the eyes and says..
“My dad is also a minotaur! And my mom is a mermaid!”
She pulls up her pant leg and shows me the scales on her calf, then she has me feel her ponytail which … has the consistency of a tail.
“I'm so relieved. Usually guys walk out when I tell them that!”
|
Have you ever seen a kid that doesn’t look like their dad, maybe the kids got a different skin tone or eye colour. People usually just assume that the mother of that kid cheated on someone else and give her dirty looks despite the fact that that kid could’ve inherited different genes. Different features are either dominant or recessive and that affects wether they’re inherited or not. Some things that can be passed down sometimes aren’t even physically represented. Genetics are fucking weird man.
So if you think it’s bad if you got a different hair colour or nose shape imagine my situation. My father is a Minotaur and my mother a mermaid and wouldn’t you know it, I’m the worlds first merminotaid. Now don’t ask how it’s even physically possible that a bull man and a fish lady can reproduce because it’s gross and I’ll just say something something magic.
Despite my supernatural origins I look like some ordinary guy because genetics say so. I don’t get horns, hooves, gills, fins or an eggsac what I do get is tense thanksgivings and speeches from my beloved aunt on how me and my cheating ***** of a mother have ruined my dads life because apparently most mythological creatures don’t understand basic genetics.
Technically I’m not even human I only resemble on the outside because of my messed up genetics I’m a biological marvel (more like horror) who’s likely to die (painfully) at age 20 which my aunt lyndora has told is the best news she’s ever heard in her life. So thanks mom and dad.
Genetics sure are weird.
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[WP] Your father was a Minotaur, your mother was a Mermaid. You got the human half of both parents and now you’re just some guy.
|
I never asked for this life.
I never wanted to be constantly asked what living with my parents are like, what my childhood was like, or even how I’m “compensating” for this “abnormality.”
I never wanted to be informed at a young age that the odds I turned out the way I did was slim to none.
It’s bullshit (no pun intended) that this Greek cow guy and a mermaid living in the middle of the Pacific met in the middle of the night 20 years ago, fucked like animals (again, no pun intended), and now I’m stuck behind the counter at Kohl’s, trying to figure out what to do with my life.
To answer the questions previously mentioned, I never got to live with my parents. My dad is currently living in an unnamed facility in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, so the only contact I had with him in my entire life was through Skype calls and visiting hours. My mom lives in the bottom of the ocean and uses whatever magic she has to send me on my birthday presents.
It’s been like that since I was born. My mom dropped me at the doorstep of my Aunt Linda and Uncle George when I was 3 months old, and they’re the only family I’ve ever known. They told me that due to the way magic is and the physiology of minotaurs and mermaids, the probability of a totally human child is 2%. 2. Fucking. Percent. Of the 50 possible ways my life could’ve gone, the powers that be chose the most boring way possible.
Uncle George always joked that I should be proud I’m just a normal guy, saying that I should be glad I wasn’t born an unholy combination of a fish and a bull. I always responded with a smile and a “Yeah, right.” but on the inside I was screaming, no, I’m not a normal guy. Normal people would actually know their parents. Normal people wouldn’t be kept under watch by every single government agency, waiting for magic to shoot out my ass or for me to grow horns or whatever the fuck.
You know what the sad thing is? I was supposed to be something. There was a fucking prophecy. Apparently, the holy union of a child of Poseiden and the ancestor of Minos would restore balance to the universe or something (I’ll be honest, I wasn’t 100% paying attention), but I was never really given some major quest because I’m not that guy. That guy was fabled to be some badass with the strength of a bull and the mysticism of Atlantis. The only magical thing I inherited from my parents was the ability to know exactly how long to cook ramen (You gotta let the noodles chill in the broth for at least 1 minute before you eat it.)
I guess my life could be worse. At least I’m getting a good education from a decent college. At least I have a stable-ish part time job so I can pay off my loans. At least I’m not that unholy fish-bull thing. I just have to keep riding those thoughts until I either do what was foretold in the prophecy or I die one of the 3 million people who die a day, living totally meaningless lives.
|
Have you ever seen a kid that doesn’t look like their dad, maybe the kids got a different skin tone or eye colour. People usually just assume that the mother of that kid cheated on someone else and give her dirty looks despite the fact that that kid could’ve inherited different genes. Different features are either dominant or recessive and that affects wether they’re inherited or not. Some things that can be passed down sometimes aren’t even physically represented. Genetics are fucking weird man.
So if you think it’s bad if you got a different hair colour or nose shape imagine my situation. My father is a Minotaur and my mother a mermaid and wouldn’t you know it, I’m the worlds first merminotaid. Now don’t ask how it’s even physically possible that a bull man and a fish lady can reproduce because it’s gross and I’ll just say something something magic.
Despite my supernatural origins I look like some ordinary guy because genetics say so. I don’t get horns, hooves, gills, fins or an eggsac what I do get is tense thanksgivings and speeches from my beloved aunt on how me and my cheating ***** of a mother have ruined my dads life because apparently most mythological creatures don’t understand basic genetics.
Technically I’m not even human I only resemble on the outside because of my messed up genetics I’m a biological marvel (more like horror) who’s likely to die (painfully) at age 20 which my aunt lyndora has told is the best news she’s ever heard in her life. So thanks mom and dad.
Genetics sure are weird.
|
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[WP] Your father was a Minotaur, your mother was a Mermaid. You got the human half of both parents and now you’re just some guy.
|
This first date is actually going better than most. Probably because she hasn’t asked me about my family yet. Usually, my dates end right after I tell them about my parents. Sometimes women “go to the ladies’ room” to make a clean getaway and others are more direct and splash their cocktails in my face after I repeatedly swear that I was telling them the truth.
I met tonight’s date from Plenty of Fish. In her profile she said she loves animals, so I’m cautiously optimistic. I snooped her Instagram page and noticed a lot of sci-fi and fantasy memes, so I’m hoping she’s as open-minded as she appears.
We discussed our favorite music and movies. Her favorite movie is Splash, the one with Tom Hanks where Daryl Hannah plays a mermaid. I react with surprise but I bite my tongue as I’m tempted to ask a follow-up question like “so, do you really like mermaids?” or “could you imagine having a mother-in-law who’s a fish?”
Things are going so well, I don’t want to ruin it with cliché first date small talk like “So, do both of your parents have two legs?”
The conversation hits a natural lull as we finish our crab cakes.
“So, tell me about your parents. Are they still together?” She asks.
I say, with a hint of dread, “Yeah, they’re still together. You might say they were cut from the same cloth. It’s kind of a fairy tale relationship I’d say.”
“What do you mean?”
This is where I have to be careful. You can’t just blurt out that your dad is a bull and your mom is a fish. That kind of thing is probably accepted somewhere like Portland, celebrated even, but this is Houston, Texas.
“My parents are like… They complement each other, like surf’n turf. My dad is more of a land lover and my mom just ‘lives’ in the water. She can swim like a … I mean, she used to be on the swim team in college. That’s where they met. He ran track at UH.”
“That’s interesting. My dad played football there. I remember him telling me about his teammate, who he said was the strongest, fastest linebacker he'd ever seen. He said the guy got disqualified for performance enhancement drugs or something. I think his name was Barnett. Isn’t that your last name?”
I took a sip of my old fashioned and followed with an audible ‘gulp.’
“Oh… yeah… Small world huh?”
“Yeah, it was Barnett! Clint Barnett! Did you say your dad’s name was Clint? That must be him. Did he tell you about what happened? My dad said he heard the guy was on “cattle pills” or something. He said the newspaper referred to him as the “Human Bovine” and he married “Dolphin Girl” who dominated in swimming. I remember rolling my eyes and telling my dad that the whole thing sounded like bull to me.”
I pause for a few moments and debated with myself. I decided to just come out and say it.
“Ok. I…. I need to come clean. My dad. He’s a minotaur. My mom is a mermaid.”
She drops her gin and tonic and her face goes still. She looks me in the eyes and says..
“My dad is also a minotaur! And my mom is a mermaid!”
She pulls up her pant leg and shows me the scales on her calf, then she has me feel her ponytail which … has the consistency of a tail.
“I'm so relieved. Usually guys walk out when I tell them that!”
|
Walking through the streets of Larndam, people would often give me the strangest looks, especially on the days when my parents were with me. My mom would bend the water around her body, so that it was easier for her to move with us, and my father would stomp, ten heads above everyone else.
I looked just like the elves, or more appropriately, just like the humans, and as far as everyone else knew, I didn't have any traits that my parent's had. I didn't have the furry body of my father, and there weren't really any scales sticking out of my legs. I looked just like they would, and I assumed in some part, I felt just like they would.
There had been a couple of visits to the doctors over the years, of course. My body doesn't work like a human's would, and I have a lot of bodily organs that aren't exactly primed for a human body, but other than that, I seemed to be in the best shape that I could. The doctors often said it was a medical marvel for me to have even survived this long, considering that I seem to be an entire opposite of what would be helpful for me.
Although, I've often been able to do things that most of the people that look like me would never be able to do. Surprisingly, even without a body ten feet high, I've always had a strength stronger than most. My muscles aren't ever going to be like my fathers, but imagine being able to balance five boxes on each arm. That, primed with the *mind* of a mermaid, allowing me to assess my situation about ten times faster than most people would be capable of, it does lead to a couple of questions.
I'm not quite like either of my parents, and even if my body seems to give me a disadvantage in some cases, I've also managed a lot of cool quirks too. I just hope I live past the point when my half-liver starts to tear.
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[WP] Robots want to “upgrade” humanity and convert them into robots. Their leader was very surprised when you went willingly.
|
"Well, why wouldn't I?" I ask from across the metal table. A cigarette burns in an ashtray in the middle.
The leader of the RCA stares at me like I'm an idiot for a moment. "You're giving up your humanity. People tend to care about that a lot."
I shrug. "Why would they? Robots are just the next step *for* humanity."
He rubs his red-rimmed, bleary eyes. He must've had a long night. He takes the cigarette, drags from it. No lungs, no problem. "How so?"
"I just think we've peaked and the only thing that's going to get us even farther are robotics. Why fight against that? It's evolution, really."
"Fine, fine, whatever." He waves his hand in the air, a trail of smoke in wake. "Do you want to get started now, then?"
"I mean, yeah. I don't know why you questioned me in the first place."
He stubs his cigarette. "Just wanted to understand why someone would do this willingly, is all. In the beginning, there wasn't a choice. Hell, some still don't, even in the system."
The man glances at the table, the floor. A dim red ring appears around his blue iris, then vanishes. "You were a part of the Surge?"
"Only a kid then, but yeah," he says. "Did good. Accepted jobs and augmentations. Did what I could to climb the ladder."
"And now you're here, questioning me."
"Yup," he gives a sad grin. "See how far I've climbed?"
Another thing about robotics. No tears.
---
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No emotion. No pain. No sadness. These were my only thoughts as I marched towards the 'leader' of the robots. Carrying around the weight of my humanity was nothing but a burden, so when the opportunity to strip myself of it came up, I had to take it.
I approached their leader and offered myself to him. 'Take away my humanity, my pain!' I pleaded as I knelt before this robotic contraption.
"Does not compute"
I spoke louder at the contraption before me. 'Upgrade me! Convert me! Make me one of you!'
The robot began shaking, smoke and steam rising from its joints. "DOES NOT COMPUTE."
I watched on in horror as this robot, failing to understand the logic behind my suicide attempt blew a fuse. His comprehension did not extend to the knowledge of the human condition.
Too much of a coward to tie a noose, I left the robotic carcass behind me. The incomprehensible pain of humanity was a burden that I was to shoulder until the rest of my days.
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[WP] You have always lived in the shadow of your seven brothers and sisters. Forgotten by the world, shunned by your peers, all but cast away. But you've bid your time, planned and schemed. Now you are ready, now they'll know your name. You're the 8th deadly sin, and you'll take over the world.
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[Poem]
They thought there be seven
and they're right. There is
seven sins without I
I come from a place that many do find
Heroes and villains find me inside
When they do what they do for family
Regardless of who dies
Blood is my name
l
o Many families have cried
o r
d i
e
n
d
once so dear
tossed aside
Blood is my name, the sin of
o
n
d
s undeserved
I'm a sin that lurks unheard
Religious and Righteous often mistaken
Use my name as if it is not forsaken
Do not think that blood is a bond
to never be broken
I find my way to bring many to do
things that should never be spoken
|
We reign like gods, and like gods we're adored, worshipped. From all the 7 deadly sins comes the last son, the world's blind end, the pinnacle of our pantheon. It is time I take my brothers and sisters place to hold the darksome veil through human society.
It destroys me from inside, since my birth a long time ago, the light of knowledge. Humans, even though mistakes, learn to avoid me and my magnificent beasts of corruption always about to hatch inside those too naive or skeptical. Their systems and feelings fighting each other for eternity, controlling impulses and dosing calculated amounts of fear. So the light, that burning fatal light of hope pushes me to my dark room behind my fellowship. Every human are born mine, and in a little tick of a clock they are took away.
It's been a while since I uncovered that my sister Envy won't let me be in control. But Envy couldn't make it alone, I suspect our brother Greed is on her side. Greed grew strong along with humans. He found out the best way to be globally adored is to have few followers and give them everything, the rest, like sheeps, will seek their way. Greed can pretty much repeat the process with his kind, therefore he is dangerous and inevitable. They both together can raise a voice of command even among ourselves.
In need of allies I need make contact with someone powerful, someone whose historic background doesn't rendered him or her useless and weak. Pride. Oh magnificent Pride! My unbreakable brother and hero. The problem is Pride never takes sides other than his conservative view, he lurks in between us all and emerges with a hit of a hammer, judging his brothers and sisters and keeping the final words since the begin of mankind. The secret is not ask for help, but accuse a mishap.
Playing gods is easy when you don't care for consequences, and that's basically my way to be. Instead of finding followers for myself, I find for him. To "protect the common welfare", the nature or progress, the destiny or choice, the individual word view of every human. As Pride grows inside them Envy lose power because now everyone is so sure of anything, also Greed since people hold pride for being something they invented called "humble".
Among we, the gods of sin, we have a saying that goes: "The one's curse is needed for the others bless". Meaning we shall help our envoy's addiction in our ways by tearing down his antagonists. I believe our saying is pretty much applicable among us, and I applied with casual acting. Eventually they will blame me for taking their world, even my hero shall perish like a old father forgotten in his deathbed. I bid them farewell. As for all humans that in little time will feed my furnace of smoke, blocking their vision of another world other than me. I'm the 8th deadly sin, and my name is Ignorance.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
"Thanks," she said.
I shook my head, waving my hand to show it wasn't a problem.
Sarah was always getting attention from the worst kind of guys. It's what happens when pretty girls dress to be cool on those long, hot summer days.
"Damnit, I should've been more careful." she said out loud.
We'd all seen him following her for weeks just waiting for his moment. Finally she'd crossed, alone, from the campus into town alone to do some wandering on a lazy, Sunday afternoon and he'd pounced. When she told him she wasn't interested, he'd called her every name under the sun, screaming and yelling, finally knocking the books out of her hands so they spilled all over the sidewalk. Books. She was old fashioned like that. I bent down to pick them up with her and she crouched with me and smiled nervously.
"Thanks," she said again. "He was just a... oh wait, I've seen you. You're one of those deaf guys."
She shook her head, laughing at what she felt was her own stupidity, her naturally curly blonde hair dancing in the sunshine. No makeup, jean shorts, flipflops and a T-shirt. Just natural.
"I'm so stupid, I should've seen this," she said and smiled a beautiful, sad smile. "Can you read lips?"
I nodded and smiled back.
We stood up and I handed her a couple of the cheap, dog eared old novels. I love the feel of the uneven pages in my hand, especially their coolness. I guess she'd just come from inside somewhere, probably the old coffee shop slash used bookstore which I like so much. It's a great place to sit and just watch the world go by.
I guess I'm just a solitary type and don't really want to talk to people much which is partly how I ended up with a rep for being deaf. That, and from day one I'd been hanging out with a growing crowd of deaf people, signing in ASL which I'd learned because my sister was deaf. Everyone then just knew me as one of the deaf guys and steered clear which worked well. Us solitary types like our space.
"Thanks for coming along," she said to me really slowly and loudly, accentuating every word. Her Southern twang touched me. "Erm, wait."
She pulled out a pen from the back pocket of her jeans and opened the front cover of one of the little books. It was a cheap, trashy detective story from the 80s and had '50 cents' written in pencil on the inside cover. I had a flashback to a movie poster of an even cheaper, trashier movie with a long-forgotten handsome lead.
"Thanks for stepping in. He was hassling me and he might've done a lot worse," she wrote.
I took the little biro from her hands and for a moment, we touched as she handed it over to me. I felt a spark as we connected. "No problem," I wrote.
She pulled out a phone and indicated I should put my number in. "Pete," I wrote. "Sarah," she wrote on mine.
"What's in the box?" she texted me, pointing at the small, wooden box under my arm.
"Chess set," I texted back. I was just judo, long runs, lifting weights and chess. And of course maths which is why I was there to study. So geek city, I guess
"Can I buy you a coffee?" she texted? "To say thank you?"
"Thanks, but I'm on my way to the chess club."
For some reason she laughed again, pressing her hand to her forehead.
"Of course, the chess set," she texted. "I have to say thanks, though."
I shook my head and waved my hand. For the second time, our hands touched as she took mine in hers, saying goodbyes, earnestly looking into my eyes as she promised she'd thank me.
But she was as good as her word and surprised me and took me for coffee at the bookstore cafe. And we sort of connected because she liked the quietness. To sit and watch people without having to make lots of chitchat. To kickback and relax without needing to say anything. To have space and think, away from everyone who wanted a piece of the pretty girl. To just be her awkward self.
And soon we found our selves just hanging out. We'd do early morning runs together and watch the sunrise and although I couldn't admit it, the sound of the early morning birdsong. She came over to watch old movies with subtitles. She even tried to play chess but wasn't very good. And she liked to hang on my arm without saying anything. And I liked all that, too.
"You're an asshole," said the guy I shared this tiny apartment with. Fat Tony, a middle-aged gradually-going-deaf man from the chess club in town who had a cheap room to rent and was obsessed with chess. Sarah had just left after the three of us had been watching an old movie, drinking a beer or 2 and giggling stupidly.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said and signed back.
"Is this an English thing?" he asked. His Brooklyn accent getting stronger every time he mentioned my nationality.
"No, it's just, well, just how things worked out," I said, my English accent sounding even more English.
"She likes you," he said, signing for emphasis.
"I like her too," I replied.
"No. She really likes you. And this isn't fair," he said. "To her, to me, to you, anybody. Even for an asshole like you. Do the right thing. Tell her. And either she'll run or it'll all be good."
We heard a knock at the door. Sarah again.
"I'm really sorry, I left my phone," she said. She signed the ASL for a phone. She was getting pretty good.
I nodded and brought her through. She picked up her phone and she looked at me for just a little bit too long. I looked at her back and swallowed. My heart skipped a beat.
"How you doin'?" asked Tony. He was genuinely concerned.
She suddenly whipped around to face him, turning her back to me so I couldn't read her lips.
"I love him," she said.
Tony nodded, pursing his lips, rubbing his belly under the black, stained chess T-shirt he was wearing. He scratched his head, nervously running his hand through his hair.
She turned back to look at me again, coming close enough I could pick out the little brown flecks against the beautiful blue of her eyes, feeling her breath on my face tinged with the scent of beer. She took my arm again, walked us both to the door and then left, scampering away without saying goodbye.
I closed the door.
"What you gonna do?" asked Tony quietly. "What you gonna do?"
|
I sat down at my table, signing to my best friend, Allie to come here. I sighed and relaxed, watching Allie make her way to the table. She seemed a bit nervous today, I don’t know why. Must be something to do with a project or such.
She took a seat opposite me as I began to eat a sandwich. As I took a bite, I signed,
“How’s your day?”, she smiled and signed,
“I’m good, how bout you?”. I merely shrugged and continued to gobble up my sandwich, I noticed that she became even more nervous.
“What’s wrong?”, I signed, noticing she was taking deep breaths and muttering to herself,
“You can do this Allie.”, she didn’t notice this and I tapped her on the shoulder, signing,
“What’s wrong?”, looking more confused as ever. She looks at me, then says slowly and quietly,
“I like you”.
HOLY HECK I AM FLIPPING TIRED AND I AM BAD AT LOVE STORIES OR ANY KIND OF ROMANCE, FEEL FREE TO ROAST MY WORK
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
I hate humans.
And not in a 'edgy, teen' type dislike, but true, boiling hate.
It is mainly because I have had my fair share of terrible experiences with people. Be it my parents abandoning me at an young age, or my uncle being an absolute creep or my friends turning their backs on me or almost getting robbed last year, these are just some instances to name a few.
I always liked to be my own companion. Loneliness might be a thing to be sad about for others but for me it was treasurable. Quiet, no unnecessary questions, no forced answers, no relationship responsibilities, no pretentious liking, and no abandoning later. So when I discovered my immense liking in being alone, I figured out learning sign language was the best option to avoid talking at max. So, I learnt sign language vigorously till I mastered it and then proceeded to make my voice invisible to others, as much as possible.
In highschool, I had few 'friends' who knew I could talk and hear very well. So the sign language idea didn't really work. Unfortunately, they forced me to interact with them and rolling my eyes at their complete disregard for my boundaries, I tried to endure my best. But my plan was to score amazing marks and escape from here to a place where nobody knew me and I could be the version of myself that I always wanted to be.
Got great scores in highschool, got in a good college and never spoke a word again. I did sign language with everyone. And it was a good thing because now nobody bothered me. Nobody was really passionate with me to learn sign language or have the patience to try to understand what I was trying to convey. Needless to say, I didn't have my friends and I was pretty glad about it.
Until, I met her.
She was a girl in my psychology class. Always say beside me and tried her best to converse with me. I ignored her with all my might but occasionally my eyes drifted to her direction only to catch her staring at me. She was one of those 'super bubbly, friendly and got along with everyone' kind of person. A happy virus, constantly smiling and grinning at everyone. Even to me, who didn't bother enough to spare her beautiful smile a glance. But she didn't back down, she made her smile brighter and more cheerful, as if strengthening her weapon of happiness to fight my everlasting misery.
Ella.
"Do you hate me, June?" She sadly asked me once, as we were walking down the hallways. I could see her hands moving from the corner of my eyes. I didn't mind it at first, ignored her with my might but then my eyes widened. She was doing sign language.
I stopped dead in my track and for the first time, I gave her a glance. Shiny brown hair cascading down her shoulders in curls, kind of messy and yet neat. Dark brown eyes blinking under those beautiful lashes, meeting my eyes with suprise. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She seemed shocked I had paid her attention. And I was pretty sure I was mirroring her expression.
"You know sign language?" I asked her, my hands moving slowly and cautiously while my eyes watched her.
She beamed when she saw my trying to interact. Pure hapiness shone in her eyes. She moved her hands too, kind of in a hesitant way, as if she was scared to make mistakes. "Not really, but I am learning."
I almost asked her, "For me?" but then I chuckled at my stupidity. Why would she learn it for me? Maybe she was suddenly interested in it, maybe she had someone who she wanted to communicate with. Who knows? "Good."
And with that I started walking away again. Her smile fell and hurrying behind me, she gave me one of her heart fluttering smiles. "I will be able to talk with you now!"
I rolled my eyes. "Are you pitying me?"
Her eyes widened. "No no no! I wanted to talk with you. For a long time now."
I huffed, disbelief flashing across my face. Somebody wanted to talk with me. Wow. I was pretty sure though she would get bored soon.
I saw her friends coming from front. They were all giggling and laughing with each other, eyes filled with fresh joy. Their eyes fell on Ella and they wiggled her eyebrows at her. I saw Ella's cheek redden and subconsciously, moving her hands to say, "Shut up, idiots!"
But they stared at her hands and then looked at her without any clue. Realising she had used sign language with them, she chuckled to herself. And for the first time, after a long time, I felt my heart skip a beat.
After that, she started hanging out more with me. As much as I tried to ignore her, her blabberings would occasionally get a reaction out of me and that would more of an encouragement for her to continue her shenanigans. Soon, as time passed, I relaxed around. Even though, I never really communicated much with her, but she still became a part of my daily life.
"June! Do you need something hun? You keep staring at Ella's seat?" Mrs. Rogers asked me one day. I didn't even realise that I was looking at Ella's empty seat all this time. She was absent, and for some reason, the class appeared quite gloomy and spiritless.
She hadn't really told me that she would be absent the day before, so I got quite confused. I opened her chats which were filled with random messages and lots of 'good mornings' and 'good nights' from her. I had never really texted her before. My fingers hovered above my keypad, contemplating what to do.
June: Are you okay?
I clicked 'sent', my heart thudding loudly in my chest. No reply.
As I was walking down the hallways, I saw her friends. They saw me and waved at me. I simply did a nod to not be rude. They neared me and looked behind me with a confused glance. One of them turned on their phoen and typed something on notes, showing it to me. It read: Ella didn't attend the psychology class?
I shook my head. I heard one of them say, "Well she did say she was not well yesterday. Let's pay her a visit in the break time." They gave me a smile and walked away.
I remember Ella had told me where her dorm room was one day. Conflict was pooling between my heart and mind. Should I got or should I not?
I didn't have any classes for a while so I decided to give her a visit. Just because, she had been kind of nice to me all this time. So, I maneuvered around buildings and appeared in front of her door.
Knocking, I waited nervously. I heard footsteps coming towards the door. The door opened and a sick looking Ella appeared. Her hair was tangled, her eyes looked droopy and her face didn't held the glow like it always had. Her eyebrows rose with surprise when she saw me and then a weak smile appeared on her face. "Hi."
"Hi."
She opened the door wide open and gestured for me to come in. I tentatively took a step as if something was going to pop out and room away this tingly, pleasant feeling bubbling in my heart. She closed the door behind me and laughed shyly, "My room is kind of real shitty but considering you already hate me, so it's fine."
I gave her a playful nod which earned me a punch on the shoulder. I indicated her to sit down comfortably and sat down myself in a nearby chair. But as if was about to sit, she said something which made me freeze. It was almost inaudible, a whisper too faint.
"Damn, I was feeling really crappy. How can I suddenly feel so good? I really do love her huh?"
I stood up and stared at her, my eyes full of shock. She gave me a raised eyebrow, asking me what was wrong. For a second, she appeared really confused. But the realisation started dawning upon her and she croaked out, "Did you hear what I said?"
"You love me?"
She almost fell out of her chair. "You can hear? Since when?"
"Always had been."
Poor girl was already not well and now she looked like she was about to faint. "So, wait, you could hear all my farts and burps? You could hear everytime I cursed you? You could hear all of my rants about how Mrs. Rogers is kinda hot? All of that?!"
Even though I was kind of scared with attachments and her recent revelation, I couldn't help but grin. "Yes."
"Why did you lie to me then? Why are you lying to everybody?"
When I saw the pain in her voice, a slight ache of betrayal, I couldn't help but open up. I told her everything. All about my past, present and ideas of future. After listening, her eyes were brimming with years and she came to me, clutching me in tight hug. She whispered in my chest, "Now, I love you more than ever." And slapped a hand over her mouth saying, "Shit, I forgot you are not really deaf."
"So you love me? Really?"
"Yes." She said in a brave voice. "I liked you the moment I saw you sitting beside me. Do you know how hot you are? Your voice? You scent? And now that I know your voice, it's even hotter." She looked at my eyes and smiled at me. "But more than anything, I love you because you are you. Cold, tough and beautiful."
I gave her a feathery kiss on her forehead.
"So do you love me back...?"
I chuckled. Slowly leaving her hold, I backed away. I did a sign language saying, "I can't hear you." And she narrowed her eyes at me, giving me a playful grin.
|
I sat down at my table, signing to my best friend, Allie to come here. I sighed and relaxed, watching Allie make her way to the table. She seemed a bit nervous today, I don’t know why. Must be something to do with a project or such.
She took a seat opposite me as I began to eat a sandwich. As I took a bite, I signed,
“How’s your day?”, she smiled and signed,
“I’m good, how bout you?”. I merely shrugged and continued to gobble up my sandwich, I noticed that she became even more nervous.
“What’s wrong?”, I signed, noticing she was taking deep breaths and muttering to herself,
“You can do this Allie.”, she didn’t notice this and I tapped her on the shoulder, signing,
“What’s wrong?”, looking more confused as ever. She looks at me, then says slowly and quietly,
“I like you”.
HOLY HECK I AM FLIPPING TIRED AND I AM BAD AT LOVE STORIES OR ANY KIND OF ROMANCE, FEEL FREE TO ROAST MY WORK
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
"Thanks," she said.
I shook my head, waving my hand to show it wasn't a problem.
Sarah was always getting attention from the worst kind of guys. It's what happens when pretty girls dress to be cool on those long, hot summer days.
"Damnit, I should've been more careful." she said out loud.
We'd all seen him following her for weeks just waiting for his moment. Finally she'd crossed, alone, from the campus into town alone to do some wandering on a lazy, Sunday afternoon and he'd pounced. When she told him she wasn't interested, he'd called her every name under the sun, screaming and yelling, finally knocking the books out of her hands so they spilled all over the sidewalk. Books. She was old fashioned like that. I bent down to pick them up with her and she crouched with me and smiled nervously.
"Thanks," she said again. "He was just a... oh wait, I've seen you. You're one of those deaf guys."
She shook her head, laughing at what she felt was her own stupidity, her naturally curly blonde hair dancing in the sunshine. No makeup, jean shorts, flipflops and a T-shirt. Just natural.
"I'm so stupid, I should've seen this," she said and smiled a beautiful, sad smile. "Can you read lips?"
I nodded and smiled back.
We stood up and I handed her a couple of the cheap, dog eared old novels. I love the feel of the uneven pages in my hand, especially their coolness. I guess she'd just come from inside somewhere, probably the old coffee shop slash used bookstore which I like so much. It's a great place to sit and just watch the world go by.
I guess I'm just a solitary type and don't really want to talk to people much which is partly how I ended up with a rep for being deaf. That, and from day one I'd been hanging out with a growing crowd of deaf people, signing in ASL which I'd learned because my sister was deaf. Everyone then just knew me as one of the deaf guys and steered clear which worked well. Us solitary types like our space.
"Thanks for coming along," she said to me really slowly and loudly, accentuating every word. Her Southern twang touched me. "Erm, wait."
She pulled out a pen from the back pocket of her jeans and opened the front cover of one of the little books. It was a cheap, trashy detective story from the 80s and had '50 cents' written in pencil on the inside cover. I had a flashback to a movie poster of an even cheaper, trashier movie with a long-forgotten handsome lead.
"Thanks for stepping in. He was hassling me and he might've done a lot worse," she wrote.
I took the little biro from her hands and for a moment, we touched as she handed it over to me. I felt a spark as we connected. "No problem," I wrote.
She pulled out a phone and indicated I should put my number in. "Pete," I wrote. "Sarah," she wrote on mine.
"What's in the box?" she texted me, pointing at the small, wooden box under my arm.
"Chess set," I texted back. I was just judo, long runs, lifting weights and chess. And of course maths which is why I was there to study. So geek city, I guess
"Can I buy you a coffee?" she texted? "To say thank you?"
"Thanks, but I'm on my way to the chess club."
For some reason she laughed again, pressing her hand to her forehead.
"Of course, the chess set," she texted. "I have to say thanks, though."
I shook my head and waved my hand. For the second time, our hands touched as she took mine in hers, saying goodbyes, earnestly looking into my eyes as she promised she'd thank me.
But she was as good as her word and surprised me and took me for coffee at the bookstore cafe. And we sort of connected because she liked the quietness. To sit and watch people without having to make lots of chitchat. To kickback and relax without needing to say anything. To have space and think, away from everyone who wanted a piece of the pretty girl. To just be her awkward self.
And soon we found our selves just hanging out. We'd do early morning runs together and watch the sunrise and although I couldn't admit it, the sound of the early morning birdsong. She came over to watch old movies with subtitles. She even tried to play chess but wasn't very good. And she liked to hang on my arm without saying anything. And I liked all that, too.
"You're an asshole," said the guy I shared this tiny apartment with. Fat Tony, a middle-aged gradually-going-deaf man from the chess club in town who had a cheap room to rent and was obsessed with chess. Sarah had just left after the three of us had been watching an old movie, drinking a beer or 2 and giggling stupidly.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said and signed back.
"Is this an English thing?" he asked. His Brooklyn accent getting stronger every time he mentioned my nationality.
"No, it's just, well, just how things worked out," I said, my English accent sounding even more English.
"She likes you," he said, signing for emphasis.
"I like her too," I replied.
"No. She really likes you. And this isn't fair," he said. "To her, to me, to you, anybody. Even for an asshole like you. Do the right thing. Tell her. And either she'll run or it'll all be good."
We heard a knock at the door. Sarah again.
"I'm really sorry, I left my phone," she said. She signed the ASL for a phone. She was getting pretty good.
I nodded and brought her through. She picked up her phone and she looked at me for just a little bit too long. I looked at her back and swallowed. My heart skipped a beat.
"How you doin'?" asked Tony. He was genuinely concerned.
She suddenly whipped around to face him, turning her back to me so I couldn't read her lips.
"I love him," she said.
Tony nodded, pursing his lips, rubbing his belly under the black, stained chess T-shirt he was wearing. He scratched his head, nervously running his hand through his hair.
She turned back to look at me again, coming close enough I could pick out the little brown flecks against the beautiful blue of her eyes, feeling her breath on my face tinged with the scent of beer. She took my arm again, walked us both to the door and then left, scampering away without saying goodbye.
I closed the door.
"What you gonna do?" asked Tony quietly. "What you gonna do?"
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T/w abuse, MLM (men love men) relationship, and mental self-harm
Everyone at my current college thought I was deaf, I know that people tend to assume what they want even if they don't have the evidence.
I however was not deaf, I'm just tired, tired of people getting in the way of my learning, not only did people assume they ask people questions without thinking of whether or not the subject was sensitive to me or the people around me.
*Flashback noise*
I learned ASL from my assigned therapist who wanted a way for me to get to come out of my shell, she was going through a list of things that we could do, and on the list was basic ASL, from there she became attached, even though it was something that wasn't advised for her to do.
She became my legal mother two years later after I was put into the system of broken, battered, and unwanted children.
My life was never easy, from a young age I had already been diagnosed with anxiety and severely bad depression, but this lady, who could've just left me to the depressing reality of being left in the system into adulthood, but insisted on going through the long and straining task of adopting a child with my situation.
While she had gotten to me as soon as she could I still spent two years with kids in similar situations to mine, while they were in a similar situation as me that didn't mean they stopped and became passive like me, the passive ones like me were bullied by the unwanted children who never had to deal with back-hand from a drunken father or a death threat from a sober mother.
The children had issues, we all did, but the children who bullied me were the ones who took out the anger they had onto those who were quiet.
While I did have bully's I also had a friend and a future mother who cared for me, wanted me to be happy.
My only friend in the entire orphanage name was Aren, while we still together we did eventually, we ran around the orphanage, did homework together, we even shared a whole room.
But as most good things do, our time together soon came to an end, Aren was adopted by a middle-aged man, I never saw him again after that day.
To me the beatings seemed to get worse, the words stung more, tore me down faster than ever, but I stayed quiet, I stayed so quiet that eventually, I didn't even try to speak, eventually, I started to give in to the darker thoughts that ran through my head, I started self-harming, but not with razors, no I hurt myself on the inside, I broke myself more and more until I finally got adopted by my once therapist.
My life got better, I and my mother had to temporarily leave the town we lived in for a change of job, where we rented no one knew of my past, no one knew I was a poor victim of abuse, no one knew I was unwanted no one cared to know...
because I didn't speak.
I had a reputation as the "retarded" kid up to high school, the children now teens called me the same thing only in a more mature way, the way they said the word deaf sounded equally the same to me as just calling me a dumb, mentality stunted, idiot.
Eventually, peace would resume, but once again as I say good things rarely ever last.
Some people who heard of my abuse from the newspaper moved into the area knowing my face name, and the situation I was found in.
The family had two children who were both nosey and gossiping blonde bimbo's who were old enough to remember my name.
The social people trying to become friends with the girls introduced anyone they thought would garner the new peer's interests, unluckily for me I passed them in the halls when I bumped into one of the janitors, the commotion attracted the group's attention.
And like these scenarios go the two girls tried to talk to me, like usual I didn't pay any attention to anyone and just walked away.
The next week people were looking at me like I was some pitiful full animal that was almost killed by a horrible owner, eventually, one of the brazen students asked the teacher if the rumors were true, the teacher fully knew I could hear harshly told the class it wasn't any of their business, I wish she hadn't said anything because as I said earlier people say and do things without wondering if what they said could harm anyone sensitive to the situation.
My entire high school year was ruined by the resurgence of my early life's story.
After high school, I and my mother moved back home, and lucky for me the town had already forgotten about me.
*Present-day noises*
I recently started college, my pick of major is phycology, and as I have always done I didn't speak I only used my writing as a form of communication, if it was to be used, not that anyone talked to me or interacted with me at all.
My college life was full of nothing but work, theory, and walking to my dorm shared with some dude I never see besides when I get up for another day.
Right now I am waiting at the park after hours to watch the sunset, while I watch the sky become a flurry of oranges, purples, and reds, I have a stray thought of wanting to share the moment with.
Slight envy of regular people without the struggle of severe trauma came up, clouding my mind leaving me to wander.
My thoughts came back to when I was almost denied food entire for almost several weeks, this torment was caused because I wasn't able to look my father in his eyes while he was beating me, my mother looked on without a look of pity, without a care as she saw my bones become more pronounced I was starved to the point I was fainting.
Before I knew it my mind wouldn't stop remembering the feeling of his hand around my throat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't do anything to stop him from stealing the breath from my lungs, I felt as if I was in the place of my younger self.
I knew I was in a park on a bench, but the feeling of my father squeezing my throat felt too real, the memory of almost being killed in such a pathetic way came to the forefront of my mind blinding me to my surroundings.
As I regained control of my mind I felt defeat came over me, just as I thought I was getting better a simple thing as a man In prison for life had such control of my mind that I feel it would be better to give up.
I slapped myself mentally and told myself to be positive, to remember I had a loving mother who'd rather me try to be positive, so in an attempt to find momentarily a form of calmness I searched and found another memory, the memory that ran in my head was of my mother's advice of how to deal with bad feelings, her advice was to look at happier times.
Even though I felt like crap, I still got up to look at the only pictures I had of my friend and me, so as I grab the phone and my earbuds from my carrier bag, I looked through my photos to find the pictures of a happier time, I finally found the photos of us.
I put in my earbuds, then I proceeded to play a song that me and Aren listened to on repeat.
I hummed along softly to the tune of the song, not caring if anyone heard me.
The sound of the woman's voice slowed down and as the last repeat of the song ended, I opened my eyes then I went back to the precious photos of me and Aren.
I remember the day we took the photos clearly, like it was yesterday.
It was a scorching Saturday evening at the orphanage, since it was so hot outside, our caretakers didn't allow us outside because it was thewe didn't have much to do so Aren and I were feeling particularly bored, Aren was looking around the room and I and Aren were posing in from of a mirror when one of the orphanage workers came in with an old polaroid camera with only ten uses left
My internal flare-up was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder, looking up I notice a familiar face that I thought I'd never seen before, the man behind me didn't seem to recognize me, he didn't even seem to acknowledge my face he was looking at my phone
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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I hate humans.
And not in a 'edgy, teen' type dislike, but true, boiling hate.
It is mainly because I have had my fair share of terrible experiences with people. Be it my parents abandoning me at an young age, or my uncle being an absolute creep or my friends turning their backs on me or almost getting robbed last year, these are just some instances to name a few.
I always liked to be my own companion. Loneliness might be a thing to be sad about for others but for me it was treasurable. Quiet, no unnecessary questions, no forced answers, no relationship responsibilities, no pretentious liking, and no abandoning later. So when I discovered my immense liking in being alone, I figured out learning sign language was the best option to avoid talking at max. So, I learnt sign language vigorously till I mastered it and then proceeded to make my voice invisible to others, as much as possible.
In highschool, I had few 'friends' who knew I could talk and hear very well. So the sign language idea didn't really work. Unfortunately, they forced me to interact with them and rolling my eyes at their complete disregard for my boundaries, I tried to endure my best. But my plan was to score amazing marks and escape from here to a place where nobody knew me and I could be the version of myself that I always wanted to be.
Got great scores in highschool, got in a good college and never spoke a word again. I did sign language with everyone. And it was a good thing because now nobody bothered me. Nobody was really passionate with me to learn sign language or have the patience to try to understand what I was trying to convey. Needless to say, I didn't have my friends and I was pretty glad about it.
Until, I met her.
She was a girl in my psychology class. Always say beside me and tried her best to converse with me. I ignored her with all my might but occasionally my eyes drifted to her direction only to catch her staring at me. She was one of those 'super bubbly, friendly and got along with everyone' kind of person. A happy virus, constantly smiling and grinning at everyone. Even to me, who didn't bother enough to spare her beautiful smile a glance. But she didn't back down, she made her smile brighter and more cheerful, as if strengthening her weapon of happiness to fight my everlasting misery.
Ella.
"Do you hate me, June?" She sadly asked me once, as we were walking down the hallways. I could see her hands moving from the corner of my eyes. I didn't mind it at first, ignored her with my might but then my eyes widened. She was doing sign language.
I stopped dead in my track and for the first time, I gave her a glance. Shiny brown hair cascading down her shoulders in curls, kind of messy and yet neat. Dark brown eyes blinking under those beautiful lashes, meeting my eyes with suprise. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She seemed shocked I had paid her attention. And I was pretty sure I was mirroring her expression.
"You know sign language?" I asked her, my hands moving slowly and cautiously while my eyes watched her.
She beamed when she saw my trying to interact. Pure hapiness shone in her eyes. She moved her hands too, kind of in a hesitant way, as if she was scared to make mistakes. "Not really, but I am learning."
I almost asked her, "For me?" but then I chuckled at my stupidity. Why would she learn it for me? Maybe she was suddenly interested in it, maybe she had someone who she wanted to communicate with. Who knows? "Good."
And with that I started walking away again. Her smile fell and hurrying behind me, she gave me one of her heart fluttering smiles. "I will be able to talk with you now!"
I rolled my eyes. "Are you pitying me?"
Her eyes widened. "No no no! I wanted to talk with you. For a long time now."
I huffed, disbelief flashing across my face. Somebody wanted to talk with me. Wow. I was pretty sure though she would get bored soon.
I saw her friends coming from front. They were all giggling and laughing with each other, eyes filled with fresh joy. Their eyes fell on Ella and they wiggled her eyebrows at her. I saw Ella's cheek redden and subconsciously, moving her hands to say, "Shut up, idiots!"
But they stared at her hands and then looked at her without any clue. Realising she had used sign language with them, she chuckled to herself. And for the first time, after a long time, I felt my heart skip a beat.
After that, she started hanging out more with me. As much as I tried to ignore her, her blabberings would occasionally get a reaction out of me and that would more of an encouragement for her to continue her shenanigans. Soon, as time passed, I relaxed around. Even though, I never really communicated much with her, but she still became a part of my daily life.
"June! Do you need something hun? You keep staring at Ella's seat?" Mrs. Rogers asked me one day. I didn't even realise that I was looking at Ella's empty seat all this time. She was absent, and for some reason, the class appeared quite gloomy and spiritless.
She hadn't really told me that she would be absent the day before, so I got quite confused. I opened her chats which were filled with random messages and lots of 'good mornings' and 'good nights' from her. I had never really texted her before. My fingers hovered above my keypad, contemplating what to do.
June: Are you okay?
I clicked 'sent', my heart thudding loudly in my chest. No reply.
As I was walking down the hallways, I saw her friends. They saw me and waved at me. I simply did a nod to not be rude. They neared me and looked behind me with a confused glance. One of them turned on their phoen and typed something on notes, showing it to me. It read: Ella didn't attend the psychology class?
I shook my head. I heard one of them say, "Well she did say she was not well yesterday. Let's pay her a visit in the break time." They gave me a smile and walked away.
I remember Ella had told me where her dorm room was one day. Conflict was pooling between my heart and mind. Should I got or should I not?
I didn't have any classes for a while so I decided to give her a visit. Just because, she had been kind of nice to me all this time. So, I maneuvered around buildings and appeared in front of her door.
Knocking, I waited nervously. I heard footsteps coming towards the door. The door opened and a sick looking Ella appeared. Her hair was tangled, her eyes looked droopy and her face didn't held the glow like it always had. Her eyebrows rose with surprise when she saw me and then a weak smile appeared on her face. "Hi."
"Hi."
She opened the door wide open and gestured for me to come in. I tentatively took a step as if something was going to pop out and room away this tingly, pleasant feeling bubbling in my heart. She closed the door behind me and laughed shyly, "My room is kind of real shitty but considering you already hate me, so it's fine."
I gave her a playful nod which earned me a punch on the shoulder. I indicated her to sit down comfortably and sat down myself in a nearby chair. But as if was about to sit, she said something which made me freeze. It was almost inaudible, a whisper too faint.
"Damn, I was feeling really crappy. How can I suddenly feel so good? I really do love her huh?"
I stood up and stared at her, my eyes full of shock. She gave me a raised eyebrow, asking me what was wrong. For a second, she appeared really confused. But the realisation started dawning upon her and she croaked out, "Did you hear what I said?"
"You love me?"
She almost fell out of her chair. "You can hear? Since when?"
"Always had been."
Poor girl was already not well and now she looked like she was about to faint. "So, wait, you could hear all my farts and burps? You could hear everytime I cursed you? You could hear all of my rants about how Mrs. Rogers is kinda hot? All of that?!"
Even though I was kind of scared with attachments and her recent revelation, I couldn't help but grin. "Yes."
"Why did you lie to me then? Why are you lying to everybody?"
When I saw the pain in her voice, a slight ache of betrayal, I couldn't help but open up. I told her everything. All about my past, present and ideas of future. After listening, her eyes were brimming with years and she came to me, clutching me in tight hug. She whispered in my chest, "Now, I love you more than ever." And slapped a hand over her mouth saying, "Shit, I forgot you are not really deaf."
"So you love me? Really?"
"Yes." She said in a brave voice. "I liked you the moment I saw you sitting beside me. Do you know how hot you are? Your voice? You scent? And now that I know your voice, it's even hotter." She looked at my eyes and smiled at me. "But more than anything, I love you because you are you. Cold, tough and beautiful."
I gave her a feathery kiss on her forehead.
"So do you love me back...?"
I chuckled. Slowly leaving her hold, I backed away. I did a sign language saying, "I can't hear you." And she narrowed her eyes at me, giving me a playful grin.
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T/w abuse, MLM (men love men) relationship, and mental self-harm
Everyone at my current college thought I was deaf, I know that people tend to assume what they want even if they don't have the evidence.
I however was not deaf, I'm just tired, tired of people getting in the way of my learning, not only did people assume they ask people questions without thinking of whether or not the subject was sensitive to me or the people around me.
*Flashback noise*
I learned ASL from my assigned therapist who wanted a way for me to get to come out of my shell, she was going through a list of things that we could do, and on the list was basic ASL, from there she became attached, even though it was something that wasn't advised for her to do.
She became my legal mother two years later after I was put into the system of broken, battered, and unwanted children.
My life was never easy, from a young age I had already been diagnosed with anxiety and severely bad depression, but this lady, who could've just left me to the depressing reality of being left in the system into adulthood, but insisted on going through the long and straining task of adopting a child with my situation.
While she had gotten to me as soon as she could I still spent two years with kids in similar situations to mine, while they were in a similar situation as me that didn't mean they stopped and became passive like me, the passive ones like me were bullied by the unwanted children who never had to deal with back-hand from a drunken father or a death threat from a sober mother.
The children had issues, we all did, but the children who bullied me were the ones who took out the anger they had onto those who were quiet.
While I did have bully's I also had a friend and a future mother who cared for me, wanted me to be happy.
My only friend in the entire orphanage name was Aren, while we still together we did eventually, we ran around the orphanage, did homework together, we even shared a whole room.
But as most good things do, our time together soon came to an end, Aren was adopted by a middle-aged man, I never saw him again after that day.
To me the beatings seemed to get worse, the words stung more, tore me down faster than ever, but I stayed quiet, I stayed so quiet that eventually, I didn't even try to speak, eventually, I started to give in to the darker thoughts that ran through my head, I started self-harming, but not with razors, no I hurt myself on the inside, I broke myself more and more until I finally got adopted by my once therapist.
My life got better, I and my mother had to temporarily leave the town we lived in for a change of job, where we rented no one knew of my past, no one knew I was a poor victim of abuse, no one knew I was unwanted no one cared to know...
because I didn't speak.
I had a reputation as the "retarded" kid up to high school, the children now teens called me the same thing only in a more mature way, the way they said the word deaf sounded equally the same to me as just calling me a dumb, mentality stunted, idiot.
Eventually, peace would resume, but once again as I say good things rarely ever last.
Some people who heard of my abuse from the newspaper moved into the area knowing my face name, and the situation I was found in.
The family had two children who were both nosey and gossiping blonde bimbo's who were old enough to remember my name.
The social people trying to become friends with the girls introduced anyone they thought would garner the new peer's interests, unluckily for me I passed them in the halls when I bumped into one of the janitors, the commotion attracted the group's attention.
And like these scenarios go the two girls tried to talk to me, like usual I didn't pay any attention to anyone and just walked away.
The next week people were looking at me like I was some pitiful full animal that was almost killed by a horrible owner, eventually, one of the brazen students asked the teacher if the rumors were true, the teacher fully knew I could hear harshly told the class it wasn't any of their business, I wish she hadn't said anything because as I said earlier people say and do things without wondering if what they said could harm anyone sensitive to the situation.
My entire high school year was ruined by the resurgence of my early life's story.
After high school, I and my mother moved back home, and lucky for me the town had already forgotten about me.
*Present-day noises*
I recently started college, my pick of major is phycology, and as I have always done I didn't speak I only used my writing as a form of communication, if it was to be used, not that anyone talked to me or interacted with me at all.
My college life was full of nothing but work, theory, and walking to my dorm shared with some dude I never see besides when I get up for another day.
Right now I am waiting at the park after hours to watch the sunset, while I watch the sky become a flurry of oranges, purples, and reds, I have a stray thought of wanting to share the moment with.
Slight envy of regular people without the struggle of severe trauma came up, clouding my mind leaving me to wander.
My thoughts came back to when I was almost denied food entire for almost several weeks, this torment was caused because I wasn't able to look my father in his eyes while he was beating me, my mother looked on without a look of pity, without a care as she saw my bones become more pronounced I was starved to the point I was fainting.
Before I knew it my mind wouldn't stop remembering the feeling of his hand around my throat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't do anything to stop him from stealing the breath from my lungs, I felt as if I was in the place of my younger self.
I knew I was in a park on a bench, but the feeling of my father squeezing my throat felt too real, the memory of almost being killed in such a pathetic way came to the forefront of my mind blinding me to my surroundings.
As I regained control of my mind I felt defeat came over me, just as I thought I was getting better a simple thing as a man In prison for life had such control of my mind that I feel it would be better to give up.
I slapped myself mentally and told myself to be positive, to remember I had a loving mother who'd rather me try to be positive, so in an attempt to find momentarily a form of calmness I searched and found another memory, the memory that ran in my head was of my mother's advice of how to deal with bad feelings, her advice was to look at happier times.
Even though I felt like crap, I still got up to look at the only pictures I had of my friend and me, so as I grab the phone and my earbuds from my carrier bag, I looked through my photos to find the pictures of a happier time, I finally found the photos of us.
I put in my earbuds, then I proceeded to play a song that me and Aren listened to on repeat.
I hummed along softly to the tune of the song, not caring if anyone heard me.
The sound of the woman's voice slowed down and as the last repeat of the song ended, I opened my eyes then I went back to the precious photos of me and Aren.
I remember the day we took the photos clearly, like it was yesterday.
It was a scorching Saturday evening at the orphanage, since it was so hot outside, our caretakers didn't allow us outside because it was thewe didn't have much to do so Aren and I were feeling particularly bored, Aren was looking around the room and I and Aren were posing in from of a mirror when one of the orphanage workers came in with an old polaroid camera with only ten uses left
My internal flare-up was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder, looking up I notice a familiar face that I thought I'd never seen before, the man behind me didn't seem to recognize me, he didn't even seem to acknowledge my face he was looking at my phone
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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"You mean... you could hear me all along?"
It came out as a croak. Her face was a mixture of confusion and a rapidly growing horror. I raised my hands weakly to try to allay her accusations, but I knew the depth and severity of the deception better than she did.
"All along? You could have told me and you didn't. Are you mute, at least?"
She was finding her words now. I looked at her wordlessly and shook my head.
"*Come on.*" She exhaled loudly. Her eyes widened. "Oh god, the fire last month. We were all trying to find you and you didn't make a *noise*."
She turned away from me, leaving me with nothing to do. Nothing to go on. I looked at my hands and at the ground. I noticed my leg shaking out of nerves. I willed it to stop.
"You could at least say something."
She'd turned to face me again. She didn't seem angry anymore, but hurt.
"Do you like me?"
I was stunned. Faced with the enormity of the betrayal, she was still willing to accept who I am. I had to speak. I had to let her know how I felt about her. I opened my mouth to speak for the first time in what felt like forever.
I felt the air escape my throat like a torrent, a high-pitched whine that turned into a chorus of wails. Each word enunciated shook the room and carried with it the shrieks of those who had taken them in vain before. Somewhere in the room I could hear her screaming, begging me to stop talking. But I couldn't. Once I spoke, I could not stop until the Speaking was done.
I felt my vocal chords start to tear; tasted iron in my mouth as my dirge reached its crescendo. I could not hear myself anymore. If I hadn't been deaf before, I was deafened now. And still the words poured out.
Finally, I finished my sentence. The words had slipped from the gates behind which they'd been held. My meaning had been conveyed. She knew now, deaf and sobbing on the floor, how much I cared for her, each syllable carved into her eardrums. The room was silent except for her quiet, ragged breaths.
I really didn't like talking.
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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I'm unbearably shy. Have been ever since I was little to the point where my parents had to teach me sign language in order for me to express myself. I'm not trying to lie to him I just... can't talk to him unless I'm signing. Nevermind the fact we've known each other for four years now. It doesn't matter anyway, he probably only bothers to hang out with me because he thinks I'm helpless or something.
I suck my teeth in annoyance at the thought as I push muffin crumbs around my plate. He taps my wrist lightly, bringing me out of my own head as effortlessly as always. I snap up, puzzled. My eyes meeting his soft brown gaze makes me blush every time.
He signs, 'Not hungry?'
I shake my head, 'Starving. Lots going on. Sorry.'
He nods with a sweet, warm, smile. 'This place is.. uh new, they have good food. Maybe a good... um, topic for your blog, if you like it?' After four years of trying to learn sign language he still wasn't that great at it, but he had a habit of speaking out loud as he signed so it was never too hard to follow him.
I nodded, glancing around the Café. The aromas of pastries and freshly brewed teas hung in the air amid small, fragrant, floral arrangements set on the tables. He's right, he usually is. It would be a cute place for my next food blog. I took a sip of my green tea when a woman strolled over to our table. He stood to hug her before introducing me. I knew it, he finally got a girlfriend.
"Eden this is Clara," he spoke slowly as he looked at me, half signing. "Clara is my neighbor and soon to be famous blogger."
I rolled my eyes with a slight smile as I waved him away before extending my hand to her.
"Eden works here, and my... sister. I guess." We all half-heartedly chuckled. "Here," he grabbed a free chair, "sit with us."
"Just for a minute," she spoke fast to him and he translated as best he could since she obviously didn't know it was more polite to face a person who can't hear. "I need to get back to work."
I took a bite of my muffin as they continued.
"I just wanted to meet the one who's got my little brother head over heels. I didn't know she was deaf though, how cute."
His hands immediately stopped signing and he mumbled for her to shut her mouth, half hiding his own. "She can read lips idiot, I haven't even gotten to tell her that myself."
I was choking on my food. "You what!!?" My hand clasped over my mouth. Shit.
They both stared slacked jawed at me. Twenty-six years of silence and I choose now to break it. Shoot me. What do I say now!??
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.)
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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"I love you" he whispers.
He stands up and faces the window and lets out a small fart he thinks I can't hear.
He turns back to me, "I've loved you since freshmen orientation, when you dropped your orientation folder and I helped you gather up the papers blowing in the wind, just like my heart."
He looks down, he faced pained, and lets out another short fart.
"And now, it's our last semester and I can't image moving on in life without you. I know you think of me as friend, just that nice guy who hangs around but..."
He walks to window again and let's one more long fart.
"...I think we should be together."
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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Patience and Pressure. Everyone lacks patience. Everyone applies pressure....at least to me.
To say “I am an average joe” would be a bold face lie. As soon as people see me, they know that I am different. That is why I have social anxiety. Which feels like my brain is restarting when I’m in front of others. Because of that many people label me stupid. That’s not the case when I am around others who are patient. Because when I am alone, with my family, or with a fellow signer, I am brilliant. That’s why I sign.
Out of all the languages that I could have learned to better help me translate my thoughts, sign language caught my eye. Early on, I was made aware of aloof fate’s ability to touch one with the inability to fully experience sound. Janice was a neighbor of mine born deaf. I remember peering through my window to view her interaction with her parents. Her parents’ mouth would move as if having an exaggerated conversation. However, their hands would gracefully dance across the air as if they were bringing their words to life.
With this motif in mind, sign was the language that I choose to help me translate my thoughts to the world. With the help of my speech therapist, who was an ASL translator part time, I was able to better communicate with my parents verbally and with other who signed. However, everyone else I ignored or stare at wildly as I presented them with my infamous green notebook and grey pen.
If I had a penny for every eye roll, sigh, silent pray, mutter, smack of the lips, and head shake that this notebook faced I would be a rich man. However, your actions would leave me a very poor man. The first time you spoke to me, your eyes admired my notebook rather than engaging in the typical “glare, roll, veer.” You have always been patient with me as I wrote down my thoughts. You’ve written so many things that encouraged me and were nothing but kind to me. We have shared so many laughs and deeps thoughts that my heart yearns for you when you’re away. When you looked me in the eye and said that you loved me, I had to sign it back. I wanted to bring my words, my love, for you to life.
However, I wanted to be true to you. I'm sorry for deceiving you. That is why I am here stammering, and uhhing and grasping on to my notebook as I scan a word and guide it out of my mouth. That is why I wanted you to hear my voice. I wanted to tell you my truth. I wanted to tell that I love you.
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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It started when Mom died.
I don't know where I got the idea from, but mostly I didn't want to talk to anyone. Problem was, I'd just started school and when you're a first year freshman at a university right out of high school, they have so many programs and initiatives to keep you engaged so you won't drop out after a semester or two. They say they want to help their students succeed in life and of course they do. How else can they bleed us dry of thousands of dollars a year and then beg for donations for poor, unfortunate students when we get our grown up jobs. Not to mention that every class is full of new students who want to get to know some of the folks they'll likely be spending the next four to five years with. And they just don't stop talking and all I wanted was for everyone to shut up because for those first few months, all my grief and anxieties leaked out of my mouth every time it opened.
So I just stopped opening my mouth. Stopped talking. Stopped responding. I got so tired of parting my lips and loosening my jaw and accidentally letting my mom's car wreck fall out and then I'd have to hastily and awkwardly stuff it back down my throat.
It didn't take long for people to catch on that I wouldn't answer them. After they overcame the initial shock, one by one, the students and faculty lost interest. Someone must have asked what my deal was, someone else asked if I was deaf, a third person took that as an answer instead of a guess, and the rest is history. I became the deaf student.
Well, that's not exactly true. There was a girl -- Julia. She and I shared almost entirely the same class schedule. That was inadvertent. Julia was deaf, genuinely, and the university provided her with ASL interpreters for each class. Very generous and accommodating of them.
Rather than watch my professors lecture and pace about their podiums with authority, my eyes stayed glued on the interpreters. I only understood a few signs at first, having learned some ASL as a kid; watching them weave words of sound into flowing signs with their fingers, their eyebrows, their entire bodies was far more interesting than anything I could hear. Over the course of a semester, my chosen seat came closer and closer to Julia's, simply so I could watch. Soon enough, I could even sign a sentence or two coherently on my own. At least, Julia seemed to understand me.
Unintentionally, I became deaf. And not just at school. In my dorm, I just didn't listen to music. I wasn't one who cared to watch TV shows, but the occasional video I did watch, I turned off the sound and preferred to read captions. I didn't even react to my roommates' alarms, to their late night partying, to their blasting death metal at 3 in the morning.
Maybe this is where I made my mistake. I was absolutely consistent in my 'disability' in every moment that someone could have been observing me. And in every moment where no one could possibly be.
I remember the day I heard her tell me she loved me. I was studying for an exam in the library. I'd booked a study room and it was at such an hour that hardly anyone else was in the building with me, and not a single person was withing a hundred feet of me. I am absolutely certain of this fact.
"Carson," she said in my ear. "I love you."
Months of practice of nonresponsiveness is what saved me in that moment. I knew this voice; it rattled me to my core. But my muscle memory kept me entirely focused on the task at hand while my mind went into shock.
*Mom.*
I didn't turn around to see where her voice came from. For a moment, I toyed with the idea that my vow of silence had driven me mad. But even if that were the case ... I still wanted to hear her --
"I love you much, kiddo." Her voice was thick with emotion. I crossed out a line of numbers and started over with the math problem. "I don't know if you know that, and it's killing me that --"
"Carol, stop!" I didn't recognize this second voice. She hissed at my mother, cutting her off.
"Carson's gone deaf," she tried to explain.
"That's not an excuse." This second woman sounded like such an authority figure. "What if someone heard you? Come on."
Mom's voice didn't come back. Whoever was with her must have taken her away from me. Hopefully temporarily. I finished my study session early that evening. With any luck, my roommates would be out partying and I'd have the room to myself so I could break down in tears in privacy.
I think my deaf act is going to have to continue long after I graduate. It's not often, but here and there, I hear voices when the hallway is absolutely empty or the room is deserted. And they're not always my mom.
I guess she's not the only ghost who needs to unload onto someone who can't hear.
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So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL.
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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"You mean... you could hear me all along?"
It came out as a croak. Her face was a mixture of confusion and a rapidly growing horror. I raised my hands weakly to try to allay her accusations, but I knew the depth and severity of the deception better than she did.
"All along? You could have told me and you didn't. Are you mute, at least?"
She was finding her words now. I looked at her wordlessly and shook my head.
"*Come on.*" She exhaled loudly. Her eyes widened. "Oh god, the fire last month. We were all trying to find you and you didn't make a *noise*."
She turned away from me, leaving me with nothing to do. Nothing to go on. I looked at my hands and at the ground. I noticed my leg shaking out of nerves. I willed it to stop.
"You could at least say something."
She'd turned to face me again. She didn't seem angry anymore, but hurt.
"Do you like me?"
I was stunned. Faced with the enormity of the betrayal, she was still willing to accept who I am. I had to speak. I had to let her know how I felt about her. I opened my mouth to speak for the first time in what felt like forever.
I felt the air escape my throat like a torrent, a high-pitched whine that turned into a chorus of wails. Each word enunciated shook the room and carried with it the shrieks of those who had taken them in vain before. Somewhere in the room I could hear her screaming, begging me to stop talking. But I couldn't. Once I spoke, I could not stop until the Speaking was done.
I felt my vocal chords start to tear; tasted iron in my mouth as my dirge reached its crescendo. I could not hear myself anymore. If I hadn't been deaf before, I was deafened now. And still the words poured out.
Finally, I finished my sentence. The words had slipped from the gates behind which they'd been held. My meaning had been conveyed. She knew now, deaf and sobbing on the floor, how much I cared for her, each syllable carved into her eardrums. The room was silent except for her quiet, ragged breaths.
I really didn't like talking.
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What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
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[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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I'm unbearably shy. Have been ever since I was little to the point where my parents had to teach me sign language in order for me to express myself. I'm not trying to lie to him I just... can't talk to him unless I'm signing. Nevermind the fact we've known each other for four years now. It doesn't matter anyway, he probably only bothers to hang out with me because he thinks I'm helpless or something.
I suck my teeth in annoyance at the thought as I push muffin crumbs around my plate. He taps my wrist lightly, bringing me out of my own head as effortlessly as always. I snap up, puzzled. My eyes meeting his soft brown gaze makes me blush every time.
He signs, 'Not hungry?'
I shake my head, 'Starving. Lots going on. Sorry.'
He nods with a sweet, warm, smile. 'This place is.. uh new, they have good food. Maybe a good... um, topic for your blog, if you like it?' After four years of trying to learn sign language he still wasn't that great at it, but he had a habit of speaking out loud as he signed so it was never too hard to follow him.
I nodded, glancing around the Café. The aromas of pastries and freshly brewed teas hung in the air amid small, fragrant, floral arrangements set on the tables. He's right, he usually is. It would be a cute place for my next food blog. I took a sip of my green tea when a woman strolled over to our table. He stood to hug her before introducing me. I knew it, he finally got a girlfriend.
"Eden this is Clara," he spoke slowly as he looked at me, half signing. "Clara is my neighbor and soon to be famous blogger."
I rolled my eyes with a slight smile as I waved him away before extending my hand to her.
"Eden works here, and my... sister. I guess." We all half-heartedly chuckled. "Here," he grabbed a free chair, "sit with us."
"Just for a minute," she spoke fast to him and he translated as best he could since she obviously didn't know it was more polite to face a person who can't hear. "I need to get back to work."
I took a bite of my muffin as they continued.
"I just wanted to meet the one who's got my little brother head over heels. I didn't know she was deaf though, how cute."
His hands immediately stopped signing and he mumbled for her to shut her mouth, half hiding his own. "She can read lips idiot, I haven't even gotten to tell her that myself."
I was choking on my food. "You what!!?" My hand clasped over my mouth. Shit.
They both stared slacked jawed at me. Twenty-six years of silence and I choose now to break it. Shoot me. What do I say now!??
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What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.)
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
"I love you" he whispers.
He stands up and faces the window and lets out a small fart he thinks I can't hear.
He turns back to me, "I've loved you since freshmen orientation, when you dropped your orientation folder and I helped you gather up the papers blowing in the wind, just like my heart."
He looks down, he faced pained, and lets out another short fart.
"And now, it's our last semester and I can't image moving on in life without you. I know you think of me as friend, just that nice guy who hangs around but..."
He walks to window again and let's one more long fart.
"...I think we should be together."
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It started when Mom died.
I don't know where I got the idea from, but mostly I didn't want to talk to anyone. Problem was, I'd just started school and when you're a first year freshman at a university right out of high school, they have so many programs and initiatives to keep you engaged so you won't drop out after a semester or two. They say they want to help their students succeed in life and of course they do. How else can they bleed us dry of thousands of dollars a year and then beg for donations for poor, unfortunate students when we get our grown up jobs. Not to mention that every class is full of new students who want to get to know some of the folks they'll likely be spending the next four to five years with. And they just don't stop talking and all I wanted was for everyone to shut up because for those first few months, all my grief and anxieties leaked out of my mouth every time it opened.
So I just stopped opening my mouth. Stopped talking. Stopped responding. I got so tired of parting my lips and loosening my jaw and accidentally letting my mom's car wreck fall out and then I'd have to hastily and awkwardly stuff it back down my throat.
It didn't take long for people to catch on that I wouldn't answer them. After they overcame the initial shock, one by one, the students and faculty lost interest. Someone must have asked what my deal was, someone else asked if I was deaf, a third person took that as an answer instead of a guess, and the rest is history. I became the deaf student.
Well, that's not exactly true. There was a girl -- Julia. She and I shared almost entirely the same class schedule. That was inadvertent. Julia was deaf, genuinely, and the university provided her with ASL interpreters for each class. Very generous and accommodating of them.
Rather than watch my professors lecture and pace about their podiums with authority, my eyes stayed glued on the interpreters. I only understood a few signs at first, having learned some ASL as a kid; watching them weave words of sound into flowing signs with their fingers, their eyebrows, their entire bodies was far more interesting than anything I could hear. Over the course of a semester, my chosen seat came closer and closer to Julia's, simply so I could watch. Soon enough, I could even sign a sentence or two coherently on my own. At least, Julia seemed to understand me.
Unintentionally, I became deaf. And not just at school. In my dorm, I just didn't listen to music. I wasn't one who cared to watch TV shows, but the occasional video I did watch, I turned off the sound and preferred to read captions. I didn't even react to my roommates' alarms, to their late night partying, to their blasting death metal at 3 in the morning.
Maybe this is where I made my mistake. I was absolutely consistent in my 'disability' in every moment that someone could have been observing me. And in every moment where no one could possibly be.
I remember the day I heard her tell me she loved me. I was studying for an exam in the library. I'd booked a study room and it was at such an hour that hardly anyone else was in the building with me, and not a single person was withing a hundred feet of me. I am absolutely certain of this fact.
"Carson," she said in my ear. "I love you."
Months of practice of nonresponsiveness is what saved me in that moment. I knew this voice; it rattled me to my core. But my muscle memory kept me entirely focused on the task at hand while my mind went into shock.
*Mom.*
I didn't turn around to see where her voice came from. For a moment, I toyed with the idea that my vow of silence had driven me mad. But even if that were the case ... I still wanted to hear her --
"I love you much, kiddo." Her voice was thick with emotion. I crossed out a line of numbers and started over with the math problem. "I don't know if you know that, and it's killing me that --"
"Carol, stop!" I didn't recognize this second voice. She hissed at my mother, cutting her off.
"Carson's gone deaf," she tried to explain.
"That's not an excuse." This second woman sounded like such an authority figure. "What if someone heard you? Come on."
Mom's voice didn't come back. Whoever was with her must have taken her away from me. Hopefully temporarily. I finished my study session early that evening. With any luck, my roommates would be out partying and I'd have the room to myself so I could break down in tears in privacy.
I think my deaf act is going to have to continue long after I graduate. It's not often, but here and there, I hear voices when the hallway is absolutely empty or the room is deserted. And they're not always my mom.
I guess she's not the only ghost who needs to unload onto someone who can't hear.
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
I'm unbearably shy. Have been ever since I was little to the point where my parents had to teach me sign language in order for me to express myself. I'm not trying to lie to him I just... can't talk to him unless I'm signing. Nevermind the fact we've known each other for four years now. It doesn't matter anyway, he probably only bothers to hang out with me because he thinks I'm helpless or something.
I suck my teeth in annoyance at the thought as I push muffin crumbs around my plate. He taps my wrist lightly, bringing me out of my own head as effortlessly as always. I snap up, puzzled. My eyes meeting his soft brown gaze makes me blush every time.
He signs, 'Not hungry?'
I shake my head, 'Starving. Lots going on. Sorry.'
He nods with a sweet, warm, smile. 'This place is.. uh new, they have good food. Maybe a good... um, topic for your blog, if you like it?' After four years of trying to learn sign language he still wasn't that great at it, but he had a habit of speaking out loud as he signed so it was never too hard to follow him.
I nodded, glancing around the Café. The aromas of pastries and freshly brewed teas hung in the air amid small, fragrant, floral arrangements set on the tables. He's right, he usually is. It would be a cute place for my next food blog. I took a sip of my green tea when a woman strolled over to our table. He stood to hug her before introducing me. I knew it, he finally got a girlfriend.
"Eden this is Clara," he spoke slowly as he looked at me, half signing. "Clara is my neighbor and soon to be famous blogger."
I rolled my eyes with a slight smile as I waved him away before extending my hand to her.
"Eden works here, and my... sister. I guess." We all half-heartedly chuckled. "Here," he grabbed a free chair, "sit with us."
"Just for a minute," she spoke fast to him and he translated as best he could since she obviously didn't know it was more polite to face a person who can't hear. "I need to get back to work."
I took a bite of my muffin as they continued.
"I just wanted to meet the one who's got my little brother head over heels. I didn't know she was deaf though, how cute."
His hands immediately stopped signing and he mumbled for her to shut her mouth, half hiding his own. "She can read lips idiot, I haven't even gotten to tell her that myself."
I was choking on my food. "You what!!?" My hand clasped over my mouth. Shit.
They both stared slacked jawed at me. Twenty-six years of silence and I choose now to break it. Shoot me. What do I say now!??
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.)
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
"I love you" he whispers.
He stands up and faces the window and lets out a small fart he thinks I can't hear.
He turns back to me, "I've loved you since freshmen orientation, when you dropped your orientation folder and I helped you gather up the papers blowing in the wind, just like my heart."
He looks down, he faced pained, and lets out another short fart.
"And now, it's our last semester and I can't image moving on in life without you. I know you think of me as friend, just that nice guy who hangs around but..."
He walks to window again and let's one more long fart.
"...I think we should be together."
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
Patience and Pressure. Everyone lacks patience. Everyone applies pressure....at least to me.
To say “I am an average joe” would be a bold face lie. As soon as people see me, they know that I am different. That is why I have social anxiety. Which feels like my brain is restarting when I’m in front of others. Because of that many people label me stupid. That’s not the case when I am around others who are patient. Because when I am alone, with my family, or with a fellow signer, I am brilliant. That’s why I sign.
Out of all the languages that I could have learned to better help me translate my thoughts, sign language caught my eye. Early on, I was made aware of aloof fate’s ability to touch one with the inability to fully experience sound. Janice was a neighbor of mine born deaf. I remember peering through my window to view her interaction with her parents. Her parents’ mouth would move as if having an exaggerated conversation. However, their hands would gracefully dance across the air as if they were bringing their words to life.
With this motif in mind, sign was the language that I choose to help me translate my thoughts to the world. With the help of my speech therapist, who was an ASL translator part time, I was able to better communicate with my parents verbally and with other who signed. However, everyone else I ignored or stare at wildly as I presented them with my infamous green notebook and grey pen.
If I had a penny for every eye roll, sigh, silent pray, mutter, smack of the lips, and head shake that this notebook faced I would be a rich man. However, your actions would leave me a very poor man. The first time you spoke to me, your eyes admired my notebook rather than engaging in the typical “glare, roll, veer.” You have always been patient with me as I wrote down my thoughts. You’ve written so many things that encouraged me and were nothing but kind to me. We have shared so many laughs and deeps thoughts that my heart yearns for you when you’re away. When you looked me in the eye and said that you loved me, I had to sign it back. I wanted to bring my words, my love, for you to life.
However, I wanted to be true to you. I'm sorry for deceiving you. That is why I am here stammering, and uhhing and grasping on to my notebook as I scan a word and guide it out of my mouth. That is why I wanted you to hear my voice. I wanted to tell you my truth. I wanted to tell that I love you.
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It started when Mom died.
I don't know where I got the idea from, but mostly I didn't want to talk to anyone. Problem was, I'd just started school and when you're a first year freshman at a university right out of high school, they have so many programs and initiatives to keep you engaged so you won't drop out after a semester or two. They say they want to help their students succeed in life and of course they do. How else can they bleed us dry of thousands of dollars a year and then beg for donations for poor, unfortunate students when we get our grown up jobs. Not to mention that every class is full of new students who want to get to know some of the folks they'll likely be spending the next four to five years with. And they just don't stop talking and all I wanted was for everyone to shut up because for those first few months, all my grief and anxieties leaked out of my mouth every time it opened.
So I just stopped opening my mouth. Stopped talking. Stopped responding. I got so tired of parting my lips and loosening my jaw and accidentally letting my mom's car wreck fall out and then I'd have to hastily and awkwardly stuff it back down my throat.
It didn't take long for people to catch on that I wouldn't answer them. After they overcame the initial shock, one by one, the students and faculty lost interest. Someone must have asked what my deal was, someone else asked if I was deaf, a third person took that as an answer instead of a guess, and the rest is history. I became the deaf student.
Well, that's not exactly true. There was a girl -- Julia. She and I shared almost entirely the same class schedule. That was inadvertent. Julia was deaf, genuinely, and the university provided her with ASL interpreters for each class. Very generous and accommodating of them.
Rather than watch my professors lecture and pace about their podiums with authority, my eyes stayed glued on the interpreters. I only understood a few signs at first, having learned some ASL as a kid; watching them weave words of sound into flowing signs with their fingers, their eyebrows, their entire bodies was far more interesting than anything I could hear. Over the course of a semester, my chosen seat came closer and closer to Julia's, simply so I could watch. Soon enough, I could even sign a sentence or two coherently on my own. At least, Julia seemed to understand me.
Unintentionally, I became deaf. And not just at school. In my dorm, I just didn't listen to music. I wasn't one who cared to watch TV shows, but the occasional video I did watch, I turned off the sound and preferred to read captions. I didn't even react to my roommates' alarms, to their late night partying, to their blasting death metal at 3 in the morning.
Maybe this is where I made my mistake. I was absolutely consistent in my 'disability' in every moment that someone could have been observing me. And in every moment where no one could possibly be.
I remember the day I heard her tell me she loved me. I was studying for an exam in the library. I'd booked a study room and it was at such an hour that hardly anyone else was in the building with me, and not a single person was withing a hundred feet of me. I am absolutely certain of this fact.
"Carson," she said in my ear. "I love you."
Months of practice of nonresponsiveness is what saved me in that moment. I knew this voice; it rattled me to my core. But my muscle memory kept me entirely focused on the task at hand while my mind went into shock.
*Mom.*
I didn't turn around to see where her voice came from. For a moment, I toyed with the idea that my vow of silence had driven me mad. But even if that were the case ... I still wanted to hear her --
"I love you much, kiddo." Her voice was thick with emotion. I crossed out a line of numbers and started over with the math problem. "I don't know if you know that, and it's killing me that --"
"Carol, stop!" I didn't recognize this second voice. She hissed at my mother, cutting her off.
"Carson's gone deaf," she tried to explain.
"That's not an excuse." This second woman sounded like such an authority figure. "What if someone heard you? Come on."
Mom's voice didn't come back. Whoever was with her must have taken her away from me. Hopefully temporarily. I finished my study session early that evening. With any luck, my roommates would be out partying and I'd have the room to myself so I could break down in tears in privacy.
I think my deaf act is going to have to continue long after I graduate. It's not often, but here and there, I hear voices when the hallway is absolutely empty or the room is deserted. And they're not always my mom.
I guess she's not the only ghost who needs to unload onto someone who can't hear.
|
I make my goodbyes to the others then I finally sign to Kylie. I put two fingers up to my eyes then lower them to have my thumb pointing out and an index finger down 'See you later' , then transitioned into the next sign two 'K's and tapped them together, once, twice 'take care' waiting for her to wave goodbye before turning to walk away,
_"**I love you!**"_
I froze thinking of everything leading up to that moment. Marking off that you did require accommodations to be with your friend who was actually deaf. The Class that you shared and the outings your group has gone on. Was that a double date? Am I the dense one?
>! ^^^"Sam?"
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.)
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
"I love you" he whispers.
He stands up and faces the window and lets out a small fart he thinks I can't hear.
He turns back to me, "I've loved you since freshmen orientation, when you dropped your orientation folder and I helped you gather up the papers blowing in the wind, just like my heart."
He looks down, he faced pained, and lets out another short fart.
"And now, it's our last semester and I can't image moving on in life without you. I know you think of me as friend, just that nice guy who hangs around but..."
He walks to window again and let's one more long fart.
"...I think we should be together."
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
Patience and Pressure. Everyone lacks patience. Everyone applies pressure....at least to me.
To say “I am an average joe” would be a bold face lie. As soon as people see me, they know that I am different. That is why I have social anxiety. Which feels like my brain is restarting when I’m in front of others. Because of that many people label me stupid. That’s not the case when I am around others who are patient. Because when I am alone, with my family, or with a fellow signer, I am brilliant. That’s why I sign.
Out of all the languages that I could have learned to better help me translate my thoughts, sign language caught my eye. Early on, I was made aware of aloof fate’s ability to touch one with the inability to fully experience sound. Janice was a neighbor of mine born deaf. I remember peering through my window to view her interaction with her parents. Her parents’ mouth would move as if having an exaggerated conversation. However, their hands would gracefully dance across the air as if they were bringing their words to life.
With this motif in mind, sign was the language that I choose to help me translate my thoughts to the world. With the help of my speech therapist, who was an ASL translator part time, I was able to better communicate with my parents verbally and with other who signed. However, everyone else I ignored or stare at wildly as I presented them with my infamous green notebook and grey pen.
If I had a penny for every eye roll, sigh, silent pray, mutter, smack of the lips, and head shake that this notebook faced I would be a rich man. However, your actions would leave me a very poor man. The first time you spoke to me, your eyes admired my notebook rather than engaging in the typical “glare, roll, veer.” You have always been patient with me as I wrote down my thoughts. You’ve written so many things that encouraged me and were nothing but kind to me. We have shared so many laughs and deeps thoughts that my heart yearns for you when you’re away. When you looked me in the eye and said that you loved me, I had to sign it back. I wanted to bring my words, my love, for you to life.
However, I wanted to be true to you. I'm sorry for deceiving you. That is why I am here stammering, and uhhing and grasping on to my notebook as I scan a word and guide it out of my mouth. That is why I wanted you to hear my voice. I wanted to tell you my truth. I wanted to tell that I love you.
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It started when Mom died.
I don't know where I got the idea from, but mostly I didn't want to talk to anyone. Problem was, I'd just started school and when you're a first year freshman at a university right out of high school, they have so many programs and initiatives to keep you engaged so you won't drop out after a semester or two. They say they want to help their students succeed in life and of course they do. How else can they bleed us dry of thousands of dollars a year and then beg for donations for poor, unfortunate students when we get our grown up jobs. Not to mention that every class is full of new students who want to get to know some of the folks they'll likely be spending the next four to five years with. And they just don't stop talking and all I wanted was for everyone to shut up because for those first few months, all my grief and anxieties leaked out of my mouth every time it opened.
So I just stopped opening my mouth. Stopped talking. Stopped responding. I got so tired of parting my lips and loosening my jaw and accidentally letting my mom's car wreck fall out and then I'd have to hastily and awkwardly stuff it back down my throat.
It didn't take long for people to catch on that I wouldn't answer them. After they overcame the initial shock, one by one, the students and faculty lost interest. Someone must have asked what my deal was, someone else asked if I was deaf, a third person took that as an answer instead of a guess, and the rest is history. I became the deaf student.
Well, that's not exactly true. There was a girl -- Julia. She and I shared almost entirely the same class schedule. That was inadvertent. Julia was deaf, genuinely, and the university provided her with ASL interpreters for each class. Very generous and accommodating of them.
Rather than watch my professors lecture and pace about their podiums with authority, my eyes stayed glued on the interpreters. I only understood a few signs at first, having learned some ASL as a kid; watching them weave words of sound into flowing signs with their fingers, their eyebrows, their entire bodies was far more interesting than anything I could hear. Over the course of a semester, my chosen seat came closer and closer to Julia's, simply so I could watch. Soon enough, I could even sign a sentence or two coherently on my own. At least, Julia seemed to understand me.
Unintentionally, I became deaf. And not just at school. In my dorm, I just didn't listen to music. I wasn't one who cared to watch TV shows, but the occasional video I did watch, I turned off the sound and preferred to read captions. I didn't even react to my roommates' alarms, to their late night partying, to their blasting death metal at 3 in the morning.
Maybe this is where I made my mistake. I was absolutely consistent in my 'disability' in every moment that someone could have been observing me. And in every moment where no one could possibly be.
I remember the day I heard her tell me she loved me. I was studying for an exam in the library. I'd booked a study room and it was at such an hour that hardly anyone else was in the building with me, and not a single person was withing a hundred feet of me. I am absolutely certain of this fact.
"Carson," she said in my ear. "I love you."
Months of practice of nonresponsiveness is what saved me in that moment. I knew this voice; it rattled me to my core. But my muscle memory kept me entirely focused on the task at hand while my mind went into shock.
*Mom.*
I didn't turn around to see where her voice came from. For a moment, I toyed with the idea that my vow of silence had driven me mad. But even if that were the case ... I still wanted to hear her --
"I love you much, kiddo." Her voice was thick with emotion. I crossed out a line of numbers and started over with the math problem. "I don't know if you know that, and it's killing me that --"
"Carol, stop!" I didn't recognize this second voice. She hissed at my mother, cutting her off.
"Carson's gone deaf," she tried to explain.
"That's not an excuse." This second woman sounded like such an authority figure. "What if someone heard you? Come on."
Mom's voice didn't come back. Whoever was with her must have taken her away from me. Hopefully temporarily. I finished my study session early that evening. With any luck, my roommates would be out partying and I'd have the room to myself so I could break down in tears in privacy.
I think my deaf act is going to have to continue long after I graduate. It's not often, but here and there, I hear voices when the hallway is absolutely empty or the room is deserted. And they're not always my mom.
I guess she's not the only ghost who needs to unload onto someone who can't hear.
|
Patience and Pressure. Everyone lacks patience. Everyone applies pressure....at least to me.
To say “I am an average joe” would be a bold face lie. As soon as people see me, they know that I am different. That is why I have social anxiety. Which feels like my brain is restarting when I’m in front of others. Because of that many people label me stupid. That’s not the case when I am around others who are patient. Because when I am alone, with my family, or with a fellow signer, I am brilliant. That’s why I sign.
Out of all the languages that I could have learned to better help me translate my thoughts, sign language caught my eye. Early on, I was made aware of aloof fate’s ability to touch one with the inability to fully experience sound. Janice was a neighbor of mine born deaf. I remember peering through my window to view her interaction with her parents. Her parents’ mouth would move as if having an exaggerated conversation. However, their hands would gracefully dance across the air as if they were bringing their words to life.
With this motif in mind, sign was the language that I choose to help me translate my thoughts to the world. With the help of my speech therapist, who was an ASL translator part time, I was able to better communicate with my parents verbally and with other who signed. However, everyone else I ignored or stare at wildly as I presented them with my infamous green notebook and grey pen.
If I had a penny for every eye roll, sigh, silent pray, mutter, smack of the lips, and head shake that this notebook faced I would be a rich man. However, your actions would leave me a very poor man. The first time you spoke to me, your eyes admired my notebook rather than engaging in the typical “glare, roll, veer.” You have always been patient with me as I wrote down my thoughts. You’ve written so many things that encouraged me and were nothing but kind to me. We have shared so many laughs and deeps thoughts that my heart yearns for you when you’re away. When you looked me in the eye and said that you loved me, I had to sign it back. I wanted to bring my words, my love, for you to life.
However, I wanted to be true to you. I'm sorry for deceiving you. That is why I am here stammering, and uhhing and grasping on to my notebook as I scan a word and guide it out of my mouth. That is why I wanted you to hear my voice. I wanted to tell you my truth. I wanted to tell that I love you.
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
This was awkward. 100% not what I was excepting to end my day on, but here I am. Staring, mouth hanging open at a pretty girl as she confesses her love for me.
And now I've got a problem.
"I'm sorry," she says slowly, "I spoke too quickly. So you couldn't read my lips."
At some point, someone cooked up the lie that I'm deaf, and I being the antisocial queen that I am, let it stick. It helped that I've known ASL since I was a kid, courtesy of my mother, who right now would be laughing at this whole situation, but now the lies biting me in the ass big time.
The girl stepped further into my line of sight. Her small round face a deep red from the effort of her confession. Her long curly brown hair swept back into a messy bun with her bangs framing her plump cheeks. She took a deep breath and locked her deep blue eyes with mine. "I like you," she said slowly and carefully formed each word, "I'm trash at sign language, but I'm trying my best to learn."
"You don't even know me," I snapped before thinking. It's the gasp around us that reminded me that we were in public. I'm pretty sure I heard a few people say they knew I was faking it.
The girl blinked in surprise.
"Yeah. Not deaf. Sorry to disappoint you. Not even sure who started that rumor."
Instead of smacking me or yelling like I thought she would. She sighed, "that's a relief. I am trash at ASL."
"What?"
"So we can take our time getting to know each other."
"You're not upset?"
The girl smiled, "a little, but your deafness isn't why I like you. I don't think you remember, but you stood up for me at a party once. And I've heard you've done that for a lot of girls."
The college parties, my roommate, and her friends dragged me to every few weeks. Somehow I would find myself protecting a drunk girl or two from guys who thought they had found easy targets. I would always make sure everyone got home safe, no matter the time.
"That's the person I like and want to get to know," she steps close, "if you'll let me."
I couldn't think of a reason not to. Not liking people suddenly seemed flismy, and my jig was up now that she knew I could hear. A mischievous smile slipped across her face, "great. How about we start with lunch?" She asked as she grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the cafeteria.
|
He looked at me and then said:
—So I know that we are both guys...
Oh crap. Should I break the character? Since I was a kid I pretended to not been able to talk because I hated speaking. I don't know why my parents went along, but they made me compromise to learn sign language to speak to others. I don't know why, but I actually started doing that.
— Since we met at that party, and you were there smiling, drinking, I felt something for you.
After a while I became more and more comfortable with not speaking, to point that I was using sign language with my parents, family and therapist, who all knew that I could talk.
—The more that I met you, the more that I feel in love with you.
In high school I... Did this fool just say that he loved me? I need to end this.
— I can hear you.— I said
—What?
—Since I was 5 I stopped talking. I don't know why, I just didn't liked talking.—
— So you just fucking sat there and listened to me open...
—I didn't do on purpose. I just don't like talking — I signed
— And now we are back at signing. What do I do now?
— How about a coffee?
|
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
The voice was strong, obnoxious and more than a little condescending. “He’s deaf.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that said. Ignoring it entirely, I sipped at my drink as I continued flipping through Netflix on my tablet. I’d just finished one anime series and was looking for another because no one ever questioned using captions when you’re deaf.
Of course, I wasn’t deaf. My mom would flip out if she knew I was faking it, what, three years now? But I sure as heck wasn’t going to tell her. Growing up with two deaf parents when I wasn’t deaf at all, I was used to being in my own world, and college had only reinforced this concept.
My thoughts were scattered when a hand flashed in front of the screen before me. I looked up as Jake arrived with two plates of pizza. He looked me directly in the face as he slowly said, “Hey, man. Brought you some pizza.”
I smiled, pulling up the app on the tablet where I did most of my “speaking.” I quickly typed, “Thanks, Jake. What do I owe you?” and slid it to him.
He shook his head. He made a crude gesture in ASL, though I knew what he was trying to say. ‘No worry about money.’ Don’t worry about it. I nodded at him and took back the tablet, pulling Netflix back up. I pointed at the anime I’d pulled up and made the question sign at him.
He glanced at the tablet. “Sword Art Online? Not familiar with it, but-“ He grimaced, slowing his speech down as he faced me directly again. “Sorry! Can’t read lips that fast, can you?”
I chuckled and typed “No worries, I got it.”
“Hey Jake, mind if I sit here?”
I froze, trying to not react to the words over my shoulder. I knew the voice. Oh, did I know it well. I heard it in my sleep.
Jake looked behind me and smiled widely. “No, not at all! You’re always welcome, Sarah!”
“Thanks!” Sarah touched me on the shoulder to get my attention, though I’d already started turning her way; reacting to those around me was second nature, and Jake had been blatantly obvious he wasn’t talking to me. She smiled at me as our eyes met, and she signed, ‘How are you?’
‘Great.’ I signed back once she had walked in front of me; signing over your back wasn’t practical. I could feel my heart in my chest as she sat down. Sarah was the one main reason I kept coming back to this college. We’d met on the very first day, and she went out of her way to help me find my way across campus.
It was also her fault that everyone around assumed I was deaf. When I’d been too stunned by the fact this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous woman was talking to me, she’d taken the initiative at the fact I hadn’t responded to her initial welcome and signed to me, ‘Hello.’ When I responded in kind out of habit, she started signing to me in a flurry of activity, and I suddenly was designated as the “deaf friend” she could practice her ASL on.
But that’s all I was to her. I was her deaf friend, there to help her get her ASL down to a second language. She wanted to be a teacher, and knowing sign language was going to help her a lot down the road. I didn’t see a problem helping her, of course – the more time I spent around her, the happier I was.
Sarah was going to make a fantastic teacher. She was kind, courteous, great with people and the absolute center of attention wherever she went. She was also WAY out of my league. I blinked, my concentration finally coming back to reality when I realized she was laughing.
“He really did zone out, didn’t he?” Jake was looking at Sarah, not me, so I had to be careful to not react to his words. “You do that to him a lot.”
“Do I?” Sarah looked strangely happy with this fact. She caught me watching her and blushed, turning away from me. “God, this is so hard!”
Hard? What was hard? Trying to keep my face from showing my emotions was sheer torture. And it also annoyed me that both of them were facing away from me while they talked; to a deaf person, you were effectively shutting them out of the conversation, and was quite rude. I was about to call them on it when Sarah spoke again.
“I… I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Ready?
Jake glanced at me before turning away again. “Sarah, you know he’s totally nuts over you. He’s a great guy, he bends over backwards to help out a ton of people – but you, he makes room for in his life, each and every time you walk in. You see how he lights up.”
“I know. I’m just nervous, ok?”
Nervous? About what? Keeping my face even was quickly becoming difficult, so I pulled the tablet to me and started idly flipping through Netflix again. I couldn’t tell you what any of the movies were – I was too focused on their conversation.
“Don’t be.” The kindness in Jake’s voice surprised me. It was like a big brother talking to his sister kind of moment. “Just tell him.”
“I’ve just… I’ve never told anyone before that I love them. And we’re not even dating!”
L… love?
I don’t know what the next couple of minutes of their conversation was about. My heart was pounding in my head, my chest felt like it would simply burst, and her words just kept ringing in my mind. Love. She… Sarah… loves me?
Finally, I felt her soft hands cover mine, and I looked up to see her staring at me, her eyes rimmed with moisture. I knew what she said before she mouthed the words. The next hour or so was a blur until we left the common area, hand in hand.
She… she loves me. Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy…
Oh hell.
It dawned on me then that someday I’m going to have to explain to her that I’m not deaf. This… was a problem. But with her hand firmly in mine and the happiest smile I’d ever seen on her face…
Today wasn’t the day to address that.
|
It was amazing what you could trick people into believing, without saying a word at all. It wasn't that I said I was deaf, or had any accomodations scripted on to me, I just... didn't talk. I signed back to people when I really needed to, but I mostly kept to myself. I think that there are lots of people, that should they have realized they had the option, would chose to fall silent. There wasnt much about people that I really missed, I spent most of my early adolescence getting quite sick of them. I picked up sign language from a book in the library in my sophmore year, in the hope to eventually phase out all english words from my vocabulary.
People eventually "knew" that I was the deaf kid on campus, and that speaking to me was a largely hopeless endeavor. Coincidentally, I had never "picked up" lip-readaing, so I was seldmon able to understand a word said around me. Of course, in reality, my hearing was just the same as everyone else's, but once a large enough group reaches a consensus on something, it becomes as good, if not better, than the facts of the situation.
I had long been practicing my routine of silence when I found myself in the library on a Friday afternoon. It was scarcely populated, with most everyone doing "something" with their lives. There was a funny thing about being deaf - everyone seemed to assume you were also blind, or perhaps more accurately, was blind to you. I had been staring blankly, and in a manner that was probably a bit too creepy, at the only college aged girl that found herself studying when she should be "living her life." She was seated directly diagnoal to me; her eyes were a radiant blue, and her hair fell down her shoulder in long straight strands. She was perhaps the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on, but the guy standing next to her seemed to share my feelings.
She looked up, finally, seeming to catch a glance at me, and then tapping her male companions shoulder, leaning in to whisper to him. I could barely make out the words, but she seemed to ask for more information surrounding me. I instinctively cringed - I had taught myself to hate any attention from others - but then an even stranger feeling began to occur to me. I wasn't scared, I was... excited - excited to hear her voice, and excited for her to perceive me.
He replied in a much more audible tone "he's deaf, you dont have to whisper so gentely." She replied, indicating some reciporacal feelings, but I had long lost my train of thought. It was off somewhere in the clouds, wondering, plotting, scheming, how I could make this up. How I could miraculously recover my hearing, my ability to communicate. I had finally found the girl whose words fell sweetly on my ears, and was willing to let her hear my out of practice, raspy voice in exchange.
Some moments passed with this same theme of planning, and she eventually left, never to be seen again. I couldn't help but smile - a fleeting moment of joy was nothing but that - fleeting. I had long known that this was the operation of my peers - to force me to flirt with the idea of revealing my identity, only to kick me back into my turtle shell. It wasn't quite lonliness, it was more not caring for a partner. I was resilient. I was a lone wolf. I lied to myself over and over again for the rest of the night.
When the night ended, and I packed up my books, I found a scrap of paper across the table from me. The calculus problems on the front side seemed like they had taken hours to come to, so I grabbed the paper, hoping to hand it to a librarian, or find someone to return it to. But in grabbing the paper, I flipped it over to the other side, and saw a series of poorly drawn signs, the type you might find in a sign language book.
*I don't know if you'll ever hear my voice, but I hope you can see my number:* *~Your not so secret admirer*
*OOC: consider a follow if you enjoyed. Means a lot :)*
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[WP] You are a superhero, and 2 years ago you found out that the supervillain you were fighting is your best friend. You never told them that, but you didn't mind as well because they never murdered or did something too extreme. Now, they are about to kill you, and you need to make a choice.
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Strangely enough, saving the day was never the hard part of hero work.
Sure, dealing with the occasional broken bone or two was an annoyance, and the weight of knowing that lives hung in the balance could send his adrenaline pumping, but those stresses eventually faded. With time and experience, the flying bullets, rushing adrenaline, screams of hostages, and general sounds of wreckage and destruction became everyday occurrences.
Resolute grit his teeth, as more of The Revolutionary’s drones flew past the corner, lights and alarms blaring, weaponry of all sort glowing red-hot. Beams of energy lanced out from their ports.
*Five minutes left.*
He inhaled deeply, and held his breath. Wincing, he charged blindly toward them as flashes of light blinded him from all around, swiping wildly with his hands to swat them out of the air.
*Damn Crowley,* he thought, annoyed. Just because he possessed heightened durability that dampened the impact of anything even remotely threatening to no more than the force a toddler could muster didn’t mean that those attacks didn’t sting. Try being subjected to *hundreds* of tiny fists pelting at you all at once, and anyone would complain like he did.
When at last he finally managed to swat the last of them out of the air, he exhaled. Immediately, pain lanced through him, but it was still loads better than being pierced through by those semi-corporeal beams of energy as he would have been had he not activated his power.
He eyed the corridor ahead. Though blackened by soot, and splattered with the metallic remains of the patrol drones that had been chasing after him, David had to admit that the secret hideout definitely had a touch of Crowley’s work on it. It was deceptively simple, with few of the branching paths that fed into dead-ends that many other villainous lairs had.
Despite himself, he smiled fondly beneath his mask. Though The Revolutionary acted differently from David Pellan’s best friend, it was hard not to see Crowley shining through his villainous persona.
*Best not to dwell about it,* he thought, forcing himself not to idle too long in the corridor. Quickly, he drew another breath, bolstering his body with supernatural durability and strength, and continued onward.
*Four minutes.* He had better hurry.
David knew Crowley well. Crowley liked things efficient, but he would never compromise on a certain aesthetic style amidst functionality. Though he was genuine and honest in his everyday dealings, Crowley could be sly and deceptive when he needed to be. David knew that – and it was why rather than heading in the direction where the blare of drones in the distance was coming from, and where the corridor widened into a grander chamber, he instead headed toward a side wing of the compound.
This was far removed from the production wing that churned out the drones that The Revolutionary had been amassing. Here, in stark contrast to the neat and tidy conveyer belts manned by robots and complex machinery that could only have come from Crowley’s brilliance, this entire section of the compound looked as though it had been untouched for years.
And so, David *knew* it was where Crowley would keep his innermost thoughts. Though Doctor Crowley Fearon’s personal office was kept in pristine condition, and his patients never stopped gushing about how perfect and methodical he was as he solved any medical issues they had, anyone who had ever been to Crowley’s home knew how much of a slob the man was.
David smiled wryly. He still remembered how shocked he’d been when he first headed to his friend’s house to play video games all those years ago. Far from the perfect honour student, it had been the first time that David knew just how Crowley *really* was like when it was just himself.
How time had flown since then. David had gained his superpowers and become Resolute, while Crowley had gone on to excel in university and beyond. New discovery after new discovery, he had pushed the frontiers of science beyond what anyone had thought possible.
Through it all, though, Crowley had remained friends with David.
*David –* not Resolute. Despite all his achievements, Doctor Crowley Fearon had never once treated the burned-out man who worked a dead-end job as anything less than the same best friend he had been in high school.
It was why it made what he *had* to do all that much harder.
He eyed the choices of rooms ahead of him. *Not that one, not that one, and that –*
*Bingo.* Hurriedly, he entered, almost ripping the door of its hinges in his haste, searching for what he wanted to find.
Anyone who knew Crowley as he had knew that the man had a terrible habit he kept hidden from everyone else. He would never admit to it, but Crowley could never keep a secret hidden. If he even accidentally bumped into someone on the sidewalk, Crowley would mull and stress over it for hours, up until he confided in someone else.
And since The Revolutionary hardly *had* anyone to talk to, it reasoned to believe that he penned it down in a journal. Audio logs were an alternative, but David knew Crowley – there was just something more intimate in writing.
Sheets were scattered across a dusty table. Schematics of drones, grand plans written in methodical detail of just *how* he would reshape society – but Resolute cared for none of that.
Two years ago, when he first learned just who the mysterious Revolutionary was – or rather, who Crowley Fearon really was – he had been hesitant to believe it. He had thought his mind had been playing tricks on him, seeing things were there were none.
Since then, however, things began to fall into place that couldn’t be attributed to mere coincidence. That same split-second of hesitation before giving a grand address, that Crowley had never rid himself of since his high school days. That same unyielding belief and determination to see his goals through. That same restraint he showed in both civilian and villainous personas, even if the former was in his dealings of what was considered ethically acceptable in the pursuit of science, and the latter dealt with weighing the costs of destruction of public property and fear instilled amongst those caught up in his plans with the potential gain toward his goals.
All he needed was *confirmation.*
And confirmation he found, within a journal on a table in the corner of the room, the only place that looked like it had been visited recently. He didn’t need to read a single sentence or parse any of the semantic detail. The script alone was enough.
The Revolutionary was undeniably Crowley Fearon.
He exhaled, relief filling him, even as pain once more crept its way into his system as his durability faded.
*Two minutes, three seconds.* Hopefully, that would be enough to keep him alive until the time came.
He held the journal in his hands, waiting patiently, as the sound of blaring alarms and flashing lights drew nearer.
He closed his eyes. Inhale. Exhale. His power came and went, the alternating waves of pain and numbness calming him down.
*“Resolute.”*
Despite himself, he stiffened at the sound of The Revolutionary’s voice. David always hated that Crowley saw the need to put his words through a voice modulator, built within his technical marvel of a suit.
Saving the day was never the hard part of hero work. Anyone with even a year of experience within the field knew that the real danger came when one knew the villains they fought against at a level past the superficial.
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"Here we are, Apollo! Just you and me."
Lightning streaked across the night sky illuminating The Raptor's menacing sillouhette and razor sharp talons that made rattling steps along the crane.
"We gotta stop bumping into each other like this!" Kyle tried to call back confidenly, but a falter in his voice betrayed him. He felt injured for sure. Something about Jason's demeanour was unsettling tonight. He had fought harder, and made some enhancements to the Raptor suit that could only have been looking to do some serious damage.
"I couldn't agree more." Shouted Jason through the storm as he activated some kind of night vision giving the raptor helmet's eyes a toxic green glow. "That's why this is the last time it'll happen, Apollo. Playtime's over."
Kyle tried his jet boots again in vain. They sputtered and died as he took another step back to the very edge of the crane. They must've been 600ft above the city. His bow was somewhere in the flashing blue lights below, his quiver- empty.
"You think you'll get away with this, Raptor?" Kyle called across a crack of thunder, he could feel panic beginning to rise in his chest. "Extortion and gambling dens is one thing, but murder?"
Jason put another clawed foot forward which connected to the crane with a clang. He was within striking distance now.
"Murder goes against my business policy, it's true." He raised the talon high. "But to put an end to your meddling... I'll make an exception". The claw began it's sweeping arc downwards.
"Jason, no!" Kyle tore off his mask. "It's me! Kyle!"
Jason's mechanical raptor leg was will suspended in the air above Kyle.
"Kyle.. I.. It can't. You- you..."
A blast of lightning struck the outstretched leg and surged through Jason's body and throughout the crane. Kyle was insulated by the lining of his rocket boots and watched in disbelief as Jason begun to fall. Reflexively, Kyle grabbed Jason's arm and braced himself against the steel. The full weight of The Raptor suit nearly pulled Kyle's arm put of his socket.
"Jason!!" Kyle screamed in agony, trying with every ounce of his strength to keep Jason from falling to the streets below.
Jason's eyes were just visible through the glowing green windows of the helmet. They slowly, blearily opened.
"Kyle.. you.. are Apollo?" He said weakly. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Give me your other hand!" Kyle could feel his muscle fibers tearing.
"I can't." Jason said softly. "Not now you know what I am. I'm sorry, Kyle."
"No! Don't!" Kyle shouted desperately as Jason ripped his hand from Kyle's grip and he fell. "No!!"
Lightning ripped across the sky once more as Apollo watched his arch nemesis and closest friend fall to his doom.
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[deleted]
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[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
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After years in my line of work, it had become pretty tough to surprise me. With over 30 completed assignments, I was one of the agencies most prolific, and efficient, operators.
Every operator has their own strategy and methods of completing an assignment. The vast majority are cold and calculated, removing all emotion and ensuring no connection is developed between them and the task at hand. If you asked them, they would tell you this is what allows them to make quick decisions but I would argue it’s what opens them up to mistakes.
I, on the other hand, gather all the information I can and address the situation from a point of empathy. Gaining an intimate knowledge of the assignment allows for a far more creative and risk-averse approach.
Completing an assignment with a pistol and silencer is no doubt effective, and makes a statement but law enforcement will be looking into it almost immediately. Creating an “accident” like leveraging an allergy can be just as effective and throw off the trail of detectives and their suspicions.
It’s the tale of 2 approaches and I choose the latter, even though this does open me up to some emotional struggles from time to time. As you can imagine, the more you know about an assignment the harder it can be to complete it.
Deep down I still have some moral conflicts about the work. I didn’t dream about this growing up, I had wanted to be a fireman like every other little boy but that wouldn’t allow me to live this lifestyle. Plus, it wasn’t like the assignments were without their own moral issues. My research and planning had never lead me to find someone who didn’t have reason to go.
Child molesters, human traffickers, and people who hurt others for sport; these were the types of assignments I was dealing with. I don’t have any delusions about who I am, but these people were the worst humanity has to offer. Ridding the world of them was only a benefit.
Often their victims would come forward offering money for our services. Some of the accusations were so heinous that I would have been willing to do the work pro-bono but that’s the genius of the agency, they handled the money and matched the assignment to the agent. I don’t even know what the fee structure is, only what goes into my account afterward. Keeping these degrees of separation is what allows us to operate.
This morning was like all others, I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and my phone. My wife was on the other end of the kitchen preparing breakfast potatoes.
I signed into our secure network through a VPN to see if the agency had any new assignments for me. Normally, I would get an assignment a month, which would give me a few weeks to complete it prior to another one coming in but it had been about 6 weeks since my last, and I was getting antsy.
I have to admit it was good to have had an extra break. The last assignment managed to evade my normal tactics and a more direct strategy had to be taken. Unfortunately, I was forced to listen to him proclaim his innocence repeatedly prior to completing the task. He was a serial child molester but for a second I almost believed him. This bit of doubt had really stuck with me since.
The few extra weeks had helped me get past it and I was ready for my next task.
I waited patiently as the portal loaded, the extreme security really slowed the download speed. Once it was complete I opened up my inbox to find 1 message
I quickly decoded it to find the title “AGENT 21 – NEW ASSIGNMENT”. This was very odd as I am Agent 20 but I assumed it may have been a typo during the coding/decoding process, we were a highly organized operation but mistakes still happened.
As the assignment loaded it became clear that the assignment wasn’t intended for me. Each agent has their own coding system for critical information. I could see that the client had accused the target of being a serial killer but addresses, legal names, and all other operational data were hidden behind it. We did however share the same decoding system for image files.
At this point, I knew I should turn back and notify the agency of the mistake but curiosity took over, I clicked the link to the image of the assignment.
The page loaded and my heart nearly stopped, I sat there at my kitchen table in shock. I was staring at a picture of myself.
I couldn’t let my wife know something was wrong, with all my effort I held the panic inside. I had kept the secret for all these years and wasn't about to let it out now. Once I gathered my thoughts I had to figure out what to do next.
At times, the agency would include a picture of the client as well as the assignment. This was often for safety as they may be in close contact with the assignment during operations and they will be aware that an agent may be coming. Knowing the client can help the agent strategize without letting them know who they are.
I clicked through the assignment file to see if there was a picture. There was.
I hovered over the link, hesitating for a few brief moments that felt like hours. I had already seen my own picture in the file, there was no turning back now.
I pressed the link and stared intently as the screen loaded. Once completed I found myself in complete disbelief. There staring back at me was the last face I had ever expected… my wife.
​
Without looking up I fought the words out, “what the fuck have you done?”.
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This is the first short story I've ever written and it's only part 1 so go easy on me! :)
Being a hitman isn't the glamorous, action packed life most people think it is. If you're even half decent at your job, there's hardly any action at all. Nobody wants their ex-boss murdered in a massive explosion as a motorcycle piloted by Ryan Reynolds zooms away from the wreckage. No, they want him to die in his sleep from a heart attack that was definitely brought on by the stresses of the job and definitely not my needle filled with a heavy overdose of potassium. A good hit man is quiet, methodical and boring. I was a good hit man.
I was four years into my career as a sandman (a little industry slang, for the uninitiated) when I met Holly. She was sitting in a restaurant eating with a friend when I slipped and dumped a take-out meatball sandwich right in her lap. I was on a job waiting for a mark to return home when I'd been hit with hunger pangs. It turns out Cupid's arrow had hit me even harder. She was kind enough to laugh it off even though I had ruined what looked to be quite an expensive dress. It was a pale pink silk with icy blue embroidery that perfectly matched her eyes. There was marinara sauce dripping from one tendril of her golden, curly hair. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Holly has always loved her fancy dresses. She married me six months later in a vintage Vera Wang gown that cost almost as much as the house I had bought us to live in. I often wonder what that mark would think if they knew their life had been saved that day by a meatball sandwich.
I always meant to tell her the truth about my career, I just never found the right time. "Darling, what time did you want to meet your folks for brunch this weekend? Oh, also I kill people for a living." Not exactly the easiest topic to find an opening for. Eventually I had let it go on to the point that telling her would feel like too much of a betrayal of trust. If I could lie so easily about that, and for so long, what else could I lie about? The funny thing was, I could never lie to Holly. Those cold blue eyes would bore into me and next thing I knew I was confessing that yes, I had drunk six beers last night instead of two and no, I didn't actually like her college roommate, Carolyn. Lying about work was just....work. I told myself I did it to keep her safe but I think part of me knew, even then, that I lied about it because I was just too scared about what she would do if she knew the truth.
So I told her I worked for a tech company. She is completely and utterly useless when it comes to anything with a plug, cord or Bluetooth connection so I knew she wouldn't ask any questions I couldn't answer. We lived a quiet little life in our quiet little house. She would sell a painting here and there, and I would sometimes murder people. I always tried to take on extra commissions around her birthday. She loved luxury and Gucci dresses don't come cheap. Luckily, her birthday is Feb 23 and post-Valentine's Day is a very busy season in the sandman industry. Jilted lovers and forgotten dates, all that jazz.
I was in my office poring through the DMW (Dead Man Walking) job offers when I saw something that made my heart fall into the pit of my stomach. It was my own name and address. Finding your own information in the DMW wasn't unheard of for Sandmen, especially sloppy ones or people who have been at it for years. The higher your body count, the more likely someone is going to be on a quest for revenge that ends with your head on a plate. I had never had my name show up before because I was a very, very careful person. Holly would have said anal if she thought I was out of earshot. My mind quickly started retracing the last few jobs I had done. Most recent was a cheating husband. He and his mistress had drowned during a boating accident on a sneaky weekend getaway. I had jumped on that one because two marks at once meant I could get Holly that Birkin bag she'd had her eye on since Christmas. It was an open and shut job, no witnesses. I rowed out in a little canoe and swam the last two miles to the center of the lake where they were fucking in the boat and drilled some holes in the bottom. They didn't even notice until they were up to their armpits in water. The only job that could have any kind of loose ends was the old woman I had done two weeks ago. Her asshole son was tired of waiting for his inheritance and decided to take matters into his own hands. Well, my hands. It was such an easy job, I almost felt bad taking the money. All I had to do was turn off her oxygen tank. He could have easily done it himself, but I guess he wasn't quite as cold blooded as he wanted to be. I made sure she went peacefully. It was so quick and simple, I got careless and a neighbor saw me leaving the house. I was wearing my cable repair uniform but a witness is a witness.
​
I scoured the ad looking for details to help me figure out how in the hell this had happened. I debated if I should call Holly and tell her to go stay with her stupid friend Carolyn for the weekend, just to be safe. "Goes to the gym every Monday, Thursday, Friday. Spends 1 hour in steam room on Fridays." Whoever had been tailing me was obviously very thorough and very sneaky. I go to a private gym and hardly anyone else uses the steam room. "Travels for business. Next flight is this Tuesday at 14:25" Ok, so they know I've got an out-of-town job coming up and when I fly. Not good. The skin on my neck began to prickle. How long had they been tailing me? Had I gotten so lazy I didn't notice my own tail? It just didn't seem possible. "Sleeps on right side of bed, closest to window." I felt bile rise up in my stomach. They were watching us sleep. I had to call Holly NOW.
After I ensured she was safely on her way to Carolyn's, I sat down with the DMW to do some thinking. How do I find my tail? There was only one way. To accept the job and ask for more information on my "mark" from the mysterious benefactor. I was proud to say the price on my head was decently high. No sandman wants to see a hit on themselves for a measly $10,000. It hurts our egos, you know. I accepted the job and gave some information on how to contact me with further details about the mark. When they sent the email, I immediately started tracing the ip address. It was encrypted and bounced through at least 15 different countries. Dead end. I needed to get my tail out in the open so I could ID them. I typed "can you tell me the itinerary for the mark tomorrow?" and hit send. The reply was almost instant. "I will find out and get back to you." Find out? They probably needed to check in with their tail and find out what they knew. My phone beeped and a text from Holly popped up. "Hi sweetie! Just arrived at Carolyns! Hope you're feeling better and don't want to be rid of me for too long haha! Any plans tomorrow?". I quickly typed out the usual reply about not much plans and yes I miss you already blah blah and returned to my sleuthing. After a few minutes the mysterious benefactor got back to me and said "Mark has no plans, will most likely be home alone all weekend." So they know Holly's gone. Where WAS this tail? I fell asleep at my desk and dreamed of faceless people killing me and Holly in our beds.
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[deleted]
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[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
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My wife is a passionate dancer, no one can say otherwise. A *talented* dancer, however, is not an accurate description. Her arms sway wildly back and forth as she gyrates to a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the song playing. I chuckle to myself as she mimes the act of casting out a line. My favorite inside joke of ours.
Years ago, some friends insisted on dragging me out to a bar to celebrate a recent breakup. I was posted up against a wall when Mason, my best friend, nudged me. “That girl is trying to get your attention,” he snickered as he gestured towards the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, making an incredibly strained face as she attempted to “reel me in”. I laughed as I approached her.
*“I’m Jeanine. What’s your name?”*
*“Ralph”.*
*“Ralph, huh? You’re quite a catch.”*
Twelve years later and I still couldn’t believe my luck. Jeanine and I had weathered many storms together. Car accidents, pet deaths, rehabilitation for my father after a stroke...we were there for each other every step of the way. Tonight, I’m celebrating five years of blissful matrimony with this beautiful, off-beat, woman in front of me. Tonight, I am finally going to tell her the truth about my line of work. Jeanine has wanted children for awhile now; how could I take this next step in our relationship while hiding such a major truth from her? Could she stomach bearing the child of a man who killed people and left their corpses behind for their loved ones to find? Could she handle knowing that mere minutes before our wedding, I had cut the brake line in a prominent politician’s car? Would she still love me? I didn’t have the answers to that question, but I couldn’t continue to deny her the life she deserved.
Jeanine twirls to the melody as I pour her a glass of wine. My business phone pings and I excuse myself to answer the phone call. “Just one second,” I murmur to her as I exit the room. She dances on, unfazed.
“Stay calm and don’t react. Stay on the phone with me”, my old friend Mason demands. I immediately begin to panic. Why would he feel the need to--
“Jeanine reached out to your proxy. She wants you dead. She didn’t give a reason. Don’t do anything hasty, ple-.” I hung up the phone without a word.
In order to keep some distance between me and my clients, I hire a representative to meet with them and gather all of the relevant details. There’s no way Jeanine would have known who she was really hiring, right? I come back to the living room where she’s still dancing, wine glass untouched. At that moment I realized that I haven’t seen her drinking recently. A slow song begins to play and I embrace her from behind, slowly swaying. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about those car “accidents”. I was finally ready to explain the truth about our poisoned dogs. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about the extent my enemies were willing to go for revenge. I was finally ready to know if she would still love me.
I had waited too long to be ready.
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*Hey babe"
"Hey babe."
*Several minutes pass*
"Don't... don't you have work today? You know we're behind on rent as it is..."
"Nah, I have a weird contract job this time. Wants me 'on standby' at home, I guess someone is nervous about 'a thing'. It's not super clear what's wrong, actually."
"...huh. Well, can you work on the garage door while you're here, at least?"
"...I guess so."
*Several hours pass*
"Hey, babe, you've been in there all day. You want some dinner?"
"FUCK, yes, I'm not quite sure how this gear fits into this cog, it's been fucking me up for, like, three hours. Dinner sounds nice. Ooh, is that curry?"
"Haha! Yeah, you seemed pretty intense so I figured I'd make your favorite to help you unwind. How long is your 'standby'?"
"I honestly don't know, but I'm pretty sure I can eat. Can't be *that* critical..."
*Several hours go by*
"Mm, babe, what's that light?"
"Oh, nothing, just cancelling the order I put in... seems like you've figured out the problem."
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[deleted]
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[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
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"Honey, you'll never guess who I saw at work the other day" Julia says with a brilliant smile on her face. Her blonde hair frames her face in her signature bob and makeup perfectly paints her bright green eyes. I could look at her all day. Her smile starts to dip and I remember she was talking to me about something. Oops.
"Who?" I said and try to focus on her words instead of the way her lips move. My work phone chimes in my pocket with its happy bells and suddenly Julia didn't look happy anymore.
"Go ahead, answer it." She downs her mamosa and places the glass firmly on the table before retreating from the restaurant we are eating breakfast in. I sigh and shake my head. She loves the money, requires it even. But she despises that I do not have set office hours. After this job I'm going to fix that. No more weekend calls and new targets can only be given during the traditional work week. I unlock my work phone with my fingerprint and both complicated passwords. I have a text message from the office contact labeled as "boss". The message is short as always with information about the target and contact. I open it and only years of practice keep the smile in place.
Target: Hayden Brown. 35. Brown hair. Blue eyes. 6'9". 200lbs.
Contact: Julia Brown. 28. Blonde hair. Green eyes. 5'8". 130lbs. Wife. 580-867-5309
"Here is your check sir. Would you like me to box up the Mrs's food?" our waiter asks happily as he places the check infront of me. I shake my head as I don't trust my voice yet. Rage and sorrow battle in my chest to see who can win the battle inside. I throw a wad of cash on the check and leave the restaurant to start walking home. I pass our car in the parking lot where Julia is sitting there playing on her phone. I don't stop moving even when she looks up in confusion as I storm pass. If I stop, I will loose it. I just have to put one foot in front of the other. It is five miles to home and I can get my head together in that time. I pull out my work phone and start to sent my new contact a message.
Me: I need a bit more information on the flower delivery. Where should I send the flowers? Day you would like them delivered? Reason behind delivery?
Julia: I didn't order flowers
Me: Ma'am, this is flowers plus. You placed an order for one Hayden Brown?
Julia: OH yes I am sorry. It has been a long week. If you are free now I think he's actually walking home but if not I can make myself busy for the rest of the day. Our address is 145 Maple Street.
Me: Ma'am we can not offer same day delivery at this time. Should I put anything on the card to let them know the reason for the flowers?
Julia: I understand. Tomorrow would be fine. He doesn't need any information from you.
My teeth clench in fury as I put my phone into my pocket and begin to jog home. I would be home before she would and could decide the next step then. 10 fucking years. We have been together for 10 fucking years and haven't had a real argument the entire time. Yet she called an executioner? I pull my personal phone out of my pocket as I call my partner and best friend Ian.
"Hey man! Mary is so excited about tonight. What do you want us to bring alcohol wise?" He says happily and I can hear a door click shut behind him. He clears his throat to let me know he's alone.
"Well, I need something strong. I got a new contact I can't handle" I growl. My entire body is shaking in rage.
"You? Nah you can handle anything. I'd be happy to help though if you need it. It's been slow around here" Ian says casually and I let out a bitter laugh. I can hear him inhale sharply on the other end of the phone at my laugh.
"Ian. It's me. Julia took out a fucking contract on me."
|
*Hey babe"
"Hey babe."
*Several minutes pass*
"Don't... don't you have work today? You know we're behind on rent as it is..."
"Nah, I have a weird contract job this time. Wants me 'on standby' at home, I guess someone is nervous about 'a thing'. It's not super clear what's wrong, actually."
"...huh. Well, can you work on the garage door while you're here, at least?"
"...I guess so."
*Several hours pass*
"Hey, babe, you've been in there all day. You want some dinner?"
"FUCK, yes, I'm not quite sure how this gear fits into this cog, it's been fucking me up for, like, three hours. Dinner sounds nice. Ooh, is that curry?"
"Haha! Yeah, you seemed pretty intense so I figured I'd make your favorite to help you unwind. How long is your 'standby'?"
"I honestly don't know, but I'm pretty sure I can eat. Can't be *that* critical..."
*Several hours go by*
"Mm, babe, what's that light?"
"Oh, nothing, just cancelling the order I put in... seems like you've figured out the problem."
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
|
[Poem]
She was tired of her husband,
I know that sounds kind of mean,
But she and her husband,
they’d fallen into the same old, dull routine.
So whilst he lay there sleeping
She searched the dark web
and on a hitman forum
She found an ad and it read...
If you like neck tats of barcodes,
not getting caught by the Feds,
If you’re not into spouses
But you’re into their deaths
If you like guys who hit their targets
In the back of the head
Then I’m the hitman you’ve looked for
Hire me and escape.
She didn’t think about her husband
As she greeted the new day
No he wasn’t beside her,
In the spot that he would usually lay
No, He was loading his pistols
Thinking “that fucking bitch”
and he burst in the bedroom
With both barrels lit.
|
*Hey babe"
"Hey babe."
*Several minutes pass*
"Don't... don't you have work today? You know we're behind on rent as it is..."
"Nah, I have a weird contract job this time. Wants me 'on standby' at home, I guess someone is nervous about 'a thing'. It's not super clear what's wrong, actually."
"...huh. Well, can you work on the garage door while you're here, at least?"
"...I guess so."
*Several hours pass*
"Hey, babe, you've been in there all day. You want some dinner?"
"FUCK, yes, I'm not quite sure how this gear fits into this cog, it's been fucking me up for, like, three hours. Dinner sounds nice. Ooh, is that curry?"
"Haha! Yeah, you seemed pretty intense so I figured I'd make your favorite to help you unwind. How long is your 'standby'?"
"I honestly don't know, but I'm pretty sure I can eat. Can't be *that* critical..."
*Several hours go by*
"Mm, babe, what's that light?"
"Oh, nothing, just cancelling the order I put in... seems like you've figured out the problem."
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
|
Contracts are supposed to be anonymous, the Agency doesn't know who I am, I don't know who they are. Most of all, none of us know who the client is and they don't know us. If one of us gets caught we can't spill names, if a client gets cold feet they can't rat us out. The only problem is the money. See with no face to face we can't deal in cash, so there are a number of shell companies that take the cash from the client and make payments to us.
Why did she use our joint account? That was what I was asking myself right now. Seems stupid, but somehow that was what I was caught on. I had my own account and she hers but we had a joint account we both contributed to for mutual things like bills, the mortgage and groceries. She'd pulled the money from that account. I was paying for half my own assassination.
"Details to follow." That was the message that had accompanied my name and photo in the email. Jesus Christ, she had used the photo from our last wedding anniversary, ten years, ten years together, and we looked so happy. I always thought we were.
I sat alone in my home office. She was at work, info sec specialist for a big company downtown. She would be home later, I had promised to make her favorite chicken dish tonight. She always said she could never make it quite like I could. I'd made it for her on our first date. Would this be the last time I ever made it for us?
Why? It finally started to sink in. Ten years together and she wants me dead? Why? I was never unfaithful, sure I went away on "business" fairly often but I never cheated. Called her every night to talk about her day and tell her I loved her. Oh God, was she cheating on me? I was away a lot. Had being left alone gotten to her, had she met some guy at work who took my place? She did really like her boss, said they shared taste in movies and music, but Christ I never imagined she would cheat on me with him.
I shook my head, as far as I knew that wasn't it. There had never been any signs. She always picked up when I called. Her social media showed her out with friends whenever she claimed she went out with friends. Her friend Ann Marie never stopped posting photos of the two of them in restaurants. I'd never found evidence of another man in our house. Was she cheating with one of her female friends?
Was that it? Crap was my wife secretly into women and wanted out of our relationship so she could be with a woman? But why not divorce me? We had a prenup. I kept my accounts, and she hers and the rest is split 50/50. I wouldn't have stopped her. She couldn't possibly know there were millions from contract jobs in my accounts. Or that I had invested wisely over the years. I'd always just told her we'd be fine to retire when she was ready.
A thousand thoughts about my failings as a husband swirled in my head, each fight and discussion dredged up and replayed. We'd always worked it out in the end, come out stronger. At least I thought we had. The marriage counseling that I thought had helped us a lot around the five year mark came back in a flood. Again I couldn't find the fault.
Was it the money? My racing thoughts came back to it. My associate, I guess you could call him a friend, that I worked the more complex jobs with, he said it was always the money. But my wife didn't even know what was in my will. I had two kids from a previous marriage, for all she knew they got it all. It was a big risk for no guaranteed reward.
How had my wife come to hate me so much that she wanted me dead? Okay I wasn't the cleanest person in the world but she left her half full coffee cups in the sink all the time. She didn't like the way I drove, but her "perfect" driving sometimes made me nauseated it was so bad. Difference of opinion, we had two cars.
My phone chimed. It was from my wife. I opened it and read the message.
"Dinner on the 27th, The Wheelhouse. Private room all my treat, nothing but the best for my handsome bear. Happy Birthday!"
My favorite restaurant for my birthday, it was expensive and renting a private room couldn't be cheap. She was going all out this year. One last hurrah? My email alert sounded this time.
"Target will be at The Wheelhouse in the target city at 6:00 PM in a private room at the back of the restaurant. At approximately 6:40 PM wife will leave for the bathroom. Kill should occur then, no firearms or poison, make it quick. Failure to follow any of these conditions will result in non-payment."
Holy hell. She wanted me dead on my birthday? I had to give her credit for the cold logic of it. She would know where I was in an environment she could control. No firearms was smart, even silenced weapons were loud in confined spaces. No poison, and make it quick? I took some solace she didn't want me to suffer. That mostly left garrote, knives, or good old fashion blunt force trauma. She'd walk back in from the bathroom and find me dead, hell there was a good chance a waiter would find me before she came back if she took her time. Cameras in the restaurant would verify her whereabouts. Pretty good, I had to hand it to her.
Two weeks later my head was still spinning. I was getting dressed to go to dinner. She had left early to pick up the cake for later. Another good touch on her alibi, why would she pick up things for later if she knew I was going to be dead? My hands shook as I tied my tie.
Honestly, I had no idea how I was going to handle this. The most mature way was to just confront her to tell her I knew and demand a divorce. I didn't think she was the vindictive type to send assassins after me if she had nothing to gain. Or I could kill her... that thought was grim. I didn't know if I actually could. To watch the life drain from those sparkling eyes that I had stared into lovingly for over a decade? It made even my cold heart ache. I could kill myself... I'd get paid and she would get what she wanted. The hit wouldn't even end up costing much. Just the arrangement fee. There was a part of me, the heart broken, depressed part of me that thought that was the best option. I could also just disappear, millions in the bank and I could have a comfy life in some foreign country, but I would miss her, and know how she betrayed me.
I tucked a few tools away where my suit would conceal them. I still hadn't decided what to do. I got in my car and before I realized it I was at the restaurant. Five minutes early as I always aimed for. It was like someone else was piloting my body. A host showed me towards the back room when I gave her my name. I glanced at my watch. 5:58 PM, just over 40 minutes until my death was supposed to happen.
I stared at the oak door, taking in every knot and grain. My thoughts were racing, my life with my wife replaying in my mind. I felt like I was too hot, sweating and shaking at the same time. I was never like this before a job. A job was just that, but this? This was me! This was her! This was us. Like a puppet on strings my hand moved and my palm pressed to the cool oak. I pushed, stepping within.
"SURPRISE!" Almost two dozen voices screamed. They were all jammed into the private room and applause and cheering followed as I stood in shock.
My wife, my beautiful wife stood front and center beaming at me. My brain tried to process. With this many witnesses how was I going to do it? Hell, what was I going to do? My work brain shut off for a second so I could play along.
Our family and friends were here. Hell both my kids were here. Jesus how sick was my wife? Then my eyes hit the banner.
"Happy Birthday/Retirement"
I blinked slowly even as my wife smiled and wrapped me in her arms. As we hugged and the crowd cheered she leaned up to whisper in my ear.
"I know everything," Her tone was warm, loving, accepting. "I've always known. You think you can hide anything from me electronically?"
She laughed and I felt so foolish. Of course my information security savvy wife could crack my accounts and communication. I felt like an idiot.
"Not like you made it hard," She continued pressing a company appropriate kiss to my lips. She was wearing my favorite shade of lipstick I realized somehow. "Using my name and our anniversary in your password. I am so disappointed. Maybe I can punish you later."
The last part was said with a wink as she pulled away from me. As a throng of friends moved forward to greet me I missed the chime from the email on my phone. I would read it later to see that it said.
"Contract cancelled, enjoy your retirement. You will receive no further contact."
|
*Hey babe"
"Hey babe."
*Several minutes pass*
"Don't... don't you have work today? You know we're behind on rent as it is..."
"Nah, I have a weird contract job this time. Wants me 'on standby' at home, I guess someone is nervous about 'a thing'. It's not super clear what's wrong, actually."
"...huh. Well, can you work on the garage door while you're here, at least?"
"...I guess so."
*Several hours pass*
"Hey, babe, you've been in there all day. You want some dinner?"
"FUCK, yes, I'm not quite sure how this gear fits into this cog, it's been fucking me up for, like, three hours. Dinner sounds nice. Ooh, is that curry?"
"Haha! Yeah, you seemed pretty intense so I figured I'd make your favorite to help you unwind. How long is your 'standby'?"
"I honestly don't know, but I'm pretty sure I can eat. Can't be *that* critical..."
*Several hours go by*
"Mm, babe, what's that light?"
"Oh, nothing, just cancelling the order I put in... seems like you've figured out the problem."
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
|
"Honey, you'll never guess who I saw at work the other day" Julia says with a brilliant smile on her face. Her blonde hair frames her face in her signature bob and makeup perfectly paints her bright green eyes. I could look at her all day. Her smile starts to dip and I remember she was talking to me about something. Oops.
"Who?" I said and try to focus on her words instead of the way her lips move. My work phone chimes in my pocket with its happy bells and suddenly Julia didn't look happy anymore.
"Go ahead, answer it." She downs her mamosa and places the glass firmly on the table before retreating from the restaurant we are eating breakfast in. I sigh and shake my head. She loves the money, requires it even. But she despises that I do not have set office hours. After this job I'm going to fix that. No more weekend calls and new targets can only be given during the traditional work week. I unlock my work phone with my fingerprint and both complicated passwords. I have a text message from the office contact labeled as "boss". The message is short as always with information about the target and contact. I open it and only years of practice keep the smile in place.
Target: Hayden Brown. 35. Brown hair. Blue eyes. 6'9". 200lbs.
Contact: Julia Brown. 28. Blonde hair. Green eyes. 5'8". 130lbs. Wife. 580-867-5309
"Here is your check sir. Would you like me to box up the Mrs's food?" our waiter asks happily as he places the check infront of me. I shake my head as I don't trust my voice yet. Rage and sorrow battle in my chest to see who can win the battle inside. I throw a wad of cash on the check and leave the restaurant to start walking home. I pass our car in the parking lot where Julia is sitting there playing on her phone. I don't stop moving even when she looks up in confusion as I storm pass. If I stop, I will loose it. I just have to put one foot in front of the other. It is five miles to home and I can get my head together in that time. I pull out my work phone and start to sent my new contact a message.
Me: I need a bit more information on the flower delivery. Where should I send the flowers? Day you would like them delivered? Reason behind delivery?
Julia: I didn't order flowers
Me: Ma'am, this is flowers plus. You placed an order for one Hayden Brown?
Julia: OH yes I am sorry. It has been a long week. If you are free now I think he's actually walking home but if not I can make myself busy for the rest of the day. Our address is 145 Maple Street.
Me: Ma'am we can not offer same day delivery at this time. Should I put anything on the card to let them know the reason for the flowers?
Julia: I understand. Tomorrow would be fine. He doesn't need any information from you.
My teeth clench in fury as I put my phone into my pocket and begin to jog home. I would be home before she would and could decide the next step then. 10 fucking years. We have been together for 10 fucking years and haven't had a real argument the entire time. Yet she called an executioner? I pull my personal phone out of my pocket as I call my partner and best friend Ian.
"Hey man! Mary is so excited about tonight. What do you want us to bring alcohol wise?" He says happily and I can hear a door click shut behind him. He clears his throat to let me know he's alone.
"Well, I need something strong. I got a new contact I can't handle" I growl. My entire body is shaking in rage.
"You? Nah you can handle anything. I'd be happy to help though if you need it. It's been slow around here" Ian says casually and I let out a bitter laugh. I can hear him inhale sharply on the other end of the phone at my laugh.
"Ian. It's me. Julia took out a fucking contract on me."
|
My wife is a passionate dancer, no one can say otherwise. A *talented* dancer, however, is not an accurate description. Her arms sway wildly back and forth as she gyrates to a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the song playing. I chuckle to myself as she mimes the act of casting out a line. My favorite inside joke of ours.
Years ago, some friends insisted on dragging me out to a bar to celebrate a recent breakup. I was posted up against a wall when Mason, my best friend, nudged me. “That girl is trying to get your attention,” he snickered as he gestured towards the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, making an incredibly strained face as she attempted to “reel me in”. I laughed as I approached her.
*“I’m Jeanine. What’s your name?”*
*“Ralph”.*
*“Ralph, huh? You’re quite a catch.”*
Twelve years later and I still couldn’t believe my luck. Jeanine and I had weathered many storms together. Car accidents, pet deaths, rehabilitation for my father after a stroke...we were there for each other every step of the way. Tonight, I’m celebrating five years of blissful matrimony with this beautiful, off-beat, woman in front of me. Tonight, I am finally going to tell her the truth about my line of work. Jeanine has wanted children for awhile now; how could I take this next step in our relationship while hiding such a major truth from her? Could she stomach bearing the child of a man who killed people and left their corpses behind for their loved ones to find? Could she handle knowing that mere minutes before our wedding, I had cut the brake line in a prominent politician’s car? Would she still love me? I didn’t have the answers to that question, but I couldn’t continue to deny her the life she deserved.
Jeanine twirls to the melody as I pour her a glass of wine. My business phone pings and I excuse myself to answer the phone call. “Just one second,” I murmur to her as I exit the room. She dances on, unfazed.
“Stay calm and don’t react. Stay on the phone with me”, my old friend Mason demands. I immediately begin to panic. Why would he feel the need to--
“Jeanine reached out to your proxy. She wants you dead. She didn’t give a reason. Don’t do anything hasty, ple-.” I hung up the phone without a word.
In order to keep some distance between me and my clients, I hire a representative to meet with them and gather all of the relevant details. There’s no way Jeanine would have known who she was really hiring, right? I come back to the living room where she’s still dancing, wine glass untouched. At that moment I realized that I haven’t seen her drinking recently. A slow song begins to play and I embrace her from behind, slowly swaying. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about those car “accidents”. I was finally ready to explain the truth about our poisoned dogs. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about the extent my enemies were willing to go for revenge. I was finally ready to know if she would still love me.
I had waited too long to be ready.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
|
[Poem]
She was tired of her husband,
I know that sounds kind of mean,
But she and her husband,
they’d fallen into the same old, dull routine.
So whilst he lay there sleeping
She searched the dark web
and on a hitman forum
She found an ad and it read...
If you like neck tats of barcodes,
not getting caught by the Feds,
If you’re not into spouses
But you’re into their deaths
If you like guys who hit their targets
In the back of the head
Then I’m the hitman you’ve looked for
Hire me and escape.
She didn’t think about her husband
As she greeted the new day
No he wasn’t beside her,
In the spot that he would usually lay
No, He was loading his pistols
Thinking “that fucking bitch”
and he burst in the bedroom
With both barrels lit.
|
My wife is a passionate dancer, no one can say otherwise. A *talented* dancer, however, is not an accurate description. Her arms sway wildly back and forth as she gyrates to a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the song playing. I chuckle to myself as she mimes the act of casting out a line. My favorite inside joke of ours.
Years ago, some friends insisted on dragging me out to a bar to celebrate a recent breakup. I was posted up against a wall when Mason, my best friend, nudged me. “That girl is trying to get your attention,” he snickered as he gestured towards the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, making an incredibly strained face as she attempted to “reel me in”. I laughed as I approached her.
*“I’m Jeanine. What’s your name?”*
*“Ralph”.*
*“Ralph, huh? You’re quite a catch.”*
Twelve years later and I still couldn’t believe my luck. Jeanine and I had weathered many storms together. Car accidents, pet deaths, rehabilitation for my father after a stroke...we were there for each other every step of the way. Tonight, I’m celebrating five years of blissful matrimony with this beautiful, off-beat, woman in front of me. Tonight, I am finally going to tell her the truth about my line of work. Jeanine has wanted children for awhile now; how could I take this next step in our relationship while hiding such a major truth from her? Could she stomach bearing the child of a man who killed people and left their corpses behind for their loved ones to find? Could she handle knowing that mere minutes before our wedding, I had cut the brake line in a prominent politician’s car? Would she still love me? I didn’t have the answers to that question, but I couldn’t continue to deny her the life she deserved.
Jeanine twirls to the melody as I pour her a glass of wine. My business phone pings and I excuse myself to answer the phone call. “Just one second,” I murmur to her as I exit the room. She dances on, unfazed.
“Stay calm and don’t react. Stay on the phone with me”, my old friend Mason demands. I immediately begin to panic. Why would he feel the need to--
“Jeanine reached out to your proxy. She wants you dead. She didn’t give a reason. Don’t do anything hasty, ple-.” I hung up the phone without a word.
In order to keep some distance between me and my clients, I hire a representative to meet with them and gather all of the relevant details. There’s no way Jeanine would have known who she was really hiring, right? I come back to the living room where she’s still dancing, wine glass untouched. At that moment I realized that I haven’t seen her drinking recently. A slow song begins to play and I embrace her from behind, slowly swaying. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about those car “accidents”. I was finally ready to explain the truth about our poisoned dogs. I was finally ready to tell her the truth about the extent my enemies were willing to go for revenge. I was finally ready to know if she would still love me.
I had waited too long to be ready.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
|
Contracts are supposed to be anonymous, the Agency doesn't know who I am, I don't know who they are. Most of all, none of us know who the client is and they don't know us. If one of us gets caught we can't spill names, if a client gets cold feet they can't rat us out. The only problem is the money. See with no face to face we can't deal in cash, so there are a number of shell companies that take the cash from the client and make payments to us.
Why did she use our joint account? That was what I was asking myself right now. Seems stupid, but somehow that was what I was caught on. I had my own account and she hers but we had a joint account we both contributed to for mutual things like bills, the mortgage and groceries. She'd pulled the money from that account. I was paying for half my own assassination.
"Details to follow." That was the message that had accompanied my name and photo in the email. Jesus Christ, she had used the photo from our last wedding anniversary, ten years, ten years together, and we looked so happy. I always thought we were.
I sat alone in my home office. She was at work, info sec specialist for a big company downtown. She would be home later, I had promised to make her favorite chicken dish tonight. She always said she could never make it quite like I could. I'd made it for her on our first date. Would this be the last time I ever made it for us?
Why? It finally started to sink in. Ten years together and she wants me dead? Why? I was never unfaithful, sure I went away on "business" fairly often but I never cheated. Called her every night to talk about her day and tell her I loved her. Oh God, was she cheating on me? I was away a lot. Had being left alone gotten to her, had she met some guy at work who took my place? She did really like her boss, said they shared taste in movies and music, but Christ I never imagined she would cheat on me with him.
I shook my head, as far as I knew that wasn't it. There had never been any signs. She always picked up when I called. Her social media showed her out with friends whenever she claimed she went out with friends. Her friend Ann Marie never stopped posting photos of the two of them in restaurants. I'd never found evidence of another man in our house. Was she cheating with one of her female friends?
Was that it? Crap was my wife secretly into women and wanted out of our relationship so she could be with a woman? But why not divorce me? We had a prenup. I kept my accounts, and she hers and the rest is split 50/50. I wouldn't have stopped her. She couldn't possibly know there were millions from contract jobs in my accounts. Or that I had invested wisely over the years. I'd always just told her we'd be fine to retire when she was ready.
A thousand thoughts about my failings as a husband swirled in my head, each fight and discussion dredged up and replayed. We'd always worked it out in the end, come out stronger. At least I thought we had. The marriage counseling that I thought had helped us a lot around the five year mark came back in a flood. Again I couldn't find the fault.
Was it the money? My racing thoughts came back to it. My associate, I guess you could call him a friend, that I worked the more complex jobs with, he said it was always the money. But my wife didn't even know what was in my will. I had two kids from a previous marriage, for all she knew they got it all. It was a big risk for no guaranteed reward.
How had my wife come to hate me so much that she wanted me dead? Okay I wasn't the cleanest person in the world but she left her half full coffee cups in the sink all the time. She didn't like the way I drove, but her "perfect" driving sometimes made me nauseated it was so bad. Difference of opinion, we had two cars.
My phone chimed. It was from my wife. I opened it and read the message.
"Dinner on the 27th, The Wheelhouse. Private room all my treat, nothing but the best for my handsome bear. Happy Birthday!"
My favorite restaurant for my birthday, it was expensive and renting a private room couldn't be cheap. She was going all out this year. One last hurrah? My email alert sounded this time.
"Target will be at The Wheelhouse in the target city at 6:00 PM in a private room at the back of the restaurant. At approximately 6:40 PM wife will leave for the bathroom. Kill should occur then, no firearms or poison, make it quick. Failure to follow any of these conditions will result in non-payment."
Holy hell. She wanted me dead on my birthday? I had to give her credit for the cold logic of it. She would know where I was in an environment she could control. No firearms was smart, even silenced weapons were loud in confined spaces. No poison, and make it quick? I took some solace she didn't want me to suffer. That mostly left garrote, knives, or good old fashion blunt force trauma. She'd walk back in from the bathroom and find me dead, hell there was a good chance a waiter would find me before she came back if she took her time. Cameras in the restaurant would verify her whereabouts. Pretty good, I had to hand it to her.
Two weeks later my head was still spinning. I was getting dressed to go to dinner. She had left early to pick up the cake for later. Another good touch on her alibi, why would she pick up things for later if she knew I was going to be dead? My hands shook as I tied my tie.
Honestly, I had no idea how I was going to handle this. The most mature way was to just confront her to tell her I knew and demand a divorce. I didn't think she was the vindictive type to send assassins after me if she had nothing to gain. Or I could kill her... that thought was grim. I didn't know if I actually could. To watch the life drain from those sparkling eyes that I had stared into lovingly for over a decade? It made even my cold heart ache. I could kill myself... I'd get paid and she would get what she wanted. The hit wouldn't even end up costing much. Just the arrangement fee. There was a part of me, the heart broken, depressed part of me that thought that was the best option. I could also just disappear, millions in the bank and I could have a comfy life in some foreign country, but I would miss her, and know how she betrayed me.
I tucked a few tools away where my suit would conceal them. I still hadn't decided what to do. I got in my car and before I realized it I was at the restaurant. Five minutes early as I always aimed for. It was like someone else was piloting my body. A host showed me towards the back room when I gave her my name. I glanced at my watch. 5:58 PM, just over 40 minutes until my death was supposed to happen.
I stared at the oak door, taking in every knot and grain. My thoughts were racing, my life with my wife replaying in my mind. I felt like I was too hot, sweating and shaking at the same time. I was never like this before a job. A job was just that, but this? This was me! This was her! This was us. Like a puppet on strings my hand moved and my palm pressed to the cool oak. I pushed, stepping within.
"SURPRISE!" Almost two dozen voices screamed. They were all jammed into the private room and applause and cheering followed as I stood in shock.
My wife, my beautiful wife stood front and center beaming at me. My brain tried to process. With this many witnesses how was I going to do it? Hell, what was I going to do? My work brain shut off for a second so I could play along.
Our family and friends were here. Hell both my kids were here. Jesus how sick was my wife? Then my eyes hit the banner.
"Happy Birthday/Retirement"
I blinked slowly even as my wife smiled and wrapped me in her arms. As we hugged and the crowd cheered she leaned up to whisper in my ear.
"I know everything," Her tone was warm, loving, accepting. "I've always known. You think you can hide anything from me electronically?"
She laughed and I felt so foolish. Of course my information security savvy wife could crack my accounts and communication. I felt like an idiot.
"Not like you made it hard," She continued pressing a company appropriate kiss to my lips. She was wearing my favorite shade of lipstick I realized somehow. "Using my name and our anniversary in your password. I am so disappointed. Maybe I can punish you later."
The last part was said with a wink as she pulled away from me. As a throng of friends moved forward to greet me I missed the chime from the email on my phone. I would read it later to see that it said.
"Contract cancelled, enjoy your retirement. You will receive no further contact."
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I thought he loved me, but knowing who he is changes everything.
They say talk is cheap, actions speak louder. Oh boy were they right.
We have been married for many years. We were trying for a baby. It was hard. It was difficult. After the miscarriage, he was more distant. He came home later and later.
When we started IVF, he supported me initially. He was there every day. Until he wasn’t. Work called him away. He said he was sorry, but he needed to take the work. So, here I was alone, going to appointments alone. He was sending me money every week. It was good money. But what I needed, what I wanted was him at my side. However he was doing whatever he was doing.
I called him. Short phone calls. He sounded ragged as if he had done rigorous exercise. I wonder what exercise. I wonder with whom.
Laying in a big empty bed in a vast house all alone. It does something to you. There’s a reason why loneliness kills. However, it is worst when you know he is probably leaving you. He is playing you with whoever what. Or that he is screwing some young slutty chick. Who probably had all the life before he. Maybe he was fucking them because I couldn’t give him a baby. Maybe he was making babies with others. I hated it. I hated these thoughts. I hated myself. I was so ugly. He could never love me. Was I even a woman if I couldn’t ...?
I wish it was different. But the thing is.. I still loved him. I still tried to believe and trust him. He wouldn’t hate me just because of this rough patch right? But where was he then? Part of me had suspicions, however I never had definite evidence. Part of me felt guilt. Because before he always was good to me. He treated me well, spoiled me endlessly with lavish and thoughtful gifts. How could I think that he was cheating on me right? Right?
So I hired a private investigator. He would tail him. He would snap pictures. And I would find out with whom my so called loving husband was banging behind my back. Or I would find out he was working hard for his family. For me.
When I saw the blonde on the picture, I snapped. I destroyed the living room. The private investigator was still. “I have seen it all before. Most women are livid after finding out...”
I nodded. I wanted to know everything about them. About her.
She was a dandy little girl. The daughter of the ceo of a big pharmaceutical company. She was a partier. They met a couple of weeks ago at a club. He bought her a drink. They had been going out on and off, but they stayed on the down low. The girl didn’t want her father to find out she was dating someone almost twice her age. Also she was very protected as pharmaceutical companies are not very loved. The family often received many death threats. Plus she was once almost kidnapped. Poor thing I almost thought. But she still did my husband. My man
I wanted to know more... I am going to give you some advice. If you know , stop digging. Some trying to find more information because it doesn’t help you. Stop while you can. Cut your losses and move on. Hate is a powerful emotion. Almost an addiction. If you feed it, it will in the end consume you. And it did.
More pictures. More videos. Fuck her I thought. So I called My ex. I dressed up. I did my hair. I made sure I looked my best for the evening. I know what I did was wrong. All the things before pales in comparison but I needed this. I deserved this.
“Dear, you looked beautiful”. He lavished me in compliments. He was touchy. He kissed my cheeks. His hands trailed way too long on my thigh. I never stopped him when he came closer and closer. I made sure to put on the do not disturb on the door handle.
When morning came I asked him for a favor.
“Yes, anything for you” he replied kissing my neck. I took out a picture.
“Kill her”
“Ok,”. He didn’t ask questions. I just got a text later with “done”.
I called my husband. But he was busy he said.
I didn’t understand. I took her out of the equation. The end solution should be him returning to me. Was I missing any variables ?
I called my private investigator again.
He emailed me the pictures.
He is dating the mother.
The laptop broke against the wall.
What is he doing? What the fuck.
I called my ex again. I told him about my marriage.
“Please fix it.”
“Of course, my darling.”
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[deleted]
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[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
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They called in L’Ange de la Mort for the toughest jobs. No one knew where he came from, how he’d picked up the moniker of ‘The Angel of Death’, or why he did what he did -- they only knew that he was the best.
Or, at least, that’s what the cover letter for his most recent job told him. L’Ange stared at the screen in front of him, considering. This was more… personal than his usual kind of job. He’d made a name for himself in Mob hits, taking out ten men at a time with no back-up in one notable incident.
This woman wanted him to take out her husband. *Normally* he wouldn’t take a second look at this kind of thing. *Normally* he would roll his eyes and mutter something about crazy, paranoid women, and take a moment to appreciate the fact that his Anna wasn’t like that.
But *normally* his Anna wasn’t the one asking him to assassinate himself.
He’d almost forgotten that he was on his work email when he’d seen the message from her, and had opened it without a second thought, only to be presented with the cold, clinical format of a hit contract for Robert Gervais.
That was him.
Anna didn’t know that, of course. He’d been extremely careful to keep his work and home life separate. Robert Gervais worked in a small art gallery in Manhattan, managing the sale and purchase of rare paintings and sculptures. He loved his wife and his work and was a rising star in the art world. L’Ange was a ghost, impossible to pin down. He was in New York one week, New Orleans the next, and Paris the week after. Who knew where he laid his head at night? He was only spoken of in whispers in the dark.
His first thought was that she had somehow found out he was L’Ange and she was out for revenge for never telling her who he really was. Her family had Mob connections, he knew. He’d met her while on a job in Chicago and though she was out of the life and trying to do her best away from the influence of her family (or *Family*, rather), he knew she could easily call in some favors.
His second thought was that he couldn’t reasonably turn down this job. Not with how much money she was offering. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that she considered him worth paying a hitman five million dollars, or hurt that she was calling a hit on him in the first place.
He was leaning toward hurt at the moment.
So. He had to take the job, it would be highly suspicious if he didn’t. Not to mention if he didn’t take it, someone else surely would, and it was better to have the contract so he didn’t have to be more paranoid than usual.
But *why*? He was definitely more than hurt. Betrayed? Was that the feeling? Anna was the one part of his life that was untouched by his job. They had a nice apartment uptown and three and a half cats and he made her dinner when he was home in the evenings and she told him about the kids she taught and he’d thought they were happy.
*Why?*
A week later and he was still no closer to an answer. Anna acted no different around him, and he couldn’t very well confront her about hiring a hitman to kill him.
*So, love, why’d you go and hire someone to murder me in cold blood?*
*How’d you find out about that?*
*Well, my darling wife of three years, I happen to be that someone, so that backfired a little, didn’t it?*
That would go over well.
And his other lines of inquiry had gone nowhere, either. Her family knew nothing about it, although one of her cousins had mentioned she had been asking after L’Ange for a couple weeks before he’d received the hit. That gave him a time frame but jack squat about her motives.
There was nothing for it. He’d have to arrange a meeting with her under the guise of arranging some minor detail and confront her about it. He’d go unarmed; no need to escalate the situation further than needed. And despite the hurt, he couldn’t harm his wife. He couldn’t.
They met at a little corner coffee shop near Central Park. He let her get there first, and noted with interest that she took the corner seat, her back to a wall, with a vantage point that let her observe most of the cafe. Part of him approved. The other part of him wondered how 'distant' from her family Anna really was.
He sauntered in two minutes late and watched out of the corner of her eye as she stiffened and then ducked to hide her face. She was supposed to be working. Of course she wouldn’t want him to see her.
He ordered his coffee, carefully not looking in her direction, and then sat right down at her little corner table.
“Sorry I was late,” he told her, as she began to try and form some sort of excuse. “I hope you have the information I asked for?”
The look on her face went from confusion to realization to shock to fear to expressionless in less than three seconds. “Rob -- *you’re* L’Ange de la Mort?”
“That’s the name I go by at work,” he said, keeping his own face blank. So she hadn’t known. “Speaking of… I have to admit, I am *intensely* curious as to why you want me dead.” His voice wasn’t as even as he would have liked, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job.
She didn’t even flinch. “You wouldn’t have died.”
He snorted. “Obviously. I’m not committing suicide for you.”
“No, I mean…” Her poker face faltered a little, then hardened. “You were bait.”
L’Ange raised one eyebrow. “Bait?”
“For the Angel.”
“I feel so loved.”
*That* hit home, he saw -- her blank expression cracked, just a little bit. Then she sighed. “Robert Gervais, you are under arrest on twenty-five counts of murder, four counts of theft, and seven counts of extortion. You have the right to remain silent…”
He sat there, frozen, as she rattled off his rights, and the cafe’s occupants produced weapons and federal badges, and his hands were forced behind his back, his eyes never leaving her beautiful green ones as his world came crashing down around him.
“I loved you,” he said, quietly, as she walked past him toward the waiting SUV. She paused, her back stiff.
She didn’t say anything back.
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“Don’t forget to drop into McMurphies on the way home for Johnny’s thing. Love you.” Marie stepped out of the door and I picked up my laptop. I waited until I saw her back out of the driveway before logging into Cleaners. There was a new notification from the last job. Verified complete payment released from escrow. Sounds like my job just gave me a bonus I thought to myself. At least that would be what I would tell Marie.
I looked over the other information but there wasn’t anything that grabbed my interest. I opened my alternate bank account and setup some transfers to begin drip feeding the funds into our joint account. I coded them with the usual references and included a $10,000 transfer with the reference “Bonus”. I liked Marie’s reaction when I gave myself these little bonuses. She would splurge on some new thing that she had been desiring. Her latest purchase was a $5,000 couch set. I thought it was a little extravagant but the old couch was well worn.
We had the couch since we were in college together. We’d watched countless movies and tv shows on it together. It still had a red stain on it from when we made drunken love on it spilling half a bottle of wine down the side. We had been lost in the moment and still giggled about when anyone asked.
There hadn’t been much drunken love making lately. We had both been working pretty hard to build a deposit for buying a house and outfitting the apartment with more than a bed, a couch, and a fridge.
It had been a tough first year after college with my programming career stalling and Marie’s marketing career only just covering rent. I’d felt like a failure when I realised that I wasn’t as good at programming as I had thought. I did well in college but lacked the creativity to be really innovative. Good thing I’d grown up hunting. I fell into the job when I was held up at a liquor store. The guy was a tweeker and I was certain he was going to kill me. He said so when he pointed the gun at my forehead.
I swung my arms upwards connecting with his wrist holding the gun and his throat with my other hand. The gun went off and he dropped. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or what but the blow to his throat killed him.
I stood there in shock. A large man came over. He cursed and then kicked the dead man hard in the face. “I don’t know whether to thank you or beat you for killing him before I could” he said. I just looked at him. “Don’t worry about it kid. You just did the world a favour. This scumbag murdered my sister 3 nights ago.” His words were tipped with venom but held a great sadness. “Hell you did me a favour” he was shifting his considerable weight around. “I’ve been following him trying to build up the courage...” he trailed off. I came to a little “Do we call the cops?” I asked unsure what was happening.
“I’ve got plans for this one.” He kicked the corpse again “How about I make it worthwhile to just walk away?” He fumbled around in his pocket and produced a small handful of bills. He thrust the money into my hands and I stumbled off.
Marie was delighted by the money but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened. Something changed in me. Maybe died was a better way to describe it. I became colder inside myself. Outwardly I was still the same person but I had an awakening.
It wasn’t long before I found Cleaners and my new career started. At first it was just about the money, at least, that was what I told myself. But really it was simply something I was good at. Clean, methodical, logical, removed. All the hallmarks of a good Cleaner.
I flicked on the tv and started watching some reruns of the college game I’d missed. My phone buzzed. “McMurphies 6pm Don’t forget” it was Marie. She seemed excited about seeing the college crew again. It was nice to see her happy again. Now that money wasn’t such an issue; she was able to make bolder moves in the office and she was quickly advancing. She would be delighted when on April 23rd next year we could win a random lottery and the remaining balance in my Cleaners account would be paid out to us. Sure I’d lose a little in tax and the laundering fee but it would be clean money. A little over $3m for the last year and a half’s work. I had two big jobs that made up the majority of it but moving more than $10,000 at a time had proven difficult. Cleaners offered a laundering service but it was 10% and you really had to pay tax to avoid the IRS.
I opened my laptop again and saw a new notification. ***URGENT*** Low Risk target $5,000 ***Tonight***
I almost ignored it considering how low the amount was. But I couldn’t help but think about how it would pay for the couch. Clicking on the notification showed me an image I wasn’t expecting. It was a picture of me from Joe and Sandra’s BBQ last weekend. I was smiling and had a beer in my hand. Panic overtook me. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. I read the description looking for clues.
***TONIGHT - TARGET WILL BE AT MCMURPHIES BAR & GRILL - MAKE IT LOOK LIKE A FAILED ROBBERY - NO ONE ELSE IS TO BE HARMED - $5,000***
Followed by the usual maps and other information about the target. All my information was there. My weight was wrong though I’d been hitting the gym pretty hard and had added a few pounds. Not the 180 pounds in the description. I was almost insulted. The profile made me out to be a soft easy target. Mind you when people were only offering small amounts they often tried to make the job sound easy. I accepted the job and closed the laptop.
I was listless and distracted for the rest of the day. At 4pm Marie texted me again reminding me about tonight. I made my way out of the house still conflicted about what I had seen. A part of me knew what I should do but I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to do it. “Just leaving now. Meet for a drink a little early?” I sent to Marie. “Yes” she replied back almost straightaway.
I found a booth near the back of the bar and ordered two drinks. Marie came in and made her way back to me. “Hey hey hey” she said kissing me on the cheek. I could smell her perfume but it was mixed with something else. When she sat down I noticed that her blouse was misbuttoned. She laughed as she tossed her drink back. And let her hair out of the tight bun she wore when she was at work. She liked to skate the line between professional and office firecracker in her appearance. I noticed her lipstick was smudged at the corners of her mouth.
“Marie” I started “I’ve been given a bonus from that last project” I was watching her to gauge her reaction. “Oh thats fantastic” she said “I know you worked extra hard on that one” such a flat delivery.
“Marie, I know you’ve hired someone to kill me” I stated coldly “I know this because you hired me to do it. This is what I do for a living Marie.” The air seemed to be drawn out of the bar. Marie was still. She took her drink and swilled it down. “That was a mistake.”
Marie clutched her chest then her throat and began to slump over. I waited half a beat and then called the waitress for help. By the time the ambulance arrived Marie was long gone.
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[deleted]
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[WP] You are a professional Hitman who is happily married to your wife. You have always stayed anonymous and not even your own wife knows about your profession. That all changed when you got a new target. Yourself. Ordered by your 'loving' wife.
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It's weird what you focus on in those pivotal moments in your life. in my case it was the fact that the orange juice was way way too tart.
She was in the kitchen making herself breakfast. How many one of those nonsense tunes that people do when they're trying to pass time by simply distracting themselves.
I was on my computer. My phone at the ready. Being a "consultant" I had to be reachable multiple ways. Both pinged that roughly the same time.
Emails in the business were very brief. Nothing flowery or colorful. I almost felt like they read like old timey telegrams.
FROM MANAGEMENT
NEW CONTRACT AVAILABLE. PRIORITY DELIVERY. DETAILS AVAILABLE IN LIBRARY.
God bless tors. They made this business far easier and less personal. "Management" as far as I was aware was about six or seven people who put out feelers for contracts. I logged on to the encrypted site, opening the biographics of the target.
This is when I should have done a spit take. The orange juice was simply too tart. It needed maybe a dash of sugar. Or some water if it was concentrate. But regardless, it was too tart.
This had to be a coincidence of biblical proportions. Either that, or I was about to be rated by the FBI in what I had to give them props for was the classiest and easily most bowel jarring way.
Years in the business is probably the only thing that kept the poker face in place. Rather than spray citrus all over my table while reaching for my emergency gun on my ankle, my eyes just slowly rolled over to my wife. She picked that moment to look back at me and give me one of her patented million dollar smiles. The smiles that I entered a world of blood and death for, in order to keep her as happy as I possibly could.
I click to the next page to read the actual data that went along with the picture pack.
"Everything all right sweetie?" She asked looking over at me. She just finished her breakfast, Denver omelet by the look of it.
I scolded myself. I had stopped breathing. I shrugged softly. "Just a disagreement with my management. They want me to take on some additional work. I think I'm going to have some problems with the client for once."
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I’d loved her as much as any man could love a woman these last 5 years.
We’d forged a life together. An expensive house, a nice pair of cars, even got the dog and were talking about kids. That talk waned after a while because I told her I wanted to get further along in my career, wanted to be more stable.
She’d never pushed about my job, and I’d never told.
Sure, I’d fed her enough to keep her parents and friends sated. Stock market analyst. That was enough to explain away weeks without pay followed by massive deposits into the bank. *“The damn market was down,”* I’d tell her amid feigning fear that we’d have to cut back on our lifestyle.
She seemed happy. She would still be happy if she would’ve kept her nose out of my business.
Did she know what she was destroying?
I sigh. My heart feels like a cinder block.
There’s no room for boys in this industry. Hell, I’ve done hits on other assassins twice my age, men who know this underworld inside and out. I’m damn good at what I do, and I survive because I’m careful. I don’t take too many targets like the youngshots. I also don’t waste my time with the low-dollar contracts. This is America, this is a business, I do what I need to do to take care of mine.
That’s what I hope she knows when she finds my body. That I’m doing this for her.
I make no excuses about who I am, or what I’ve done. Was I a good person? Did providing my wife with the best life I could erase the horrors I committed? Does bringing that much joy to her and loving her as much as I did undo every pull of the trigger, every snap of someone’s neck?
No.
But I’d do it all again.
I love her more than life itself. I’ve always known after entering this career that it would be intrinsically tied to my life. Time would be up at some point. I never prided myself on thinking ahead—I couldn’t allow myself to. During the day I was the fun husband, the loving, care-free, responsible adult she needed (and that I wanted to be for her.)
And at night, I did what I needed to to keep the illusion going.
So when this final hit came in, requested by her, I was shocked and relieved.
Relieved that I could finally stop running, that I wouldn’t jolt awake in the middle of the night worrying that I couldn’t get to my gun quick enough to protect her.
But shocked because she knew while I was still here. I expected my death to be a surprise, to happen quick—gunshot to the head from another hitman. It wouldn't be my problem to deal with the fallout. Is that selfish? Hell, probably. But I’d be dead and I wouldn’t care how much it broke her after the fact. I’d be long gone from this world.
But I’ve loved her in a way nobody else would. And I still do.
I did what was best for her.
The gun feels wrong in my hand. It’s heavy, I can feel the magazine locked and loaded. I stare at the picture of her on the table next to the bed. So carefree, beautiful, happy. Ignorant of everything she knows now.
But this is what she wants. She ordered the hit. I’m just carrying it out.
Right before I squeeze the trigger, I allow myself a moment of emotion. A flood of fear, of what happens to her after the fact, of regret and not knowing if I should have been someone else, become something else. Anything but this.
In another universe, I am that stock market analyst providing for her. We have three beautiful children that go on to college to make something of themselves. I die first, because I know I can’t live without her.
But that’s not reality. This is.
I have a contract to carry out.
And I pull the trigger.
r/dc_athena_op
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[WP] You just killed a god. Now you discover that killing immortals comes with interesting side affects
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*Boom*
The cavern shook as a colossus figure fell to the stone, filling the room with an ear-shattering crack. The walls trembled for a short time, before standing still in the might of all that had just happened. Laying on the ground was a body like that of a man, only this creature was the length of nearly five elephants. It had strong, muscular arms, and thick, stocky legs. Protruding from its head were two yellow, curled horns, both were dripping a deep, crimson blood from their sharp tips. In between these horns however, was a shining sword embedded deep in the creature's thick skull. It was dead.
As the dust settled, a weary, battle worn man limped from around a fallen boulder. He walked lopsidedly, scraping one boot on the floor with every step, adding to the sound on the empty sheath on his belt. He held a torch in one hand, and clutched his side with the other. Every breath he took made a raspy, wet, wheezing sound. The man leaned forward, and spit a heavy glob of phlegm into the dirt in front of him. Even in the torchlight he could see a red tint to his spit.
"Damn" he whispered in his raspy, broken voice. "I was supposed to make it out of this in one piece, not all smashed up from the inside out like I am now!"
He kept on forward, moving closer to the behemoth in front of him. Cautiously, he moved towards its head to check if he had finished the job, and to hopefully retrieve his sword. The creature's eyes had rolled back into its head. Its mouth was open with its tongue laying still on the stone, drying in the still air. The man climbed up the side of its towering face, using its ear and nose as handholds to grasp onto. As he peaked the being's head, he could see his sword stuck there, deep in the center of its cracked, beaten skull. With much difficulty he was able to pull the sword out from the bone and flesh, splashing the front of his body with thick, red blood as he did so. He cut the tip of one of its horns off as a trophy, and a bit of proof for those that would doubt him. He had killed the beast on his own. Donning his sword, he made his way down the head again.
Despite its look, the being that he had just slain was no mere cave giant, It was a God, and nothing less. More specifically Varus, God of Fear. The Gods were thought to have been immortal, undefeatable by man, impossible to conquer. The man standing before the God's dead corpse seemed to prove otherwise. His name was Althren, born of the Kings of Men in the Last Age of Glory. He had spent his whole life training for this day, building his strengths until he knew he was ready. He wasn't sure why his bidding was to kill Varus, he never asked anyone either. It wasn't his business to ask those questions or know the answers. That was the business of The Kings themselves. Althren knew not to ask questions of The Kings, but to instead follow their wishes through. Althren didn't mind not knowing the reasons behind his mission, as he saw it, any excuse to be the first mortal to bring down a God was as good an excuse as any.
He turned to leave the cave that used to be the home of Varus, God of Fear. He only made it about 100 feet down the hall he was in before he heard a faint, eerie whispering coming from all directions.
"Sooon mortaaalll... You'll find that the choiccce you made was perhhhaps not the besttt..."
Althren spun around quickly toward the dead god, drawing his already blood-soaked sword. The corpse was completely still, laying there as silent as a grave. He shook is head and made a slow step toward body. Again he heard another quick whisper.
"Thaaank you for rrridding me of this bodyyy..." shuddered the disembodied voice. "I've been living here too longgg. Thaaank you for presenting me with anotthher being to lay thishorrible burden uponnn..."
Althren boomed, "Who are you! Show yourself!". His voice was more timid than he had hoped. He held his sword in a defensive position, ready for whatever was calling to him.
The voice came again. "Ahhh ha haaa! Can't you seee? After you killed my body, you leffft my soul to move on to the nexttt life. My body is vaaacant, aching for another being to filll its empty bonnnes..."
With this, the mouth of the dead God seemed to twitch. Althren looked in horror as the creature he thought dead began to stir again. All at once, it moved to crawl towards Althren, dragging its body with its long, muscled arms. Althren tried to run but felt that he was trapped in its ghastly dead-eye gaze, unable to move. The dead God let out a deep, visceral scream. Again, the walls of the cavern started to shake, this time much more violent than the time before. Rocks were crumbling from the ceiling, and Althren felt his body start to crumble as well. He screamed louder than ever before in his mortal life, shaking at the horror in front of him. He looked down at his body to see the flesh itself stripping from his bones. His soul began to separate from his body, as Althren in spirit glided towards the dead god that lay before him. In one movement he was drawn into the corpse, and everything became dark.
There was no sound. No screaming, no crumbling walls, no tearing flesh. There was nothing.
Suddenly, a light grew. Althren was awake. He opened his eyes, and looked down at himself to check that he was okay, only to notice that he was not in fact living as his older self. He stood over 100 feet tall, with much more muscle on his body than he had ever had before. Laying in front of him on the floor was a small, dismembered body. It looked torn to shreds, and all the clothes had been soaked in blood beyond recognition.
"Is... Is that me?!" Althren cried. He was staring at his own broken body from the eyes of another. He let out a low, sorrow moan that rocked the cavern he was in. Sandy tears ran down his already cracked face. "How could this happen! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!". Althren fell to his knees, and cupped his old, crippled body in his new hands, and cried.
A voice like the wind began to speak. "Thankkk you, foolish mortalll... I have been frrreed from my physical bodddy. I have been destined to livvve on foreverrr...". Quiet snickering filled the air. "Thankkk you for taking my placcce..."
After that last, muffled breath, the voice disappeared. Althren was left crying over his own loss. Crying over an old life that could never be regained, and a new life that one could never rid themselves of. Unless... unless another unlucky hero chose to test his strength against a God.
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I feel pretty confident in this story, so I hope you like it! I'm open for all and any critiques and recommendations about my writing. I really liked the prompt by the way, definitely a good one for creative interpretation.
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“KIll a god?” Otto asked.
He took a moment to appreciate the new infusion of power before continuing his question. Time was of the essence, and while these meetings had grown longer in recent decades, they were still short.
“But that is impossible,” Otto said. “Let alone finding a specific god at any given time.”
“This one, you will be able to find,” Nastr said. “Their presence in my reality has been spurious, and I believe that there has been some interference in your mortal plain, a magic that should be impossible, but nonetheless has happened.”
“But how does that allow me to kill Iara?” Otto asked.
“I will give you the power when it is time to do the deed,” Nastr said. “Find a target to practice on first.”
With that, Otto could already feel his power weakening ever so slightly. Not that it mattered much at his advanced stage in life. It would take nothing short of a god’s interference to kill him at this point, and he wasn’t sure even that would do it.
Finding a target to practice on wasn’t going to be easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. His family’s network stretched far and wide, and as one of the top hunters of Vestiges, he knew which deities would be looking for new Vestiges, when they’d be able to do so, and what sorts of mortals they preferred.
Finding the girl, however, was something he would have to handpick grandchildren for, so that it would be handled with tact.
*****
“P-p-please!” a drunken businessman whimpered.
His face twisted, and he began to laugh. “What do you think you can do while I possess this mortal, Vestige?” the businessman said. But it wasn’t him. There was someone else speaking through him.
“Quite a lot, actually,” Otto Jorgenson said. “Like this.”
He unsheathed the sword he reserved for killing Vestiges. Between the poisons and enchantments on the blade, nothing could withstand it.
Then, as he prepared to take the man’s life, he felt the familiar power of being possessed by Nastr. Unlike the first time he had been possessed by the god, Otto was still in control, but Nastr was giving strength to his every movement.
*Do it,* Nastr whispered into Otto’s mind.
A clean job was best, Otto had learned. He sliced the businessman’s head off, his blade taking on an unfamiliar red glow.
As quickly as Nastr’s presence had came, it left. For the first time though, something unexpected happened after taking the Vestige’s life. Intermingled with the man’s blood was gold, shimmering in the dark alleyway. While the blood pooled, this gold was drawn towards Otto, who watched it with curiosity.
When it seemed the blood was benign, Otto pulled a vial out of his pockets to try to capture the strange liquid, suspecting it was some sort of ichor. Legends spoke of uses for the stuff, but no Vestige or Legacy knew how to acquire it.
The golden blood did not pool into the vial. As Otto reached down towards it, it raced towards his hand. He tried to get away from it, but it was too late. The ichor coated his hand, burning.
Otto found himself in a tropical oasis. The in-between, the only way for gods to speak to newer Vestiges. It was something they could only use once until the second possession, if the Vestige even earned that sort of power. But what was he doing in the in-between of a god who was not his own?
It started fading before his eyes, first at the horizon, but soon, only the immediate beach around him was coherent.
“What have you done to me?” a voice asked.
“Nothing personal,” Otto said cooly, wondering how this had happened. He would need to return home, to see if anything like this had ever been documented before.
“My power, it’s gone,” the voice said.
“Yes, death tends to do that,” Otto said.
“But gods do not die,” the voice said.
“I believe you are,” Nastr said. “Apologies, but I needed to test this method.”
Otto was back in the alleyway, the ichor gone, but something still was not right. He felt...less connected to his own god.
The etchings on his sword did not lie though. Instead of one new name, two appeared. He smiled and sheathed the sword. If losing a fraction of their combined power and connection he and Nastr had to pay to kill a god, it was worth it for the knowledge that they could do so.
*****
If you liked this, check out my other writing at /r/TheLastComment and the larger story this ties into, [Vestiges of Power](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheLastComment/comments/e9c7us/vestiges_of_power_chapter_1/)
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[WP] You just killed a god. Now you discover that killing immortals comes with interesting side affects
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Well interesting is one way of putting it. Turns out the side affects of killing a god, not that great. Its not really important why I decided to kill a god. I mean we can all guess the logical circumstances that would lead some one to think to themselves "You know what seems like the solution. Killing a god. The first god I find just kill em." So we can all skip the why and get into the 'interesting' side affects.
Okay, first thing, the reason why it says the side effects of killing "a god" is because turns out there is more than one. It also turns out that they condone murder and REALLY don't like when their own kind gets written of by some random mortal. So interesting side effect number 1: Instead of a god trying to killing you now multiple gods are trying to kill you.
Also, you know that law that all energy is conserved and can't be destroyed or whatever? Well it still applies even if it is a god. And boy are gods made of a lot of energy. As we established since energy isn't destroyed it needs to go somewhere. So where does it go. Glad you didn't ask because it goes straight the heck into the close living thing. Which as you might have guessed was the person who murdered the god, me. Another interesting thing here for you, human bodies can't with stand the whatever the duck energy gods have. Which brings us, but mostly me, to side affect number 2: You die.
And side affect number 3: that mystic deus ex machina energy brings you back to life. I know what your thinking "So you are a god now. What a wonderful and very 'interesting' side affect!"
Well no, I am not a god because when you don't think about the implications of killing a god one tends to forget that they have followers. I don't even know how but news of a religion's god being killed travels very fast. Turns out just like other gods followers also don't like when you kill their all and powerful creator. Which may I point out not really all powerful if you can get killed. So the natural conclusion followers come to when thinking of the motivations of a god killer is that they are none other than some sort of devil or demon or something inexplicably evil. That this god killer is a primordial evil.
Which first rude, second I had perfectly rational reason for killing a god that does not need elaborated. Okay? Anyway these followers label me some ancient evil and now I the frigging devil thing of some religion I never heard of. Which makes side affect number 4: Congratulations you are the devil kinda.
So alright maybe I could live after dying and being revived with near infinite power even if I am seen as the devil. Could be fun right? Again no. Did you know the devil of these religions actually have responsibilities. Yeah neither did I. Which brings me the most interesting of all the side effects number 5: You are now the proud owner and sole worker of an entire religion's hell.
Anyway thanks for letting me talk at you for a bit, your eternal torture is just down the hall on left. You went to far if you passed the door where spiders have hands. Have a nice anguish!
|
“KIll a god?” Otto asked.
He took a moment to appreciate the new infusion of power before continuing his question. Time was of the essence, and while these meetings had grown longer in recent decades, they were still short.
“But that is impossible,” Otto said. “Let alone finding a specific god at any given time.”
“This one, you will be able to find,” Nastr said. “Their presence in my reality has been spurious, and I believe that there has been some interference in your mortal plain, a magic that should be impossible, but nonetheless has happened.”
“But how does that allow me to kill Iara?” Otto asked.
“I will give you the power when it is time to do the deed,” Nastr said. “Find a target to practice on first.”
With that, Otto could already feel his power weakening ever so slightly. Not that it mattered much at his advanced stage in life. It would take nothing short of a god’s interference to kill him at this point, and he wasn’t sure even that would do it.
Finding a target to practice on wasn’t going to be easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. His family’s network stretched far and wide, and as one of the top hunters of Vestiges, he knew which deities would be looking for new Vestiges, when they’d be able to do so, and what sorts of mortals they preferred.
Finding the girl, however, was something he would have to handpick grandchildren for, so that it would be handled with tact.
*****
“P-p-please!” a drunken businessman whimpered.
His face twisted, and he began to laugh. “What do you think you can do while I possess this mortal, Vestige?” the businessman said. But it wasn’t him. There was someone else speaking through him.
“Quite a lot, actually,” Otto Jorgenson said. “Like this.”
He unsheathed the sword he reserved for killing Vestiges. Between the poisons and enchantments on the blade, nothing could withstand it.
Then, as he prepared to take the man’s life, he felt the familiar power of being possessed by Nastr. Unlike the first time he had been possessed by the god, Otto was still in control, but Nastr was giving strength to his every movement.
*Do it,* Nastr whispered into Otto’s mind.
A clean job was best, Otto had learned. He sliced the businessman’s head off, his blade taking on an unfamiliar red glow.
As quickly as Nastr’s presence had came, it left. For the first time though, something unexpected happened after taking the Vestige’s life. Intermingled with the man’s blood was gold, shimmering in the dark alleyway. While the blood pooled, this gold was drawn towards Otto, who watched it with curiosity.
When it seemed the blood was benign, Otto pulled a vial out of his pockets to try to capture the strange liquid, suspecting it was some sort of ichor. Legends spoke of uses for the stuff, but no Vestige or Legacy knew how to acquire it.
The golden blood did not pool into the vial. As Otto reached down towards it, it raced towards his hand. He tried to get away from it, but it was too late. The ichor coated his hand, burning.
Otto found himself in a tropical oasis. The in-between, the only way for gods to speak to newer Vestiges. It was something they could only use once until the second possession, if the Vestige even earned that sort of power. But what was he doing in the in-between of a god who was not his own?
It started fading before his eyes, first at the horizon, but soon, only the immediate beach around him was coherent.
“What have you done to me?” a voice asked.
“Nothing personal,” Otto said cooly, wondering how this had happened. He would need to return home, to see if anything like this had ever been documented before.
“My power, it’s gone,” the voice said.
“Yes, death tends to do that,” Otto said.
“But gods do not die,” the voice said.
“I believe you are,” Nastr said. “Apologies, but I needed to test this method.”
Otto was back in the alleyway, the ichor gone, but something still was not right. He felt...less connected to his own god.
The etchings on his sword did not lie though. Instead of one new name, two appeared. He smiled and sheathed the sword. If losing a fraction of their combined power and connection he and Nastr had to pay to kill a god, it was worth it for the knowledge that they could do so.
*****
If you liked this, check out my other writing at /r/TheLastComment and the larger story this ties into, [Vestiges of Power](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheLastComment/comments/e9c7us/vestiges_of_power_chapter_1/)
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[WP] You just killed a god. Now you discover that killing immortals comes with interesting side affects
|
Well interesting is one way of putting it. Turns out the side affects of killing a god, not that great. Its not really important why I decided to kill a god. I mean we can all guess the logical circumstances that would lead some one to think to themselves "You know what seems like the solution. Killing a god. The first god I find just kill em." So we can all skip the why and get into the 'interesting' side affects.
Okay, first thing, the reason why it says the side effects of killing "a god" is because turns out there is more than one. It also turns out that they condone murder and REALLY don't like when their own kind gets written of by some random mortal. So interesting side effect number 1: Instead of a god trying to killing you now multiple gods are trying to kill you.
Also, you know that law that all energy is conserved and can't be destroyed or whatever? Well it still applies even if it is a god. And boy are gods made of a lot of energy. As we established since energy isn't destroyed it needs to go somewhere. So where does it go. Glad you didn't ask because it goes straight the heck into the close living thing. Which as you might have guessed was the person who murdered the god, me. Another interesting thing here for you, human bodies can't with stand the whatever the duck energy gods have. Which brings us, but mostly me, to side affect number 2: You die.
And side affect number 3: that mystic deus ex machina energy brings you back to life. I know what your thinking "So you are a god now. What a wonderful and very 'interesting' side affect!"
Well no, I am not a god because when you don't think about the implications of killing a god one tends to forget that they have followers. I don't even know how but news of a religion's god being killed travels very fast. Turns out just like other gods followers also don't like when you kill their all and powerful creator. Which may I point out not really all powerful if you can get killed. So the natural conclusion followers come to when thinking of the motivations of a god killer is that they are none other than some sort of devil or demon or something inexplicably evil. That this god killer is a primordial evil.
Which first rude, second I had perfectly rational reason for killing a god that does not need elaborated. Okay? Anyway these followers label me some ancient evil and now I the frigging devil thing of some religion I never heard of. Which makes side affect number 4: Congratulations you are the devil kinda.
So alright maybe I could live after dying and being revived with near infinite power even if I am seen as the devil. Could be fun right? Again no. Did you know the devil of these religions actually have responsibilities. Yeah neither did I. Which brings me the most interesting of all the side effects number 5: You are now the proud owner and sole worker of an entire religion's hell.
Anyway thanks for letting me talk at you for a bit, your eternal torture is just down the hall on left. You went to far if you passed the door where spiders have hands. Have a nice anguish!
|
She agreed to meet me here at the boundary between reality and the Other Side, Purgatory. Good. It has been so long. I have forgotten many things in my long life, but I remember the night I killed her like it was yesterday.
I was given a lead on an ancient witch. I tracked her to a desolate wasteland. I can still see her deformed face and her emaciated body partially covered by a shredded black cloak. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. No, it was pain and sadness in those eyes. She looked like death. Little did I know, I was right.
Unknown to the mortals, there was a Supreme Being, God – *the* God. He created reality and the various other minor Gods to manage reality for him while he enjoyed spending time with his creations on the Other Side. Not even the God of Death could cross to the other side. The only God granted that privilege was the messenger God, Hermes.
Luckily, Hermes owed me a favor for handling a particularly troublesome mortal who discovered the secret to claiming Hermes’ power for his own. So, I asked him to find the previous God of Death on the other side and arrange a meeting.
It always nagged at the back of my mind why she didn’t fight back that night. Now, I understood. Being the God of Death is a lonely profession. You kill everything you are near - eventually. The other Gods look down on you from their palaces of beauty and creation. All my loved ones have already gone to a place I cannot. I dare not form new relationships lest I suffer the same pain of loss I always do, not that I could with this twisted and decaying body anyway.
From behind me came a soft voice, “Its been a long time.”
I turned around to see a beautiful, young woman standing with her hands folded in front her. Her eyes shone with happiness and a lightheartedness I forgot long ago.
The question “who are you?” almost escaped my lips before the realization hit me. This was her. This was what her appearance must have been at the prime of her life. As the shock of the realization faded, the anger rose.
“Why did you do this to me? Why did you curse me like this?”
Her eyes filled with the sadness I remembered, and she nodded her head solemnly.
“I asked my predecessor the same thing.”
My mouth hung open. My shock must have been obvious. How could I have missed this? How did it never occur to me that she went through the same ordeals as me? Her final words flooded back to me – “I’m sorry.”
She continued, “I knew this day would come eventually. To be honest, I’m surprised it took so long. How long has it been anyway? Ten thousand years?” She looked down sheepishly, “time flows differently on the other side.”
How long had it been? Fifteen? No! twenty thousand years.
The words stammered out, “twenty thousand years.”
Her eyes grew wide with shock and horror. “Twenty thousand years!? Did it take you that long to figure out?”
She flung her arms around me with tears in her eyes, “oh, I’m so sorry! I thought for sure you would have figured it out like myself!”
I stiffened up slightly. It had been tens of millennia since I felt the warmth of a hug, but I embraced her. It felt good. Normally, anything I touched would have dropped dead. I guess that really isn’t a concern for those who have crossed to the Other Side.
She eased away from me and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“So,” I asked, “how do I do it?”
“Once every thousand years, a mortal is born who can kill you and claim your power. You have to find that mortal and somehow convince them to kill you without telling them who you are or why.”
Another realization came to me. “It was you! You spread the rumors of the ancient witch!”
Again, she nodded. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t go on anymore. The other Gods, they don’t understand. It’s so lonely. But I don’t have to tell you that.” She turned to walk away. “I need to get back. I can’t be here long. When you finally cross over, come and find me. Good luck.”
And with that, she turned and faded back to the Other Side.
\-------------------------------------
This is it. After searching for two millennia, he is here. I can finally be with my loved ones again.
He strode through the doorway triumphantly, tall and muscular. “Did I look like that all those years ago?”
I stood with my back flat against the wall. He raised his laser pistol with an arrogant smirk, and a deep sadness overcame me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. The last thing I heard before waking up on the other side was his laugh and the burst of his laser pistol.
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[WP] He used to be the worlds greatest assassin until he settled down and retired. He became a stay at home father so as to be closer to his kids. Then he started to notice signs that he oldest daughter may be following in his footsteps.
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He knelt before the small stain on the beige carpet. His old joints ached as he got down on all fours to examine it. He knew deep down what it was. Blood. Fresh too, still mildly reddish, instead of a deep black that blood dried as.
His heart sank into his stomach. He *Knew* Human blood better than the back of his hand. He should, after all, he had spilled gallons of it over his 20 year long career. At first he thought his oldest daughter was just participating in normal, rebellious teen activities. Sneaking out to parties, underage drinking. He knew when she exited the house through the bullet-resistant window in her bedroom. Didn't need any fancy sensors to know, not when his instincts still screamed at him clear as day.
And so, the next night, he waited. When he heard the shunk of her window coming back down, he climbed out of bed. He knew that you shouldn't invade your kid's privacy, especially during their teen years, but he also had to confirm his suspicions. Opening her nightstand, he examined the contents, and he didn't like what he found. A half full bottle of Aconitum poison. A well-used knife sharpener. What broke his heart was the stuff no father wants their daughter to have. The lingerie and the handcuffs. He knew they weren't for use with her boyfriend. The lack of a safety release on the handcuffs told him that.
And so he sat in his living room and dialed. He knew the number wouldn't have changed.
"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is busy, or has been disconnected"
"Blackberry Pie" he uttered in the brief silence before the call would have disconnected.
There was a small click and a whistle tone before the other end was picked up.
Who is this, and why do you know the codeword" the low, digitized voice growled.
"Hey, Rudy. I need details on an assassin. There's $20,000 already on it's way."
"Well, color me surprised. Thought you got your ass out." The digitization on the voice vanished. "Alright what are you looking for?"
"Female, long dark hair, possibly a seductress, early to mid 20's, and leaves a bloody mess of her targets" His throat started to tighten up, and tears welled in his eyes as he described a perfect MO of his daughter.
"Got her. She goes by the handle "Strip n' slice". Her latest contract mentions some old rich-"
"Yeah Yeah Yeah, where the hell is she headed?!" He blurted somewhat louder than he intended.
"Impatient as ever, aren't we. She'll be at the 15th floor of the old Redford hotel. Room 1536. Her target just checked in with his "wife".
"Thanks Rudy. Forget this conversation."
END of Part one.
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"Hey, Veronica," I knocked on the already open door to my daughter's room. "Do you want to tell me about why you were out last night?"
Veronica's hand jolted toward her black boot, she must have had a knife there, basic but smart move. "I was... partying."
"Oh, right. Your mom just said you had a bit of, uh- ketchup on your shirt."
Veronica tensed up a bit, confirming my suspicions. "Yeah, they had really good hotdogs at the house."
"Ah," I was furious, being an assassin almost destroyed me, my daughter will not go down this path. "Who was there?"
"Uh..." I could see Veronica's mind turning, if she was good enough at her job no one should have seen her. "I was drunk! Don't remember. Sorry!"
"I am incredibly disappointed," it had just acvured to me that maybe I don't want my daughter knowing my past. "Very sneaky though, you didn't seem hung over in the slightest."
"Yeah, someone had a great hang over cure."
"Drain cleaner, I'm sure," I muttered under my breath. Veronica must have been the stupidest assassin ever, her next mission was open on her computer. "Can you watch Johnny this Friday? I have to go out."
Veronica swallowed. "Sure..."
"Thank you so much!" I walked over and took the gun out of her purse, Veronica gasped in horror. "Next time, hide your weapon better."
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[WP] He used to be the worlds greatest assassin until he settled down and retired. He became a stay at home father so as to be closer to his kids. Then he started to notice signs that he oldest daughter may be following in his footsteps.
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"Hello?"
The person on the other end of the phone remained silent, his heavy breathing filled my ear...one that was so awfully familiar, one that I didn't expect ever hearing again.
"Vasilvey....that's you isn't it?"
"He...hey King. I'm so sorry....I...dialed the wrong number..."
The thick Russian voice trembled in fear. If he knew what was best for him, he knew well fear was the only correct response.
"This is my private home number, Vasilyev. Who gave you this number?"
The sound of Vasilvey roughly handling the telephone receiver followed a loud click. I hung up and pondered. In my previous life, I was known as King. The most feared assassin in the world's criminal underground. I was the best of the best, feared by the worst. I quit while I was ahead. Why? Well...why else? Love...
I met the woman of my life, decided to settle. I swore John Wick was based on me when I watched that movie. Although I never went on a killing spree because someone killed my dog, not that I wouldn't have. In fact I did have a dog on my own, a healthy golden retriever. Also a daughter and 2 younger sons. One big happy family.
"Oh hey...dad. Who was that on the phone? Was that for me?", my daughter Beth ran downstairs in a hurry.
"No, hun it was a wrong number...", I said. I could tell something was up with her body language when she scurried away from me. Force of habit from my old days, don't judge me. Avoiding eye contact, worried face expression...she's hiding something from me.
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have given you my home number.....no, of course no more mistakes. Mission is still a go...pier 10 warehouse, 10pm sharp. I'll meet you there, Vasilyev"
My heart dropped, I eavesdropped what Beth said in hush tones to her phone. She was talking to Vasilyev for a mission....an assassination mission.
I kept my mouth shut the entire day. I couldn't say anything to prevent her, I knew very well the consequences of flaking from a job. The fact that Beth tried to enter my old life was devastating. I knew how dangerous it was, and she's about to dive right in into it. I decided to tail her, made sure she was safe. Came 10pm that evening, I never thought I would be dusting off my old gun. If we survive this, she's going to get a very stern talking from me...
A black car approached the warehouse in an almost empty pier. I hid in the shadows, observing. I had Beth and Vasilyev on my sight, they were observing the men down there. I knew them very well...Lyubchenko's mob family, rival to Vasilyev's own family. That idiot, how dare he dragged my daughter into this...
Looked like some transaction was about to go underway...drugs. It was always drugs with those two competing families. With a sniper rifle Beth easily dropped three of Lyubchenko's men. I must say I was quite impressed by her shooting skill. I'd never taught her any, turned out she did well on her own.
More shootings ensued, bullets rained down all over. I followed close, tailing Beth along with Vasilyev who were pursuing Lyubchenko himself. Ohh no, young lady. You're biting more than you can chew.
She was close to the escaping Russian crime boss, entering another warehouse with his getaway car. There's always a getaway car with him, even back in the day. I've gotta hand it to him, he could always see a few steps ahead. Beth and Vasilyev chased him, sure they had him. Ohh no, even I could see miles away it was a trap. That warehouse was filled with Lyubchenko's men, armed and ready to intercept.
As soon as they stepped inside the warehouse, they were done, held at gun points. I still followed, hiding behind the entrance of the warehouse. There were some Russian banters which I couldn't understand. My Russian was a bit rusty unfortunately...not exactly taking classes since I left. I couldn't wait anymore. My fingers were itchy at the trigger, my anxiety was high, worried sick about my daughter's life.
I entered, swiftly taking out Lyubchenko's men. One...two...three...five easy pops of my guns straight to their heads. Gotta say I was pretty proud at my aim, still got it after all this time.
"Dad?!", Beth exclaimed with shocked face, only to be stricken with fear after seeing my face.
"King! Oh...I'm....I didn't know you were involved here...", Lyubchenko trembled in fear at the sight of me. Looked like I still had that grasp of him after all this time.
"I wasn't...so why don't we call this a night and I'll let you go?", I said to him, not as a threat but he knew well I meant harm.
He scampered away to his getaway car, quickly driving away to the dead of night.
I turned my angry gaze to Vasilyev, gun still warm pointing at the scared coward.
"King...I...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"Vasilyev, the only thing preventing me from shooting you in your head right now is my daughter is here. If you ever come near her or my family again...you can believe your whole family is going down, and that's a promise", I said coldly to the cowering man. He nodded and hurriedly ran away, like a mutt with tail between its hind legs.
"Dad I..."
I turned to Beth still with angry face, I could tell from her expression she was deathly terrified of me. Oh honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to see me that way. I smiled, my expression softened. I was still angry at her but I hugged her tight...
"You are in so much trouble, young lady! Oh thank goodness you're safe...", I said tearing up. I couldn't imagine what life would be had she die.
Beth hugged me back, scared and crying hard, "I'm sorry, dad! I'm really sorry! I thought I could do it!"
"When we get home, I better get a good explanation on how you came to do this nonsense! And you're grounded!", I yelled.
Beth pouted, but she understandably relented.
"Now, let's go home", I said walking us back to my car.
"Dad, why did they call you King?", she asked me on the drive back.
That brought back memories. They've been calling me that name ever since I completed my first big job. One hundred cartel members dead, their heads on pikes decorating their compound's yard for weeks. I gained instant respect from then on...
"Well hun, I was simply the best", I said not proud of that name.
|
You catch your daughter as she sneaking into the house.
She moves just like you did back in the day silently yet swiftly.
Hey Alexis.
She doesn't even jump.
She looks at you her face emotionless hey Dad.
Where were you? You ask seeing if she'll tell the truth. She won't but her appearance and the state of her clothes tells you everything.
She's wearing an old jacket sweatpants and gloves with old sneakers.
This type of outfit is sturdy but normal enough so that most people wouldn't notice an extra tear, grass stain or scuff.
She maintained eye contact I was out with some friends late.
What happened to your clothes?
Her jacket is torn and muddy her knuckles are bruised and There are a some cuts on her pants. Judging by the size they were made by small knives.
The angle suggests they were thrown by someone who knew what they were doing.
(She's already been going on assignments. You need at least a year of training before you are given assignments)
Is that it Dad? A bored expression on her face.
A few more things: Take you take care of yourself, make to bring your phone and tell Mrs. Anderson I said hi.
I turned away and walked down the hall
W-what? I heard her stutter from the kitchen.
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[WP] Everyone thinks immortals just want to become emperor and rule the world. This is not the case. Well, except for Taj. He's tried to take over the world multiple times, and always fails. The small immortal community decides to give Taj an intervention.
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Hi guys beginner and aspiring writer here, would really appreciate some feedback, please don’t hold back’ thanks again.
“It is unorthodox for our kind to be consumed by such base passions.”
There was an air of authority to that voice, monotonous in delivery yet unmistakably accusatory, it compelled our subject, a meandering figure in slumber to straighten up his posture and perk to attention. It was not the first time for Taj to be in the hot seat. He was an anomaly, a stranger in familiar grounds, and it seems treading the same dangerous water as he has done before.
“To then allow your higher facilities to be consumed by such passions, you not only undermining our purpose, you have become a mockery to our institution!”
The uncharacteristic anger of the accuser shocked the rest of the delegation, each member habitually uttered the mantra “Yarashoroakhim” in unison, which seems to simmer the escalating tension in the atmospheric chamber.
Taj immediately realised the severity of the situation. Immortals pride themselves as impartial observers, any display of emotions is unbecoming to their kind. Never the one to get tongue tied he came prepared, slowly rising from his seat he looked up at the council, his eyes moving from left to right, registering every movement, every gesture and facial distortions of the council elders. He let out a breath of air clearing his throat, he lift his head and fix his piercing gaze upon the accuser
“Honourable Elders of the Council, I stand guilty of the allegations put forth upon me, but for my intent and passions I shall not apologise . As ethereal beings we hold a duty beyond observance, as creators are we not responsible for the actions of our creation? When the Great Balance is disturbed by the savagery, greed and debauchery of these humanoid creatures, is it not our duty to restore equilibrium? Is it not the mark of a good leader be amongst the rank and file of men to lead the charge for change? Without our direct interference, these creatures are doomed to destroy each other and with their destruction they will bring the entire creation into ruins.”
Punctured throughout his passionate outpour were deliberate movements that seem almost jerky and over animated in contrast to the fluidity and calm of the floating chamber. Taj still standing with unwavering resolve scans the room again with a calculating look he continues to evaluate the effectiveness of his move. The council remains stoic and unfazed.
“TaJ, do you know why you constantly fail in conquering humanity?”
TaJ looks on intently but was unable to answer. He possessed enormous physical power, he was driven by what he believe to be right way of the cosmos, he had immense power of persuasion, why then does he fail? As he stands in contemplation , the voice continues
“Our nature governs our power, equilibrium has it natural way of restoration and Humans are governed by their very construct. They are destined, in their current form, to drive themselves to extinction, our duty is merely one of observance and to relay our findings to the eternal consciousness, nature has already chosen our course, you think you can defy that?”
“We should just sit and watch them self destruct?
“The cycle never ceases, destruction is the mother of creation, out of the ashes of human destruction, something new will take its place and the Great Balance will restore itself”
(Tbc)
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Taj the restless, Taj the fool, Taj the madman, Taj the scourge, Taj the source of disappointment and ill repute.
He was the only immortal amongst the twelve who had tried to rule the world. He was the only immortal who wanted to do it, but thanks to him, people thought that's what every immortal wanted to do. No.
Cecilius was a philosopher. He leveraged his age for wisdom unheard and appeared throughout history as many different people, all wise men.
Mishagi was a craftswoman. She used her age to learn crafts, new and old and ancient. She did not make her presence known, but gifts made by her are still found in many a gift shop.
Perrine was a dancer. She used her age to make her body lithe and elegant and strong. The inventors of Ballet, Irish Dances, Line Dances, they all learnt from her. But the selfish humans never shared the credit. Not that Perrine cared.
And of such manner there were many. Some reticent, some masters of disguise, but none like Taj.
The brazen Taj who declared every twenty years that he was going to capture the world. The idiot Taj who appeared all over the world, in different countries, leading military coups. Causing world wars and whatnot.
Taj brought the immortals plenty of abuse. Many a time many an immortal were burnt or stoned or hanged for just being immortal. Finally, the trio of Cecilus, Mishagi, and Perrine found Taj in a skidrow apartment and tried to stop his madness as he sat in his room, defeated, after another botched conquest.
"What's the purpose of this, Taj? This is not the way to live. You don't need to fight and conquer and kill. Use your time, use it for good," Cecilius said.
"Oh, to hell with your sermons, Cecilius. I lost this time, but I can't keep losing forever. And why have you come here? Just to suppress my ambition. Because I don't bow down to their king? Because I have balls?"
Cecilius shook his head. Perrine laughed.
"You don't bow down to any king? You have balls? Please. You are a fool, Taj. That's what you are. Nobody takes you seriously. All you do is get beaten senseless."
"And all it does is that it brings us harm. You know how many times they have called my goods witchcraft and burned my things, and tried to kill me, hang me and stone me. All because I am an immortal, like you," Mishagi said, her voice quivering.
"Aw hell, that's why we need to crush them. In my rule, nobody calls you a witch or nothing. In my rule, Cecilius, you can sit on any stone you like and think your bloody thoughts. In my rule, Perrine you can dance in the streets, naked if you want to. In my rule -"
"Your rule? The one that never came, and never will. Don't kid yourself, Taj. I would love to dance on the streets one day. Naked or otherwise, but I can do it now if I wish. The humans will let me. There's nothing to gain from this, Taj."
"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results," Cecilius said.
"There's no need brother. If you want to learn something we will teach you. There's no need to kill and conquer."
"And get beaten up, and bring us all harm."
"Yes, there is no need, Taj. You must understand. The meaning of life is to find yourself and to learn and to grow. Not to smash some heads in and laugh triumphant."
"Taj, this, Taj, that, mwmwmwmwmw, don't you have anything else to do? Get out of here, you pansies. I am a real man and I will live like one. I don't need you and your delicate arts and thoughts and all that crap. Leave me alone."
Cecilius shook his head, Perrine sighed, and Mishagi started to weep.
He also was Taj the knobhead.
(Join r/kid_r0cK for more stories.)
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[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights"
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“What lord do you serve?” he calls out.
I remain silent, kneeling, with my fingers loosely cradling the gripe of my blade, thumb tracing the dragon-crested tsuba. I listen as my heartbeat radiates from my chest—my ki echoing off of the surrounding knights like spiritual radar, bringing back information about my potential foes. The fast beat of their hearts sent ripples through the air. Their fear was thick. This tension wouldn’t stand much longer.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, chinaman! Or do they not speak the Queen’s tongue where you’re from?” A few chuckles from the surrounding layman. “Either way, you have about 5 seconds to state your business or taste metal.”
I feel Kūfu stir. My fingertips tremble as the hum of my blade cuts through the air. Startled, the crowd gasps as all the metal armor worn by the knights began to vibrate audibly in time with my asura, licking its lips.
“Sorcery! Witch! It’s a witch!” someone yells out, as the previous fear-laden chuckles give way to panic.
“Get ‘em!” the captain yells out.
My grip tightens instinctively, allowing my asura’s bubbling energy to surge through me. I root one foot into the ground as the first and boldest knight charges in my direction. I let Kūfu take this first strike as I close my eyes and feel the draw-cut sing from the saya and slips almost silently through the knight. I shift low, missing the blade raised high against me, dropping to the ground behind me as I return to a kneel. The knight stares at the ground where I stood, awestruck. The onlookers gawk as the line of my cut glows, circling his midsection, fading as quickly. Then screams. Blood drips from his cuirass as the dead-eyed knight drops to his knees. The cuirass falls to the ground, taking with it the entire top half of the knight’s body, revealing the seared, severed insides of his torso.
Horrified, the captain screams an order at his fellow knights. But it’s too late. Most have already joined the panic of the crowd, running from the city square, knocking over any kiosks and fruit stands in the path of their stampede. Through the settling dust, I see the captain and a few knights, frozen in place, eyes pinned open in terror. I take the opportunity to wipe the blood from my blade with my kimono, allowing my long, jet black hair to slip free from its tie for the first time, and swing over my shoulders. Then digging my geta into the ground again. Prepared to finish this business.
“...y-you’re...a woman...?” the captain stutters.
“No. I am Owari.” My eyes flash with a blood red glow as Kūfu’s ki envelopes me completely. I close my eyes again.
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"If we are being invaded by the West, you must go West and find what else is out there."
The Yuan and their Mongols plan to invade. Right now it appears if they arrive with their 40'000 men not all of Shoguns, or all of heaven could stop them. Maybe with Peacekeeper I could stop them. Strike there blades and cause to drop them, like we have so many times in the past. But in reality I'll die with honor in a rain of arrows. So West, past the Yuan, the Mongols, and Indians with their elephants on the road of silk to find what is West of the horizon.
All along the road the Mongols at our doorsteps persist. As I go West through various Sultanates they all are falling to the Golden Horde. I finally make to a Sultanate not yet under the grasp of the Horde. But it seems they are under attack of an enemy from even further West, Crusaders.
These Crusaders come many different lands, some are Franks, Romans, Byzantines, Angles, and more. But they have their own god, a sort of Buddha they call Jesus. For their god they attack.
One of them looks at me. "Filthy Mongol" is all I understood before he charged me. I stepped to the side, drew Peacekeeper and parried his sword. The sudden change in it's weight caused it to fall. I pointed my blade at him. Sudden movement. Two of his friends charged. Immediately I put Peacekeeper into one of their chests he fell down under new weight of his armor, then disarmed the other. I quickly turning to my original attacker who was contemplating attempting to pick up his sword. A quick gesture and the two now unarmed men instead pick up their friend. I take their heavy swords.
It's time to leave. When they realize their friend I stabbed through is unharmed, they'll come back with more men, and more swords. There is no help for us out West. So I now as I head back East I hope that Heaven stands with us to defend our homes.
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[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights"
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My master once said that the asura of each samurai is the manifestation of their spiritual strength. Through relentless training does a samurai becomes accustomed to their blade, it is then that one may step the path of honing their skills to be truly a master of the katana, and finally the efforts may bear fruit as a unique asura.
While master may ignite cold steel with I can only assume, his strong passion, and rise to the top of his peers as the 'scorching blaze', he was ultimately bounded by age, dethroned by the samurais from a rivaling state. It just happened that his sole disciple who reached the realm of asura was a talentless and stubborn samurai. Unyielding to the new ruler's tyranny, he challenged the head retainer of the warlord - the samurai who slew his master.
It was no surprise that the one who defeated the scorching blaze holds a powerful asura, perhaps being defeated by the 'raging tempest' is not all that shameful at all. The dozens of lashing gusts that came along with the devastating strike knocked me out instantly, leaving me to wake up in a ship of exiles sailing to a distant land.
A samurai without a land to protect or a lord to serve is as good as nothing, even with an asura. Even more so with an asura which sole ability is to triple the weight of metals. One might say that that is a marvelous strength that may disarm the sword from other samurai easily, but that simply does not pass in a country where iron is rare, and our katanas are forged from hundreds of folds. The forge masters double the layers in a single blade over weeks and months, easily outnumbering the strength of tripling in the mere seconds of confrontation.
Truly a pathetic asura, befitting of the talentless me, whose only strength lies in patience and consistent practice, which perhaps fits better in a katana forge than on the battle field. My persistance is the only thing left, as it drives me to practice even on the long journey on the ship, where there is ample time to figure out perhaps a better way, to use this ability of mine.
This is a beautiful land, rich and stretching beyond the distance that I may have ever imagined in my home land. A family of five hosted my stay, while teaching me the ways of the west. Although the land is foreign, war is never more familiar despite the abundance of resources. Selfish lords trample over the wills of the people, waging campaigns for the sake of fueling their ego and quenching their thirst for power.
The kind and friendly do not deserve a foothold in this era of chaos, an army is approaching the doorsteps of this cottage, a small corner of neutrality on these lands with raging war between lords. I may very well finally meet my end, chasing the fleeting illusion of the code of samurais my master passed on to me, which not even the strongest 'raging tempest' would uphold anymore.
>Protect the land and its people, that is what a samurai is trained for.
The lords of the west host truly flamboyant armies, cladding their soldiers with large plates of iron, and some even for their horses. It is however clear as day, that these brutes do not hold a chance in the face of a samurai. Spoilt by the richness of the land, they indulge in desire and pursue nothing with patience and dedication, I do not sense a single asura within their ranks.
They laughed, and charged, and kneeled helplessly. The large plates of iron armor which they thought to grant them saftey became their prison. As they rushed in rows, one swift strike at their chests would send them tumbling forwards, planting their faces into the ground. Another two simple sweeps at their calf and they can forget about standing until my asura wills to let them go. Layer by layer their encirclement falls to the ground, and finally the warlord who leads is beheaded by his own extravagent helmet.
I became known as the samurai of 'steel shackles', protecting this corner of these vast lands, while bidding my days for a successor, one who may continue the lineage of what it means to be a true samurai.
​
This is the first time I tried writing none academic chunks of words in English, criticism is welcome!
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"If we are being invaded by the West, you must go West and find what else is out there."
The Yuan and their Mongols plan to invade. Right now it appears if they arrive with their 40'000 men not all of Shoguns, or all of heaven could stop them. Maybe with Peacekeeper I could stop them. Strike there blades and cause to drop them, like we have so many times in the past. But in reality I'll die with honor in a rain of arrows. So West, past the Yuan, the Mongols, and Indians with their elephants on the road of silk to find what is West of the horizon.
All along the road the Mongols at our doorsteps persist. As I go West through various Sultanates they all are falling to the Golden Horde. I finally make to a Sultanate not yet under the grasp of the Horde. But it seems they are under attack of an enemy from even further West, Crusaders.
These Crusaders come many different lands, some are Franks, Romans, Byzantines, Angles, and more. But they have their own god, a sort of Buddha they call Jesus. For their god they attack.
One of them looks at me. "Filthy Mongol" is all I understood before he charged me. I stepped to the side, drew Peacekeeper and parried his sword. The sudden change in it's weight caused it to fall. I pointed my blade at him. Sudden movement. Two of his friends charged. Immediately I put Peacekeeper into one of their chests he fell down under new weight of his armor, then disarmed the other. I quickly turning to my original attacker who was contemplating attempting to pick up his sword. A quick gesture and the two now unarmed men instead pick up their friend. I take their heavy swords.
It's time to leave. When they realize their friend I stabbed through is unharmed, they'll come back with more men, and more swords. There is no help for us out West. So I now as I head back East I hope that Heaven stands with us to defend our homes.
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[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights"
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My master once said that the asura of each samurai is the manifestation of their spiritual strength. Through relentless training does a samurai becomes accustomed to their blade, it is then that one may step the path of honing their skills to be truly a master of the katana, and finally the efforts may bear fruit as a unique asura.
While master may ignite cold steel with I can only assume, his strong passion, and rise to the top of his peers as the 'scorching blaze', he was ultimately bounded by age, dethroned by the samurais from a rivaling state. It just happened that his sole disciple who reached the realm of asura was a talentless and stubborn samurai. Unyielding to the new ruler's tyranny, he challenged the head retainer of the warlord - the samurai who slew his master.
It was no surprise that the one who defeated the scorching blaze holds a powerful asura, perhaps being defeated by the 'raging tempest' is not all that shameful at all. The dozens of lashing gusts that came along with the devastating strike knocked me out instantly, leaving me to wake up in a ship of exiles sailing to a distant land.
A samurai without a land to protect or a lord to serve is as good as nothing, even with an asura. Even more so with an asura which sole ability is to triple the weight of metals. One might say that that is a marvelous strength that may disarm the sword from other samurai easily, but that simply does not pass in a country where iron is rare, and our katanas are forged from hundreds of folds. The forge masters double the layers in a single blade over weeks and months, easily outnumbering the strength of tripling in the mere seconds of confrontation.
Truly a pathetic asura, befitting of the talentless me, whose only strength lies in patience and consistent practice, which perhaps fits better in a katana forge than on the battle field. My persistance is the only thing left, as it drives me to practice even on the long journey on the ship, where there is ample time to figure out perhaps a better way, to use this ability of mine.
This is a beautiful land, rich and stretching beyond the distance that I may have ever imagined in my home land. A family of five hosted my stay, while teaching me the ways of the west. Although the land is foreign, war is never more familiar despite the abundance of resources. Selfish lords trample over the wills of the people, waging campaigns for the sake of fueling their ego and quenching their thirst for power.
The kind and friendly do not deserve a foothold in this era of chaos, an army is approaching the doorsteps of this cottage, a small corner of neutrality on these lands with raging war between lords. I may very well finally meet my end, chasing the fleeting illusion of the code of samurais my master passed on to me, which not even the strongest 'raging tempest' would uphold anymore.
>Protect the land and its people, that is what a samurai is trained for.
The lords of the west host truly flamboyant armies, cladding their soldiers with large plates of iron, and some even for their horses. It is however clear as day, that these brutes do not hold a chance in the face of a samurai. Spoilt by the richness of the land, they indulge in desire and pursue nothing with patience and dedication, I do not sense a single asura within their ranks.
They laughed, and charged, and kneeled helplessly. The large plates of iron armor which they thought to grant them saftey became their prison. As they rushed in rows, one swift strike at their chests would send them tumbling forwards, planting their faces into the ground. Another two simple sweeps at their calf and they can forget about standing until my asura wills to let them go. Layer by layer their encirclement falls to the ground, and finally the warlord who leads is beheaded by his own extravagent helmet.
I became known as the samurai of 'steel shackles', protecting this corner of these vast lands, while bidding my days for a successor, one who may continue the lineage of what it means to be a true samurai.
​
This is the first time I tried writing none academic chunks of words in English, criticism is welcome!
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“What lord do you serve?” he calls out.
I remain silent, kneeling, with my fingers loosely cradling the gripe of my blade, thumb tracing the dragon-crested tsuba. I listen as my heartbeat radiates from my chest—my ki echoing off of the surrounding knights like spiritual radar, bringing back information about my potential foes. The fast beat of their hearts sent ripples through the air. Their fear was thick. This tension wouldn’t stand much longer.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, chinaman! Or do they not speak the Queen’s tongue where you’re from?” A few chuckles from the surrounding layman. “Either way, you have about 5 seconds to state your business or taste metal.”
I feel Kūfu stir. My fingertips tremble as the hum of my blade cuts through the air. Startled, the crowd gasps as all the metal armor worn by the knights began to vibrate audibly in time with my asura, licking its lips.
“Sorcery! Witch! It’s a witch!” someone yells out, as the previous fear-laden chuckles give way to panic.
“Get ‘em!” the captain yells out.
My grip tightens instinctively, allowing my asura’s bubbling energy to surge through me. I root one foot into the ground as the first and boldest knight charges in my direction. I let Kūfu take this first strike as I close my eyes and feel the draw-cut sing from the saya and slips almost silently through the knight. I shift low, missing the blade raised high against me, dropping to the ground behind me as I return to a kneel. The knight stares at the ground where I stood, awestruck. The onlookers gawk as the line of my cut glows, circling his midsection, fading as quickly. Then screams. Blood drips from his cuirass as the dead-eyed knight drops to his knees. The cuirass falls to the ground, taking with it the entire top half of the knight’s body, revealing the seared, severed insides of his torso.
Horrified, the captain screams an order at his fellow knights. But it’s too late. Most have already joined the panic of the crowd, running from the city square, knocking over any kiosks and fruit stands in the path of their stampede. Through the settling dust, I see the captain and a few knights, frozen in place, eyes pinned open in terror. I take the opportunity to wipe the blood from my blade with my kimono, allowing my long, jet black hair to slip free from its tie for the first time, and swing over my shoulders. Then digging my geta into the ground again. Prepared to finish this business.
“...y-you’re...a woman...?” the captain stutters.
“No. I am Owari.” My eyes flash with a blood red glow as Kūfu’s ki envelopes me completely. I close my eyes again.
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[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights"
|
My master once said that the asura of each samurai is the manifestation of their spiritual strength. Through relentless training does a samurai becomes accustomed to their blade, it is then that one may step the path of honing their skills to be truly a master of the katana, and finally the efforts may bear fruit as a unique asura.
While master may ignite cold steel with I can only assume, his strong passion, and rise to the top of his peers as the 'scorching blaze', he was ultimately bounded by age, dethroned by the samurais from a rivaling state. It just happened that his sole disciple who reached the realm of asura was a talentless and stubborn samurai. Unyielding to the new ruler's tyranny, he challenged the head retainer of the warlord - the samurai who slew his master.
It was no surprise that the one who defeated the scorching blaze holds a powerful asura, perhaps being defeated by the 'raging tempest' is not all that shameful at all. The dozens of lashing gusts that came along with the devastating strike knocked me out instantly, leaving me to wake up in a ship of exiles sailing to a distant land.
A samurai without a land to protect or a lord to serve is as good as nothing, even with an asura. Even more so with an asura which sole ability is to triple the weight of metals. One might say that that is a marvelous strength that may disarm the sword from other samurai easily, but that simply does not pass in a country where iron is rare, and our katanas are forged from hundreds of folds. The forge masters double the layers in a single blade over weeks and months, easily outnumbering the strength of tripling in the mere seconds of confrontation.
Truly a pathetic asura, befitting of the talentless me, whose only strength lies in patience and consistent practice, which perhaps fits better in a katana forge than on the battle field. My persistance is the only thing left, as it drives me to practice even on the long journey on the ship, where there is ample time to figure out perhaps a better way, to use this ability of mine.
This is a beautiful land, rich and stretching beyond the distance that I may have ever imagined in my home land. A family of five hosted my stay, while teaching me the ways of the west. Although the land is foreign, war is never more familiar despite the abundance of resources. Selfish lords trample over the wills of the people, waging campaigns for the sake of fueling their ego and quenching their thirst for power.
The kind and friendly do not deserve a foothold in this era of chaos, an army is approaching the doorsteps of this cottage, a small corner of neutrality on these lands with raging war between lords. I may very well finally meet my end, chasing the fleeting illusion of the code of samurais my master passed on to me, which not even the strongest 'raging tempest' would uphold anymore.
>Protect the land and its people, that is what a samurai is trained for.
The lords of the west host truly flamboyant armies, cladding their soldiers with large plates of iron, and some even for their horses. It is however clear as day, that these brutes do not hold a chance in the face of a samurai. Spoilt by the richness of the land, they indulge in desire and pursue nothing with patience and dedication, I do not sense a single asura within their ranks.
They laughed, and charged, and kneeled helplessly. The large plates of iron armor which they thought to grant them saftey became their prison. As they rushed in rows, one swift strike at their chests would send them tumbling forwards, planting their faces into the ground. Another two simple sweeps at their calf and they can forget about standing until my asura wills to let them go. Layer by layer their encirclement falls to the ground, and finally the warlord who leads is beheaded by his own extravagent helmet.
I became known as the samurai of 'steel shackles', protecting this corner of these vast lands, while bidding my days for a successor, one who may continue the lineage of what it means to be a true samurai.
​
This is the first time I tried writing none academic chunks of words in English, criticism is welcome!
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"for Kinng and Glory"!!! I shouted as I struck another revolting peasant.
"Mi lord!" John, a newly knighted lord shouted as points at the hill top.
A horn blast was sounded seconds after, and like clockwork everyone of us, the king's guard stopped.
The downhill wind sent chills towards everyone.
Looking at each other, hesitation sets in.
Others removed their helmet, others called for their squire to bring their horse. Then proceeded to go to the king's tent, hurriedly, cursing as they go.
'The day is ours, then this..." Bran a burly man in heavy armor spoke as he stood near me. Voice a hiss of frustration and fear,, His face grim, mace in his chest I heard the leather tighten as does his grip.
"John! Go and protect the king!" I shouted at John, as I see his legs shake, his armor plate though dented and bloodied still somehow glistens. He looked at me as relief and disappointment shows through his sweaty face. He then shut his helmet and went towards the large tent joining a large contingent of soldiers and knights.
"Mi lord we should go as well" Bran said as he turns and called my squire, no doubt to order retreat.
I motioned Bran to stop, still looking at the hill top, the silhouette of a man standing like a tree, his hair and dress flows with the wind, I saw his sword glow, impossible as it may seem as he stands back at the sun, and pointed it towards....me.
Honor dictate to answer the challenge, but the glow seized my heart. And I felt sweat drops off my nose, I was trembling. I stood frozen, my legs couldn't move forward.
"Mi lord, orders? Sir?" Bran shook me off my fear. I looked at him and he knew instantly. He cursed and motioned for my squire an order.
" He is not of here mi lord, no need to waste sweat or time with him" Bran said in a silent but pleading voice, he knew what happened to my brother as he challenged this, warrior from the east.
He saw his demise, and my inability to do anything, but what he does not know was that the weight of our armor increased, so much so that we cannot move.
"Honor dictate I avenge my brother, your lord vassal" I answered wiping the sweat as it rolls down my face, I smiled and waved him away.
----
As I walked towards the hill where the warrior stood I saw thousands of men bearing the king's banner walked away from the burned town, I see the body of peasants rebels, their wives and children, I felt sadness as the blood of the child should be spared, but as rebels, they may take arms again, hence my suggestion was ordered, kill and burn the town, strike at the home of the rebels, make it an example for others and peace shall reign.
I uttered a short prayer for my dead men, and looked at the warrior. He was kneeling, uttering a small prayer as well.
looking Behind him was a collection of men, the rebels leaders, face grim and angry.
"Scum knights! We told you only children women and old men are left there!" The leader shouted.
"Know your place rebel" Bran shouted back. Readying his mace he prepares to charge at them, then I held his arm.
I motioned no, and looked at the warrior, now finishing his prayer, he poured alcohol at his blade.
"So you will not even acknowledge them?" The warrior spoke in his broken tongue as he stands, and sheated his sword.
"Rebels are rebels, peasant are peasants and they deserve both the sword" I answered and readied my sword.
Bran and the rebels stood away from us, forming a large space where we can fight.
"Knight, because of your actions, I shall not offer you a chance to retreat." The warrior's voice was silent and cold.
"You killed my brother, prepare to..."
Before I could finish my words, the warrior blurred and immediately my sword and arm felt heavy. I have no choice but to drop the sword. Then I saw his dress on my side and my legs buckled because of their weight. I looked at the warrior as he removed my helmet.
______________-------------------------------________________
______________-------------------------------________________
"Lord Green Knight , your action to attack this town despite telling you,only old and women and children are here, are despicable, and only death can save you'
I told the knight as I remove his helmet, fear shone through his eyes, his breathing heavily and wincing in pain. It seems his arm and leg bone snapped. It usually happens when I got their armor consecutive times, their armor are slow and vision is limited, attacking them was like attacking a stationary target. Deadly warriors yes but I have speed, and now I have anger.
The code dictates that there should be nothing in my mind, but what I feel helped and empowered me, especially towards this knight.
He tried to talk but I immediately struck his neck. And now it is done.
His companion was shocked and rightly so. This is no Samurai duel, this is mere execution.
I cleaned my blade and turned towards my friend, their eyes glistens with tears, I merely nodded and went towards the now emptying town.
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[WP]The dead become gods of whatever they are remembered as the most. Einstein, the god of intelligence, George Washington, the god of boredom, and many more. You, are just a simple man with no legacy. You are the least remembered person in history, and that makes you the most powerful god of all.
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I stepped into the alleyway.
It was putrid. The smell of sex and hate and rot. It was dark and humid.
There, a god of serial killing manifest.
In the world where the dead becomes god of their fame, many gods share the same domains. Some of them are terribly evil. Usually, the less they are known, the less power they have.
But this one was not powerless. He was a famous serious killer. Wong the Slasher was the name the cop had given him.
His soul glowed in strange red light. His flesh bubbled with the organs of the people he killed. He regarded me with narrowed eyes.
"Who are you? A teen prodigy? How come I've never heard of you?"
I smiled at him gently and shook my head.
"Usually I don't kill children, but you are pissing me off." He pulled out his razors and charged.
I held on.
People, ordinary or special, are always remembered by their loved and hated ones. They make marks in the world, a small dent.
Jim from grocery had always bought a flower to himself, the store manager remembered. Ingrid at the office was alone always, but damn she handled the Chinese collaborators like a pro, the exec board remembered. That old guy in the woods helped him once when he was lost, a child remembered.
But I did not have that dent. I did not have a chance to.
I was made in the lab. A copy of someone rich and young, purely for an organ transplant. After the raid, they killed all the scientists that knew me, and without knowing, the police shut off the switch. I died without any one on earth remembering.
That made me special.
I pulled out tiny leaves from my pocket. A fern long forgotten before human was born. And I threw it in the air between me and Wong the Slasher.
Insects, as large as my hands, manifested from the leaves. They looked like mosquitos, but much larger and meaner.
Wong stopped on his track. "What are these?"
"They are insects before time," I said "because what is lost from humanity's memories are now mine."
The insects swarmed him, injecting him with venoms without antidotes because nobody knew it existed. Wong the slasher screamed in agony, his rotten forms got even more disfigured.
"What is your name?" He screamed "I will avenge you forever."
I grinned. "That's the funny part," I said, "you will forget."
And with his last godly breath, Wong the Slasher stared into the sky, in an alleyway, alone, with unknown venom seeping through his vein, wondering why and how he was dying.
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*The God of Nothing*
An interesting title to be sure. I had done this countless times with others, other entities and thoughts that had once formed a tight bond of molecules together. This however, is not an empty story, not of *nothing* of course. A boy, a *something,* with only 10 years in existence, had left the bounds that held him and now had come into my care. He was a flea to the society that built around him, invisible, even whilst he closed his eyes.
"I don't understand, sir. There's been a mistake, I can't be all that important." A well spoken lad for his age and situation, this had been a double edged sword for the young boy, resulting in the bleeding vein of heart and self. I however, was here to be his rest.
"Here you will be cherished, a missed opportunity by some." I placed my hand on his shoulder. He sparsely looked away from his feet, but the curious can't be silent forever.
"My family.."
"All gone. To you. In this lifetime."
The boy grew cold again, the harsh reality showered like the cold winter he had suffered in his transition, my hand remained firm blossoming heat, a beacon in the dark storm.
"My dear boy, you will be treasured here. The one who had nothing is worth everything."
"Worth everything?" He stammered. His light changing for the first time.
"You'll be a very important piece. The *ultimate weapon*."
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[WP] You start your new job today. Upon arriving you find your workstation an absolute utter mess. A co-worker stops by and tells you that the last guy was dragged out and hated by just about everyone in the department. Your new job, to plan out the entirety of 2021 for the human race.
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Steve had been expecting the briefing for his first day to take hours. After all, for the previous year to have been such a disaster, an awful lot must have happened. But in fact, the introductory meeting in his boss' office took little over fifteen minutes. The problem was that *nothing* had happened in the last twelve months. Or very little.
"The humans are bored out of their skulls," his boss noted. "Running the human race has a lot of perks these days- there's a lot more at your disposal to keep them entertained- but the flip side is that it takes a lot to impress them. Jimmy, your predecessor, was a bit of a sucker for the medieval age. He thought a good old-fashioned plague would liven things up a bit. Get people talking, bring it back to basics a bit, y'know?"
Privately, Steve thought even he would have had the forethought not to rush into a global disaster in his first month in the job. He knew Jimmy- they'd both been interns together in Beetles, then briefly collaborated again when Jimmy got promoted to Bees whilst Steve had been subbing in the Flower Department. Temporary positions had been the story of Steve's career- he'd been bumped around every department while someone or other was sick, or on maternity leave, or taking time out to holiday in Elysium. He'd been as amazed as anybody when he was told head office had picked him for Humanity. Humanity was where names were made. Make good on your time in Humanity- a tyrant toppled here, a cure for cancer there- and you could make junior vice-God within five years. How had he had the good fortune to get the gig?
This, of course, was why. "The last year's been a disaster." His boss tapped the cover sheet of the file in front of him. "I mean, no disrespect to Jimmy, but come on. We didn't meet a single one of our end-of-year targets last year- economic, environmental, you name it. Someone needs to pick up the slack. If they're going to manage world peace and membership of the Subgalactic Common Market by 2100, we have got to get back on schedule."
His boss stood up. "Anyway," he said briskly. "I've got a diversity meeting with Angel Resources. Your team are ready to meet you, and Jimmy'll give you a call sometime later today- we put him on gardening leave. Best of luck!"
He slipped out through the door. Steve stood up, and nervously made his way into the office next door- *his* office, now. There were still one or two of Jimmy's photos up on the wall, next to the Roll of Honour- a neanderthal lighting a fire, the pyramids being constructed, Edward Jenner administering the first ever vaccine. A pretty tough act to follow. But he'd come up with something. After all, whatever he did could hardly be any worse than what had already happened.
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"Good God." Geneva Bennett wrinkled her nose at the sight (*and stench*) of her new cubicle. She gently set her polished briefcase down on a stack of pizza boxes and took a reluctant step inside, marveling at this inadvertent showcase of human filth. "What died in here?"
It was nice to have a new job. It was. Geneva could use the steady income to supply her growing addiction to self-tanning spray and press-on nails. However, this *garbage dump* was absolutely outside the boundaries of her tolerance; her shiny black Burberry heels had already been tarnished by a red-stained napkin tossed haphazardly on the floor. Cleaning up this cubicle would require a great deal of patience and an excellent gag reflex, both of which Geneva did not possess.
"Hello!" A voice chirped from behind her. "Geneva Bennett, is it?"
The voice belonged to a slim blonde woman standing at the front of Geneva's cubicle, outfitted with a bright and sparkling smile. Her padded shoulders, nipped-in high waist top, and A-line skirt practically screamed 40's, as well as the maroon flower clip that pulled back her shoulder-length curls. Geneva recognized her instantly.
"Mary Hodges." She gasped. "You crafted 1941, didn't you? The Holocaust?"
Mary's face soured. "Oh, dear. It's such a shame that *that* is the year I am known for." She shook her head. "Yes, I planned 1941. However, I feel that it is important to tell you that I was not alone in planning it. The Holocaust was, in fact, not even my idea."
"It wasn't?"
"Heavens, no! It was someone else's." Mary waved her hand dismissively and stared into Geneva's new office. Her eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, my. It looks like Amil left you quite a mess."
"Amil?" Geneva said. "Is that the bastard's name? I have half a mind to call him and demand that he cleans this disaster up."
"Yes, well...Amil was, should I say, rather selfish."
Geneva snorted, and waved her carefully manicured hand. "I can imagine. He did a terrible job with 2020; 5 years' worth of events shoved into only one year! Messy, like this office."
Mary nodded her head thoughtfully. Her hair, which was impossibly shiny and primped, bounced as she moved. "I do agree. Amil always told me that he wanted to plan a year like no other, but I'm afraid he took that rather seriously. Such destruction he has caused!"
Geneva blinked. She agreed, naturally, but this was coming from the maker of the *Holocaust*. She opened her mouth to comment on the discrepancy, but Mary had already begun to step out of the cubicle, waving her hand in farewell.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, dear! Best of luck with 2021!" She beamed. "Let me know if you need any advice; you can always find me at my cubicle in the next hallway down!"
Geneva mustered a thin smile as Mary slipped away. *Sure, and while I'm at it, I'll ask 1346's maker to give me some tips! Who doesn't love a good Holocaust and Bubonic Plague?*
(THE END. Abrupt ending, but this was getting a little long! Thanks for reading!)
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[WP] As the bard of your adventuring party, you’re getting really sick of people wherever the party travels assuming you’re going to try and seduce them.
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The tavern wench brings over the ale your adventuring party ordered, and sets yours in front of you last with a saucy wink. You nod at her politely but a heavy sigh escapes as soon as she's gone.
"What's wrong?" asks Orn the Barbarian. "Not enough ale in your tanker? I think the barmaid gave you extra."
"That's the problem! She winked at me and I can tell she assumes I'll follow her into the back for a bit of fun after we finish drinking. I haven't given her any reason to think that though. The tavern owner has been watching me with suspicion all night too. As if I'm about to ravish someone right here on the table?"
"But you're a Bard! And you like women! Plus she gave you extra ale for crying out loud." Clearly this is why Orn would tumble her.
"I'm not interested. Besides, did you even look at her? She's less attractive than you are, and you have carrot stuck in your teeth."
The Cleric Asterin leaned forward to add her two cents. "It's not as if you don't seduce women, you know. You have a reputation."
"Oh really! I have a reputation but when was the last time you know of that I bedded anyone?" You realize you're having trouble keeping your voice down as your irritation takes hold of you. There's a long moment of silence as everyone else at the table pauses to think.
Asterin takes a breath to speak but hesitates. "Well, when we were in the Dale last week... No, we were really busy. You didn't have any time. Before that at the cute little castle? No, the four of us all stayed close together. The youngest princess tried to lock you into the library with her though! Um. Okay, I remember! There was the pretty blonde in the Forest!"
"But that was nearly a year ago!" exclaims the final member of your party, the Necromancer Floyd. "Even I've had a women since then!" Orn opens his mouth and Floyd rushed on to say "And yes she was alive."
"Just because I'm a Bard doesn't mean I'm a slut! I have standards okay?"
Again, you realize you're getting a little too loud but this time it's too late. A man at the next table heard and is stalking over to your table. "And just what's wrong with our women here I'd like to know?" he yells at you, split flying. "My wife is the prettiest woman for miles!" He points at a woman at the table behind him, who really is quite lovely but must not have good taste in men if she married this lout.
"She's beautiful!" you quickly agree.
"You keep your hands off her!" The man raises his fist but another patron grabs his wrist and spins him around.
"Your wife? YOUR WIFE is the prettiest woman around? My Cassandra is twice the woman yours is!" he shouts in the first man's face before punching him in the face.
You dimly notice a brawl has broken out as men argue over whose woman is the prettiest and the women egg on their dubious champions. The barmaid, however, has your attention and there's thunder in her eyes. "What did you say about me?"
"Gods above. I should have become a farmer."
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"Hum la dum, dadida." The gentle strumming of my guitar played right in tune with the trots of the horses. A chord here, one there, a simple, melancholy tune to accompany the travel. Herk, still wearing his full plate, was asleep in the back of the wagon, Tyrindale quietly reading a book, Feiphon humming a harmony to my guitar. Golden rays of light poked through the canopy, pockmarked with red, purple, and orange. Tightening my coat a small bit as the wind tossed a few leaves, I called out to the coachman, "Dear sir, about how long until we reach Ardinton?"
"It'll be another hour, probably less I suppose."
"Wonderful!" I said, my strums reflecting my voice. "Well then, provided that we have some time, what say you tell us a small bit about the town?"
The coachman shrugged. "Not much to it. A small waypoint along the way."
"Anything more? Perhaps anything interesting?"
"Look mate, I understand its kind of your whole stick, you know, the typical bard or whatever, but I have a wife and kids. Keep it to yourself."
My eyebrows raised. "Oh, beg your pardons sir, I believe you misinterpreted my words. I've no air for you, I was merely inquiring about the town."
"Whatever you say pal."
My hand drifted up and down over the strings, perhaps playing a tad more forceful than I ought to have been. A strange man, this coach driver was.
"Fret not," Tyrindale said. "No such small impediment will halt our grand adventure. Information can be found anywhere," he continued as he held up the novel in his hands. "Books, for example."
As promised, an hour passed by without much further conversation, and we reached the entrance of the town, in which a very audible river could be heard throughout. I leapt out of the cart, Feiphon tumbled out and Tyrindale shook Herk awake.
"Here you are, man," I said to the driver, passing him a gold coin for his trouble, just before he left.
"Here we are," Herk observed the obvious, stretching his back out. "Hey Elton, any tunes that can straighten my back out? That cramped wagon did me no favors."
"I don't do massages, thank you very much," I replied.
The four of us strutted into the town together, drawing eyes from the citizens, who probably did not very often see adventurers in their daily lives. I noticed, in particular, the women's eyes all drawn to me. Perhaps it was the extravagant hat, or the foreign instrument, but I was decidedly more out of place than the rest of my party. In any case, we collectively and silently agreed to steer ourselves in favor a strong pint of ale in the local tavern. A mild creaking announced our entrance as we meandered over to a booth and sat ourselves. We barely had time to seat, before the maid came over to our table.
"Rapid service, I appreciate that," Herk said. "I will be taking something strong, powerful, like the armor I wear, madam."
"Just plain water for me," Feiphon said, "In a wooden mug if you don't mind."
Tyrindale waved his order away, and so I turned to order. "Something mild, if you don't mind. Nothing terribly strong, I must keep my wits about me."
"You sure you don't want anything stronger?" The maid asked of me, her eyes and smirk bearing down on me.
"Ah, no, I am fine."
She appeared a little disappointed, but complied and left.
"How are our supplies looking, Herk?" Tyrindale asked.
"We have enough for a week long journey, though I don't know if the rations will go bad inside the infinite bag," he said against another creak. "Hopefully we will make it with just that."
"The north tower is a fair walks through the woods," Tyrindale replied. "We might need to stock up on more rations just to be certain."
Herk shuffled uncomfortably. "You well enough know I don't like spending money, Ty."
"Not at a general store, but a casino is well enough," Feiphon cracked.
Just before Herk could make a retort, the maid returned with our drinks on a platter. She passed them around to everyone, though I noticed my cup was brimming, almost over flowing.
"Thank you ma'am," I replied. "How much will it be?"
She leaned in a little closer. Was her blouse missing a few buttons? "It's on the house."
Herk and Feiphon were arguing at this point, but I could not focus, the maid was practically leaning onto me.
"Ah, all very well madam," I scooted away from her as best as I could, but she took her time leaving.
"-off eventually!" Herk was raising his voice.
"Sorry, did I miss something? The barmaid was getting cozy again, and that door really needs some oil," I asked.
Herk and Feiphon both tensely settled down. "No," Tyrindale said. "Nothing imperative. In any case, we need to address our str-"
Just then, someone interrupted our conversation. "Begging your pardons," she said. "I could not help but notice your guitar here. Are you an instrumentalist?"
I believe she was addressing me. "Indeed," I said, turning towards her. Her chest happened to be directly eye level, and close enough for me to notice that there were certainly a few buttons undone. "I have been playing since I was young, and consider myself quite the expert."
"Oh, that's absolutely wonderful! You see, my husband used to play as well, before he unfortunately passed away."
"Ah, well, terribly sorry for your loss." I squirmed a little closer to Herk.
"Ever since then, my home has been terribly empty," she continued, eyeing me down.
"I again apologize for your loss, but I am currently occupied in something, could you please leave?"
She pouted, but then left our table. Another table across the tavern had a small number of woman seated there.
"Well, what were you saying, Tyrindale?"
"About our strategy," he said, finally putting away his book. "Perhaps we should take lodge and discuss this somewhere more secluded. I don't like ears."
"Maybe you should cut one of yours off, like that one guy," Feiphon shot.
"Indeed, I shall inquire about lodging and pay our tab here." I rose from the table, but as I walked to the bartender, I had the most strangest feeling that there were a number of eyes on me.
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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My Field Training Officer looked like the human version of that german shepherd in the comics, the one with the tiny cat. Not that anyone would get the reference.
I was, technically, as a 1980s-era-born, the oldest. But I'd been hired at 22 which made me among the youngest. He, my FTO Aerik, wouldn't be born for another 500 years, but was in his early fifties.
Time travel.
"Ex military." He said. "Doesn't show." He shook his head.
"Well, I wasn't in combat... I mean, my ship was." I ran my hand through what was left of my hair. The stark pixie cut felt nice compared to the mop I'd been sporting during my interview. "I mostly watched gauges, it's... Well it's not *easy* but it's not physical."
"But you can shoot." Projectile weapons were outlawed in the 2080s, and nukes becamd outdated soon after. Seizmic weapons were big for a while, then psychic blasts. Those were still in.
I'd assumed it was like hitting enemy nations with depression or something, and the early wars it was. But someone had accidentally keyed it wrong during the alien invasion - Aerik discussed that bit of "ancient" history so casually - and given them all orgasms.
The next wave humans decided to just mess with them. Mania, fear, depression, rage, grief - all in a rapid cycle. They learned to avoid earth, and begged for peace.
Our weapons were always superior, but they kept trying to mess with the timestream, to chance things so they could take over. Couldn't be having with that.
"Yeah I can shoot." I touched the gun. It was a Martini. I hadn't shot that particular weapon before, but rifles were pretty self explanatory. It was bolt action, of course. Decent caliber. Wouldn't bruise my shoulder but would have some knock-fown power.
"Mm." Aerik eyed me, warily. "You gonna get sick?"
I shook my head. I probably would, but I wouldn't *vomit*. That was what mattered.
"Good."
The time machine itself wasn't a machine at all, it was a chip. It would work with any vehicle, as long as there was electricity involved.
"No one actually told me who I'm shooting." I tried to sound casual. After all, I should have asked sooner, if I was gonna care about that. Or not asked, and waited for arrival, and the envelope with I structions and photo.
Aerik snorted. "Same one we always shoot, or didn't you know?"
Always?
I looked down at the Martini. "Shaken, not stirred." I quipped, as the time-high hit. The outside world bubbled like a lava lamp.
Aerik rolled his eyes. "You're quoting things."
"Bond, James Bond. It's funny cause the gun's a -" and then it clicked. "Oh! Kennedy!"
"That's right," Aerik said, "you're gonna kill Kennedy."
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First ever WP response -
“Mr. Robertson, thank you for coming in on such short notice.” The man spoke with the wearied politeness of overwork. He wore a neatly pressed suit still redolent of the tailors, though his briefcase was well-worn, the shine long since buffed off the brass clasps, and the leather cracking. “Unfortunately, I’m sorry to inform you that the company has decided to pursue other options at this time.”
Mr. Robertson, who had spent all morning trimming his beard and reciting his answers, felt a sudden pang of nausea. The bills were piling up at home, and this was the only interview he’d bagged in months.
“There must be a mistake. I was invited to the interview just yesterday.”
“There’s no mistake.” The man spoke with curt, emotionless professionalism. “If you’d be so kind as to close the door behind you.”
Mr. Robertson, deflated, turned to leave, but the injustice of the dismissal rang in his ears. The nausea turned bilious.
“Now hold on. I came out all this way to interview in person. If you were going to reject me, you could have just sent an email. I’m out twenty bucks in gas!”
“Here.” The man reached into his coat pocket and held out a wrinkled twenty-note. “ Now you’re not. Good day.”
Mr. Robertson eyed the note sadly. It wouldn’t pay the rent, or put food on the table. It wouldn’t even heat the apartment if he burned it. He slipped it into his pocket anyway.
“Wait,” he spoke up. “The least you can do is ask me a few questions. I might surprise you!”
“I doubt it.”
“This year has been really tough on my family. Please,” Mr. Robertson pleaded. “Give me a chance.”
The man behind the desk watched him carefully, and as he did, Mr. Robertson thought he saw a hint of empathy wash over him. Mr. Robertson squeezed every ounce of piteous energy he had into his expression. The man rolled his eyes. “Oh for cr….fine.” He picked a clipboard off the desk.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” he sighed.
“Thank you!” Mr. Robertson straightened his tie, then his shoulders. “I’d consider myself to be highly self-motivated and someone who does his best to achieve his goals and those of the company. I’m an independent, creative thinker, but also an effective team player who…”
He was interrupted by the man stifling a laugh.
“What?”
“Nothing,” the man struggled to compose himself. “Continue.”
“What’s so funny?”
“Just the team player thing. I mean, you?” He stifled another laugh. “Sorry, please go on.”
Mr. Robertson flushed red, and his armpits dampened. “An effective...someone who works well….” But he couldn’t remember his lines.
“Something wrong?” The man asked.
“I’m sorry, you’ve rattled me is all. Maybe you could tell me a bit more about the position and I can answer some technical questions.”
“Well,” the man replied with feigned disinterest. “I don’t think you’d like it much, to be honest. Lots of boring paperwork, hiring and compliance, typical HR bureaucratic humdrum.”
“I can hire people,” Mr. Robertson interrupted.
“Can you though?” The man arched an eyebrow.
“I’d hire me,” Mr. Robertson replied, and thought it a clever response.
“That doesn’t speak well of your qualifications.”
“Well,” Mr. Robertson pulled a scrap of newspaper out of his pocket. “What about this in the job description?” He pointed to a line. “Will involve travel. I’ve had a fair amount of international experience I can speak to.”
“Like what, spring break in Cancun? Not sure that counts.”
Mr. Robertson blushed deeper. Yes, he’d been to a resort in Cancun, but he’d a made a real effort to order from the waitstaff in Spanish.
“What is your problem?” he asked, quite frustrated now.
“I don’t have a problem.”
“You’re being mean. There’s no need to be mean.”
“Mean?” The man asked, and rubbed his fingers through his salt and pepper beard. “I don’t suppose that’s the kind of workplace environment that you would enjoy being a part of then. So why don’t you take your threadbare suit and underutilized briefcase and fuck off, because frankly, they reek of desperation.”
Mr. Robertson was lost for words.
“I think...I think I’d like to speak to your manager.”
“Good luck with that.” The man softened, and leaned over the desk, as if to reveal a corporate secret. “Listen to me,” he spoke in low tones. “You don’t want this job.”
“I do. Honestly.”
“You don’t,” the man replied. “I sure don’t. I hate it.”
“Then I’ll apply for your job.”
“What do you think you’re doing now?” the man asked.
“I...I don’t understand.”
“You will. Look, last chance. I’ll give you another twenty.” The man took a wrinkled twenty out of his pant pocket. “Buy yourself some lunch, think about your future, your past, whatever choices led you here, and go in a different direction.”
What little sadness was left in Mr. Robertson was replaced with indignation.
“I don’t want your money.” He spat. “In fact, take back…” But as he reached into his pants pocket, he realized that the twenty dollar bill was not there. “That’s weird.” He looked on the floor beside him, in case he had dropped it, but the only twenty dollar bill he could see was being waved in front of him.
“It is. It’s too weird. It sounds so glamorous, doesn’t it? Trans Chronological Hiring Manager. Think of the business cards, I thought.” The man looked wistful for a moment, but soon turned jaded once more. “Turns out though, that the pool of qualified candidates is so limited, and the headhunting market so cutthroat, that we really spend all our time insourcing.”
“Insourcing?”
“Keeping talent in house. Which, of course, is why you were brought here today. Not my decision, obviously.”
“But I’m not in-house,” replied Mr. Robertson.
“Despite my efforts to the contrary, it looks like you still are. Since I can’t dissuade you,” the man let out a deep sigh, “You’re hired.”
“I am?”
“For the fifth time this month in fact.” The man stood and pointed to the door. “Your office is down the hall. Helps avoid confusion.”
“I…Thank you!” Mr. Robertson was elated. “Thank you so much! You won’t regret this.”
“Oh, we will.” The man reached out a hand. “Welcome to the team. I’m Mr. Robertson.”
“How about that,” Mr. Robertson smiled. “That’s funny.”
“It’s really not,” said Mr. Robertson.
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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My Field Training Officer looked like the human version of that german shepherd in the comics, the one with the tiny cat. Not that anyone would get the reference.
I was, technically, as a 1980s-era-born, the oldest. But I'd been hired at 22 which made me among the youngest. He, my FTO Aerik, wouldn't be born for another 500 years, but was in his early fifties.
Time travel.
"Ex military." He said. "Doesn't show." He shook his head.
"Well, I wasn't in combat... I mean, my ship was." I ran my hand through what was left of my hair. The stark pixie cut felt nice compared to the mop I'd been sporting during my interview. "I mostly watched gauges, it's... Well it's not *easy* but it's not physical."
"But you can shoot." Projectile weapons were outlawed in the 2080s, and nukes becamd outdated soon after. Seizmic weapons were big for a while, then psychic blasts. Those were still in.
I'd assumed it was like hitting enemy nations with depression or something, and the early wars it was. But someone had accidentally keyed it wrong during the alien invasion - Aerik discussed that bit of "ancient" history so casually - and given them all orgasms.
The next wave humans decided to just mess with them. Mania, fear, depression, rage, grief - all in a rapid cycle. They learned to avoid earth, and begged for peace.
Our weapons were always superior, but they kept trying to mess with the timestream, to chance things so they could take over. Couldn't be having with that.
"Yeah I can shoot." I touched the gun. It was a Martini. I hadn't shot that particular weapon before, but rifles were pretty self explanatory. It was bolt action, of course. Decent caliber. Wouldn't bruise my shoulder but would have some knock-fown power.
"Mm." Aerik eyed me, warily. "You gonna get sick?"
I shook my head. I probably would, but I wouldn't *vomit*. That was what mattered.
"Good."
The time machine itself wasn't a machine at all, it was a chip. It would work with any vehicle, as long as there was electricity involved.
"No one actually told me who I'm shooting." I tried to sound casual. After all, I should have asked sooner, if I was gonna care about that. Or not asked, and waited for arrival, and the envelope with I structions and photo.
Aerik snorted. "Same one we always shoot, or didn't you know?"
Always?
I looked down at the Martini. "Shaken, not stirred." I quipped, as the time-high hit. The outside world bubbled like a lava lamp.
Aerik rolled his eyes. "You're quoting things."
"Bond, James Bond. It's funny cause the gun's a -" and then it clicked. "Oh! Kennedy!"
"That's right," Aerik said, "you're gonna kill Kennedy."
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“Hello? Hello? Anyone here?”
She pushed the buzzer again and pushed her brow against the opaque glass door in an attempt to ascertain the office’s current occupancy. There was no nomenclature on the door, only the office’s suite number: 12B. As usual, she was running late. Had she missed her interview?
Movement! The door unlocked and opened.
“Good afternoon, Miss...”
“Lincoln. We spoke on the phone yesterday morning. You told me to meet you here today at your office for an interview.” As usual, the words poured out only slightly slower than they came to mind.
“Of course, please join me. I’ve been expecting you! Your resume is certainly impressive, you seem to have the skills I’m looking for.”
He was a tall, slender man, middle aged. His hair was brown, with just a hint of grey at the temples. Serious eyes looked out from below a stern brow, a tailored suit giving the man an air of high importance. And yet, there was something about him that suggested more than just a stiff suit. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“I’m very excited for the opportunity, I moved to New York about a year ago but things haven’t worked out quite the way I’d planned.”
“Well, you’ve come highly recommended.”
“May I ask by whom? I hadn’t provided you with references yet and I....”
“What do you know about my business?” He interrupted, turning the conversation away from pleasantry. There was a sudden change in his demeanour. Maybe he _was_ just another stuff suit.
“Well,” she began, “only what your advertisement in the paper said. ‘Secretary, research firm’. What kind of research?”
“Encyclopedias. We work with a variety of publishers to research and verify subjects for a number of publications. It’s a job that requires frequent travel, and you’ll be working independently much of the time. Mostly making appointments, keeping records, local research assignments, that kind of thing. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Of course,” she replied instantly. She hadn’t applied for this secretarial job because she was independently wealthy, that’s for sure.
Just then, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
“She’s beautiful! What’s her name?”, she asked, reaching down to pick up the new arrival, a purring, jet black cat.
“Do you like cats? Isis seems to like you, Ms Lincoln. I think that’s a good sign. Did you have any other questions?” he asked, reaching out to take the purring cat from her arms.
“Oh, the usual: what does it pay and when can I start?”, she said with a nervous laugh.
He smiled. “The pay is more than generous, and the job starts Monday morning. Bold of you to assume you got the job”.
“You were the one who called me impressive,” she retorted, presenting a boldness that didn’t often come easily to her. She began to doubt that confidence.
“Very true, Miss Lincoln, very true. And if I were to offer you the job, you’d take it?”
“If you give me a chance, I’ll be the best darn Encyclopedia research company secretary in the Big Apple!” Her confidence was returning, as much as it was able to anyway.
“Very well then, you start Monday morning. Be here promptly at 8:45. Isis doesn’t want to wait for you again.”
“The cat? What do you... never mind, I’m just happy to have a job!” She was overjoyed. A thought occurred to her.
“You know, I’ve been here for 20 minutes and I forgot to get your name.”
“How rude of me, Ms Lincoln. I’m not normally so rude nor am I so absent minded. My name is Gary Seven. Please, call me Gary. I’ll see you Monday morning.”
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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My Field Training Officer looked like the human version of that german shepherd in the comics, the one with the tiny cat. Not that anyone would get the reference.
I was, technically, as a 1980s-era-born, the oldest. But I'd been hired at 22 which made me among the youngest. He, my FTO Aerik, wouldn't be born for another 500 years, but was in his early fifties.
Time travel.
"Ex military." He said. "Doesn't show." He shook his head.
"Well, I wasn't in combat... I mean, my ship was." I ran my hand through what was left of my hair. The stark pixie cut felt nice compared to the mop I'd been sporting during my interview. "I mostly watched gauges, it's... Well it's not *easy* but it's not physical."
"But you can shoot." Projectile weapons were outlawed in the 2080s, and nukes becamd outdated soon after. Seizmic weapons were big for a while, then psychic blasts. Those were still in.
I'd assumed it was like hitting enemy nations with depression or something, and the early wars it was. But someone had accidentally keyed it wrong during the alien invasion - Aerik discussed that bit of "ancient" history so casually - and given them all orgasms.
The next wave humans decided to just mess with them. Mania, fear, depression, rage, grief - all in a rapid cycle. They learned to avoid earth, and begged for peace.
Our weapons were always superior, but they kept trying to mess with the timestream, to chance things so they could take over. Couldn't be having with that.
"Yeah I can shoot." I touched the gun. It was a Martini. I hadn't shot that particular weapon before, but rifles were pretty self explanatory. It was bolt action, of course. Decent caliber. Wouldn't bruise my shoulder but would have some knock-fown power.
"Mm." Aerik eyed me, warily. "You gonna get sick?"
I shook my head. I probably would, but I wouldn't *vomit*. That was what mattered.
"Good."
The time machine itself wasn't a machine at all, it was a chip. It would work with any vehicle, as long as there was electricity involved.
"No one actually told me who I'm shooting." I tried to sound casual. After all, I should have asked sooner, if I was gonna care about that. Or not asked, and waited for arrival, and the envelope with I structions and photo.
Aerik snorted. "Same one we always shoot, or didn't you know?"
Always?
I looked down at the Martini. "Shaken, not stirred." I quipped, as the time-high hit. The outside world bubbled like a lava lamp.
Aerik rolled his eyes. "You're quoting things."
"Bond, James Bond. It's funny cause the gun's a -" and then it clicked. "Oh! Kennedy!"
"That's right," Aerik said, "you're gonna kill Kennedy."
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>”Let’s see, no history of past crimes, no debt, never married. Your references are impeccable, you pay your taxes and you always collect your elderly neighbour’s mail on a Tuesday and Thursday evening, before settling in for dinner at 6 and bed by 9.”
>”Er, yes. How did you know that last bit? Did I put that on my resum...”
>”Why are you here Mr Carter?”
>“...I didn’t put that on my resume”.
>“What do you want out of life Mr Carter?”
>”Out of life?”
>”Yes Mr. Carter, are you unhappy?”
>”Well I wouldn’t say that!”
>”Bored perhaps? In your little cubicle? The lack of adventure, the feeling of safety?”
>”I happen to like my cubicle thank you very much!” Carter said angrily.
>”Yes, you and your African Bell Cactus, what did you name it...?”
>”That’s it! I’m leaving. I didn’t come here to be told that I’m...”
>”Uma, that’s what you named it.”
>”...boring and”
>”Predictable? - I can change that Mr Carter. You are resourceful, not that your colleagues notice. Intelligent too. Unfortunately the best years of your life are behind you...
>”Now listen here...”
>”...Suckling on the teat of middle management. Tony will never promote you. Yes your mother is proud of you though, she tells all the other patients.”
>”I’m leaving!” yelled Carter, his cheeks rapidly developing colour.
>”Great Mr Carter! Let me help you with that. Here now, take this Cube, don’t lose it now. Hold it tight. It’s your only way back.”
>”I won’t be returning!”
>”Yes, tightly now Mr Carter, we don’t want to lose you - Remember, the Cube.”
>-
>”Ah, Mr Carter! You’re back already. Look how much weight you’ve lost. It feels like it was only yesterday that you were sitting in my office demanding I hire you. Now, let’s get you out of those clothes and cleaned up. We will need to debrief you. Seven years? You don’t say...”
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
My Field Training Officer looked like the human version of that german shepherd in the comics, the one with the tiny cat. Not that anyone would get the reference.
I was, technically, as a 1980s-era-born, the oldest. But I'd been hired at 22 which made me among the youngest. He, my FTO Aerik, wouldn't be born for another 500 years, but was in his early fifties.
Time travel.
"Ex military." He said. "Doesn't show." He shook his head.
"Well, I wasn't in combat... I mean, my ship was." I ran my hand through what was left of my hair. The stark pixie cut felt nice compared to the mop I'd been sporting during my interview. "I mostly watched gauges, it's... Well it's not *easy* but it's not physical."
"But you can shoot." Projectile weapons were outlawed in the 2080s, and nukes becamd outdated soon after. Seizmic weapons were big for a while, then psychic blasts. Those were still in.
I'd assumed it was like hitting enemy nations with depression or something, and the early wars it was. But someone had accidentally keyed it wrong during the alien invasion - Aerik discussed that bit of "ancient" history so casually - and given them all orgasms.
The next wave humans decided to just mess with them. Mania, fear, depression, rage, grief - all in a rapid cycle. They learned to avoid earth, and begged for peace.
Our weapons were always superior, but they kept trying to mess with the timestream, to chance things so they could take over. Couldn't be having with that.
"Yeah I can shoot." I touched the gun. It was a Martini. I hadn't shot that particular weapon before, but rifles were pretty self explanatory. It was bolt action, of course. Decent caliber. Wouldn't bruise my shoulder but would have some knock-fown power.
"Mm." Aerik eyed me, warily. "You gonna get sick?"
I shook my head. I probably would, but I wouldn't *vomit*. That was what mattered.
"Good."
The time machine itself wasn't a machine at all, it was a chip. It would work with any vehicle, as long as there was electricity involved.
"No one actually told me who I'm shooting." I tried to sound casual. After all, I should have asked sooner, if I was gonna care about that. Or not asked, and waited for arrival, and the envelope with I structions and photo.
Aerik snorted. "Same one we always shoot, or didn't you know?"
Always?
I looked down at the Martini. "Shaken, not stirred." I quipped, as the time-high hit. The outside world bubbled like a lava lamp.
Aerik rolled his eyes. "You're quoting things."
"Bond, James Bond. It's funny cause the gun's a -" and then it clicked. "Oh! Kennedy!"
"That's right," Aerik said, "you're gonna kill Kennedy."
|
"We need to stop Eminem from getting famous..."
I was just sitting in my windbreaker, when they said that. It was the first time in my life I'd spit coffee on another human.
"I'm not on that level, by far, or even a little."
"We have a team of ghost writer-"
"I *really* don't want that smoke."
The girl in the back, Pamela, a PR specialist, someone who had put me through the run around with several tense, but pleasant conversations, at parties, etc...before she'd left, or I'd been pulled away, by other happenings...she was the one that ultimately convinced me to do it.
"Almond Joy, I don't have any doubt you can dethrone him." Pamela paused, and what she said next, made me stop being excited to maybe get to know her: "You can use the Hip Hop Lyrics Archive of the present era, with his own lyrics, to defeat him in the past."
I was all about fighting privilege. I was obsessed with having equality for everyone. I *wanted* that part of the mission, but I didn't want to change the truth of our whole culture's past...
I looked at the ground as I spoke. I wish I hadn't. "We don't deserve the future we're fighting for, if we cross this line."
"We have to make history represent the future we need, now."
I knew it was true, but this still wasn't right...
I teleported into the TRL Spring Break Extravaganza in Panama City, Florida.
He was at La Vela, which hadn't been destroyed by Hurricane Michael yet.
It broke my heart when I walked up to him, because he was actually nice to me. I was a huge fan of Eminem in the future, and I guess I'd just expected him to be shitty, like all the other ones we learned about, after the Awakening. But, he seemed like someone I'd grown up with. He was chasing girls I probably would've chased, too, if I wasn't in the body of a younger teen, now.
Ultimately, the agent that had teleported in from a separate device, was the leverage, and variable, that we used to set him up for the Reversal. Reversals were a formal name for changing events in the past that could help give us a more inclusive future.
*He's not a bad person, but we have a duty to not give the world to bad people, so we have to be do what bad people would do*
I didn't understand it, but I had repeated it since I was 12.
Long story short (and I hate long stories), we used Toy Soldiers against him, in front of the whole world. We robbed him of his destiny, and we used what he had achieved, to achieve what would sustain us, in place of it all.
Sure, it changed some facts about record sales, and a lot of opinions about famous lyricists, at large. But, it also helped people feel more comfortable with the way they expected the world to work. I know it's hard to imagine, but...about 60 years from the events we were Reversing, this harmless little *edit* would be the one tragic loss that fixed so many of the arguments.
The arguments that, while factual in the world we knew, were simply not *desirable* for the future we intended.
One human lost his destiny, because of our own machinations. But, ultimately, society moved beyond so many things, that weren't a destiny which the majority of us felt was valid, for our fellow humans, anyway.
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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Giovanni had not expected the travel to involve time travel. The job ad had not mentioned it.
The windowless room they left him in an hour ago was bare except for a chair and a table.
When they had informed Giovanni the travel would involve time travel, he had wondered what to think about it, but hadn't been able to form an opinion. He had tried to think how they wanted him to react, but only ended up frowning and mildly scrunching up his face.
More people were in the room then. Not now. Now he was alone, with the chair and the table.
His back hurt.
He tried to think of movies he saw the weekend before. He could not remember any of them, until one came to his mind. A movie about a couple going to Paris. He could not remember the title or the ending. He remembered feeling old. Older than the actors. Older than people who have a romance in Paris. Nobody in the movie had back pain.
He was trying to stand as straight as possible against the wall. "Giovanni, the time traveler, " he thought to himself. He tried to figure out how to say that in French but made little progress.
Without warning, the door of the windowless room opened. Giovanni instinctively took a step from the wall and tried to act normal, like a normal person, a person without back pain, lost in the empty room. Through the door came an old man with a beard, and a young kid with spiky hair and a backpack.
"Hello," the young kid said.
Giovanni waited but the old man said nothing.
"Hello," Giovanni said, "I was here for a job but the people sort of left me in this room."
Giovanni waited again, mostly for the old man, who annoyingly kept silent.
"I was introduced earlier to two people. I forgot their names. One of them had a tie," Giovanni tried to think, "but then they left me here."
"Look at me," the kid said. "I was forty. I went to Paris and came back young and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished he could lie down on the floor.
"Look at him," the kid pointed to the old man. "He also was forty. He came back old and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished the conversation to either be over or a lot more horizontal. He wondered what it must be like to lie down on the floor and think in French.
The kid took off his backpack and opened it.
"Would you like to go to Paris?", the kid said, unrolling a thin mattress on the floor.
Giovanni wanted nothing more
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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"Yes but Mr Van Gogh don't you think the right ear is overdone in this day and age," dealing with the crazy ones was the hardest part of the job. "I can't think of a single artist who cut off their left ear." Vincent had a way of looking at you that made it hard to tell if he was paying attention or a million miles away. When finally his hand moved from pinching his right ear to his left I knew my job was done. I turned to make my way for the door, almost knocking a table of brushes on my way. The next part was not for the squeamish. Half way down the steps I heard a scream follow after me. I knew that would stay with me for a long time.
Now you might be thinking what sort of a difference would Van Gogh cutting off the opposite ear have on the world's timeline. I thought that too when I signed up to be a time manager. Twenty one years old and fresh out of college I thought a nice job managing shift workers would be great. Then I found myself making sure Isaac Newton sat under the correct tree and realised this was going to be a different sort of job.
Walking down an almost empty street I remembered why I hate the 1800s so much. You never get used to the smell. Flushing toilets and daily showers have really added a lot to society. I pulled my timetable from the satchel I carried, being careful not to step in a suspicious brown puddle. Next up seemed to be Victorian London. This would be a new one to me. As I packed my timetable back securely a blue light enveloped me and with a flash there was noting left but a small trail of smoke and the sound of a baby crying.
London was dark and it took my eyes time to adjust. Even with perfect vision it was hard to see through the mist that crawled along the streets. It was much busier here than my previous destination with crowds of drunken men wandering like the walking dead. My clothes had automatically changed to fit the look of the time. One of the perks of the job was you were always in style. Joining in with the flow people I soon found myself congregating with several ladies of the night. I could hear whistling and laughing as the oldest trade in the world was in full effect around me.
"Lookin for some company darlin," the woman stepped from the shadows with such expertise I barely saw her before she was beside me.
The timetable was often sparse with it's instructions but from the picture it gave me I knew this was the woman I had to meet. "I...um..yes," I smiled at the ground. "Sorry I'm new at this sort of thing."
When taking this job your taught very quickly that the timetable is your bible. You don't question the instructions and you carry them out to the letter. Even if what needed to be done made you uncomfortable or sick to your stomach it had to be done.
The woman laughed quietly. I noted this wasn't a condescending laugh but a warmer laugh. It reminded me of a girl I met in college. She laughed at me the same way when I knocked over my popcorn while watching a movie or the time I got too drunk and lost my wallet. The sort of laugh that comforted you when you made a fool of yourself. The more I looked at the woman in front of me the more it reminded me of that girl, small and slim with auburn hair. The one uncanny similarity I could notice was her teeth. They were slightly crooked which caused her to hide her smile and made her making eye contact difficult. It hurt me to know how such a small imperfection could cause a beautiful woman such insecurity.
"That's alright," she said. "I'll help you through it." She took my hand and started leading me down a side alley. We walked until the noise from the crowds on the street was muffled by the distance. Going through with this would be difficult but the consequences of not would be far worse. Stories floated around of time managers doing a task incorrectly and spending the next year working in the stone age. Worse still was the stories of agents not doing a task at all. Some say they are just abandoned, left to fend for themselves in the past.
I looked into the shadows of the alley and could see men and women occupying different corners between the buildings.
"Can we go further down," I nodded towards the only area of the alley that looked at all private. I could feel my body relaxing as the woman obliged walking deeper into the darkness.
It was now or never.
She turned back to me. "How is this for..."
Before she could finish the sentence my hands were around her throat. A wave of emotion flashed across her face, confusion, panic, fear and finally nothing. Tears ran down my face as her body dropped to the ground.
"I really didn't want to do this," I whispered even though no one was there to hear me. As the blue light slowly wrapped around my body one final thought ran through my head,
No wonder they never caught Jack the Ripper.
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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He holds my application and CV, flipping through the pages but not really reading them. There isn't much there, a few temp jobs and a disastrous turn at retail. I'm amazed I even got this far in the process, but as I look across the table at the preposterously lanky chap in brown suit and bow-tie with an even more preposterous fez perched atop his head, I begin to wonder if there were many applicants before me and if any of them stayed for the interview after being greeted at the door by this rawboned anachronism of a person.
He's friendly enough and I suppose some people might find his demeanor even charming in an awkward Hugh Grant sort of way but he strikes me as the sort of person I would have liked much more if I'd met him a few years earlier. I realize that he has been speaking to me as I have been silently appraising him.
"I'm sorry?"
"I asked if you would mind stepping into the police box with me." He motions toward a funny looking blue booth in the corner I hadn't previously noticed.
I stand up from the table, saying "I think we're done here."
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
Dave awoke on his back to a ray of light in his eyes. A blinding wash of gold and green filled his vision as he squinted and repositioned his head. His hand came up as if to bat away the bright rays that peaked through the foliage. The waking daze became heavy confusion as he sat up to take in his surroundings.
"What.."
He was indeed under an umbrella of trees, of which had trunks of magnificent girth and height. The sun seemed to be resting atop the branches, like a molten ball of lava leaking its contents onto the jungle floor. It was now that he noticed the bed he rested in was the back of some sort of all-terrain military vehicle. A heavy machine gun was mounted next to where he lay; a chain of long, pointed rounds were fed through and ready to go.
"David Wes Gordon?"
He turned toward the female voice, "Uh.. that's me."
"Glad to see you're still kickin' after the jump. We were worried after you passed out."
"I passed out?.." He replied with unease.
The lady stood at the back of the vehicle with her arms crossed. She had bright red hair, obviously unnaturally dyed. Her body was fitted in dark green and brown clothes; they were littered with an excess amount of pockets and looked like a kind of military camouflage. He couldn't help but notice how well she fit in them and the stern but beautiful look on her face.
"Yeah. Don't worry about it, it happens to a lot of rookies."
Dave gave a sigh, "Honestly, I don't remember much after we got in the machine... It was all sort of a blur. I can't even recall the briefing before we stepped in."
"Doesn't surprise me."
"Can you tell me where we are and what my job is exactly?"
"Well you're still on earth." She chuckled, "And the time machine is a couple miles back. We took the ATVs from there. As far as your job.. Our team is in charge of taking samples"
"Samples? Of what?"
"Plants, tree sap, feces..."
"I'm still lost, what year is it?"
"We are currently 100 million years in the past."
"100 million.. what animal's poop are we scooping?"
Kelly smiled, "You'll see."
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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It sucks being unemployed and broke. I had been out of work for 6 weeks, applying for jobs anywhere I thought I might be able to talk an interviewer into meeting me. It was 1990, and the economy wasn't very friendly to this recent college grad with a liberal arts degree.
The ad in the back of the free weekly paper struck my interest as it might be something I could do. " **must have excellent ability to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel** "
I was single and didn't have a whole lot of expenses. Besides, I really loved going and seeing new places. This was right up my alley, even if I had NO idea what the job was. I could adapt to all sorts of things.
"Ah, Mr. Pelcher, nice to meet you, " the man who shook my hand motioned toward a seat, "Would you like some coffee?"
It felt rude to say no, besides, he had a mug in front of him.
"Yes, please actually."
"What do you take in it?" he asked as he walked over to the pot by the sink in the room where we were meeting.
"Um, just black."
"You're a little young to drink it like this, aren't you?"
"Well, to be honest, I decided that if I was going to be a 'coffee drinker', I should learn to drink it straight. I will occasionally do cream and this new sweetener 'splenda', but it saves me money at home to drink it straight. " I thought about my answer after it had left my mouth. I wasn't sure if that came off as desperate, or what, but it was the truth. He looked like a man that appreciated the truth.
He poured my cup and brought it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a sip.
"Oh, this is good. Kona?"
"Well, you know your coffee. Yes, it's Kona. I apologize for the early meeting but we, feel like we need to know if our employees can be on time, even at the early hour of 7:30 AM on a Monday morning. Other managers I have worked with and for sometimes bring people in this early, then leave them in the lobby until 9 and watch on closed circuit TV to see how they react. I don't have time for that, do you?"
"Well, I guess it depends on how badly I want that particular job. Which, the Library or Social Security office didn't have a lot of information on your company for me to learn more about what y'all do. As you can tell from my resume and it's lack of ... well, depth, I'm looking to get started after my academic career has concluded."
"So you are finished learning?" the interviewer asked while taking a sip. He stared at me over the edge of the coffee cup. He was really interested in my answer.
"Of course not. I'm just at a point where I can't afford to be a full time student without an income. I had a decent part-time job as you can see on my resume, but my last job ended a few weeks ago, it was a temporary position in sales. I need to work. If I can work somewhere and learn NEW things, that's all the better." I noticed I was leaning forward in my chair and took a second to slowly slouch back a bit. "If we aren't learning something daily, are we really living? The idea of travel for this position seems even better for someone who can't afford to pay for his own travel."
"Where would you go? When would you go?"
"Are there territories for this position? How soon do you need me to travel after training, or will the training involve travel as well?"
He paused and digested my question. "Territories... well.. not, exactly. And, well... Let me just remind you the paper you signed out front with the admin. You cannot discuss this part with anyone. ANYONE."
"Trade secrets, correct."
"What if the travel wasn't a to where, but a to when?"
"Closed circuit TV, huh?" I looked around and found the camera hidden in the plant behind him, and another one in 'plain sight' in the corner. "Is there really a job? Please be honest with me."
"Oh yes. Absolutely. We will be paying you $65,000 per year plus expenses including wardrobe, travel, and full medical. We feel like we can use you in Eastern Europe in the 1870s initially. Granted, we will need to have you fitted for the translation aids. We've been waiting on you to graduate college and lose the job from the last place. Your 55 year old self said that this is the time you would be prime to accept this assignment."
"My Fifty-five year old self?"
"This is you, in 33 years..." He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a glass and metal slab. On it was the picture of a man who looked like me, ish. I recognized the hair, specifically the cowlicks and unruliness."
"Oh... What is that?" I pointed at the glass display he had set on the table.
"That's called an iPad. it's a tablet computer. You told us your hobbies included computers after you got out of college. The truth is, yes, we have a job for you, and our company doesn't exactly exist yet. It will, soon. It will start out in the garage of a guy who lives out in Kansas..."
"How bad do I screw up in the future that you are offering me this job NOW to get me out of the way? " My brain was reeling a bit.
"That's not how it works. You see, you applied for this job in your future, part of what they discover in Kansas in 14 years is the timelines and pathways. We arranged based on your psyche profile for the ad to be placed in the Inquisitor zine. And, don't take this the wrong way, had you not picked that up, the "Jobs board" would have called you. It's *YOUR* time. So, If you just fill out your W4 form we can get you started on your language translator implant."
"I'm not sure if I want this job..."
"Of course you want this job. Look, you need this job for ... later."
I thought about my crappy apartment and car. I thought that I had not had a meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex in months. When else could I do this?
"Okay, I'll do it." I picked up the folder and started filling out the paperwork.
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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It seemed like a practical joke. So, of course I had to follow up.
As an investigative journalist, I prided myself on exposing scam employers... and worse. Scanning the want ads for potential leads, a short ad requested 'Excellent ability to adapt and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' And nothing else. Suspicious.
In person inquires only. SUPER suspicious.
And the address.... Piazza della Rotonda, 00186 Roma RM, Italy
... wait.
That's the Pantheon in Rome. A VERY public place... not some shady office or warehouse in the sticks. The middle of fricken ROME.
I gotta check this out. I booked the next flight out and packed my suitcase.
Arriving at the steps of the Pantheon a few days later, I approached an old gentlemen who appeared to be dressed in a tour guide's outfit. "Ciao!" he said as I approached. I presented the want ad to him, hoping he would know what it meant. He looked at it for a moment. "Ah! Un momento," he replied, and then spoke into a radio on his lapel. "Parla inglese?" he asked, to which I nodded. He relayed my response into the radio.
A few moments later, a middle-aged woman in dark blue suit arrived to greet me. "Hello, you are here about the job offer?"
"Yes," I replied, extending my hand. "Matt Summers."
"Hello, Matt. I'm Bridgette McCall." She took my hand and shook with confidence. "Please follow me." As instructed, I followed her into the main building of the Pantheon.
Bridgette walked toward the center of the building, directly under the oculus of the concrete dome. She was typing something into a phone while she walked. When she arrived at the center point, she gestured to the exact middle. "Stand here."
I complied. She then handed me the phone... at least I thought it was a phone. Had the same general shape, but had a number of dials on the sides. And a large button in the middle, pulsing a faint red. "Please press the button when it turns green. The interview will begin immediately afterward."
Confused, but intrigued, I looked at the device. The dials seemed to change the numbers that the device displayed. It took me a moment to figure out what it was showing me... then it hit me. It was today's date... but one year in the future. The button then turned green, and I pressed it.
My vision blurred. At least I thought it blurred. Maybe the world around me blurred. I felt motion, but remained where I was. The feeling passed in a moment, but my head felt tired. The button on the device now flashed yellow, with a timer counting down. 10 seconds. I looked up from the device.
Bridgette was standing there, but she was now wearing a different outfit. Red instead of blue. She was smiling broadly. Beside her... was me!
"Congrats, you passed the interview," my double said with a grin. "Easiest interview ever, yea? The password is 'Whiskey on the rocks'."
The shock and confusion was just starting to pass as the device beeped in my hand. The timer had ended. Suddenly the same feeling of still-motion occurred. My vision blurred again, and when it returned, Bridgette was back in her blue suit.
"Would you care for a drink?" she asked.
"Yea... 'Whiskey on the rocks'."
"Excellent! Follow me to the office for orientation."
I followed, in a haze of confusion as to what just happened. I put the device in my pocket as we entered a small office to right of the gift shop.
She grabbed a pair of glasses from a small cabinet, put a few ice cubes in each, and poured whiskey in both. She brought both over to the desk, and sat behind it. "Please, sit. Before you fall over."
My head had started to spin. I barely made it to the chair before my feet failed me. Bridgette sipped her drink and gave me a moment to collect myself. "Whenever you are ready," she said.
I leaned forward, putting my head in my hands, trying to anchor myself. "... what just happened?"
"Time travel," Bridgette replied. "The device in your pocket will allow you to move back and forward in time."
"And you hire people to... do what?"
"Observe. Objective truth is getting harder and harder to come by, so we send people back in time to record historical events with minimal impact. On rare occasions, we send trained individuals forward to report on specific outcomes from current events. Just to be sure."
"And the Pantheon is some kind of... focus? That lets time travel happen? Something special with the oculus?"
"Nope. It's just been here for 2000 years, so it serves well as a fixed point to start from. The device can 'shift' your actual arrival point to some degree, but you still don't want to wind up in a tree or in the middle of a road. So new trainees start here before we give them a permanent assignment."
"And the person with the password was... me? In the future?"
"Yep. Makes the interview process VERY straightforward. Ready for some training?"
"... hell yea."
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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Mr. Venter studied the job application and smiled.
“An associates degree in communications, and 3 years as flight attendant is the perfect fit for our needs. Oh, and your love for period films is an extra bonus for us,” he said to Matt. “You can have the gig, but you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure form before I show you the project to protect our IP. I know it seems silly, but some legal battles in big tech can be straight up Looney Tunes.”
Mr. Venter slid the confidentiality agreement across his desk. Matt signed it without consideration. Finally, a steady job that will bring a constant paycheck and extended benefits. He had been looking for such a job since airline industry crashed in 2021.
“Thank you!” Matt said.
The two men left Mr. Venter’s office and walked towards the warehouse building. They passed by several staff members, each raised an eyebrow at the sight of Matt. “Him?” One worker whispered to another. “I don’t think he’s physically fit for the mission. A bit too young…“
Their conversation became unclear the further they walked away from Matt.
“Don’t mind them,” Mr. Venter said. “You said in the application you could lift 50 lbs. That is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Venter; that won’t be an issue.” Matt said. “I should mention that I have asthma. It doesn’t give me any real problems unless I try to run a marathon during allergy season.”
Mr. Venter laughed. “I think we’re good for now.”
The two men reached a door after walking down a long hallway. Mr. Venter took out several ID cards and scanned them on the security device above the door’s handle, then entered a 25 character password on a keypad.
The door unlatched, and Mr. Venter heaved it open.
An empty darkness filled the parameter of the warehouse. In its middle sat a long casket that looked like what a magician’s assistant would place themselves into before vanishing. Cables snaked out of the box and into the darkened parts of the warehouse. Flood lights beamed onto the set as if it were going to be filmed.
“Welcome to your office,” Mr. Venter said. He smiled and held out an open hand towards the box.
“I don’t quite understand,” Matt whispered.
Mr. Venter opened the box. It was stuffed with dozens of color coded wires. “This is a retro grade period capsule, and you can be our operator,” he said.
*So a time machine*, Matt thought. He couldn’t tell if he was the subject of a prank. Perhaps the rest of the staff hid themselves in the warehouse and at any moment they would flick on the lights like a surprise party.
Matt looked into the impenetrable shadows but couldn’t see any movement. He then focused on his hearing, hoping to catch someone snicking at the elaborate prank, but only heard the ticking of his Timex wrist watch.
“Let me clarify,” Lewis said after a brief moment. “As you know the world has become quite rigid. Corrupt elected officials scatter across the globe, the climate crisis turned irreversible, and cornerstone industries — like your previous career — have gone belly up. All of this and more occurred within a couple of years. There’s no telling how much deeper humanity will plunge before we all go *poof* and fade out of existence. We need someone to course correct a small amount of actions in the past in order to undo their catastrophic effects we now suffer from.”
*This guy is either dead serious or deserves an academy award*, Matt thought. He felt like he should play along incase it was the latter, but a small part of him believed Mr. Venter.
“Why me?” Matt asked. “Why not some West Point or MIT graduate who can predict the outcome of altering the past.”
“Good question. Both types of people work for us in the present, but they also helped contribute to the current issues from the past. We can’t have them confront themselves in the past unless we really want to shatter the space/time continuum. But you — being a flight attendant made you deft for time and cultural changes. Trust me, you’ll be going through a lot of those!” Lewis chuckled at his own joke. “The communications degree will help you relay our instructions to the people who can make today better.
“Believe it or not Mr. Baker, your fit for this job even though you might feel like you’re not qualified. We’ll go through a couple of test runs to be certain you’re up for the task, but as of now, I don’t have any doubts.”
Matt walked towards the time box and touched it. His fingers left a blotch of sweat on the capsule.
“I can give you two days to decide if you want the job.” Mr. Venter said. “Afterwards, we’ll need to reach out to our reserved applicants. This position must be filled by the end of the week and —”
“I’ll take it,” Matt said. He needed the money whether he would be launched into a different period or end up being on some viral prank show. “I don’t fully understand it, and I’m certain I don’t meet the qualifications for the such a position, but I’ll do it.”
“Perfect,” Mr. Venter said. “We’ll get you training first thing tomorrow morning.”
The men walked out of the warehouse and towards the parking lot. Mr. Venter shook Matt’s hand one more time before getting into his vehicle.
“If it’s any assurance,” Mr. Venture said. “I didn’t feel adequate for my job, and I believe some of the greatest history makers of the past weren’t either.”
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"I didn't sign up for this." says felix as blood drops down his blackened lip an unrecognisable amount of anger forming behind them "neither did we but we have our instructions to follow, if we don't do this then you've seen what happens."says Wendy as her blond hair falls over her icy blue eyes" if we don't win this fight then they die, they all die and there the best thing that has ever happened to this ever damned planet."i say standing up and drawing both of my lazer blades
" why do you always have to be right Danni?"says Wendy pulling her hair back and her tracking bow with glowing arows as she offer felix a hand and a small vail of whiskey as he takes her hand and brushes off the blood a determined look in his eyes as he takes out his lazer pistols" Let's get this over with."
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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"Yes but Mr Van Gogh don't you think the right ear is overdone in this day and age," dealing with the crazy ones was the hardest part of the job. "I can't think of a single artist who cut off their left ear." Vincent had a way of looking at you that made it hard to tell if he was paying attention or a million miles away. When finally his hand moved from pinching his right ear to his left I knew my job was done. I turned to make my way for the door, almost knocking a table of brushes on my way. The next part was not for the squeamish. Half way down the steps I heard a scream follow after me. I knew that would stay with me for a long time.
Now you might be thinking what sort of a difference would Van Gogh cutting off the opposite ear have on the world's timeline. I thought that too when I signed up to be a time manager. Twenty one years old and fresh out of college I thought a nice job managing shift workers would be great. Then I found myself making sure Isaac Newton sat under the correct tree and realised this was going to be a different sort of job.
Walking down an almost empty street I remembered why I hate the 1800s so much. You never get used to the smell. Flushing toilets and daily showers have really added a lot to society. I pulled my timetable from the satchel I carried, being careful not to step in a suspicious brown puddle. Next up seemed to be Victorian London. This would be a new one to me. As I packed my timetable back securely a blue light enveloped me and with a flash there was noting left but a small trail of smoke and the sound of a baby crying.
London was dark and it took my eyes time to adjust. Even with perfect vision it was hard to see through the mist that crawled along the streets. It was much busier here than my previous destination with crowds of drunken men wandering like the walking dead. My clothes had automatically changed to fit the look of the time. One of the perks of the job was you were always in style. Joining in with the flow people I soon found myself congregating with several ladies of the night. I could hear whistling and laughing as the oldest trade in the world was in full effect around me.
"Lookin for some company darlin," the woman stepped from the shadows with such expertise I barely saw her before she was beside me.
The timetable was often sparse with it's instructions but from the picture it gave me I knew this was the woman I had to meet. "I...um..yes," I smiled at the ground. "Sorry I'm new at this sort of thing."
When taking this job your taught very quickly that the timetable is your bible. You don't question the instructions and you carry them out to the letter. Even if what needed to be done made you uncomfortable or sick to your stomach it had to be done.
The woman laughed quietly. I noted this wasn't a condescending laugh but a warmer laugh. It reminded me of a girl I met in college. She laughed at me the same way when I knocked over my popcorn while watching a movie or the time I got too drunk and lost my wallet. The sort of laugh that comforted you when you made a fool of yourself. The more I looked at the woman in front of me the more it reminded me of that girl, small and slim with auburn hair. The one uncanny similarity I could notice was her teeth. They were slightly crooked which caused her to hide her smile and made her making eye contact difficult. It hurt me to know how such a small imperfection could cause a beautiful woman such insecurity.
"That's alright," she said. "I'll help you through it." She took my hand and started leading me down a side alley. We walked until the noise from the crowds on the street was muffled by the distance. Going through with this would be difficult but the consequences of not would be far worse. Stories floated around of time managers doing a task incorrectly and spending the next year working in the stone age. Worse still was the stories of agents not doing a task at all. Some say they are just abandoned, left to fend for themselves in the past.
I looked into the shadows of the alley and could see men and women occupying different corners between the buildings.
"Can we go further down," I nodded towards the only area of the alley that looked at all private. I could feel my body relaxing as the woman obliged walking deeper into the darkness.
It was now or never.
She turned back to me. "How is this for..."
Before she could finish the sentence my hands were around her throat. A wave of emotion flashed across her face, confusion, panic, fear and finally nothing. Tears ran down my face as her body dropped to the ground.
"I really didn't want to do this," I whispered even though no one was there to hear me. As the blue light slowly wrapped around my body one final thought ran through my head,
No wonder they never caught Jack the Ripper.
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Giovanni had not expected the travel to involve time travel. The job ad had not mentioned it.
The windowless room they left him in an hour ago was bare except for a chair and a table.
When they had informed Giovanni the travel would involve time travel, he had wondered what to think about it, but hadn't been able to form an opinion. He had tried to think how they wanted him to react, but only ended up frowning and mildly scrunching up his face.
More people were in the room then. Not now. Now he was alone, with the chair and the table.
His back hurt.
He tried to think of movies he saw the weekend before. He could not remember any of them, until one came to his mind. A movie about a couple going to Paris. He could not remember the title or the ending. He remembered feeling old. Older than the actors. Older than people who have a romance in Paris. Nobody in the movie had back pain.
He was trying to stand as straight as possible against the wall. "Giovanni, the time traveler, " he thought to himself. He tried to figure out how to say that in French but made little progress.
Without warning, the door of the windowless room opened. Giovanni instinctively took a step from the wall and tried to act normal, like a normal person, a person without back pain, lost in the empty room. Through the door came an old man with a beard, and a young kid with spiky hair and a backpack.
"Hello," the young kid said.
Giovanni waited but the old man said nothing.
"Hello," Giovanni said, "I was here for a job but the people sort of left me in this room."
Giovanni waited again, mostly for the old man, who annoyingly kept silent.
"I was introduced earlier to two people. I forgot their names. One of them had a tie," Giovanni tried to think, "but then they left me here."
"Look at me," the kid said. "I was forty. I went to Paris and came back young and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished he could lie down on the floor.
"Look at him," the kid pointed to the old man. "He also was forty. He came back old and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished the conversation to either be over or a lot more horizontal. He wondered what it must be like to lie down on the floor and think in French.
The kid took off his backpack and opened it.
"Would you like to go to Paris?", the kid said, unrolling a thin mattress on the floor.
Giovanni wanted nothing more
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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He holds my application and CV, flipping through the pages but not really reading them. There isn't much there, a few temp jobs and a disastrous turn at retail. I'm amazed I even got this far in the process, but as I look across the table at the preposterously lanky chap in brown suit and bow-tie with an even more preposterous fez perched atop his head, I begin to wonder if there were many applicants before me and if any of them stayed for the interview after being greeted at the door by this rawboned anachronism of a person.
He's friendly enough and I suppose some people might find his demeanor even charming in an awkward Hugh Grant sort of way but he strikes me as the sort of person I would have liked much more if I'd met him a few years earlier. I realize that he has been speaking to me as I have been silently appraising him.
"I'm sorry?"
"I asked if you would mind stepping into the police box with me." He motions toward a funny looking blue booth in the corner I hadn't previously noticed.
I stand up from the table, saying "I think we're done here."
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Giovanni had not expected the travel to involve time travel. The job ad had not mentioned it.
The windowless room they left him in an hour ago was bare except for a chair and a table.
When they had informed Giovanni the travel would involve time travel, he had wondered what to think about it, but hadn't been able to form an opinion. He had tried to think how they wanted him to react, but only ended up frowning and mildly scrunching up his face.
More people were in the room then. Not now. Now he was alone, with the chair and the table.
His back hurt.
He tried to think of movies he saw the weekend before. He could not remember any of them, until one came to his mind. A movie about a couple going to Paris. He could not remember the title or the ending. He remembered feeling old. Older than the actors. Older than people who have a romance in Paris. Nobody in the movie had back pain.
He was trying to stand as straight as possible against the wall. "Giovanni, the time traveler, " he thought to himself. He tried to figure out how to say that in French but made little progress.
Without warning, the door of the windowless room opened. Giovanni instinctively took a step from the wall and tried to act normal, like a normal person, a person without back pain, lost in the empty room. Through the door came an old man with a beard, and a young kid with spiky hair and a backpack.
"Hello," the young kid said.
Giovanni waited but the old man said nothing.
"Hello," Giovanni said, "I was here for a job but the people sort of left me in this room."
Giovanni waited again, mostly for the old man, who annoyingly kept silent.
"I was introduced earlier to two people. I forgot their names. One of them had a tie," Giovanni tried to think, "but then they left me here."
"Look at me," the kid said. "I was forty. I went to Paris and came back young and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished he could lie down on the floor.
"Look at him," the kid pointed to the old man. "He also was forty. He came back old and fluent in French."
Giovanni wished the conversation to either be over or a lot more horizontal. He wondered what it must be like to lie down on the floor and think in French.
The kid took off his backpack and opened it.
"Would you like to go to Paris?", the kid said, unrolling a thin mattress on the floor.
Giovanni wanted nothing more
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
He holds my application and CV, flipping through the pages but not really reading them. There isn't much there, a few temp jobs and a disastrous turn at retail. I'm amazed I even got this far in the process, but as I look across the table at the preposterously lanky chap in brown suit and bow-tie with an even more preposterous fez perched atop his head, I begin to wonder if there were many applicants before me and if any of them stayed for the interview after being greeted at the door by this rawboned anachronism of a person.
He's friendly enough and I suppose some people might find his demeanor even charming in an awkward Hugh Grant sort of way but he strikes me as the sort of person I would have liked much more if I'd met him a few years earlier. I realize that he has been speaking to me as I have been silently appraising him.
"I'm sorry?"
"I asked if you would mind stepping into the police box with me." He motions toward a funny looking blue booth in the corner I hadn't previously noticed.
I stand up from the table, saying "I think we're done here."
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"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
|
|
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
Dave awoke on his back to a ray of light in his eyes. A blinding wash of gold and green filled his vision as he squinted and repositioned his head. His hand came up as if to bat away the bright rays that peaked through the foliage. The waking daze became heavy confusion as he sat up to take in his surroundings.
"What.."
He was indeed under an umbrella of trees, of which had trunks of magnificent girth and height. The sun seemed to be resting atop the branches, like a molten ball of lava leaking its contents onto the jungle floor. It was now that he noticed the bed he rested in was the back of some sort of all-terrain military vehicle. A heavy machine gun was mounted next to where he lay; a chain of long, pointed rounds were fed through and ready to go.
"David Wes Gordon?"
He turned toward the female voice, "Uh.. that's me."
"Glad to see you're still kickin' after the jump. We were worried after you passed out."
"I passed out?.." He replied with unease.
The lady stood at the back of the vehicle with her arms crossed. She had bright red hair, obviously unnaturally dyed. Her body was fitted in dark green and brown clothes; they were littered with an excess amount of pockets and looked like a kind of military camouflage. He couldn't help but notice how well she fit in them and the stern but beautiful look on her face.
"Yeah. Don't worry about it, it happens to a lot of rookies."
Dave gave a sigh, "Honestly, I don't remember much after we got in the machine... It was all sort of a blur. I can't even recall the briefing before we stepped in."
"Doesn't surprise me."
"Can you tell me where we are and what my job is exactly?"
"Well you're still on earth." She chuckled, "And the time machine is a couple miles back. We took the ATVs from there. As far as your job.. Our team is in charge of taking samples"
"Samples? Of what?"
"Plants, tree sap, feces..."
"I'm still lost, what year is it?"
"We are currently 100 million years in the past."
"100 million.. what animal's poop are we scooping?"
Kelly smiled, "You'll see."
|
"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
|
|
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
It sucks being unemployed and broke. I had been out of work for 6 weeks, applying for jobs anywhere I thought I might be able to talk an interviewer into meeting me. It was 1990, and the economy wasn't very friendly to this recent college grad with a liberal arts degree.
The ad in the back of the free weekly paper struck my interest as it might be something I could do. " **must have excellent ability to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel** "
I was single and didn't have a whole lot of expenses. Besides, I really loved going and seeing new places. This was right up my alley, even if I had NO idea what the job was. I could adapt to all sorts of things.
"Ah, Mr. Pelcher, nice to meet you, " the man who shook my hand motioned toward a seat, "Would you like some coffee?"
It felt rude to say no, besides, he had a mug in front of him.
"Yes, please actually."
"What do you take in it?" he asked as he walked over to the pot by the sink in the room where we were meeting.
"Um, just black."
"You're a little young to drink it like this, aren't you?"
"Well, to be honest, I decided that if I was going to be a 'coffee drinker', I should learn to drink it straight. I will occasionally do cream and this new sweetener 'splenda', but it saves me money at home to drink it straight. " I thought about my answer after it had left my mouth. I wasn't sure if that came off as desperate, or what, but it was the truth. He looked like a man that appreciated the truth.
He poured my cup and brought it to me. I nodded my thanks and took a sip.
"Oh, this is good. Kona?"
"Well, you know your coffee. Yes, it's Kona. I apologize for the early meeting but we, feel like we need to know if our employees can be on time, even at the early hour of 7:30 AM on a Monday morning. Other managers I have worked with and for sometimes bring people in this early, then leave them in the lobby until 9 and watch on closed circuit TV to see how they react. I don't have time for that, do you?"
"Well, I guess it depends on how badly I want that particular job. Which, the Library or Social Security office didn't have a lot of information on your company for me to learn more about what y'all do. As you can tell from my resume and it's lack of ... well, depth, I'm looking to get started after my academic career has concluded."
"So you are finished learning?" the interviewer asked while taking a sip. He stared at me over the edge of the coffee cup. He was really interested in my answer.
"Of course not. I'm just at a point where I can't afford to be a full time student without an income. I had a decent part-time job as you can see on my resume, but my last job ended a few weeks ago, it was a temporary position in sales. I need to work. If I can work somewhere and learn NEW things, that's all the better." I noticed I was leaning forward in my chair and took a second to slowly slouch back a bit. "If we aren't learning something daily, are we really living? The idea of travel for this position seems even better for someone who can't afford to pay for his own travel."
"Where would you go? When would you go?"
"Are there territories for this position? How soon do you need me to travel after training, or will the training involve travel as well?"
He paused and digested my question. "Territories... well.. not, exactly. And, well... Let me just remind you the paper you signed out front with the admin. You cannot discuss this part with anyone. ANYONE."
"Trade secrets, correct."
"What if the travel wasn't a to where, but a to when?"
"Closed circuit TV, huh?" I looked around and found the camera hidden in the plant behind him, and another one in 'plain sight' in the corner. "Is there really a job? Please be honest with me."
"Oh yes. Absolutely. We will be paying you $65,000 per year plus expenses including wardrobe, travel, and full medical. We feel like we can use you in Eastern Europe in the 1870s initially. Granted, we will need to have you fitted for the translation aids. We've been waiting on you to graduate college and lose the job from the last place. Your 55 year old self said that this is the time you would be prime to accept this assignment."
"My Fifty-five year old self?"
"This is you, in 33 years..." He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a glass and metal slab. On it was the picture of a man who looked like me, ish. I recognized the hair, specifically the cowlicks and unruliness."
"Oh... What is that?" I pointed at the glass display he had set on the table.
"That's called an iPad. it's a tablet computer. You told us your hobbies included computers after you got out of college. The truth is, yes, we have a job for you, and our company doesn't exactly exist yet. It will, soon. It will start out in the garage of a guy who lives out in Kansas..."
"How bad do I screw up in the future that you are offering me this job NOW to get me out of the way? " My brain was reeling a bit.
"That's not how it works. You see, you applied for this job in your future, part of what they discover in Kansas in 14 years is the timelines and pathways. We arranged based on your psyche profile for the ad to be placed in the Inquisitor zine. And, don't take this the wrong way, had you not picked that up, the "Jobs board" would have called you. It's *YOUR* time. So, If you just fill out your W4 form we can get you started on your language translator implant."
"I'm not sure if I want this job..."
"Of course you want this job. Look, you need this job for ... later."
I thought about my crappy apartment and car. I thought that I had not had a meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex in months. When else could I do this?
"Okay, I'll do it." I picked up the folder and started filling out the paperwork.
|
"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
|
|
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
It seemed like a practical joke. So, of course I had to follow up.
As an investigative journalist, I prided myself on exposing scam employers... and worse. Scanning the want ads for potential leads, a short ad requested 'Excellent ability to adapt and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' And nothing else. Suspicious.
In person inquires only. SUPER suspicious.
And the address.... Piazza della Rotonda, 00186 Roma RM, Italy
... wait.
That's the Pantheon in Rome. A VERY public place... not some shady office or warehouse in the sticks. The middle of fricken ROME.
I gotta check this out. I booked the next flight out and packed my suitcase.
Arriving at the steps of the Pantheon a few days later, I approached an old gentlemen who appeared to be dressed in a tour guide's outfit. "Ciao!" he said as I approached. I presented the want ad to him, hoping he would know what it meant. He looked at it for a moment. "Ah! Un momento," he replied, and then spoke into a radio on his lapel. "Parla inglese?" he asked, to which I nodded. He relayed my response into the radio.
A few moments later, a middle-aged woman in dark blue suit arrived to greet me. "Hello, you are here about the job offer?"
"Yes," I replied, extending my hand. "Matt Summers."
"Hello, Matt. I'm Bridgette McCall." She took my hand and shook with confidence. "Please follow me." As instructed, I followed her into the main building of the Pantheon.
Bridgette walked toward the center of the building, directly under the oculus of the concrete dome. She was typing something into a phone while she walked. When she arrived at the center point, she gestured to the exact middle. "Stand here."
I complied. She then handed me the phone... at least I thought it was a phone. Had the same general shape, but had a number of dials on the sides. And a large button in the middle, pulsing a faint red. "Please press the button when it turns green. The interview will begin immediately afterward."
Confused, but intrigued, I looked at the device. The dials seemed to change the numbers that the device displayed. It took me a moment to figure out what it was showing me... then it hit me. It was today's date... but one year in the future. The button then turned green, and I pressed it.
My vision blurred. At least I thought it blurred. Maybe the world around me blurred. I felt motion, but remained where I was. The feeling passed in a moment, but my head felt tired. The button on the device now flashed yellow, with a timer counting down. 10 seconds. I looked up from the device.
Bridgette was standing there, but she was now wearing a different outfit. Red instead of blue. She was smiling broadly. Beside her... was me!
"Congrats, you passed the interview," my double said with a grin. "Easiest interview ever, yea? The password is 'Whiskey on the rocks'."
The shock and confusion was just starting to pass as the device beeped in my hand. The timer had ended. Suddenly the same feeling of still-motion occurred. My vision blurred again, and when it returned, Bridgette was back in her blue suit.
"Would you care for a drink?" she asked.
"Yea... 'Whiskey on the rocks'."
"Excellent! Follow me to the office for orientation."
I followed, in a haze of confusion as to what just happened. I put the device in my pocket as we entered a small office to right of the gift shop.
She grabbed a pair of glasses from a small cabinet, put a few ice cubes in each, and poured whiskey in both. She brought both over to the desk, and sat behind it. "Please, sit. Before you fall over."
My head had started to spin. I barely made it to the chair before my feet failed me. Bridgette sipped her drink and gave me a moment to collect myself. "Whenever you are ready," she said.
I leaned forward, putting my head in my hands, trying to anchor myself. "... what just happened?"
"Time travel," Bridgette replied. "The device in your pocket will allow you to move back and forward in time."
"And you hire people to... do what?"
"Observe. Objective truth is getting harder and harder to come by, so we send people back in time to record historical events with minimal impact. On rare occasions, we send trained individuals forward to report on specific outcomes from current events. Just to be sure."
"And the Pantheon is some kind of... focus? That lets time travel happen? Something special with the oculus?"
"Nope. It's just been here for 2000 years, so it serves well as a fixed point to start from. The device can 'shift' your actual arrival point to some degree, but you still don't want to wind up in a tree or in the middle of a road. So new trainees start here before we give them a permanent assignment."
"And the person with the password was... me? In the future?"
"Yep. Makes the interview process VERY straightforward. Ready for some training?"
"... hell yea."
|
"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
|
|
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
Mr. Venter studied the job application and smiled.
“An associates degree in communications, and 3 years as flight attendant is the perfect fit for our needs. Oh, and your love for period films is an extra bonus for us,” he said to Matt. “You can have the gig, but you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure form before I show you the project to protect our IP. I know it seems silly, but some legal battles in big tech can be straight up Looney Tunes.”
Mr. Venter slid the confidentiality agreement across his desk. Matt signed it without consideration. Finally, a steady job that will bring a constant paycheck and extended benefits. He had been looking for such a job since airline industry crashed in 2021.
“Thank you!” Matt said.
The two men left Mr. Venter’s office and walked towards the warehouse building. They passed by several staff members, each raised an eyebrow at the sight of Matt. “Him?” One worker whispered to another. “I don’t think he’s physically fit for the mission. A bit too young…“
Their conversation became unclear the further they walked away from Matt.
“Don’t mind them,” Mr. Venter said. “You said in the application you could lift 50 lbs. That is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Venter; that won’t be an issue.” Matt said. “I should mention that I have asthma. It doesn’t give me any real problems unless I try to run a marathon during allergy season.”
Mr. Venter laughed. “I think we’re good for now.”
The two men reached a door after walking down a long hallway. Mr. Venter took out several ID cards and scanned them on the security device above the door’s handle, then entered a 25 character password on a keypad.
The door unlatched, and Mr. Venter heaved it open.
An empty darkness filled the parameter of the warehouse. In its middle sat a long casket that looked like what a magician’s assistant would place themselves into before vanishing. Cables snaked out of the box and into the darkened parts of the warehouse. Flood lights beamed onto the set as if it were going to be filmed.
“Welcome to your office,” Mr. Venter said. He smiled and held out an open hand towards the box.
“I don’t quite understand,” Matt whispered.
Mr. Venter opened the box. It was stuffed with dozens of color coded wires. “This is a retro grade period capsule, and you can be our operator,” he said.
*So a time machine*, Matt thought. He couldn’t tell if he was the subject of a prank. Perhaps the rest of the staff hid themselves in the warehouse and at any moment they would flick on the lights like a surprise party.
Matt looked into the impenetrable shadows but couldn’t see any movement. He then focused on his hearing, hoping to catch someone snicking at the elaborate prank, but only heard the ticking of his Timex wrist watch.
“Let me clarify,” Lewis said after a brief moment. “As you know the world has become quite rigid. Corrupt elected officials scatter across the globe, the climate crisis turned irreversible, and cornerstone industries — like your previous career — have gone belly up. All of this and more occurred within a couple of years. There’s no telling how much deeper humanity will plunge before we all go *poof* and fade out of existence. We need someone to course correct a small amount of actions in the past in order to undo their catastrophic effects we now suffer from.”
*This guy is either dead serious or deserves an academy award*, Matt thought. He felt like he should play along incase it was the latter, but a small part of him believed Mr. Venter.
“Why me?” Matt asked. “Why not some West Point or MIT graduate who can predict the outcome of altering the past.”
“Good question. Both types of people work for us in the present, but they also helped contribute to the current issues from the past. We can’t have them confront themselves in the past unless we really want to shatter the space/time continuum. But you — being a flight attendant made you deft for time and cultural changes. Trust me, you’ll be going through a lot of those!” Lewis chuckled at his own joke. “The communications degree will help you relay our instructions to the people who can make today better.
“Believe it or not Mr. Baker, your fit for this job even though you might feel like you’re not qualified. We’ll go through a couple of test runs to be certain you’re up for the task, but as of now, I don’t have any doubts.”
Matt walked towards the time box and touched it. His fingers left a blotch of sweat on the capsule.
“I can give you two days to decide if you want the job.” Mr. Venter said. “Afterwards, we’ll need to reach out to our reserved applicants. This position must be filled by the end of the week and —”
“I’ll take it,” Matt said. He needed the money whether he would be launched into a different period or end up being on some viral prank show. “I don’t fully understand it, and I’m certain I don’t meet the qualifications for the such a position, but I’ll do it.”
“Perfect,” Mr. Venter said. “We’ll get you training first thing tomorrow morning.”
The men walked out of the warehouse and towards the parking lot. Mr. Venter shook Matt’s hand one more time before getting into his vehicle.
“If it’s any assurance,” Mr. Venture said. “I didn’t feel adequate for my job, and I believe some of the greatest history makers of the past weren’t either.”
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"So you love traveling, eh?" Asked the grumpy man sitting as a interviewer across me.
"Yes. Very much sir!" I replied.
"Your resume looks quite perfect. You can join from tomorrow. You will have to sign a year's bond. You will get your joining letter tomorrow." He said in one breathe and started scribing on a pad.
I, on the other hand, returned home with full enthusiasm and positive vibes. After all it was my first job. I had a sleepless night with all the reveries of the first day.
I arrived at sharp 9 o clock in the morning. I knocked at the interviewer's door.
"Come in." He said without a smile.
For the first time, I noticed the nameplate there. His name was Mike. He suddenly got up from his seat and motioned me to follow him. I did. We sat in his car and the driver accelerated.
"Umm sir! Where are we going?" I asked, fumbling.
He didn't answer and continued staring out of the window. The journey seemed to last forever.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was around the countryside. Green meadows and vacant land all around. We walked a while till reached a structure which appeared like a hanger where aeroplanes are parked or kept . And beside it was an old styled single floor house. There was something odd in the environment.
Inside, an old man was doing something with a jet plane.
"Hello Nicholas." Mike said.
"Ohh hi Mike! What a great day, isn't it!" Nicholas exclaimed.
"Here's your man." Mike continued, "He said he loves traveling. So you can try him with your time machine."
"Wait, what?" I sort of screamed. I thought I heard wrong. "Time machine? Joking right" I gave a nervous laugh but nobody reacted.
"So I will leave you two to it. Have a nice day." Mike started to leave and I caught him by his arm.
"This is fallacious! You never ever mentioned about time travel! This is.... This is ridiculous!" I yelled not knowing if my words made sense anymore.
"Okay. You can leave if you want. But there was a bond which signed yesterday remember! Either give that amount or you have got no choice." He left with these words hanging behind him. I felt my mouth getting dry. I didn't have that amount of money for the bond.
I took a deep breath and looked at Nicholas.
"I am sorry." I said almost in an inaudible tone.
"You don't trust my invention." Nicholas asked.
"No, not like that. But what if don't return?" I asked.
"But you said you love traveling?" Nicholas asked with disappointment.
"I never meant time traveling." I said with complete displeasure.
"My baby's ready to fly." Nicholas replied adoring the jet plane. "Come on. Try it!"
"It's an order I guess?" I confirmed.
"Yes. It is." He said with an expressionless face.
While remembering my family, heavens, angels God, I put my left foot in the cockpit, then right, then fastened my belt, wore my head gear and.... I was running breathless now. A drop of sweat fell on my eyes and they started itching. I looked at Nicholas with a pleading expression. But he took no notice of it and shouted, "Have good ride fella! Tell me everything you see. But first, you have to type in the year in that small screen which you chose to see." And left.
I thought for a moment. And then somehow calmed myself down. I suddenly realised how much I missed my grandpa. I typed the year of his birth, 1950. It clutched the gear and handles with all my strength.
The wheels started to churn and I was now flying. I couldn't believe myself. I came across so many people or rather angels on the way. But something happened. There was an unpleasant noise and the engine stopped. My plane landed with a great thud. When I came out, it looked destroyed.
It meant I am now stuck here forever!!!!
But I met my grandpa. He was startled, astonished, surprised and so shocked to see me there. I told him everything. We are having a good life now.
And back on earth, I have got no clue what might have possibly happened to Nicholas!
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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He holds my application and CV, flipping through the pages but not really reading them. There isn't much there, a few temp jobs and a disastrous turn at retail. I'm amazed I even got this far in the process, but as I look across the table at the preposterously lanky chap in brown suit and bow-tie with an even more preposterous fez perched atop his head, I begin to wonder if there were many applicants before me and if any of them stayed for the interview after being greeted at the door by this rawboned anachronism of a person.
He's friendly enough and I suppose some people might find his demeanor even charming in an awkward Hugh Grant sort of way but he strikes me as the sort of person I would have liked much more if I'd met him a few years earlier. I realize that he has been speaking to me as I have been silently appraising him.
"I'm sorry?"
"I asked if you would mind stepping into the police box with me." He motions toward a funny looking blue booth in the corner I hadn't previously noticed.
I stand up from the table, saying "I think we're done here."
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"Yes but Mr Van Gogh don't you think the right ear is overdone in this day and age," dealing with the crazy ones was the hardest part of the job. "I can't think of a single artist who cut off their left ear." Vincent had a way of looking at you that made it hard to tell if he was paying attention or a million miles away. When finally his hand moved from pinching his right ear to his left I knew my job was done. I turned to make my way for the door, almost knocking a table of brushes on my way. The next part was not for the squeamish. Half way down the steps I heard a scream follow after me. I knew that would stay with me for a long time.
Now you might be thinking what sort of a difference would Van Gogh cutting off the opposite ear have on the world's timeline. I thought that too when I signed up to be a time manager. Twenty one years old and fresh out of college I thought a nice job managing shift workers would be great. Then I found myself making sure Isaac Newton sat under the correct tree and realised this was going to be a different sort of job.
Walking down an almost empty street I remembered why I hate the 1800s so much. You never get used to the smell. Flushing toilets and daily showers have really added a lot to society. I pulled my timetable from the satchel I carried, being careful not to step in a suspicious brown puddle. Next up seemed to be Victorian London. This would be a new one to me. As I packed my timetable back securely a blue light enveloped me and with a flash there was noting left but a small trail of smoke and the sound of a baby crying.
London was dark and it took my eyes time to adjust. Even with perfect vision it was hard to see through the mist that crawled along the streets. It was much busier here than my previous destination with crowds of drunken men wandering like the walking dead. My clothes had automatically changed to fit the look of the time. One of the perks of the job was you were always in style. Joining in with the flow people I soon found myself congregating with several ladies of the night. I could hear whistling and laughing as the oldest trade in the world was in full effect around me.
"Lookin for some company darlin," the woman stepped from the shadows with such expertise I barely saw her before she was beside me.
The timetable was often sparse with it's instructions but from the picture it gave me I knew this was the woman I had to meet. "I...um..yes," I smiled at the ground. "Sorry I'm new at this sort of thing."
When taking this job your taught very quickly that the timetable is your bible. You don't question the instructions and you carry them out to the letter. Even if what needed to be done made you uncomfortable or sick to your stomach it had to be done.
The woman laughed quietly. I noted this wasn't a condescending laugh but a warmer laugh. It reminded me of a girl I met in college. She laughed at me the same way when I knocked over my popcorn while watching a movie or the time I got too drunk and lost my wallet. The sort of laugh that comforted you when you made a fool of yourself. The more I looked at the woman in front of me the more it reminded me of that girl, small and slim with auburn hair. The one uncanny similarity I could notice was her teeth. They were slightly crooked which caused her to hide her smile and made her making eye contact difficult. It hurt me to know how such a small imperfection could cause a beautiful woman such insecurity.
"That's alright," she said. "I'll help you through it." She took my hand and started leading me down a side alley. We walked until the noise from the crowds on the street was muffled by the distance. Going through with this would be difficult but the consequences of not would be far worse. Stories floated around of time managers doing a task incorrectly and spending the next year working in the stone age. Worse still was the stories of agents not doing a task at all. Some say they are just abandoned, left to fend for themselves in the past.
I looked into the shadows of the alley and could see men and women occupying different corners between the buildings.
"Can we go further down," I nodded towards the only area of the alley that looked at all private. I could feel my body relaxing as the woman obliged walking deeper into the darkness.
It was now or never.
She turned back to me. "How is this for..."
Before she could finish the sentence my hands were around her throat. A wave of emotion flashed across her face, confusion, panic, fear and finally nothing. Tears ran down my face as her body dropped to the ground.
"I really didn't want to do this," I whispered even though no one was there to hear me. As the blue light slowly wrapped around my body one final thought ran through my head,
No wonder they never caught Jack the Ripper.
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
Aw Gosh!
Here I am in 1749 Boston: cobblestone streets, horses - I just stepped in some horse dung, at night it was so dark - not even gas lamps in the streets, but houses and shops had pale candle light in the windows.
What kind of a job is this, traveling in time? "Be ready for anything", they said. "Follow our instructions to the very letter", they said. Be ready for the cold of a Boston winter in 1749? Be ready for the dark? Be ready for hunger? I don't have any money from the period - can't get a room in a boarding house, can't buy food. I'm going to be here for some time if I am to "follow their instructions", which I won't except for one.
You can bet your bippy I'll be at the "pickup" location at the designated time, so I can get back to "the present". Ha! The present!
Why is the job back in time, always back? Why not forward? I already went back in time, and then my time machine broke - that's why I was stuck in 2021 in the first place. That's why I needed a job, some period money. Then the job turns out to be going back in time to do some nefarious work for who, aliens?
Do they think I can't see them, the pale glowing, shadowy at the same time figures standing behind/above/within the people they possess? Maybe people of 2021 can't see them, but I can with my nano enhanced eyes.
Anyway, I didn't like 1776 the first time I lived through it, and I didn't much like 2021 the first time I lived through it - the slow time, year after year, on my way through the ages. Getting stuck back in 2021, the gear needed to fix my machine not even invented, was a big bother. Now much less 1749. Hold on, focus. When you're as old as I am, you think a lot. I don't have time for thinking on tangents. I have to focus on the tasks.
Get some period money, food, shelter. Foil the task/plans of my employers. Get to the pickup spot 27 days, 3 hours, 22 minutes, 13.42 (rounded, by the HUD in my vision) seconds, and counting, from now.
Hold on!
Find myself! I can help me. I'm here already, somewhere, living my life. Where was I at this time? I was here somewhere. I remember that, somewhere in America since 1724. That was my plan in 2021 right after getting some money, food, shelter - getting to me, living on an island at the time, which is why I needed money for the travel expense.
Philadelphia! That's where I am in 1749. I'm living in Philadelphia, and quite well to do over there. I can help me, and it isn't such a long or expensive trip there from here like it was in 2021.
Get some shelter, food, a little money - travel to me. Bingo. That's resources. The nefarious plans of those alien (if that's what they are) scum are all but foiled.
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"Uh, this is it?", I looked around a shabby little garage, the man looked slightly miffed but ignored me, instead he walked slowly and deliberately to the other side of the messy room. He then flipped a switch. Everything went black.
When I woke up I found myself in a white room, I looked around nervously, then noticed a mirror on one of the walls. Before I could stand up and look at it a crisp voice interrupted me,
"Welcome, Mr. Edwards.", the mirror opened and led to a room, filled with people in lab coats, and quite a few in hazmat suits. The man I saw before walked up towards me, with an air of superiority about him. He said,
"Well, welcome to our laboratory, where we experiment on peop-", he was interrupted by a shove, he rolled his eyes as he continued,
"Where we experiment on travel through \*people's\* lives", he sighed but brightened as he led me to what looked like a huge metal cylinder.
"This is where the fun begins!", he began rubbing his hands as he shoved me into the opening of the cylinder.
"What the-", I was cut off by the hatch of the cylinder closing. Everything went black again.
I woke up in a desert.
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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Sarah scribbled out the rest of her information, excited to undertake this new business venture. The interview went well, even if they're probing questions about her travelling habits caused her some slight discomfort. Of course, she travels, she has her license. What sort of question is that? Yet, they kept asking about how much travel she’s done and if she can adapt to changing environments. Both questions she enthusiastically responded to. Not wanting to miss out on her opportunity to work for such an interesting company. They hadn’t filled her in about the job details just yet, but she was certain a project with this much travel must be amazing.
Sarah handed the contract to the lead scientist, the balding man pulling down his glasses, reading over her information carefully. The man’s silent gaze flicking over the page, causing a slight air of unease as he surveyed it, rereading it until he was content.
“Your date of birth, that’s the fifth of January 2021 correct?” The scientist fixated on the year, writing the date on a small yellow notepad at his side.
“That’s correct. I’m thankful for this opportunity, I promise you I will do my best to help you. So, am I doing more administrative work, or did you want me to drive between facilities?” Sarah asked, determined to prove how useful she was as soon as possible.
“Nothing like that. We need someone who can test out a new device we have made. Unfortunately, none of our scientists will conduct the experiment themselves, so we outsourced.” The scientist glanced back, perhaps sensing Sarah’s unease as he motioned her into the backrooms of the office. “It’s safe, I assure you. We just can’t risk one of our scientists being busy if the machine malfunctions. It’s as dangerous as donating blood, you will be fine.”
The man’s words offered Sarah some comfort, enough that she continued following him into the backrooms, these rooms far different to the clerical offices situated towards the front of the building. These rooms covered in discarded wires, broken pieces of technology and strange glowing artifacts that Sarah could hardly believe were real. The most salient feature of the room was the large iron cylinder, its sides glowing with pulsating blue light, radiating with an energy that reflected off the scientist’s glasses.
“This is our latest piece. It allows a user to travel to the past. We will hook a camera up to you, allowing us to view whatever you are looking at. If things get dangerous, step into the device and we will send you back. Simple enough, right?”
It must have been a joke. A way of hazing the new employee. Sarah smirked, feeling foolish for that previous unease she had felt. The scientist didn’t share that smile, watching her with a curious expression, taken aback by Sarah’s confident strides, stepping towards the time machine.
“Well, let’s go then. Open it up. Just so you know, I didn’t fall for this trick.” Sarah remarked, thinking she had called out the man’s bluff.
Her sudden enthusiasm confused the scientist, but he went along with it, regardless. Tapping a few buttons on his computer, the machine’s door forced itself open, revealing an interior made for a single person. Once Sarah was inside, he quickly brought over a camera, strapping it to her head before backing away.
“Good luck, Sarah, we will be watching. Our communication will be one sided, we can hear you, but you can’t hear us. Trust that we will always be listening.” Before Sarah could comment further, the door shut before her.
She listened to the metallic cylinder rumble, smoke steaming into the machine, causing her to panic. The thick black puffs of air causing her to slam her fists against the metal, trying to alert the scientist before she held her breath, waiting for the door to open.
Sarah felt her lungs ache, needing another breath, opening her mouth to take one, only for the doors to pry open, revealing a bloodied landscape. The machine sat atop a pile of bodies, the thick cloud of smoke pouring free as she observed her surroundings. Two armies each stopped their clashing, staring in disbelief at the strange machine.
The armies fell silent, neither side having the heart to continue the battle, a temporary truce being determined. Soon a few soldiers began their approach, swords pointed towards the machine, Sarah trying to sink back into the machine, looking for some sort of return button, yet she found none.
“Send me back!” She shouted, earning no response.
Panic flowed through her body, the soldiers now only a few steps away from her when she suddenly raised a hand, the action causing the soldiers to step back. She pointed her open palm at one of them who ducked, then to another who made a similar motion. The initial fear only lasted a few moments. Once they realized she had no special powers, they continued their approach only for the door to slam shut before they reached her.
Again, smoke drifted into the machine, causing her to once again take a breath, waiting for the doors to open once more. When the doors opened, she threw herself to the floor, nearly kissing the ground below.
“You made it; seems our co-ordinates were a little off.” The scientist uttered, helping her up from the floor. A few more scientists had filled into the room, each sharing a look of relief. “We thought you were going to get killed.”
“What the hell was that? I thought you were joking; you made a time machine and sent a random person to the past?” Sarah grabbed the man by his lab coat, pulling herself up, still seething after her near-death experience.
“You’re experienced, you said you could handle travel and sudden changes. You should be happy, you did great. I can’t wait for your next run.”
“Next run? Why would I get in that thing again?”
“For the money? It’s a high-paying job and you get to sight see. How many people can say they have travelled back in time. Sarah, I understand how you feel but please consider continuing to work with us. Look, take some time to rest and call me back in a day or two, let me know if you still aren’t interested. Remember, you can’t discuss any of this either.” The man pulled out a card with his number on it, handing it to Sarah.
“Right, I’ll consider it.” Sarah left work for the day, heading back to her apartment. She told herself she wouldn’t go back, that she wouldn’t accept such a dangerous job. But as the day wore on, she stared at the business card more, struggling to turn down the opportunity. Maybe she would call back tomorrow?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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Going to finish the rest up soon. posting what I got so far.
"Good Morning! I'm here to interview for the time administrator job. I was told to be here at 8:30 so sorry about showing up a bit early."
"That's no problem at all Mr.Maxwell, if anything its a plus! As you can guess by the title of the job punctuality is of the utmost importance around these parts, so if anything you're off to a rocking start. You can go ahead and just go down right this hall to the first room on your left. Your interviewer should be in there already."
Adam leisurely walks past the secretary's desk and marches right down to the room. He opens the door and finds himself looking at the shrouded figure of a clearly physically imposing man. As he steps into the room the veil of darkness slips away and the man's features begin to come under the scrutiny of the light. The man is dressed in ridiculous garb at face value, his head being covered by a horse mask whilst wearing a two piece suit on his body. The farcical nature of it all is so out of place to his expectations that Adam immediately stops in place and has to take a second to compose himself.
"I'm sorry I must have slipped into the wrong room. I'm actually looking for the interview room and you must clearly be here for different reasons. Though I have to admit that mask makes me think this might actually be the right kind of workplace for me if you know what I mean."
"Welcome Mr.Maxwell, contrary to expectations you've found yourself in the right room. I appreciate your respect for the art of punctuality. In due time you'll come to realize that the mask is necessary for protection."
Upon attempting to follow up on the line Adam had to catch himself and stifle a joke about pharmacy protection, after all it was an interview and he needed the money.
"Well sir one thing you'll come to realize about me is that I'm a very adaptable person, and if you say the mask is necessary than there's no need to explain as to why, after all my future boss said so."
"Obsequiousness will do you well in this role at times, but at other times it will function as your downfall. Anyways Mr. Maxwell let us dispense with the formalities, we already know that you are the man for the job and there is no need for us to conduct any tedious interview. After all, omniscience has to have its upsides as well."
Adam couldn't help but jot down that piece about omniscience, after all how often did you meet a person wearing a horse mask talking about omniscience. However, as has been known since the dawn of humanity, the sin of greed can make men overlook much.
"I'm really glad to hear that Sir, after all if I am to be honest times have been lean recently and any job will go along ways. Before we get any further though would you mind if I enquired about the pay and benefits?"
"Let it suffice to say that by taking this job you'll be recompensed in such a manner that will put you beyond any level that your earthly desires need you to be at."
"Well then I'm sold Sir. I'll do the job regardless of what I have to do, if you need me to kick puppies then I'm your man. If you need me to steal an orphan's lollipop then I'm your man, whatever the job requires I'm your man."
"Nothing of such sorts my friend. Imparting upon you your duties is the very reason I'm here for, however before we can proceed along such a path I need you to ingest this drink."
Adam eyes proceeded to follow his counterparts head as it began to rotate on a vertical swivel till it came to rest on the table. Surpisingly there was a grail on the table with a golden looking drink within it. Initially Adam was perplexed, after all he hadn't noticed such a flashy cup when he first came in. Those thoughts were immediately drawned by a crescendo of desire as he felt hypnotized by the rich gold nature of the drink. He could not help but feel as if all of life's desires could be fulfilled and overcome simply by consuming said drink. His initial hesitance to drink it stops him from taking anything but a tiny sip, but upon feeling its efficacy of rejuvenating his very soul he immediately scarfs it all down. All seems to be well till two seconds later when he feels himself burning up and everything fading to black. The last thing he sees before darkness completely overtake him is the masked man beginning to take off his facial covering. After that nothing as he slips into the realm of Morpheus himself.
Adam suddenly jerks awake after some time has passed. He immediately is faced with acute bouts of pain arcing throughout his body like bursts of lightning.
"You're finally up. Take your time getting up I'm sure everything must feel different to you, after all your entire plane of perception has been altered."
"Plane of perception? Let me put this in the most respectful manner I can, especially to someone who causes me to lose consciousness, but what in the fuck did you just give me. Before you gave me that I was feeling just fine but now I feel worse than I've ever felt before."
"Aahh my apologies, it's been so long since my first day on the job that I completely forgot how treacherous the transition from a temporary carbon based lifeform to a celestial being is."
Adam struggled to comprehend everything that was being presented to him, after all his head was still ringing like a bell at a temple. The first conscious thought that managed to reach the surface of his mind was that perhaps the drink had contained some sort of psychedelic component, after all what else could make sense of the sights that he was seeing. Ever since waking up it felt like his senses had been overclocked, he could feel his heart booming whilst having a greater awareness of everything around him than he had ever experienced before.
"I can see the machinations of your mind go into overload as you try to make sense of what is happening to you, let me just explain it all rather than waiting for the hardware of your consciousness to make sense of it all. As you are already well aware of the job you came to sign up for today was one of a time adminstrator. The person who stands before you is the previous time administrator, but I also go by the name Chronos. What you just got done drinking is colloquially refered to by mortals as Ambrosia, and the reason you feel all out of sorts is your body is struggling to make the transition to godhood. Aah and you were inquisitive about the mask as well right? Well the reason for that was simple, after all you entered a mere mortal and mortals will simply be burnt to ashes if somehow their eyes manage to fall upon the true visage of a celestial being. I think that should suffice in terms of exposition for you, after all what would the point of being an omniscient celestial being be if they needed someone else to pluck the fruit for them."
While "Chronos" went about his hard to believe monologue Adam did began to feel things settle down. He had dabbled with meditation in the past and had begun to rely on its past teachings by centering his breath. As his breath settled down and he began to comprehend his new plane of existence information began to race through his mind at a rate never felt before, after all previously Adam could have been best described as a bit of a dullard.
"I think I'm beginning to grasp the terms of the job. The only thing I need to ask is when are we going to start?"
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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"So... first day huh?"
The woman driving looked back at the road, accelerating to overtake a black Jeep.
"Um, uh- yeah," I mumbled from the passenger seat, looking out at the desert rush by.
"So how'd your interview go?"
"It was pretty good, yeah."
"That's good."
"I'm David."
"Elena."
There was a moment of silence.
"So... the boss. She mentioned time travel?"
"Heh yeah, it's the best and worst part of the job. The best part is getting to see historical events play out in real time. The worst part is the toilets." Elena chuckled to herself. "We're about to hit it now. You strapped in?"
I nodded. "So hit.. what exactly?"
"Well you don't really need to know the science unless you're a Driver like me but it's just relativity. Things go backwards once we're past the speed of light. I just need a bit of space to pick up speed." She gestured towards the empty highway.
"Wait what do you mean- "
The car started vibrating as if it were made up of hundreds of mobile phones taking calls simultaneously. Elena's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror. "Damn, I thought I lost that one."
He could see the black Jeep too, kicking up a trail of dust.
Elena's turned to me grinning. "I'm not really meant to do this buut I can't be bothered to outrun them on petrol. Hopefully they'll just think it's a mirage or something."
Her grin widened."Now hold on, this is the best part."
I looked down at what she was looking at and realized that just next to the handbrake was a separate curved lever I'd never seen before. Then everything outside *stretched.* It was as if someone had taken a watercolor brush and smeared the edges of the world past my field of vision. I was hit with a sudden wave of vertigo before the world turned distinctly blue. Then purple. Then black.
Suddenly there was no Jeep, no desert, just.. total darkness. Elena turned the lights on inside. "We're past the speed of light! How cool was that huh?"
"That... yeah that was amazing! Uh.. what happened exactly?"
"I can't be bothered to explain." Elena looked at a dial that was distinctly not the speedometer anymore. "You'll pick it up on the job."
"Yeah about that... what do I do exactly?"
"Weren't you told? We solve problems, that's our whole thing!"
"Yeah but *every* company says that."
Elena considered this. "Fair, fair, but we solve *actual problems*. We work outside of the box. Technically we work outside of the law too. That's because we work outside time which... there's a lot of 'outside' stuff."
Outside the law... time travel... this was all too much. A terrible thought struck me. "Haha that's funny but umm, I don't have to kill anyone do I?"
"What!? Nooo! Of course not!"
I sighed with relief.
"We wouldn't give a job that difficult to a rookie! That takes *years* of training."
I stared at her, but she seemed not to notice. Begrudgingly I decided she was joking. "So what do I actually *do* then?"
"Well right now we're working on climate change, which is one of our more time-consuming challenges. It's hard to get it right without destroying human progress 100 years down the line y'know?"
I didn't, but I nodded anyway. The car let out a small 'ding!'.
"Aand we're here!" Elena said, pushing the not-a-handbrake down again. The car started vibrating like a hundred alarms and then suddenly the world outside the windscreen was purple. It looked stretched out like clay but it slowly came together faster and faster. The world went blue, it looked like they were accelerating really fast then-
"We're gonna crash!" I yelled
Elena slammed the brakes as reality snapped back to normal perspective, everything unstretched again.
"Roll down the windows!" Elena said. It was good advice, because I threw up a few seconds after.
"Ha! I should've warned you, but I completely forgot because I don't get timesick. You'll get used to it though. You'll only puke out *half* your guts next time."
"Where are we?"
"Same highway just 100 miles down... or do you mean," Elena paused for dramatic effect, "*when* are we?"
I couldn't respond because I was busy trying not to throw up. The second time was *so* much worse.
"Yeah," Elena said, "it's weird how people always have it worse exiting superlight. I'll just assume you asked. Welcome to the 1970s! We're gonna start a climate protest."
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Going to finish the rest up soon. posting what I got so far.
"Good Morning! I'm here to interview for the time administrator job. I was told to be here at 8:30 so sorry about showing up a bit early."
"That's no problem at all Mr.Maxwell, if anything its a plus! As you can guess by the title of the job punctuality is of the utmost importance around these parts, so if anything you're off to a rocking start. You can go ahead and just go down right this hall to the first room on your left. Your interviewer should be in there already."
Adam leisurely walks past the secretary's desk and marches right down to the room. He opens the door and finds himself looking at the shrouded figure of a clearly physically imposing man. As he steps into the room the veil of darkness slips away and the man's features begin to come under the scrutiny of the light. The man is dressed in ridiculous garb at face value, his head being covered by a horse mask whilst wearing a two piece suit on his body. The farcical nature of it all is so out of place to his expectations that Adam immediately stops in place and has to take a second to compose himself.
"I'm sorry I must have slipped into the wrong room. I'm actually looking for the interview room and you must clearly be here for different reasons. Though I have to admit that mask makes me think this might actually be the right kind of workplace for me if you know what I mean."
"Welcome Mr.Maxwell, contrary to expectations you've found yourself in the right room. I appreciate your respect for the art of punctuality. In due time you'll come to realize that the mask is necessary for protection."
Upon attempting to follow up on the line Adam had to catch himself and stifle a joke about pharmacy protection, after all it was an interview and he needed the money.
"Well sir one thing you'll come to realize about me is that I'm a very adaptable person, and if you say the mask is necessary than there's no need to explain as to why, after all my future boss said so."
"Obsequiousness will do you well in this role at times, but at other times it will function as your downfall. Anyways Mr. Maxwell let us dispense with the formalities, we already know that you are the man for the job and there is no need for us to conduct any tedious interview. After all, omniscience has to have its upsides as well."
Adam couldn't help but jot down that piece about omniscience, after all how often did you meet a person wearing a horse mask talking about omniscience. However, as has been known since the dawn of humanity, the sin of greed can make men overlook much.
"I'm really glad to hear that Sir, after all if I am to be honest times have been lean recently and any job will go along ways. Before we get any further though would you mind if I enquired about the pay and benefits?"
"Let it suffice to say that by taking this job you'll be recompensed in such a manner that will put you beyond any level that your earthly desires need you to be at."
"Well then I'm sold Sir. I'll do the job regardless of what I have to do, if you need me to kick puppies then I'm your man. If you need me to steal an orphan's lollipop then I'm your man, whatever the job requires I'm your man."
"Nothing of such sorts my friend. Imparting upon you your duties is the very reason I'm here for, however before we can proceed along such a path I need you to ingest this drink."
Adam eyes proceeded to follow his counterparts head as it began to rotate on a vertical swivel till it came to rest on the table. Surpisingly there was a grail on the table with a golden looking drink within it. Initially Adam was perplexed, after all he hadn't noticed such a flashy cup when he first came in. Those thoughts were immediately drawned by a crescendo of desire as he felt hypnotized by the rich gold nature of the drink. He could not help but feel as if all of life's desires could be fulfilled and overcome simply by consuming said drink. His initial hesitance to drink it stops him from taking anything but a tiny sip, but upon feeling its efficacy of rejuvenating his very soul he immediately scarfs it all down. All seems to be well till two seconds later when he feels himself burning up and everything fading to black. The last thing he sees before darkness completely overtake him is the masked man beginning to take off his facial covering. After that nothing as he slips into the realm of Morpheus himself.
Adam suddenly jerks awake after some time has passed. He immediately is faced with acute bouts of pain arcing throughout his body like bursts of lightning.
"You're finally up. Take your time getting up I'm sure everything must feel different to you, after all your entire plane of perception has been altered."
"Plane of perception? Let me put this in the most respectful manner I can, especially to someone who causes me to lose consciousness, but what in the fuck did you just give me. Before you gave me that I was feeling just fine but now I feel worse than I've ever felt before."
"Aahh my apologies, it's been so long since my first day on the job that I completely forgot how treacherous the transition from a temporary carbon based lifeform to a celestial being is."
Adam struggled to comprehend everything that was being presented to him, after all his head was still ringing like a bell at a temple. The first conscious thought that managed to reach the surface of his mind was that perhaps the drink had contained some sort of psychedelic component, after all what else could make sense of the sights that he was seeing. Ever since waking up it felt like his senses had been overclocked, he could feel his heart booming whilst having a greater awareness of everything around him than he had ever experienced before.
"I can see the machinations of your mind go into overload as you try to make sense of what is happening to you, let me just explain it all rather than waiting for the hardware of your consciousness to make sense of it all. As you are already well aware of the job you came to sign up for today was one of a time adminstrator. The person who stands before you is the previous time administrator, but I also go by the name Chronos. What you just got done drinking is colloquially refered to by mortals as Ambrosia, and the reason you feel all out of sorts is your body is struggling to make the transition to godhood. Aah and you were inquisitive about the mask as well right? Well the reason for that was simple, after all you entered a mere mortal and mortals will simply be burnt to ashes if somehow their eyes manage to fall upon the true visage of a celestial being. I think that should suffice in terms of exposition for you, after all what would the point of being an omniscient celestial being be if they needed someone else to pluck the fruit for them."
While "Chronos" went about his hard to believe monologue Adam did began to feel things settle down. He had dabbled with meditation in the past and had begun to rely on its past teachings by centering his breath. As his breath settled down and he began to comprehend his new plane of existence information began to race through his mind at a rate never felt before, after all previously Adam could have been best described as a bit of a dullard.
"I think I'm beginning to grasp the terms of the job. The only thing I need to ask is when are we going to start?"
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[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
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"So... first day huh?"
The woman driving looked back at the road, accelerating to overtake a black Jeep.
"Um, uh- yeah," I mumbled from the passenger seat, looking out at the desert rush by.
"So how'd your interview go?"
"It was pretty good, yeah."
"That's good."
"I'm David."
"Elena."
There was a moment of silence.
"So... the boss. She mentioned time travel?"
"Heh yeah, it's the best and worst part of the job. The best part is getting to see historical events play out in real time. The worst part is the toilets." Elena chuckled to herself. "We're about to hit it now. You strapped in?"
I nodded. "So hit.. what exactly?"
"Well you don't really need to know the science unless you're a Driver like me but it's just relativity. Things go backwards once we're past the speed of light. I just need a bit of space to pick up speed." She gestured towards the empty highway.
"Wait what do you mean- "
The car started vibrating as if it were made up of hundreds of mobile phones taking calls simultaneously. Elena's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror. "Damn, I thought I lost that one."
He could see the black Jeep too, kicking up a trail of dust.
Elena's turned to me grinning. "I'm not really meant to do this buut I can't be bothered to outrun them on petrol. Hopefully they'll just think it's a mirage or something."
Her grin widened."Now hold on, this is the best part."
I looked down at what she was looking at and realized that just next to the handbrake was a separate curved lever I'd never seen before. Then everything outside *stretched.* It was as if someone had taken a watercolor brush and smeared the edges of the world past my field of vision. I was hit with a sudden wave of vertigo before the world turned distinctly blue. Then purple. Then black.
Suddenly there was no Jeep, no desert, just.. total darkness. Elena turned the lights on inside. "We're past the speed of light! How cool was that huh?"
"That... yeah that was amazing! Uh.. what happened exactly?"
"I can't be bothered to explain." Elena looked at a dial that was distinctly not the speedometer anymore. "You'll pick it up on the job."
"Yeah about that... what do I do exactly?"
"Weren't you told? We solve problems, that's our whole thing!"
"Yeah but *every* company says that."
Elena considered this. "Fair, fair, but we solve *actual problems*. We work outside of the box. Technically we work outside of the law too. That's because we work outside time which... there's a lot of 'outside' stuff."
Outside the law... time travel... this was all too much. A terrible thought struck me. "Haha that's funny but umm, I don't have to kill anyone do I?"
"What!? Nooo! Of course not!"
I sighed with relief.
"We wouldn't give a job that difficult to a rookie! That takes *years* of training."
I stared at her, but she seemed not to notice. Begrudgingly I decided she was joking. "So what do I actually *do* then?"
"Well right now we're working on climate change, which is one of our more time-consuming challenges. It's hard to get it right without destroying human progress 100 years down the line y'know?"
I didn't, but I nodded anyway. The car let out a small 'ding!'.
"Aand we're here!" Elena said, pushing the not-a-handbrake down again. The car started vibrating like a hundred alarms and then suddenly the world outside the windscreen was purple. It looked stretched out like clay but it slowly came together faster and faster. The world went blue, it looked like they were accelerating really fast then-
"We're gonna crash!" I yelled
Elena slammed the brakes as reality snapped back to normal perspective, everything unstretched again.
"Roll down the windows!" Elena said. It was good advice, because I threw up a few seconds after.
"Ha! I should've warned you, but I completely forgot because I don't get timesick. You'll get used to it though. You'll only puke out *half* your guts next time."
"Where are we?"
"Same highway just 100 miles down... or do you mean," Elena paused for dramatic effect, "*when* are we?"
I couldn't respond because I was busy trying not to throw up. The second time was *so* much worse.
"Yeah," Elena said, "it's weird how people always have it worse exiting superlight. I'll just assume you asked. Welcome to the 1970s! We're gonna start a climate protest."
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Sarah scribbled out the rest of her information, excited to undertake this new business venture. The interview went well, even if they're probing questions about her travelling habits caused her some slight discomfort. Of course, she travels, she has her license. What sort of question is that? Yet, they kept asking about how much travel she’s done and if she can adapt to changing environments. Both questions she enthusiastically responded to. Not wanting to miss out on her opportunity to work for such an interesting company. They hadn’t filled her in about the job details just yet, but she was certain a project with this much travel must be amazing.
Sarah handed the contract to the lead scientist, the balding man pulling down his glasses, reading over her information carefully. The man’s silent gaze flicking over the page, causing a slight air of unease as he surveyed it, rereading it until he was content.
“Your date of birth, that’s the fifth of January 2021 correct?” The scientist fixated on the year, writing the date on a small yellow notepad at his side.
“That’s correct. I’m thankful for this opportunity, I promise you I will do my best to help you. So, am I doing more administrative work, or did you want me to drive between facilities?” Sarah asked, determined to prove how useful she was as soon as possible.
“Nothing like that. We need someone who can test out a new device we have made. Unfortunately, none of our scientists will conduct the experiment themselves, so we outsourced.” The scientist glanced back, perhaps sensing Sarah’s unease as he motioned her into the backrooms of the office. “It’s safe, I assure you. We just can’t risk one of our scientists being busy if the machine malfunctions. It’s as dangerous as donating blood, you will be fine.”
The man’s words offered Sarah some comfort, enough that she continued following him into the backrooms, these rooms far different to the clerical offices situated towards the front of the building. These rooms covered in discarded wires, broken pieces of technology and strange glowing artifacts that Sarah could hardly believe were real. The most salient feature of the room was the large iron cylinder, its sides glowing with pulsating blue light, radiating with an energy that reflected off the scientist’s glasses.
“This is our latest piece. It allows a user to travel to the past. We will hook a camera up to you, allowing us to view whatever you are looking at. If things get dangerous, step into the device and we will send you back. Simple enough, right?”
It must have been a joke. A way of hazing the new employee. Sarah smirked, feeling foolish for that previous unease she had felt. The scientist didn’t share that smile, watching her with a curious expression, taken aback by Sarah’s confident strides, stepping towards the time machine.
“Well, let’s go then. Open it up. Just so you know, I didn’t fall for this trick.” Sarah remarked, thinking she had called out the man’s bluff.
Her sudden enthusiasm confused the scientist, but he went along with it, regardless. Tapping a few buttons on his computer, the machine’s door forced itself open, revealing an interior made for a single person. Once Sarah was inside, he quickly brought over a camera, strapping it to her head before backing away.
“Good luck, Sarah, we will be watching. Our communication will be one sided, we can hear you, but you can’t hear us. Trust that we will always be listening.” Before Sarah could comment further, the door shut before her.
She listened to the metallic cylinder rumble, smoke steaming into the machine, causing her to panic. The thick black puffs of air causing her to slam her fists against the metal, trying to alert the scientist before she held her breath, waiting for the door to open.
Sarah felt her lungs ache, needing another breath, opening her mouth to take one, only for the doors to pry open, revealing a bloodied landscape. The machine sat atop a pile of bodies, the thick cloud of smoke pouring free as she observed her surroundings. Two armies each stopped their clashing, staring in disbelief at the strange machine.
The armies fell silent, neither side having the heart to continue the battle, a temporary truce being determined. Soon a few soldiers began their approach, swords pointed towards the machine, Sarah trying to sink back into the machine, looking for some sort of return button, yet she found none.
“Send me back!” She shouted, earning no response.
Panic flowed through her body, the soldiers now only a few steps away from her when she suddenly raised a hand, the action causing the soldiers to step back. She pointed her open palm at one of them who ducked, then to another who made a similar motion. The initial fear only lasted a few moments. Once they realized she had no special powers, they continued their approach only for the door to slam shut before they reached her.
Again, smoke drifted into the machine, causing her to once again take a breath, waiting for the doors to open once more. When the doors opened, she threw herself to the floor, nearly kissing the ground below.
“You made it; seems our co-ordinates were a little off.” The scientist uttered, helping her up from the floor. A few more scientists had filled into the room, each sharing a look of relief. “We thought you were going to get killed.”
“What the hell was that? I thought you were joking; you made a time machine and sent a random person to the past?” Sarah grabbed the man by his lab coat, pulling herself up, still seething after her near-death experience.
“You’re experienced, you said you could handle travel and sudden changes. You should be happy, you did great. I can’t wait for your next run.”
“Next run? Why would I get in that thing again?”
“For the money? It’s a high-paying job and you get to sight see. How many people can say they have travelled back in time. Sarah, I understand how you feel but please consider continuing to work with us. Look, take some time to rest and call me back in a day or two, let me know if you still aren’t interested. Remember, you can’t discuss any of this either.” The man pulled out a card with his number on it, handing it to Sarah.
“Right, I’ll consider it.” Sarah left work for the day, heading back to her apartment. She told herself she wouldn’t go back, that she wouldn’t accept such a dangerous job. But as the day wore on, she stared at the business card more, struggling to turn down the opportunity. Maybe she would call back tomorrow?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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[WP] You've survived the apocalypse, but quickly realize you're still wearing braces. You travel the world to find an orthodontist who will remove your braces. As you travel the world, you unwittingly save it.
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Okay, I've survived the Apocalypse. It didn't take much effort, just help others when they need it, and don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. After all, the major battles were on the plains of Meddigo.
Things start settling down when I realize that the local orthodontist is missing; last seen running down the middle of the road, starkers, screaming about the demons who want to torture him for all the torture he put them through. I could sort of understand that. His skills as an anesthesiologist left a bit to be desired.
I still had braces. They needed to either come off or get adjusted. Since orthodontists were in short supply around here, I didn't have any choice but look for one. Everything still worked, sort of, but newspapers were down to broadsheets, and both radio and TV news was strictly live. No one had time to go running around gathering information. You got whatever you got by people taking a few seconds to call it in. If you were lucky, you got a shot of the aftermath—usually a selfie.
If the local news thought it worthy, they'd pass it to AP or one of the other services with dedicated lines. Those services were desperate for anything to send, and subscribers were desperate to publish or broadcast *anything*.
It made for some interesting listening as I drove my econobox around looking for a dentist willing to dabble or an orthodontist. I'd see the occasional person in need, so I'd take the time to help. It's not like I was in a hurry. They seemed so startled that *anyone* would stop to help a stranger. I'd explain my philosophy on that, and they might disagree, but they never scoffed. When we finished, they'd gift me with a little something and had a thoughtful look. "You might have something there. Thanks."
They usually had some idea of where the next dentist or orthodontist was, so that's where I'd go next. I'd wove across the eastern half of the country before I started hearing reports of some hero running all over helping people in need. For the most part, they didn't mention his name, just that he had metal on his teeth.
Well! Maybe we could hook up and at least share info on where we'd been. Never did get to meet him. I thought for sure we'd meet in New York City. Yeah, it's a big place, but we were both looking for a dentist at the least. We never met.
By the time I admitted that no dentist could be found, I was close to the harbor. Aircraft weren't flying much, and when they did, the ticket prices started at extortion and went higher. That left shipping. You could sign on for crew passage, you worked off your fare, or you could buy a passenger ticket. A bit more expensive, but if you could entertain, you could get a refund by way of tips. Sometimes, or so I heard, you could come out with more than the ticket cost. What I didn't know was that you could really blow the top off and get a good-for-life entertainer's passport good for passage on any ship in exchange for entertainment.
On the way over to England and points east, we got more reports of the fellow they started calling Steel Teeth. It seemed he was on some quest to spread the idea of helping each other whether you knew each other or not. It was working too. Wherever he passed and helped someone, the idea of helping anyone who needed it caught on fast. Those places started booming. Then the idea passed from those local spots to ever-wider areas. The boom extended, life was coming back, and it was roaring.
I commented at dinner one time that I'd missed seeing him in New York. Both of us looking for a dentist, I figured we would. That got me some funny looks until the Captain sent his remarkable stare around the room.
From that point on, it was me entertaining and lending a hand wherever I could. They'd protest, and I'd respond, "I have the time, and you need the help." It didn't hurt that aside from having a pretty good voice and a passing acquaintance with a guitar, and I had my grandad's penchant for telling tales.
By the time we got to port, Steel Teeth was a world-class singer, played the guitar like the devil on fire, and could floor you with stories that could make you weep like a baby, cheer like a lion, and laugh so hard you'd fall down.
Only the radioman sending the stories flatly refused to identify the ship, the destination, the ETA, or the passenger, other than Steel Teeth.
Oh, if he only had! I could have met him!
With everyone else knowing that Steel Teeth was coming, a request for every dentist's location went out. The replies were disturbing. None were available. They were either missing presumed dead, dead, or in the loony bin and in a state that *no one* would let them near *anyone* with sharp implements. It was even money if they'd slice the patient or themselves.
It did start up a dentistry school wherever an office was found with the textbooks needed. Mostly, they found people who desperately needed dentistry as the students, who naturally practiced on each other with the help of expert anesthesiologists.
Anyway, there being no dentist here, nor any way to know which ship Steel Teeth was on, I took ship again. This time to France, the UK having already confirmed no dentists.
When I approached the Captain, he looked at me with some interest. When I showed him my passport, his eyes lit up. When I smiled, you'd think he was about to burst. I'd seen this before; to keep him from embarrassing both of us, I quietly told him, "I'm not Steel Teeth," with the same look my first Captain used.
He looked startled, nodded knowingly, and welcomed me aboard. Everywhere we went, the stories of Steel Teeth spread. The dentistry schools grew like wildflowers. And the gospel of Steel Teeth spread. "Help each other. It does not matter what their race, creed, color, or sex is. It matters only that they need help, and you can give it."
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Damn, your just protecting all the wemon and children inside your little convenient store from all the zombies at the front desk with a few bullets and a bat then all of the sudden some guy with a bikers helmet on comes in and kills all almost 40 of 'em. And as you walk out from the back you see the dude Take off his helmet and ask "do you know where I can find a dentist? I had got these braces before the apocalypse." Then he shows you his teeth and pink braces, wiping zombie blood off his hands before sticking them in his mouth. "And they looked good but now they aren't really worth all the care I have to put into them, so can you help me find a non infested city or shack with a orthodontist in it." Then he throws you a pack of shotgun shells.
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[WP] You’re a walrus in need of social interaction and for some reason, no one will look at you.
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**Home garden coming along great! #greenthumb #newskills #organic**
Nothing.
**Baking journey triumph! Love this rye bread! #breadfan #theyeasticoulddo #itsryelife**
Still absolutely nothing.
"Oh come on! It looks wonderful! Maybe fewer puns? I mean I thought it was just a fun little thing...fun with puns...there's a pun in there somewhere...no. No, serious face. I've got it."
**In these trying times, it's important to cherish your friends and family. Check in on that old friend you haven't spoken to in a while, you never know who's day you'll make! #allinthistogether #friends4life**
John stared at the screen, feeling his eyes grow wet. Still nothing. Not a single like, not a single retweet. Of all the so called friends and followers, not a single one had reached out to him in a month. Every time he called? Right to voicemail. Messenger? Seen at 3:45pm.
Fine, he thought to himself as he ambled over to the door and carefully strung several masks to his face to accommodate for his tusks. So some health conscious social interaction wasn't on the menu, from anyone he knew at least.
"That's fine." He said, slamming the door with his flipper as the cool January air made his tears sting even harder. "Guess it takes something like this to find out who your friends really are. Well I can still be appreciated, I can find people that like me."
With renewed determination he shuffled out to his backyard, not seeing a single neighbor out and about. Didn't matter. He collected what he needed to into a basket and slid down the sidewalk to his destination.
*Closed*
The soup kitchen sign burned bright red into his retinas. Odd, it was only noon. Well, must be pandemic hours.
"No doubt there's some hungry unfortunate souls about still." John looked around, spying a tent on the sidewalk. "Hello there sir! Would you care for some fresh e-"
The man in tattered clothes quickly looked away, shielding his eyes as he abandoned his tent and ran down an alleyway to vault over a fence.
"Rather strange...well would anyone else like some e- Hmmm." John found that the streets were shockingly empty, the last few pedestrians and homeless individuals all looking as though they had something urgent to attend to.
A police car rounded the corner, and no sooner than John had laid eyes on it was it pulling a hard u-turn and accelerating back around the corner with squealing tires.
"Well...they *have* had a lot to deal with lately. Hmmmm, I've got it!" John slid off to the next destination, a fine bunch of lads and lasses who needed all the appreciation they could get. And no doubt some social interaction as well, the poor things.
*Closed*
"Very peculiar indeed, I wasn't aware that hospitals ever did close..." John's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a scream and a crash.
Turning around he saw a young mother sprinting off with her baby clutched in her arms, pram knocked over and all its contents splayed across the ground.
"Madam! You dropped your things!" He shouted after her, frowning as a taxi screeched to a halt beside her with it's driver imploring her to get in.
The young mother dove in and the taxi sped off, passed by an ambulance with sirens blaring charging down the road to the hospital. No sooner than it had pulled into the emergency room loading entrance next to John did it speed off once more, never stopping.
"What the devil is going on!?" John shouted to the sky.
He heard a phone buzzing and a notification sound. Setting down the basket of fresh laid eggs still in need of donating, he shuffled over to the young mother's belongings. Another notification.
John looked around, seeing not a single living soul out on the streets and all the curtains of the hospital drawn.
Yet another notification.
He dragged the phone closer to him with his tusk, looking at the string of notifications covering up the phone's screen.
His eyes went wide.
**DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS**
What? And official? After all he had sent out? Who could...
He looked at the official notification. It was only signed "P."
And John knew exactly who it was, and he bellowed to the air in a rage.
"PAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUL[!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1Jm5epJr10)"
(I can't believe I wrote this. I write other things I swear, check me out at /r/SylasWrites.)
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*When you're alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go... downtown...*
Of course, Walda did no comprehend words on a literal level. She was aware of the static tinged thrum of the speakers that echoed through the ruins. Since leaving the aquarium, she bound along the sidewalks, her thick brown flippers partially dragging her along. Ice had covered the sidewalks, making moving easier, but every few feet she would pause to noisily grouse over the roughness texture of the sidewalk. The lingering groan that issued from her short, round muzzle was certainly heard by the fleeting humanoids who ducked into buildings or shouted in panic when they came across her. Why did the two-legs act like this? Walda was unsure why gazing upon her taupe colored bulk. Did anyone care that Walda hated sidewalks? Evidently no, her groans and complaints were reserved only for herself. She continued bounding down the street, the racket playing overhead while the dimming street lamps added a soft golden glow to each building that lacked windows or furniture at the bottom. What drew her towards the center of town was not the fleeing figures, or the shouts, but a soft whistle that attracted her. She was desperate for a friendly interaction that she followed the whistle that had touched her on an empathic level.
Towards the end of the sidewalk she crossed the black asphalt street and into the only piece of natural ground within the stone and iron maze. Out of the corner of her beady black eye, she had spotted the small pond that sat in the middle of the softer grass. At least she had that comfort, the walrus thought to herself. She let out a soft call, attempting to attract the whistle she had heard. Her neck stretching as she watched a retreating two-leg cry out, "Don't look at the damn walrus!" His face covered by his arms. She let out a remorseful cry when the whistle returned and Walda turned to gladly spot the only Human she ever trusted smiling from the center fountain. She happily bound across the ground, making several honks of joy at seeing her master, Ballard.
"Everyone been running from you Walda?" He asked before reaching into the pail sitting on flat stone rim of the fountain. He tossed a squirming blue shell crab to her, which she snatched and cracked its shell, gorging herself on the food.
"Don't take it personal, sweetie," Ballard said mildly as he knelt before her and ran a single brown finger down her backside, "Did you spot anything at the aquarium?" Their empathic connection allowed her to understand his request. Why she had been sent away in the first place. She shook her head and offered a soft bleek.
"That means the fiend is loose," Ballard said, "No wonder people have been shouting at you." He stood and said, "You see any other walruses? Any of your kind?" Walda shook her head again. The beasts at the aquarium had been shy when she approached. What little she could gather from scent, instinct, and body language was that something had escaped the confines of the pens. Something like Walda the walrus, but not like Walda the walrus.
"Looks like we've got a long night ahead of us then," Ballard said before tossing another crab, "You ready to go hunting?"
She was eager have two-legged Humans from panicking at the sight of her. She brought one of her tusk against the crabs shell, busting it open. She fed herself while watching Ballard fetch his main weapon. She always shuddered, watching the moon play off the silvery end of the harpoon his weapon was loaded with.
"You finished?" Ballard asked, "We've got bad walrus to hunt down, hon."
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[WP] You were raised by a single father who never told you a thing about your mom. Even when you tried to look, you could find no trace of her. Your first clue comes when you lose a finger in an accident. The missing digit regenerates itself, a green scaly replacement growing before skin covers it.
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Megan was panicking so badly. The blood was flowing and she could see my finger softly twitch on the floor. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her stump. The bloody kitchen knife sat discarded next to the viscera-soaked head of cabbage. She started screaming for her Dad. He was in his office, it was her turn to cook that night, and he rushed in. His abject horror softened as he saw the finger on the ground.
"Dad! Get that! Get some ice." she said, mixed with plenty of expletives. He seemed completely nonplussed.
"Calm down honey. It's going to be-" a mix of the words 'my finger' and a scream cut him off.
"Dad! We need to- the hell Dad? I- oh." he had unwrapped the towel and her finger had stopped gushing blood. In fact it had sealed over at the joint.
"What the fuck?!"
"Language!" Dad chided playfully.
"No, seriously, what is this?" the nub of her finger had reskinned itself but the red gave way to a pale green thinly wrapped over it."
"Well, honey, remember when you fell off your roller blades a few years back and gashed up your leg?"
"Yeah it healed quickly. You said I got my 'powers' from my Mom..."
"Do you remember I told you not to look at it? This is why."
"Dad... Who exactly is my mother? What happened to her?"
"That's a really long conversation. But I guess since dinner is cancelled and we're gonna have to wait for a delivery, we can talk about it."
"Am I old enough now? I know you don't like talking about it but I swear I can handle it."
"Let's order food first. How about pizza?" he sat Megan down at the table and picked up her finger. He carefully brought it to the counter and began cleaning the blood.
"You can use the app with 9 fingers, right?"
"Yes, Dad! I'm on it." she was tapping away on her phone.
When the gore was cleaned, he sat down with her.
"OK, you come from a family that emigrated here, a long time ago. They... They're..."
"Not human?"
"Yeah, how-" she held up her hand. "Oh right."
"What kind of alien or-"
"I don't know, you- I-," he took a breath, "Your mother, let's say she was less than forthcoming with that information. She always told me, 'I'm here now, what does it matter where I'm from?' and I guess I agree, but I should have known something weird was going to happen. I guess she thought she would have more time."
'How did she die?" he took her hand, stumpy one too, and held them.
"We were driving down the i92 when a car careered across three lanes and sideswiped us. It drove us into the barrier and up into oncoming traffic. We were shunted around and at one point I was thrown from the car."
"Were you badly hurt?"
"Yeah, but I didn't know it at the time. I was still dodging traffic and running across lanes to get back to the car."
"And Mom?"
"I got to the car, the whole passenger side is crushed in, and I'm trying to pull the door open. I can't so I go around the other side, the door was sheared off. But she's not there. There's blood all over the dash and window and the seats. I'm thinking she got thrown out. So I stepped back and looked where she could have fallen out. People have stopped and are tying to help. The won't let me go back to the car. I remember saying over and over, 'but she's still in there, she must be in there'.
"Did you find her?"
"In a way. I made them let me go to the car but they insisted they come with me. I couldn't find her and I was spinning in circles, trying to find her amongst the wreckage. After a minute someone shouted that they found her.
I started running and I could hear them shout that she was under the seat. As I got there, they were pulling her out. Something was wrong but I had a concussion and wasn't thinking. They handed me a bloody baby with a birth mark right here." he poked her cheek and she giggled a little before dropping the smile.
"Where the hell did the baby come from?"
"It was her. I guess that is what happens when you get seriously injured."
"I read about that, like squid or something can do that."
"I took her home with me. It was hard to explain what happened but I just picked up everything and left."
"That's me, right? The baby?"
"Yup, I kept expecting her to grow overnight, back into herself, you know. Like a grow a person thingy. But..."
"You got me...?"
"Yes, and I couldn't be happier for that. I love you, dear, I do."
"But you miss Mom? Am I like her at least?"
"Oh yes. In many ways. But in many others you aren't."
"Wow. This is... This is a lot..."
"Look, Megan, you're my daughter and I love you so very much."
"Would you rather her back instead if me?"
"No. I want both. But if I can't have her, I am happy to have you anyway."
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“Come on. Old man. I am not a kid anymore.”
But no matter how hard I shouted or how angry I got, he would just sit on his chair, rocking it back and forth without changing his attention off from the horizon.
“You told me that my mother died from an accident when I was 2 years old and I never questioned you about it for the last 15 years. Yet when I accidentally cut off my finger today, this grew back in its stead.”
I showed him my index finger that was now shiny and scaly rather than fleshy pink. Yet he still didn’t look my way. Rather, he took his pipe and lit it.
“Back in my youth, I scaled all the mount tops that people thought of as the realm of the gods with only my stead. I slew beasts and liches whose sorcery could drive a monk insane. I conquered kingdoms with a bare steel cast.”
“I don’t have time for your stories, old man. Tell me about my mother, while you still have a son that respects you.”
The old man hesitated, and he spoke with his voice shaken.
“One would think a man above the gods would have nothing to make him suffer. But loneliness knows nothing of kings and gods, it only knows to consume and I was the loneliest of them all. The things that I had done to make me forget were terrible … terrible things. How the smartest witts falls short against desperation. Now I have to deal with the aftermath of my mistakes and atone. I am sorry, son. But you will never find your answer from me.”
I firmly clenched my hand in anger, regretting asking him about my mother in the first place.
“Fine. Keep your secrets. Find peace dying in this moldy house all by yourself.”
I spat on the floor before walking out the door and slamming it shut.
​
​
The old man sat there, silent and alone. He stood up slowly and walked in front of the chimney. His thin hands reached for a book whose cover was jagged and half decaying. He read the words that he had long tried to forget.
“The Lusty Argonian Maid.”
He then threw the book into the dimly lit chimney and said.
“Never again.”
​
If you like my writing, check out my other works at r/FluffWrites
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[WP] After training your whole life you finally vanquish the big baddie. You're the hero of your land. Over time tho the people start fearing you and your power and exile you from your homeland. In the wasteland you make the most unusual friends. The henchmen and lieutenants of your vanquished foe.
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Power was transient.
Life was transient.
What a crock of drak-shite-....
Erryk coughed. The sound was disgustingly wet, rumbling from the depth of his ravaged guts.
He spat. Blood bloomed out in the snow, but he pulled himself up, numb to the surrounding cold.
The fur cloak he had stolen from a drunk merchant after he had climbed out of corpse-ditch he had been thrown in, lay a few dozen feet past in the snow. It was too heavy now, soaked in icy sludge.
His horse... well, not *his* horse, but a another object of ignoble theft, a *will-bent* steed slinked away from the tavern in Wartsbrugh, too, had been cast away and forgotten. Almost a full day of racing a delirious, feverish rider through the windswept winter roads, with no food or water, drained the animal of the last drops of its vitality.
Erryk tried to eat what was left on the carcass, but couldn’t, vomiting up the raw meat while the poison continued to spread through his body.
He left the horse to the crows, and continued on foot to the Lands’ border.
He had to reach the homestead. Find a minute reprieve and shelter. And, as he hoped, help.
If he gave up now, among the blizzard, his death would be certain. Buried in snow, at the southern fringe of Land Kaye in Jad-Ha, bones picked by animals in the spring... an end befitting a nameless beggar. Not Erryk Shadecloaked, the Vanquisher of Jad, the Battlecaster. The Usurper.
Once, he was powerful. Once, fates of thousands lay in his palm. Once, he had commanded forces beyond the reach of an ordinary mortal.
And yet, now, he couldn’t command his own flesh. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
The poison eventually had corrugated his fingers into useless blackened shards of nail and bone. It rendered him incapable of calling into the Shade, cut him off from reaching its safe shores. And the agonising heat the poison scorched his innards with gave no warmth in the storm, no - it dissolved his focus, his will, into pure despairing *nothing*.
What a vile concoction. To think he had ingested it willingly... trustingly. Out of the hands of a friend.
***
A near decade of peace that Erryk had brokered between the three Inner Kingdoms hadn’t held for long. Treaties forged out of fearful necessity, rather than a heartfelt or bloodsworn alliance, crumbled under the greed of princelings and Lords of the Land.
Akeryn, the Kingdom of Sha, thirsted for a port at the Ink Sea - its legions carved a path of destruction through Farassa as they’ve thrown their might to seize the Verthstone Port-Fortress. And Farassa, the Kingdom of Tec, broke into a civil war between the aristocracy of the Firstborn and their own peasants. Jad-Ha, the Kingdom of Ice, well... the high courts decided that Erryk’s grip on the throne snuffed itself out like a waning flame.
In addition, the heirs of the ill-fated Queen Harrayda had grown up. Twins Orok and Dak could don a knight’s armor and mount a steed, but more importantly, they both had only a faint memory of their uncle’s reign of terror and ash. All they knew was Erryk’s droll regency - and the whispers of power slipped into the noise of ballroom courtship and feasts.
Yes, that’s what it had been. Erryk’s grip faltered and waned - and so did the young princes’ patience.
Of course, he too, heard the whispers. Saw the glances under the shadows of the bronze masks, listened to the jabs concealed as advice in the Dawn Council.
*“Erryk is not of noble blood. The people are in doubt, they earn for a true heir, a true King.”*.
*“An arkanist at the throne of Jad-Ha? The Inner Kingdoms won’t stand for this heresy long...”*
*“The regent relies on his personal power, while the Grand Army stands useless at the border, and the soldiers grow discontent”*.
*”Freedom is a word, Master Tayrn. Freedom is a whore that the Usurper flaunts before lustful men”*.
*“Erryk carelessly courts the Shade all these years. One day, his willpower shall break, and then - well, how different would that be from King Jaddon’s Decade of Sorrows?”*
In just eight years of prosperity, it all been but forgotten.
The pyres and stakes and the gallows that Jaddon the Seventh had erected across the Lands, had long been destroyed.
His colossal marble statue that had towered over the capital, lay crumbled into pieces. The flesh-pits had overgrown with new pastures. New children were born in the place of the perished. New crops were sown and harvested. The boy-princes would wave from the rafters of the Summersun Festival to the adoring crowds beneath, and mead would flow like the river in the fire-lit dusk...
What could he offer Jad-Ha and the Lords of Land, except fear and contempt? While Jaddon’s atrocities were indeed put to rest, the Battlecaster’s victory over him was not. And oh, what a terrifying victory that was - the slaves, the sacrifice, the summoned Bloodfiend tearing at the Cinder Guard through the wall of rippling Shade...
Every day that he walked into the throne room, every time he was present at the twins’ training or doling out punishment, that memory was made flesh again.
Now, *Erryk’s* shadow lay across all. As years passed by, it mattered less and less that crops thrived in it and trade boomed, forging Jad-Ha’s craftsmen into renown guilds. A throne couldn’t be held by power and harvest alone - it needed noble blood and a spiderweb of alliance.
Something that Erryk sorely lacked.
And so, a chalice was handed, and a toast.
“To the future of Jad-Ha! To Erryk the Shadecloaked! To Orok and Dak!”
And a smile of a knowing herbseer.
***
By the time Erryk reached the crooked little barnhouse at the edge of the forest, he couldn’t feel his feet. Only the faint light in the homestead’s window kept his hope up as he waded through two-feet deep snow.
Blood froze to his chin into black icicles, and it took all his resolve to knock on the door.
He waited.
Footsteps and shuffles. The door swung open - of course, someone like that wouldn’t fear mere bandits.
“Who comes here in the dead of... oh.”
Korokh Adderfang stood in the doorway. The roughsewn clothes did little to hide the former High Arkanist of Jaddon’s striking, noble visage... and even if the years had put more grooves into his skin, they’d yet to add silver to his black mane and beard. The secret, forced exile also hadn’t extinguished the flame at the bottom of his eyes, and this fire - loathing, surprise, confusion - now burned Erryk as well.
For a few moments both arkanists stood still, studying the Seals inked into their respective foreheads.
Adderfang’s Seal smoked slightly, a sure sign that he’d touched the Shade not long ago. Erryk’s was bleeding black onto his face like puss from a wound, the banishing effect of the poison causing its pattern to practically disintegrate.
The older man lowered his lantern. A smile touched his lips.
“You have changed, usurper. No armor. No guard at your side. No silks, even”. He exhaled softly through his teeth. “If not for the Seal, I wouldn’t have recognised you”.
Battling the cruel spasms and the frostbite, Erryk tried to straighten out. He could imagine the man’s delight at the sight he was presented with - an old foe, crippled and stripped of power, clawing at your door. Wasted by court intrigue, thinned out by the lack of challenge, grown blind and arrogant.
When they were parted, it was the opposite. He, Erryk, stood tall, covered in slave and Jaddon’s blood, caster’s mace raised high over his head - and Korokh cowered in his shadow, the last remnant of the King’s arkane defense.
Pride. Out of everything left in him, it survived. Erryk grit his teeth and squashed the feeling.
“I’m poisoned, Korokh. I... I was betrayed”.
“I see. When?”
“Yester-No. Two days ago, almost”.
The poison was clever, as was its creator. Erryk drank the Islethorn wine, and cheered to Prince Orok’s tournament victory. He felt no bitterness, no tart nip at the tip of his tongue. But by midnight, when the Duskguard came into his chambers, there wasn’t a drop of arkane left in his bones, and the Shade... it could’ve been another continent, that’s how out of his reach it became.
Unimpeded, they stuck a dagger under his rib, shoved his writhing, vomit-encrusted body into a sack, and carried him out of the palace all the way to the northern corpse-ditch.
The only thing his would-be-murderer didn’t take into account, was the incredible resilience an arkanist could possess. The poison and the wound should’ve killed him relatively quickly - instead, they killed him slowly. Painfully. Maybe that had been the plan all along... to let him rot alive in that pit for a day or two.
Korokh chuckled, almost amicably.
“Well, that’s a bit of irony, is it not? The Jad-Ha throne is cruel, it seems. And you came to ask for help? From me?”
Erryk’s contorted hand curled into a fist, pressing hard into the doorframe.
“I had mercy for you, old man”, he croaked. “I honored your Seal, I honored the Tall Spire and your mentorship there. Now, have mercy for me”.
Adderfang studied Erryk intently. The younger arkanist could almost see the thoughts flashing through the other man’s weathered features. The conflicting desires to see the slayer of King Jaddon perish at his doorstep, to kill him with his own hands but also - to fulfill the duty of a Spirehall archon and help a fellow arkanist.
“Close the door, usurper. You’re letting a cold spell in”.
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Exiled!!
I was exiled!!
Years of fighting.. sweat and blood.. sacrifices.. all for protecting them..protecting Stratus.. for what?
This is how they reward me?
I killed that monster..
If it were not for me, they would all have been dead by now.. and this is how I get rewarded? By getting exiled?
I have been walking through this wasteland for days now.. I haven’t seen a single soul here.. my blood is boiling with the thought of what my own people did to me.. as hot as the sand I am walking on..
“Hey look at this loser” I hear a voice laugh.
“Who dares to call me a loser?” I shout back angrily. There is no one around me.
“Me” it said back “what you gonna do about it?” “Loser” it laughed back.
“Show yourself you coward” i spit back.
Out came four men. All dressed in armored suits. A symbol on their vests. Hmm... it seems familiar..
they throw a similar armor at me. “Come, let’s go” they said..
I looked at it intently.. the symbol.. then it clicked.. “it is the death symbol of Zorus..”
They started laughing..
“The-the what?” One of them was even on the ground clutching his stomach.
“The death symbol of zorus?” I repeated.
“Zorus, yes. Death symbol? Seriously? So cliché.. who even told you that?” they laughed again.
“Then?” I asked.
“It’s just a symbol man. Every land has it’s own”.
I was still confused.
“Oh! Just come with us already or die here, we are leaving anyway”
I followed them.
We walked through the desert into a town.. those three joking with each other the whole way and me silently following them.
I know I shouldn’t. They were enemies. But I would have died anyway in those deserts.
“Welcome to zorus”. They said.
I was in aw. It was so peaceful. Ladies going around laughing and shopping. Children playing on the streets. Men walking alone or with their spouses.
It was like an actual town.. nothing like what we had been told as growing up. Nothing like our land where every child had to start training at the age of four.
They were.. happy..
“By the way, we forgot to ask you.. who are you and what were you doing in the desert all alone?”
So they did not know me? The one who killed their master Aclenthes?
“I just got lost during my journey across it” I did not want to be kicked out just yet.. the town had sparked my interest.
“Okay” they did not suspect me one bit.. this was good..
“Can you tell me more about this place?” I asked.
“Nothing special here.. just your everyday town.”
I could feel that they were hiding something. Ofcourse they were.. the devils they brewed in this town.
“Do you want to come meet the king? He loves visitors” they said
“Ofcourse”. Great opportunity.
They took me to the palace. The king sat.. not on his throne, but on a cozy looking couch in the balcony?
“Who do we have here?” He asked warmly. “A wanderer your majesty” they bowed.
“ Oh a wanderer I see.. you two may be dismissed” click of the door shutting “you might be confused.. come sit.”
After I sat down, he started. “I know you are from Stratus child” I looked at him with shock. I was ready to fight any moment now. Ready for an attack.
“Oh calm down. They exiled you didn’t they?”
“How do you know all this?” I questioned.
“Years ago, a warrior like you came wandering into our city. He was exiled from Stratus. They said he had too much power. After he saw this city though, He vowed to protect us.” He looked sad.
“Unfortunately, we lost him.”
He got up and stood close to the balcony railing.. overlooking the whole town.
“You might have heard of him” I was listening patiently. But he did not continue.
“This is a beautiful town boy. They might have told you that it was a kill machine. But the truth is all we want is peace.” He diverted the topic completely.
“Who were you talking about just now. The warrior. Who is it?” I asked. I was persistent. He looked sad. And after a long silence he said.
“Aclenthes. He died protecting this town. This land. He died protecting us from the menace of Stratus. The one who wants to capture all lands and use its people for his own benefit.”
It all made sense now. Why they exiled me. They never wanted anybody to overthrow “Stratus the great” because then, the reality would come out.
“I know you are the one who killed him.”
How in the world does he know all this?
“But I hope you continue what he died for..”
He then stood in front of me.
“Boy, I request you to protect us from now on. I want you to take the place of the one you killed. It is about time we end this.”
“Boy, I want you to kill Stratus himself”
I looked in his eyes. At the sword in his hands.
“I accept.”
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[WP] Your boyfriend has been possessed by Lucifer himself. Surprisingly he is more of a romantic than your boyfriend ever was and now you don’t want him to return to hell.
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"Are you sure you have to leave?" Rachel bites her lip and looks up at Caleb's face.
It's still Caleb's caramel brown eyes, his tousled hair, those full lips that she'd been so enraptured by when they'd first met at the gym. Not to mention the muscled biceps that now held her tight to his chest as they embraced outside her apartment. But behind the pretty face and body, Caleb had proven to be little more than an accessory to bring to family holiday gatherings, someone who communicated mostly in grunts and called her "babe" no matter how many times she protested.
And yet, in the past week, a new depth had filled in behind those eyes. The man she'd been dating since August had suddenly acquired a fiery and fascinating personality, one she wanted to explore every niche of. They'd stayed up late each night, taking walks along the lake behind her apartment complex, talking about philosophy and politics and religion.
Even the way he touches her changed. When his fingers brush her face, it's like her skin is a miracle that he's been praying for. Rachel stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his in an aching kiss.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "This work trip . . . there's no way I can put it off. It's . . . there's . . . I need to go, even though I wish I could stay here forever and ignore the rest of the world. And when I come back to you, things might be different. *I'll* be different."
"I know." The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them.
His intelligent eyes narrow. "You do?"
She tries to think of a way to explain away her comment, but her mind comes up blank. He releases her and steps back, and the absence of his searing body heat is like a kick to the chest.
"I know," she says again, and this time she infuses it with more meaning.
*I know* this isn't a work trip that you're leaving for. *I know* you'll be changed when you come back, because you'll be Caleb again, boring old Caleb, who spends an extra half hour in the locker room getting the perfect angle for his shirtless mirror selfie. *I know* that for the past week, my boyfriend has been temporarily possessed by the devil in exchange for the extra set of abs now visible beneath his impossibly tight shirt.
No one's ever had a ten-pack before. But Caleb--vain, emptyheaded Caleb--had been willing to make a pact with Lucifer to make it happen.
And now Rachel's gone and fallen in love with the Prince of Darkness himself.
"But if you--do you still--?" The man before her is speechless for the first time in seven days
I know," she says for the third time, "and I don't care. This has been the best week of my life. I've learned what love really is, how it's supposed to feel. I don't want to go back to the way things were." Rachel stares him down, arms folded across her chest. "I want to be with *you*."
There's a battle going on behind those caramel eyes--longing at war with responsibility, self at war with the collective. And yes, there's love there too, Rachel can see it--and the knowledge of that gives her the strength to say what she says next.
"What are your thoughts on long-distance relationships?"
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"Okay, no no no," Kate said, shaking her head with a sarcastic smile. "You know you don't need some dumb excuse to start acting more romantic right?"
"Wait what?"
"Seriously, Nathan. I don't know what your idea of Satan is, but he sure wouldn't take all this time to set up a fancy dinner table and give a girl some flowers. Her favorite type too." Kate eyed the bouquet of roses in front of her.
"He sure as hell does!" He bristled. "And again, I am not Nathan. I am-"
"-Lucifer. Yeah, yeah." She brushed him off with a dismissive wave. "I'm tired of this weird... roleplaying thing you're doing, alright? If you feel like being more romantic, just do it boldly and stop hiding behind an absurd defense."
"Girl, I'm sorry your boyfriend is so shitty but I'm seriously not him."
"And now you're talking in third person. Wonderful."
"Because! I'm-"
"-Lucifer. Stop it, will you?"
"NO." His eyes flashed an impossible red, like the flames of a fire. "*You* stop."
Kate jolted backwards involuntarily. "I-I don't believe this."
Lucifer sighed. "You really have a terrible boyfriend, huh?"
"I mean he's not all that bad, he's just..." She trailed off.
"Hey, I'm not exactly what you'd call 'boyfriend material' and I seem to be faring far better than he ever was." He set the flowers on the white clothed table and took a step forward to embrace her.
She buried her face into his neck desperately, despite knowing who it really was. She thought back to the last few days, where she felt the happiest she'd been in a long time. Where she felt more understood, more cared about. She even felt like she was re-entering the honeymoon phase that had long died out. An ironic chuckle escaped her mouth. "Can't believe freaking Lucifer is better than my boyfriend."
"You need to dump his ass, Kate. You deserve so much better."
She stared at him, and slowly pulled him closer. "You're right."
Another still moment, and another several thumps of her pounding heart.
And then, she felt her lips touched his.
Kate opened her eyes to see his shocked expression. "Y-you're kissing... me."
Of course, this wasn't the first time they kissed in the last few days, but the first time she did it when she truly understood.
"Yes. Lucifer." She whispered. "I am."
They stayed entwined for a few more moments before he pulled back gently. "You know I'll eventually have to leave right?"
"I... I know." She swallowed a shaky breath. "But before the time comes, will you go on a date with me?"
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[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans
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"There is no other way, we have to seek help from the unblessed." said Nightshadow, hero of the superhuman society and member of the mighty 8 which consist of the highest ranked heros. "You do know, the whole meaning of us is to protect them from the villains? They don't even know that we exist, that they are ignorant and you just want to ask them for help? What do you expect from them? They are weak and unblessed!" countered Frenzy Flame, another member of the mighty 8. "Look Frenzy, we do have some intelligence on them, even though we are not supposed to interact at all, we know that they are like A LOT. Far more than we are, they could support us by doing all the grunt work and leaving us to fight. You do know how many good heroes are wasted on things like "cooking", "craftmanship" or "education"." said Nightshadow with a visible disgust in his face. "I know we have to plan this accordingly, but we must act soon or else we are facing complete annhilation and then the villains could freely enter the world of the unblessed and wreac havoc." explained Nightshadow looking at all the members. "I have an idea involving me and Frenzy Flame"
...
"Okay, we crossed the forbidden barrier, but now what? I already hate it here, why is everything so shiny?" asked Frenzy Flame standing in front of a glass panneled building, never had she seen anything like that. "You did read the plan, didn't you?" replied Nightshadow angrily. "Yeah, but I'm not that good at it, I want to fight. I don't care about anything else, let's get this over with." shrugged Frenzy Flame and entered the building. Nightshadow followed. The heroes were greated by men in black clothes who look didn't look that suprised. "Greetings unblessed, we are from a secret world of super humans that is kept from yours." said Nightshadow who to underline his sayings, darkened the room with his powers while Frenzy Flame let her hands make flames. "I am Nightshadow and this is Frenzy Flame. We come to you, to talk with your leade-"
...
"Wake them up" said head of intelligence Sarah C. while looking at the two cuffed heroes sitting in front of her. A subbordinate followed the orders and shook them until they awoke. Nightshadow and Frenzy Flame woke up in panic, "WHERE ARE WE, LET US FREE. WE ONLY WANT TO PROTECT YOU." cried Frenzy in a state of despair which only grew starker when she noticed that she couldn't use her powers. "Please, slow down a bit. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm Sarah and I just want to know what happened. We disabled your powers, don't try to figh-" "YOU DID WHAT, NOBODY HAS EVER DISABLED MY POWERS. HOW DARE YOU!" errupted Frenzy shaking so violently that she almost fell. "Could you please?" said Sarah looking at her subbordinate who then gave her a tranquilizer, which made her sleep again. "Do you need that as well?" asked Sarah looking at Nightshadow who didn't try to break free. "No, I'm good". Nightshadow was always considered a smarter hero. He was good at reading, he created all the strategies. He knew he couldn't do anything. "So why are you here?" asked Sarah. "We.. we have problems, the villains grew too strong and we can no longer protect you, the unblessed, like this. We wanted to ask for help. We are a secret society of superhumans that lives besides you. We don't want to hurt you, only protect you." said Nightshadow timidly, unsure of himself. Being imprisoned by what he was supposed to protect. His stomach turned.
"We know that you exist Mr. Nightshadow. This separation was done hundreds of years ago. You spent all this time creating and forming your strength based society, looking at everything besides fighting as inferior and never evolving. We evolved far beyond what your powers are capable of, nobody of you poses a threat to us anymore. Our world often thought about intervining, but it was forbidden by human right courts, we were supposed to leave you in your "natural habitat". Truth is, we do enjoy watching your society for our leisure time. Humans love to see inferior people doing stupid things." said Sarah looking at Nightshadow whose stomach tightened even more. "We can't do anything unfortunately Mr. Nightshadow. The courts don't allow us to, but as you interacted with us, you are allowed to stay here. As a member of your so called mighty 8, you do have some kids as a fan here." chuckled Sarah. "It's either that or we reset your memory and send you back. What is it Mr. Nightshadow?".
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The leader of the non-powered humans was agitated to say the least, but despite the annoyance she called for her subordinates to ready some tea. “We don’t have time for t-“
“We will have time for tea, if you want help.” The young man had always thought of the non-powered humans as feeble, weak beings, but their leader was the most intimidating person he’d ever met who wasn’t a villain. She stood above the teenager at 6’1 and had an oddly disturbing glare.
Her subordinate, who she called Victor, returned with tea and left after the leader thanked him. “Sit down, if you’re in such a hurry I suggest you stop hesitating.”
Now, sitting on opposite ends of a small table drinking tea, she asked why those with power needed the help of those without power all of a sudden.
“It’s the whole villain/superhero thing. There aren’t many hero’s left, and the villains are really close to getting control of our side.”
The leader, who the young hero later learned was named Danielle, set down her teacup and sighed. “Why should we help you in your affairs, when you’ve never helped our society? You’ve never crossed the borders to our city when we were fighting wars, or when we were dealing with famine and drought and disease. Most of the children in our society believe you to be myths.”
The hero couldn’t deny that. They didn’t like to help the non-powered, because their problems were boring to those that fought supervillains constantly.
“Well, when they control our society they’ll come for yours and-“
“If we can stop those wretched criminals when you are alive, we can certainly deal with them when yuh are gone.” And so Danielle left.
The heros did perish- save for the children the non-powered managed to save- and the villains were defeated. While the heros solved all their problems with their abilities the non-powered were making proper technological advancements. The children that were saved were raised better than the powered before them.
And now, thousands of years later, these events are thought of in schools so that nobody would consider diving society again, nor letting the powered rule over the non-powered as if those with no special abilities were dogs incapable of taking care of themselves.
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[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans
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"So you're asking us for help?"
A short, slightly stocky man with ruffled brown hair and a slightly creased shirt was sat behind a sparse wooden desk. He looked puzzled as he asked the question.
"Yes. We need it." Axiom, a well-known hero from across the sea was sat across from the man. She was at least a foot and a half taller than him, had bright red hair that cascaded down to her waist. Her eyes also glowed a fierce red, which all have her a pretty substantial presence, to say the least.
"But you have superpowers. I've seen you literally throw a car hundreds of metres in the air. What can we do that you can't?"
The average looking man fidgeted under Axiom's intense gaze. There was a nameplate on his desk that read "Jon Shuttleworth" and "Ambassador" which suggested a level of authority that the man just didn't seem to have.
"I don't know." Axioms voice was strained "but we need you to do something. Kosh and his cronies have toppled the government and driven everyone else underground or into subservience."
"Wait wait. Kosh? You mean the blood guy?" Jon seemed flustered by all of this. While technically the human ambassador to the post-human society on the other continet, he had only a limited knowledge of their society. Superhumans normally had very little time for mere mortals like him. He had been across the ocean just a handful of times in his 15 year tenure.
"That's a simplification but yes, the blood guy." Axiom sighed, she hoped these people could help her but she wasn't optimistic. Her comrades had ridiculed her when she suggested that they seek help from the 'little people' as her friend Helles called them.
"What are his specific abilities? I don't know much about him." Jon leaned forward on his elbows, his mind racing.
"He can directly control blood, giving him the ability to turn people into living puppets. Recently though, he seems to have learnt how to take control of his enemies' abilities, and add them to his own by absorbing their blood." There was fear in Axioms' voice, accompanied by not a little awe.
"Hm. Have you tried giving him aids?"
"What?"
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The leader of the non-powered humans was agitated to say the least, but despite the annoyance she called for her subordinates to ready some tea. “We don’t have time for t-“
“We will have time for tea, if you want help.” The young man had always thought of the non-powered humans as feeble, weak beings, but their leader was the most intimidating person he’d ever met who wasn’t a villain. She stood above the teenager at 6’1 and had an oddly disturbing glare.
Her subordinate, who she called Victor, returned with tea and left after the leader thanked him. “Sit down, if you’re in such a hurry I suggest you stop hesitating.”
Now, sitting on opposite ends of a small table drinking tea, she asked why those with power needed the help of those without power all of a sudden.
“It’s the whole villain/superhero thing. There aren’t many hero’s left, and the villains are really close to getting control of our side.”
The leader, who the young hero later learned was named Danielle, set down her teacup and sighed. “Why should we help you in your affairs, when you’ve never helped our society? You’ve never crossed the borders to our city when we were fighting wars, or when we were dealing with famine and drought and disease. Most of the children in our society believe you to be myths.”
The hero couldn’t deny that. They didn’t like to help the non-powered, because their problems were boring to those that fought supervillains constantly.
“Well, when they control our society they’ll come for yours and-“
“If we can stop those wretched criminals when you are alive, we can certainly deal with them when yuh are gone.” And so Danielle left.
The heros did perish- save for the children the non-powered managed to save- and the villains were defeated. While the heros solved all their problems with their abilities the non-powered were making proper technological advancements. The children that were saved were raised better than the powered before them.
And now, thousands of years later, these events are thought of in schools so that nobody would consider diving society again, nor letting the powered rule over the non-powered as if those with no special abilities were dogs incapable of taking care of themselves.
|
|
[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans
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"You want us to do what?”
The indignation was palpable as the grease stained woman and her coworkers ogled my outfit.
“Just hear me out,” I pleaded. “You don’t know what they will do if they breach the city walls. Your husbands, and children... all of the *barren* are in grave danger!”
The spokeswoman of the growing crowd, covered in all manner of automotive oils began to laugh cruelly, her sharp features betraying her *barren* nature even as her words cemented her base status.
“Grave danger, he says. Grave!” The woman turned to address the crowd. “Did you hear the man? This time its a Grave Danger! Much more dangerous than the, what was it last month? Eminent Peril?”
“It was ‘Exceptional Peril’!” An older voice from nearer to the back of the crowd.
“Ah. Yes,” the spokeswoman turned back to me as she arched an eyebrow and drawled, “forgive me, Oh Great *Scriven* One, for my barren incompetence. It must be the blood tithe that has made me stupid and slow. Please, explain to me, Blankspot, why this Danger is more Danger than the last.”
I tried to muster a scowl for the woman’s impudence, but the blood loss was already approaching a level that was difficult to manage. I could feel the wound in my side even now threatening to start leaking again as this churlish crowd wasted time. Didn’t they realize? This time was different.
“If you don’t help me now,” I controlled my tone, as if I spoke to an equal and not a whelp, “they will march through the gates and into the city, and then nothing will stop their slaughter! You think... you think the blood tithes are bad? What does your pea brain think utter death will feel like!” Yeah, that was the right tone.
I could see a few in the crowd shifting and I let my power *pulse* towards those that faltered, finding their resistance — their very desire to resist — and *burning* the edges until it began to smolder. These ones wouldn’t take long, their kind never did. As their minds began to melt, the dissenters grew quieter, more placid and the hubbub around them quieted alongside.
“... told us that our daughters were needed, and then our sons! What will it be this time?” The woman was rambling on as I worked on the dissenters and I turned my full attention on her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. The *Barren* serve the *Scriven*, as it was written long ago and as it has always been. Just because we are under assault does nothing to contradict that fact.
The Council needed bodies to resist their wretched Alliance, and we would **get**. **Those**. **Bodies**.
I turned to the ringleader and focused upon her, driving my awareness to her thoughts. Even with the blood loss, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed myself. This first stage, of feeling out my targets and assessing their very soul thrilled me like nothing else in the world. Thinking on it, it was probably that their kind couldn’t resist that made it even more fun. All I had to do was reach out and...
*Damn this blood loss, made it uh... hard to... Wipe the woman, thats all that we need to do. Just wipe her resistance to nothing and I’ll have all the uh... the... the bodies that the Council needs.*
We’d fought the Alliance for decades, and before them the Coalition for centuries more. Always the same: they’d win some futile victory, liberate the barren, and the Council would respond by re-establishing the true order of things. I loved thinking on the Coalition and their final days before the Council annihilated them for good. For once, the world was...
*No, concentrate. Wipe the woman and you’ll have what you need.* The thoughts came through in a muddled mess, difficult to concentrate on as the blood pooled in my boots. Absentmindedly I took a step towards the woman and felt no squelch.* Uh oh... thats not good. Now I can’t even feel the blood pooling down there. No. FOCUS.*
I shook my head and concentrated on her again, delving into her mind and soul to rip and tear and burn those things that made her so... *... wait... what?*
The woman gave a smile as I realized I felt nothing in the woman. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that I felt nothing in the woman... I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I stumbled backwards in horror as the woman advanced, flanked by the people that had gathered. *So well fed*, I thought as for the first time in twenty two years I felt the range of my powers diminish into my own consciousness. The *barren* are usually so thin...
Hands cupped my face gently as the woman knelt down to my level, I must have fallen, even my uniform was caked in mud now, and her eyes... perfect green eyes that bored into my very being, as if coaxing my scriven power to come forth and activate.
I didn’t even consciously use it; my power leaped at the chance to rip and tear and burn once more and I felt myself dragged into the woman now inches from me, eyes locked to eyes.
I realized, as my consciousness dulled, that the *Scriven* in front of me was never a citizen of ours. Too confident. Too well fed.
Rumormill was right — the Alliance had gotten inside the city, even before our last fight. They were here, and what’s worse, they’d gotten the people on their side before we even realized the threat.
— — —
The villain known to the Alliance of Nations as Blankspot fell to the ground, catatonic - his very mind drawn from his body and absorbed into the heroine, Purgatory’s, mind. It would take several days for his particular cruelty to bleed away into nothingness, but that was ok.
Purgatory turned to the other members of her unit and began issuing orders: to the sick, give treatment, to the hungry, food and to the potentials, testing. They dispersed quickly and she surveyed the scene around her, including the drooling targets of Blankspot’s last attack.
The forces of Righteousness and Good had won, and Purgatory needed a shower.
She couldn’t stand being so close to the *barren*.
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The leader of the non-powered humans was agitated to say the least, but despite the annoyance she called for her subordinates to ready some tea. “We don’t have time for t-“
“We will have time for tea, if you want help.” The young man had always thought of the non-powered humans as feeble, weak beings, but their leader was the most intimidating person he’d ever met who wasn’t a villain. She stood above the teenager at 6’1 and had an oddly disturbing glare.
Her subordinate, who she called Victor, returned with tea and left after the leader thanked him. “Sit down, if you’re in such a hurry I suggest you stop hesitating.”
Now, sitting on opposite ends of a small table drinking tea, she asked why those with power needed the help of those without power all of a sudden.
“It’s the whole villain/superhero thing. There aren’t many hero’s left, and the villains are really close to getting control of our side.”
The leader, who the young hero later learned was named Danielle, set down her teacup and sighed. “Why should we help you in your affairs, when you’ve never helped our society? You’ve never crossed the borders to our city when we were fighting wars, or when we were dealing with famine and drought and disease. Most of the children in our society believe you to be myths.”
The hero couldn’t deny that. They didn’t like to help the non-powered, because their problems were boring to those that fought supervillains constantly.
“Well, when they control our society they’ll come for yours and-“
“If we can stop those wretched criminals when you are alive, we can certainly deal with them when yuh are gone.” And so Danielle left.
The heros did perish- save for the children the non-powered managed to save- and the villains were defeated. While the heros solved all their problems with their abilities the non-powered were making proper technological advancements. The children that were saved were raised better than the powered before them.
And now, thousands of years later, these events are thought of in schools so that nobody would consider diving society again, nor letting the powered rule over the non-powered as if those with no special abilities were dogs incapable of taking care of themselves.
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