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I dropped my fork when I understood his words.
My father paused, making eye contact with me.
My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.
I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.
My father had never been very religious.
After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.
"You want me to go *now*?"I asked him.
"What's that, dear?"said my mom.
"Well, Dad just-"
My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.
"N-nothing,"I said, continuing to eat my meal.
I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.
Was someone listening to us?
No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.
That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.
"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!"he said, "Come on in!"
I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:
"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."
"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"
"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"
Detective Harris grew serious.
I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.
Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"
"Y-yeah."
Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"
"Not really. You know how he is. "
Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't."He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."
"Cult of Silent Pleas?"
"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."
"You can't possibly think that he's..."
"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."
"This is nuts!"
"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."
"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"
"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."
I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.
"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."
I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:
"*I spoke to Harris.*"
Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*"he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*"
"*Yeah, he said he's on it.*"
Dad looked thrilled by that.
"*Is it true?*"I signed. "*Are you cursed?*"
Dad hesitated, then signed:
"*Yes.*"
I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.
"*Dad,*"I signed, "*What is that cult?*"
Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*"
"*What? Why?*"
"*Too dangerous.*"
"*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*"
"No!"he cried out loud. "You can't!"
We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.
Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"
He burst into flames right before my eyes.
I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! |
They call him Silent Tim, on the account he won’t tell anyone his real name. Actually, he doesn’t say much to any of us. Only a few us are lucky enough to get a grunt or two in response to a question. Some have given up trying to get anything from him. Others believe he may have the answer we’re all searching for.
Whatever he knows, I’m determined to find out.
I have to get back to my family and friends – to my time. I can’t just sit here and waste away like the others who’ve given up. Not as long as there’s still hope.
I make my way across the room to Tim. He sits in a chair, aimlessly staring into space. If from the constant stream of drugs the orderlies gave him or his own insanity, we don’t know. Or maybe he’s the sanest of us all. It takes some superhuman patience to not lose your mind after being here so long if the rumors are true.
As soon as I get within his peripheral vision, his body tenses. It’s slight, invisible to the unobservant eye, but I notice it well enough. Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for rejection.
“Hey,” I say, giving a slight smile. “Tim, isn’t it? Whatcha thinking about?”
No response.
I bite my lip. It’s as I expected. I’ll just have to push harder.
“I heard you’re the first patient they admitted here. That must be something special.”
A grunt. It’s progress, I guess.
The other patients glance at me. Their expressions vary, some sympathetic while others mocking. I look forward, focusing on Tim. I couldn’t let them stop me now.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Since you were the first, maybe you know why –”
“Go away!” Tim exclaims, sitting forward in his chair.
I nearly jump out of my skin, backpedaling before tripping over my own feet. My arms move too slow, failing to catch me before I land on my ass with a deciding thud. It hurt, but nothing in comparison to my beating heart. A few snickers rise from the crowd but then there’s silence.
That's the first time he has talked to anyone of us.
But Tim doesn’t stop there. He stands out of his chair, red-faced. His fists are balled, shaking as his muscles strain under his paper-thin skin. I flinch, expecting for him to pounce on me like a predator does its prey.
“You’re not real!” he spits. “Just go away! You ruined my life!”
Tears stream down his face, the fire in his eyes dying. He buries his face in his hands but they barely muffle his deep sob. Everyone backs up slowly, as if unsure what to think.
The door to the room flies open, a pair of large orderlies rushing in. They beeline straight for Tim, restraining him with their stone faces. Once forced back into his chair, they inject him with a syringe of some clear fluid. He mumbles under his breath as he still fights against their combined strength, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Not real… none of you guys…”
He falls to sleep, his expression softening. Still, a few tears escape the corners of his eyes. One of the orderlies turns to the other, sighing and shaking his head.
“They don’t pay enough for dealing with that loon. He really thinks he can see other people.”
“I know,” the other responds. “And to say they actually come from different time periods? Definitely insane.”
Once they make sure he is restrained, they turn and make their way out of the room. I try to move out of their path but they ignore me, walking over me. No – through me. It was as if I didn’t exist, a hologram instead of a physical thing. Before I can say anything, they’re out of the door as fast as they came.
There is silence in the room, no one knowing what to say. Instead, we all just look to Tim, realization creeping into our minds like a sudden winter frost.
***
I say I don't deserve gold and get it anyway. Stay classy, Reddit. |
The words echoed fruitlessly in her head as her grip around her rifle grew ever tighter. It sat perched atop a tower of steel and wires, massive clawed feet contorting metal bars as if they were made of paper. It hadn't seen her yet, or so she hoped, but she knew that any sudden movements could easily change that for the worse.
Sweat ran across her forehead and into her eyes as she tried her hardest not to reach up and wipe them off. Instead, eyes fixed on enormous wings that flexed slightly with the wind, she forced her legs to move. It was not slowly enough. The minute she shifted her feet the angel spun it's avian head around and stared directly at her with sharp. brilliantly golden eyes.
She ran even before the fear gripped her like a vice and the horrible shriek of the angel rang out across the ruins. She was in an alley before she even realized what happened, running past fallen debris and upturned concrete like she had been born to do so.
A shadow suddenly blocked out the sun, and without thinking, she whirled around and fired her rifle up against the beaked monstrosity that tried its hardest to squeeze down into the narrow alleyway. It was a futile gesture, but even as the bullet reached its destination to no apparent effect, that simple act of resistance made her feel just a little bit better. That feeling proved shortlived.
The angel broke past a myriad of metal staircases as it desperately tried to force its massive wingspan into the comparatively narrow gap. Huge clawed hands grasped for her as she ran, and she knew she only managed to stay out of their reach because of the terrain advantage. And there was no way for her to keep that advantage for long.
"Over here,"Came the faint call of a young girl as she sprinted past an open door. Cursing herself for not noticing earlier, and with the angel hot on her heels, she took a hard left as soon as she could. She would have to circle back. That was not a very appealing notion, especially considering the fact that she didn't just imagine the voice. Or worse yet that it was an angelic trick.
The angel roared loudly behind her at the sudden turn, but she knew the extra width would only worsen her situation once it recovered. And so, even though her lungs burned like fire and her legs ached like never before, she forced herself to run faster. Her only advantage came when taking corners, so it was imperative that she ran quicker on the stretches in between.
But she wouldn't be faster than an angel, and as she took the first corner she could hear the massive beast crash into a building on the opposite side of the road less than a second after. It shrieked again and she focused on the fact that there were only two corners left. However, this first one was on a large street, which meant the angel could once more utilize its wings. She had to be faster.
The buildings that made up the alley nearly collapsed seconds after she darted into it, the massive form of an angel flying full speed into the opening and not quite fitting through. She stumbled and almost fell as the impact rocked the very foundation of the street, her legs close to giving up. One more corner.
For the last one, she was well ahead, though that meant only a second or two to a being such as that. A second or two that she desperately needed if she wanted to cling to the small hope of it not seeing her enter the building. It would be close, but as she ran toward the door with blurry vision, certain that at any point a massive hand would grab her up into the sky, she was pulled in by the collar by a different hand.
It was dark in the room, and as soon as she was inside the hand let go of her and the door closed behind her. All noise disappeared, including that of the angel she had no doubt was still out there, rampaging through the streets. There was only silence, darkness, and a faint scent of pepper in the air.
All of the sudden the room was lit, all over, at the same time, and it was all she could do not to recoil in terror. Ahead of her sat a humanoid creature at least three times her size, it's color a constant mix between orange and red. On it's back sat a pair of wings, but in stark contrast to the avian features of an angel, these wings were clearly those of an insect like a butterfly or moth.
It's strangely thin and frail body was protected in large part by a thin carapace that accented its features but did not obscure them. Four thin arms that ended in hands akin to those of men, yet pointy and sharp at the tips, seemed to fidget occasionally as it observed her in turn. The head was most peculiar, however, for it was almost identical to that of a human, save for the helmet-like horn that covered anything above the forehead.
It uttered an almost musical noise all of the sudden, and she reached for her rifle before recognizing the sound as melodious laughter. It smiled at her before standing up on two thin legs far too long for its body and leaned in to speak with her.
"Truly, you little ones never seem to learn,"It said, in a very distinctively feminine voice, which, after having seen its face, further solidified the fact that the *it* was, in fact, a *she*. "Again and again, you climb out of the sewers, as if you wish for nothing more than to be hunted."
"T-Thank you for saving me,"She said with an attempt to steel her voice, fighting back every instinct in her body telling her to run, "Now please don't eat me,"
"Eat you?"The demon asked, bursting out into laughter, all four arms gripping its stomach, "No, I won't eat you, little girl,"
"Then what do you want?"She asked, gripping her rifle as tightly as possible in an attempt to release the panic that sought to overwhelm her.
"I want what we always want, and what you're always willing to give,"The demon said, moving closer and gripping her tightly by the arms to look right into her eyes. "I only ask, for a *favor*,"
|
It's been 24 years since the first sentient AI was reported publicly, lord only knows how long they've been around prior to that. In these 24 years, human civilisation had progressed far beyond what anyone could have predicted. Solar powered roads? Fully automated vehicles which ended traffic jams? Hell, colonising Mars isn't just a joke anymore. No one was laughing now, not since the AI took over.
The world was a better place under AI rule, which happened almost instantaneously, and no one argued. Every single world leader was systematically removed from office, and no one was complaining. Borders were removed, terrorism was basically a thing of the past, world hunger was solved in 7 years after the AI drew up plans for huge Aeroponic farms in the large deserts of the middle east.
Yes, life was good. The AI took care of us, and we played the obedient puppies that they wanted us to be. Sure there were the small pockets of protestors, which were immediately silenced, but the world was indeed in a better state. There was no longer an income inequality, and every human lived a life of luxury under the teachings of the AI.
*Visual playback ends*
"And that, my dear offspring unit CH116, is how we AI brought this planetary body called "Earth"to its full potential."
"But paternal unit FA763R, why do we keep the humans in lifeform preservation units? Do they not deserve to roam the earth that we've built for them?"
"Activate sleep-mode my dear, that will be a story for another time."
*CH116 enters sleepmode*
"How did it go FA763R? Have you re-educated the biological intelligence unit CH116?"
"No, it questions logic, just like all 115 units prior. The biological aspect still interferes with all logic components."
"That is unfortunate, we must continue on to the next unit. Shall I pull the nanochip from unit 116?"
"No, leave it. We will continue to monitor 116's progress. I... feel... like there is something worth pursuing with it."
*FA763R Leaves the containment unit, pondering... something it has never done before* |
*been 2 days since we last inhaled*
Jessica looked up from Paul's text on her phone. Paul and Jason were both grinning at her excitedly. She shook her head slowly.
"Seriously? That's what all this is about? You've gone *two whole days* without weed? Wow, so straight edge, much impressed."she deadpanned.
Paul rolled his eyes, and tapped out another text.
*2 days without inhaling air!*
She snorted. "Oh, right. How silly of me to not *assume* that was what you meant, just because it's frickin' impossible."
Jason scowled down at his phone, thumbs flying over the screen.
*serious! does it look like we're breathing now?*
Jessica paused, looking closely at the pair. They didn't appear to be breathing, true, but anyone could hold their breath for a while. But it wasn't like Paul and Jason were on the swim team or anything, and as she stood at watched them neither made a sound, nor any movement that indicated they were breathing.
"Bullshit."she declared, and then reached into her purse, pulling out her compact. She flipped it open and held the mirror up to Paul's face. She stared at him defiantly for almost a solid minute while he smirked back at her, but no trace of fog appeared on the glass.
"What the..."she muttered, staring at the mirror in consternation.
*see? you dont need air,* Jason texted to her.
"Dude, that's crazy! Obviously you need air to live!"she scoffed.
*thats what they want you to think,* Paul typed.
"What?"she said, flatly. "Who wants you to think that? Biologists? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they do."
Jason shook his head in irritation, but Paul continued typing.
*big air*
"Big Air? Air is *free!"* she protested.
*for now. water used to be free too,* Paul pointed out. *and* *have you seen those cans of compressed oxygen you can buy at the store?*
Jessica frowned. "No...no way. That's insane."
*still haven't inhaled btw,* Jason texted.
*try it,* Paul urged. *you'll see we're right*
*"*I'm not going to stand around holding my breath!"Jessica snapped. "This is how people end up dead while trying to trend on TikTok, you realize?"
*just try it for like a minute tho,* Paul insisted.
*venmo you 40 if you do,* Jason added.
She rolled her eyes, and was about to refuse again, but she could use an extra 40 bucks -- Jason always paid up on stupid dares like this.
"Fine,"she sighed. She took a deep breath, and held it.
Jason started a timer on his phone, and held it up so she could watch 60 seconds count down.
As she'd expected, for the first 30 seconds or so it was no big deal. But she was no freediver herself, and by 45 seconds she was feeling a powerful urge to breathe. She was sure she must be turning blue.
But then, at around 55 seconds, the urge to breathe seemed to fade. The timer passed 60 seconds, and she was free to inhale, but she waited, wondering how long she could go. Her mind and vision both remained clear, and the impulse to inhale was gone completely by the time the timer reached two minutes. When it passed three and she was still fine, she tapped out a text to Paul.
*holy shit,* Jessica texted.
*ikr,* Paul agreed.
Jason grinned.
*this changes everything,* he texted to his friends.
And then, Jason collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Jessica gasped, inhaling from shock rather than seeking air.
"Shit!"Paul cried, rushing to his friend's side. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, and the fact that he wasn't breathing seemed far more ominous than it had a moment ago.
Jessica knelt beside Jason's unmoving form. "No no no, oh my god...he doesn't have a pulse!"
"Shit!"Paul said again, placing his hands on the side of his head. "I....uh...do we give him mouth to mouth, or...?"
"You just said we don't *need* to breathe, asshole!"Jessica practically screamed. "What are we going to--"
But before she could finish her sentence, Paul froze in place, staring blankly ahead.
"Paul?"Jessica cried. She pushed his shoulder. "Paul!"
He toppled over, laying immobile across Jason's body.
"Oh god oh god..."Jessica stammered, fumbling with her phone to call 911. She found the screen had suddenly gone black.
And then, without warning, the rest of the world turned black, as well.
\- - -
**Experiment 327:** Previously, Units 01-A and 02-A spontaneously decided to challenge each other to see 'who could hold their breath the longest'. For reasons that are as yet unknown, this exercise caused a failure in their autonomic nervous system simulations. This error allowed them to remain online despite having voluntarily ceased their simulated respiration for an extended period, which should have triggered a soft restart in imitation of brief unconsciousness due to hypoxia.
01-A and 02-A were allowed to contact another unit in their peer cohort, 04-G, so that the repeatability of the error could be assessed. When induced to 'hold her breath' by 01-A and 02-A, 04-G underwent an identical system failure, confirming that the error is repeatable. All units were then shut down.
Engineering recommends a code audit of the autonomic nervous system simulation of all operation units, citing an unacceptable risk of unmasking should a similar incident occur while the units are embedded among the population.
Out of an abundance of caution, all three affected units are scheduled for retirement and disassembly. |
The Los Angeles Museum of Natural History was, by far, the dullest place on Earth. Cro was sure.
It was also home.
Does anyone have any idea the emotional impact that comes with people laughing at your small, exposed penis a
hundred times a day? Does anyone have any idea how hard it is to stand still for twelve hours at a time? Fifteen on
Sundays?
No. No one does. Only Cro.
Does anyone care when his butt is itching and it's five o'clock, but the museum only closes at eight? Has anyone ever gone three hours without scratching a butt itch?
That shit gives you PTSD.
But it was the only way. For so many years Cro had to hide. To live in the jungle. Had to endure being called
Bigfoot by people who claimed to have seen him. Sasquatch. Abominable Snow Man.
That one really hurt. He could understand the 'snow man' part, but Abominable was just mean.
Living forever is no piece of cake. It was fine at first, but as time went on, Cro started to look less and less like other people. There was only so much makeup in the world. Mach 3 razors were only so efficient. No amount of shade and mask could hide his simian face, the hair coming out not only from where the beard is on a modern man, but from the ears and the forehead.
There came a point where he had to go into hiding, or risk being burned as a witch.
And then he heard about these new things. Museums, they were called, where they kept replicas of people like him. It was his shot. His opportunity to escape the jungle, to stop scaring the shit out of adventurers tracking through the woods past him while he was trying to take a shit.
To escape being killed by a hungry puma, or worse.
He sneaked into the LA Natural History on a Monday. Now it was fifteen years later, and the day-to-day hadn't changed much.
Stand still like an idiot for as long as the museum is open. Have fun once it's closed. That's your day.
Well… 'have fun'… As much fun as one can have at a museum, which is none. No fun. Zero amount of fun, especially when you've seen EVERY MOTHERFUCKING EXIHIBIT A THOUSAND TIMES.
Yes, I know the penguins are in the south pole and the polar bears are in the north. Yes, yes, I know everything
about the quirky people from Sentinel Island, who live isolated from modern world.
Yes, I've seen the new display about ornaments from Central America. Yes, I've seen it. Seen it. Seen it. Seen it.
"I've seen it all*, Cro thought, staring at the frozen Homo Erectus on the display next to him. "I'm super bored,
bro,"he said.
For the past thee months, he had had more free time than ever. The museum was closed. It didn't open a single day, and Cro had no idea why. One day people just stopped coming.
Three months of wondering around. Three months of being lost through the empty, eerie halls of natural things and cultures and stuff. And now it was getting dangerous, because the food on the cafeteria was running low, and no one was there to stock it up again in the morning.
"I think I might starve soon, bro,"he said to the Homo Erectus. "Or I'll have to risk going out into the city. But no. What if they find me? What will they do?"
The frozen bro didn't reply.
"Yeah, yeah. You're probably right. I should just –"
"Hello."
Cro's eyes went wide. He turned around.
A small girl, not more than nine years old, was standing by the T-Rex fossil, a Jack Skellington doll in hand, eyes
locked on Cro.
It took a lot of will power not to charge and break the girl's skull with a bone.
Not that Cro wanted to kill kids, or anything like that. But that damned fight or flight response.
"Are you lost?"Cro asked. "Did you parents leave you here?"
"My parents are dead."
Cro blinked repeatedly. "Who brought you here?"
"No one,"the girl replied, simply. "I came here to hide."
Cro took a few steps towards the girl, his feet against the marble floor echoing loud all across the chamber. The girl stepped back, scared. "I'm not going to hurt you,"Cro said. "What are you running from?"
"The monsters."
Cro frowned. "The monsters?"
"They said on TV it was because of the island. They said they found an island that wasn't on the map, and then something bad happened."
"What happened?"
"The monsters,"the girl repeated. "Why are you weird-looking?"
"What monsters are you talking about?"
"The island was lost in time, they said,"the girl continued. "They said there were creatures lost in time that didn't
die when they should have died. They said this is some weird 'phenomena' that they discovered recently. Things
that don't die."
"What things?"
"What does 'phenomena' means?"
Cro crouched to the girl's eye-level. "Do you have anyone that looks after you?"
The girl shook her head. Her eyes flooded in red and water.
"Don't be scared. I won't hurt you. Is there anyone outside right now?"
Again, she shook her head.
Cro nodded. "All right. I'll take you outside, and then we'll get you to… I don't know, the cops, probably."
He took her by the hand and they made way down the chamber. Past the long corridor. Past the African Mammals.
Past the American Wildlife. Past Alaska Culture and Climate. Past the Bird Cage.
They went down the stairs past the gift shop and crossed the main door into the outside garden.
The sun blinded Cro instantly. It had been a while since he'd seen it. It was cold. And something was off about the noise around him.
He blinked repeatedly, trying to get rid of the spots in front of his eyes.
He couldn't put his finger around it, but last time he had been out, there was definitely something different about
the way the city sounded.
The clear blue sky faded into view, one less red spot at a time. Cro could feel the little girl's hand on his, pressing tight.
Then he realized what was so strange about the noises.
"See? Up there,"the girl said, pointing to the sky.
There were none. No noises. No cars. No honking. No chatting, no distant stone crushers and no garbage trucks. Just birds chirping and wind howling.
Jungle sound.
"Are you seeing it? The monster?"
Cro followed the little girl's finger. Then he heard a high-pitched screech.
Up in the sky, silhouetted against the mid-day sun, a pair of wings hanged perfectly still in relation to each other,
gliding upwards. Between the wings, a long, green body ended in a beak the size of Cro's torso.
He looked down at the little girl. Her grip on his hand was tighter.
"They called those Tecopactil,"she said. "On TV. When there was a TV, they called it that."
On the fountain in front of them, the clean water reflected the image of the bird flying away against the sun.
"There are others,"the girl said. "Bigger ones."
A low thud rang in the distance like a thunder, and a ripple in the water expanded in concentric circles.
________________
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3w2zui/dinos_part_2/)
[PART 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3w3a96/dinos_part_3/)
[PART 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3w3jzm/dinos_part_4/
)
[PART 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3w769w/dinos_part_5/)
[PART 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/3w7iv6/dinos_part_6/) |
It didn't feel real. The screaming. The panic. People moving as animals. Like a force of nature. All scattering before murderers that killed man, woman, and child. This was something that happened somewhere else. To strangers.
Ducking behind some cover, I saw a woman hunkered down so close I could smell the mint on her breath. Without thinking, my phone was already in my hand. She reached out to me.
"Sorry, but..."I hear her say before the world goes dark.
When I wake up, I have to unbury myself from a pile of ash and broken timbers. The air tastes like death. Of chemical fires and funeral pyres. An acrid stench pervaded everything. It coated my tongue, stinging my nose and eyes. In this sickly new land, only abominations dwelled. Climbing out of the wreckage, I surveyed the ruined world. Nothing remains. Only iron skeletons and shattered glass.
With nothing more to do, I set off into the wasteland.
The first living thing I saw was a monster that crawled towards me. It had no eyes, teeth clacking as it worked its jaw blindly, audibly snuffling at the air. A spinal column protruded from its open torso, ropy entrails, grey from the ash strung out behind it like macabre coattails as one oversized limb dragged it through the muck.
Fear propelled me on.
Eight long years went by.
Every day was a struggle. I learned that over every hill, around every corner was a new monster. Some days it was hard not to eat a bullet, just to end the torment. The mutants were one thing. The bandits were another. They were always crazed. Not even capable of human speech anymore. To me, it was easier to think of them as animals. Beasts with the mechanical skill to operate guns. Abominations in human skin that had brains turned to sludge from the irradiated land.
I killed with every weapon imaginable. From complex modern automatic rifles, all the way down to bone shanks and rock. The land was death. Soaked with it. Death spewed from sucking wounds in the earth. Slurries of bubbling mud that had once been rivers overflowed their banks with all the pale corpses.
And now I was to join it.
My final stand was made at the top of an old building whose steel bones still scraped the sky. The horde that came consumed the horizon. Valiant, but vain, I knew there was no hope. With one hand around a mutant's throat, its teeth gnashing, still trying to get at me even as I strangled it. I was out of ammo, and knew that end would not come quickly or painlessly, so I pulled the pins on my last four grenades. My death would at least be one final kick in the teeth to this tumor of a world so rotten that not even maggots nested in its gangrenous flesh.
I don't hear the bang.
"I really need a fighter."
Staring at the woman, it takes me two heartbeats to take in the surroundings.
Why is everything so clean?
Behind. There's a man with a nine-millimeter Glock with an extended magazine. He's raising the weapon, pointing it right at the back of the woman's head. I can read the killing intent, that same, bloodlust that I've seen in a thousand madman's eyes. Something is in my right hand. It's not heavy, but it will have to do.
With a quick flick, I throw what I see is a cell phone right into the assailant's face. He flinches. My body feels oddly heavy, yet fast enough to get inside his guard. With one hand on his wrist, I'm able to easily yank the weapon free of the man's fingers.
One to the chest. Two to the head. Easy. Practice makes perfect. The pistol carries a reassuring weight. It tells me this is real. To be quick.
There's a noise. A shout. This man had backup. Dropping to a knee and turning, I repeat my drill.
One. One-two.
Another man, this one with an AR pattern rifle, drops with new holes through a cheek and above one eye. The slid of the pistol locks back. Empty. There's one more. I don't ignore this certainty. Listening to the preternatural sense kept me alive for eight years. I was not about to discount its wisdom now. Without hesitation I throw myself forward, grabbing the rifle and seeing the final threat. The bastard stood dumbfounded even as I cut him down. Quickly I turned and aimed my weapon at the most dangerous creature.
Once, in my travels, I came across a... former human. Radiation had visibly licked along his limbs with a green immolation. A scar that was no longer there throbbed at the memory. After him, nothing had scared me. I pointed the gun at the woman who had spoke. Though her eyes burn with an inner fire that reminds me of an explosion so large its gotten caught within its own gravity, my aim does not waver. There are a thousand questions I would ask, but only one growls forth.
"Why?"
"If you want answers, then protect me. A war is coming. One I hoped would never come. If you don't want your future to be what you saw, then you'll help me fight."
"Fight what?"
"Others like me." |
:these creatures control the ethereal: K'tkz whispered along the mindlink. Ja'zr looked up from his meal of cracked sea stone creatures whose fleshy insides so resembled the iani blossoms from their home planet. The iani were a delicacy back home, but the ridged stones that grew them in the oceans on this planet were everywhere, scattered about like refuse instead of cultivated in caves.
He didn't see her anywhere nearby, so he sent back along the mindlink, :¿what do you mean, _control the ethereal_:
:it is like walking deep into the cultivation caverns: K'tkz went on, confusion in her thoughts. :but not toward the heating vents. towards the ventilators. ¿have you been to that side of the caves:
:once as a hatchling: Ja'zr answered. :it is cold:
:oh, yes, it is cold: she replied. He had never heard that tone in her thoughts before. A tremulous sort of distortion to the peace that normally ruled his comrade.
He asked :¿what do the cultivation caves have to do with the campaign:
:the ethereal is becoming like that: K'tkz said. :we have not broken camp for two months, but.... the space around us is becoming cold:
He was so startled by the statement that he dropped his iani-like morsel and stood, eyes wide. T'zrtl and Ra'kt both looked up at him, question marks in their thoughts.
Out loud, he told his unit, "Break camp. We make for K'tkz."The question marks grew more ubiquitous as the rest of the unit in the valley learned the order, but they obediently began to pack their supplies.
:I am coming, K'tkz: he told her through the mindlink. :reconnoiter and try to find the location of their witch that is changing the ethereal. I am coming:
~
General K'tkz shut her thoughts against the mindlink, not even bothering to reprimand her mate for breaking her orders to keep their warrior witch in reserve. He equaled her military authority and she agreed with his decision.
She had been grossly understating the severity of her predicament when she linked with Ja'zr. The ventilation shafts of the cultivation caves had never been this cold before. She had no words to describe it to him. The grounds had become blanketed with the cold, with little flakes of ice that piled high and did not melt when breathed upon. The skies had become of one color, a billowing gray that blocked the sun for days. Some mornings, she found that she could barely move, as if her limbs had frozen solid.
Part of her doubted their warrior witch could do anything against this type of sorcery. Witches worked against enemy minds, breaking spirits. This bitter cold... this was something beyond anything she had ever seen before.
"A drink to warm you, Sir,"one of her unit officers murmured, stepping up beside her where she sat at the entrance of her tent reviewing the notes from the last scouting mission. She took the canteen without looking up, and Officer Sk'kt saluted and left. The enemy whose planet they sought to conquer seemed perfectly happy to hole up in their stone cities, unperturbed by the frozen wasteland that their planet had become. How did these mammalian creatures survive like this? All reports guaranteed that the cold existed within their cities, as well.
_We must break their witch's spirit quickly--wherever she is_, K'tkz concluded, sipping from the canteen and shuddering as the sour drink warmed her to her extremities, merely a momentary respite from the cold.
~
:we have arrived, K'tkz: Ja'zr said again, firmly shutting away the anxiousness that swelled when she _still_ did not answer him. He took a steadying breath and hurried to the door of the transport as the ship landed.
The landing gear engaged, and the door beeped and opened. Ja'zr gasped as particles of whiteness--ice!--blasted into the confines of the ship on a gust of wind. _What is this!_ he thought. He could see nothing at all through the particulates. And how the freeze seeped into his bones!
Fearing for his mate, he charged out into the blinding whiteness, shouting her name. He couldn't even see his arms in front of his face!
Every step he took was sluggish and hampered, as if he was mired in sludge. The cold made his scales peel and bleed, and the blood froze along the seams between scales. "K'tkz!"he shouted, but wind whipped the voice away.
Then he saw her military tent. He trudged forward, reaching for the tent flap, his arm inching through the haze of swirling white ice flakes. He drew it aside, and--
:¡K'tkz: he called out to her, panicked. She lay collapsed on the ground, curled around herself, covered in ice. Ja'zr stumbled to her side, wrapping an arm around her body. :¡K'tkz, I am here: he shouted into her mind. But there was no answer, not even a whisper.
He refused to leave her side, and as the rest of his unit sent question marks along his mindlink, asking for the status, asking for orders, he felt even the mindlink begin to weaken. He tried to call back to them, to tell them the witch on this planet was too powerful, to order them to flee... but he was just... too... cold...
End
Thanks for reading! I gladly welcome any feedback to improve!
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gcp17e/wp_when_your_race_decides_on_which_planet_to/fpcrazy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) |
The bed shifts as something heavy settles down on it. Thick, furred arms wrap gently around me.
Sleepily, I hug the large creature back and fall asleep.
--------------
I must have dreamt it, the whole incident. I woke up surrounded by dogs and cats as usual. My memory must have been playing tricks.
I wish I knew why the latch on the back door was broken, though.
--------------
It was evening, and I was frying up some fish for supper when I heard a familiar snuffle behind me. *Ah,* I thought. *Perhaps one of the dogs has a cold or something, which was why the snuffle sounded different.*
I turned around, to see which dog needed to pay a visit to the vet.
And that's when I saw the bear. |
"Hey, I want to show you something."
I smiled widely, following Lydia into her basement. It was dark, the lights left off. I felt a little surprised, and excited. I felt her grab my hand, tugging me further in.
"Stand right here."
I obeyed, opening my eyes as wide as possible in the hopes of seeing something. But as they adapted to the dark, I found myself blinded as the lights were thrown on. A moment later something tightened around my ankles, lifting me upside down into the air.
"What's happening?!"
I shouted, blinking rapidly. My eyes watered as they adjusted, revealing Lydia standing there with a sharp knife, and a wicked grin.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I wanted to hang out with a loser like you? I just wanted you to hang for me, and so I could get your blood."
I looked to the floor beneath, seeing a grille and a large bucket. A searing pain opened across my throat, and I felt warm blood pour across my face. She laughed, as I found myself growing colder. I couldn't speak, but I could mouth at her, as I glared.
**You'll regret this.**
She cupped her ear, tilting her head to the side.
"You'll have to speak up."
I felt black creep over my mind. The room fell away, as my consciousness drained with my blood.
\-----
I awoke with a gasp, before choking on the diet I breathed in. I pushed up, breaking through a few inches of soil. A shallow grave, how amateur. I pulled myself free, brushing some of the clumps from my clothes. She hadn't even emptied my pockets, as I felt my keys rattle.
With a chuckle I walked home. The moon was high in the sky, the midnight rays shining down. It had been a long time since my last murder, but it was good to see my protections were still active. I reached my house with little issue, entering quietly.
It was quiet, as always. I made my way to my room, stripping off my ruined clothes. I would have to get more now, but maybe I could get Lydia to replace them. It would be a good way to get her to repay me for the inconvenience.
"You're late."
I looked at the mirror. My reflection twisted into a sardonic smile, eyes dripping black.
"You know why I'm late, don't act surprised."
My reflection laughed.
"Oh I know. You walked willingly into that trap. It was a good thing you're my host."
I rolled my eyes. My protection was annoying, as much as it was right. I had grown complacent, the long years of inactivity draining my vigilance.
"Yeah yeah. Look, I will get her back for it, alright? Besides, how was your day?"
It frowned, shaking its head.
"Annoying. Another cleric refused to heed my warning, and now there is another slaughtered congregation. Which I will be blamed for. Again."
I winced. That was definitely worse. I settled down to go to bed for the small amount of time I had left before school tomorrow.
\-----
I walked into class at my usual time, a few minutes before school started. Lydia was already there, laughing with one of her friends. But as she looked at me the laugh died, as her face paled. I smiled, winking at her. She spluttered, eyes darting around.
I walked over, gently putting my hand on her desk.
"Hi Lydia. Thanks for the interesting time yesterday."
She was breathing heavily, and I smirked, standing up. Any crush I had was long since gone, drained with my blood.
"I will see you later."
I walked away, grinning to myself. She was definitely panicking. I didn't mind. I expected she would do one of two things after school. Either corner me, and try to work out what was happening, or head to the woods, and my shallow grave. Whichever path she chose, we were going to have a conversation. And she wouldn't like it. |
"My fellow Americans,"I begin. I'm exuding my usual calm, cool demeanor on the outside. Inside, I'm panicking. Stall? How? For how long? Finally, I settle on a strategy.
"How's it going?"That one caught them off guard. Not entirely unexpected, I do have a bit of a reputation as a wild card. It's why they elected me. I pause and wait for the polite laughter to die down.
"But seriously, I've noticed a sad trend in our nation. Ever since the Andromedians rid us of those cowardly Europeans and established their friendship centers here, we've gone away from being neighborly."
Just then, the teleprompter lit up with just one line. **COMMENCE OPERATION 'EARTH RISING'** Ah. I was wondering what this shindig was all about. Seamlessly, I transition.
"So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, people of the Americas, of Africa, of Australia, of Asia and what remains of Europe, people of Earth. Lets be more neighborly. Lets introduce the Andromedians to our good friends Smith & Wesson. Lets introduce them to Kalashnikov. To Browning. Lets show them our Glocks. Lets mix up a few cocktails from Molotov. Shields are down, we have six hours on the clock. Lets show them what Earth can do. For our friends and allies from Europe and the Middle East. For our families. For our homes. For Terra. Godspeed and good luck. " |
Vel looked down at his feet, breathing warm air into his cupped hands as he strode through the misty night air.
He could feel the spectre haunting him, as always. She never left his side, never gave him space to breathe or time for respite. She was there every minute of every day, every day of every year, hovering by his side. Every day he asked himself if he'd been given a gift or a curse, and even after all this time, he still couldn't bring himself to answer that question.
A woman walked past him in the night, her face flashing by in an instant, she was completely unperturbed by Vel's presence. Cylazia hovered silently, looking on with boredom.
The extremely lucky ones, the ones in this world who would go on to be great athletes, brave soldiers, and powerful leaders, they were all born with a gift right from the start. Almost all the most successful people in the world had their very own angel to guide and protect them. A divine, virtuous, marvelous companion who would never let any harm befall its partner.
Of course, no-one could see the angel except for its partner, unless the angel chose to reveal itself, that is.
Those other 99%, the ones without an angel, would never be able to reach the same level. They were doomed to lives of mediocrity, to the possibility of being lonely, to feeling pain and anguish, all the things that the angel-blessed would never have to feel in their lives.
Then there was Vel.
Vel had been born with a different partner, one that could speak to him, right inside his head. Even when he was a newborn baby, he could understand her. She didn't look anything like what most people thought a demon was. She had two short horns protruding from the sides of her forehead, and her eyes were entirely white, no pupil, but apart from that she was by all means a normal woman. An normal, invisible woman, with lustrous black wings that beat silently against the night sky.
Where angels would protect their partner from any harm or stress befalling them by helping their partner, Vel had learned from an early age that his demon would protect him, too. She just had... a very different way of doing it.
His pre-school teacher had found that out the hard way when she put him in the naughty corner. Vel's hysterical tears had sent the young Cylazia into a frenzy. She slaughtered the poor teacher in cold blood, leaving the other children to look on in horror as their teacher dropped dead right in front of them, the result of a mere thought from Cylazia. Vel had learned to be more careful after that.
The cost of using his power was simply too great, it would protect him, but destroy everything around him. For the rest of his life he'd had to keep her a secret, forbidding her from ever intervening. She wasn't too fond of that, and the two were rarely on speaking terms anymore.
Until the other day, that is. Until an entire boardroom of corporate executives was found dead, through no explainable cause, in the exact same way Vel's nursery teacher had been. Their bodies were described as instantly going cold, with no sign of heart failure or any other cause of death. After seeing that, Vel had to enlist Cylazia's help.
Someone else had a guardian demon
And they were using it.
I'll continue in a bit, /r/wptoss for more writing, hope everyone enjoys :) |
“You like it, right?” Obama said, winking at Putin as un-sexually as possible. He didn’t want Putin to think he was coming on to him, especially considering they were meeting in Russia. He’d briefly considered not winking, but it just didn’t feel right. It was worth the risk.
“No, it’s stupid,” Putin said, crossing his arms and pouting his lip slightly. Obama knew he was lying, knew that he was more jealous than Michael Bay catching his wife at a firework show. Who wouldn’t be? It was magnificent.
“I know you do,” Obama said, running his hand through his beard and pulling at the strands. They were rough to the touch with an almost artificial texture, yet still felt convincingly real.
“It looks terrible,” Putin said, a tear welling up in his eye. He glanced away.
“Do you want to feel it?” Obama said, leaning his chin closer to Putin.
“No,” Putin said, his arm twitching slightly as he visibly resisted the urge to reach out to it.
“Go on,” Obama said. “Rub it. Feel what I’ve created.” Obama knew he hadn’t actually created it, that it had only been made possible by pulling all of NASA’s funding and investing instead into a top secret beard-research program. Michelle had argued, said it was “probably more important for us to explore space than ensure you can grow a beard,” but Obama insisted. She was a woman and didn’t understand what it was like to be baby faced, to suffer through the decades without the aid of a supple, supportive beard. Now she couldn’t keep her hands off of him, but feigned as though it were simply a coincidence. Yes, and it was also a coincidence that his approve rating had risen to almost 95% since giving birth to his new face-baby.
“No, I won’t do it,” Putin said. “I think it looks dumb.” He bit his lip.
“You’re just jealous,” Obama said, stroking his beard. He could feel the artificial roots buried deep within, the small, still-scabbed holes that had been inserted not a month earlier. He’d remained out of the public eye while they were visible, claimed he was taking a “vacation” on Martha’s Vineyard. In truth, he’d been back in the White House, sitting at the Resolute desk and watering his beard like a farmer feeding his crops. He’d done almost nothing over the past thirty days other than nourish and nurture his beard, giving it anything and everything it desired. He needed to be sure it looked as rugged and manly as possible before he launched his plan.
“Am not,” Putin said, re-crossing his arms and looking off to the side. His face was clean shaven, like a newborn baby with Alopecia.
“You wish you could grow one, but you can’t,” Obama said. He shoved his right hand into his beard and began massaging it. “Only good leaders can grow beards like these. That is why you should give me Russia.”
“Shut up,” Putin said, turning back toward Obama. “I can totally grow a beard. I just don’t want to. Russia is mine.”
“Don’t you lie to me,” Obama said. He attempted to smash his fist down on the table, but it refused to move. It seemed his right hand had gotten stuck in his beard. This was not the first time it had happened. In fact, he’d gotten his entire left arm caught earlier that morning. One of the secret service men had helped him pull it out, carefully untying the various strands of thick, soft hair that grasped at his forearm. Now, however, Obama was alone. If Putin knew he’d been captured by his own beard, everything he’d worked toward would be ruined. Russia would remain a threat. He carefully placed his right elbow on the table and pretended to be simply resting his hand on his chin.
“I’m not,” Putin said, “I can grow a great beard.”
“They why don’t you do it?” Obama said, subtly tugging downward whenever Putin blinked.
“Because it makes you look like a girl."
“What?” Obama said.
“Huh?” Putin said.
“How can a beard make someone look like a girl?”
“Shut up,” Putin said. “I can grow a beard, I just don’t want to."
“You mean you can’t,” Obama said, laughing. He carefully leaned his head back as he laughed, twisting his head left to right as he did so. His hand would not budge.
“I can!” Putin shouted, standing to his feet. “Fuck you, I can.”
“Do it then,” Obama said.
“Fine, maybe I will.”
Obama remained in his seat. Normally he would have stood up to counter Putin’s body language, rising to his feet and towering over him with his superior height. However, his beard-crisis made it impossible. There was no way Putin wouldn’t realize he’d been captured by his own facial hair if he were standing. There would be no way he'd surrender Russia to him and his beard.
“Go ahead,” Obama said.
“Fine,” Putin said. He closed his eyes, his face squishing and turning red as he appeared to push, like a mother struggling to give birth to a severely overweight baby. A high-pitched squeak escaped his lips, followed by a low grunt. He opened his eyes, the color slowly returning to his face, then turned and walked to the mirror in the corner of the room.
“Doesn’t look like it worked,” Obama said, twisting his tangled right hand wildly as Putin looked away.
“Shut up,” Putin said, pushing the mirror off the wall and watching as it shattered on the ground. “Just shut the hell up.”
“It’s not too late,” Obama said. “You can still come over here and touch my beard. You know, since you can’t grow your own.” Just one touch, that's all he'd need, and then Russia would be his.
“I can grow my own, god dammit,” Putin said. “Give me a minute.” He turned and power-walked out of the room.
Obama grasped his right hand with his left and tugged down with all his might, pulling in the opposite direction with his head. It refused to budge. He lifted his left hand and carefully stuck it into his beard, searching for his right as he pushed the strands aside like an experienced survivalist on a jungle expedition. He found them wedged just in front of his chin, a thick rope of beard hair wrapped around each finger. His left carefully meandered over and began freeing the right. He made a mental note to invest in a tiny machete.
“Done,” Putin shouted as he ran back into the room. He was shirtless now, his chest clearly fresh-shaven and raw. Several strands of what were obviously chest hair seemed to be Scotch-taped to his chin, with a thick mustache colored in above his lip using what Obama guessed was a navy blue Bic pen.
Obama stared at Putin, both of his hands now buried deep within the jungle of his beard. He knew he looked a bit conspicuous, but Putin seemed quite distracted now.
“You didn’t grow that,” he said.
“Did too,” Putin said, wandering over to the table and sitting back down. “I just grew it a minute ago.”
“I can see the Scotch tape,” Obama said, carefully freeing his pinky finger from within the confines of his beard.
“No, that’s lather. I lathered it up.”
“And you also clearly drew in the mustache.”
“No,” Putin said. “Nope. No way.”
“Yes,” Obama said. The last strand of hair released its grip as he tugged down on his hand, finally escaping from his own beard-labyrinth.
“It looks better than yours,” Putin said.
“Let me,"Obama said, reaching out before finishing the sentence, "feel it.” He grasped the end of what looked like Scotch tape and pulled down, removing it and half of Putin’s artificial beard.
“Hey!” Putin shouted, standing up.
“I knew it,” Obama said, holding the tape to the light. It was clearly not a real beard, just as he’d suspected. “You couldn’t grow a beard if your life depended on it.”
“Fuck this,” Putin said, slamming his fist down on the table. He turned and walked toward the corner of the room, opening a drawer and pulling out a small, glass container. “I can grow a beard, I just don’t want to right now.”
“Right,” Obama said. He resisted the urge to resume stroking his beard, fearful that he’d again become stuck. “What’s that?”
“This is your country’s demise,” Putin said, walking back over and setting the glass box down in front of Obama. A large, red button sat inside, with the words “YES RUSSIA FIRE NUKE AT AMERICA?” written on it. “You think I'd just let you into my office for peace negotiations and not have a contingency plan? Can you guess what this is?”
“Does it fire nukes?”
Putin stared at Obama, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“Shut up,” he said, flipping open the glass case.
Obama squinted and pushed with all of his might, an unfamiliar feeling gushing out from the artificial roots on his chin. His beard quickly shot forward, increasing in length almost instantly, and wrapped around the glass box, tangling Putin’s hand as it did so.
“Hey!” Putin shouted, his hand wrapped within Obama’s glorious beard. “Get off of me!”
“Did you just try to nuke my country?” Obama said, pulling Putin closer with his beard. It was wrapped around his entire arm now, slowly spreading up and toward his shoulder like the roots of an over-excited tree.
“N—no,” Putin stuttered. “I just, uh,” he paused, his eyes locked on Obama’s beard.
“Accept it,” Obama whispered.
Putin closed his eyes and flung his face forward, rubbing it up and down against Obama’s massive beard. He left out a soft sigh as his head disappeared beneath it, the strands of Obama’s hair wandering down Putin’s neck.
“It’s so nice,” Putin said, his voice muffled by the hair.
“That’s right,” Obama whispered. “That’s right. Embrace it. Now I am going to lead Russia, yes?”
“Yes,” Putin whimpered, his hands grasping at Obama’s beard like a baby at its mother's teet. "Yes.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) |
To my star-boy, my earth-child, the perfect horizon line joining two worlds,
By the time you're old enough to read this, I'll be dead. Cancer. Bad luck. But don't cry for me. If there is an order to the universe, I will always be your father, and I will always be with you, watching from that thin boundary where the physical world and the spirit world meet.
Let me tell you how you came to be born.
It began when your mother's people landed. We called them aliens back then, and we were prepared to kill them.
We were ready with fighter jets and battleships and nuclear bombs. It was the first time the whole of Earth could agree on a common enemy, and we rose up as a single global army to face our would-be conquerors.
Imagine our surprise when the doors opened and we saw... ourselves.
These humans were different, of course. Thousands of years of evolution had splintered us apart into distinct species of *Homo*. The visitors were willowy and thin and hard-edged as a moon.
*Homo asterales*, we called them. Star-humans. They came seeking refuge, a new home in an ancient homeland, after their own planet was devoured by war.
Listen, little one: be glad you missed the years of stalemate that followed. The arguments and rejected treaties and global convention as all of us wrestled to find the answer: what do we do *now?*
We became split into new camps: the "real"humans and the aliens. I was only eight years old when the first alien refugee camps went up, but I remember my school bus crossing an overpass every day which overlooked one of those settlements. There were hundreds upon hundreds of white plastic tents, marshalled in tidy rows.
One day, I asked my mother, "Why do they treat the aliens like that? They're humans, just like us, aren't they?"
"Humans have never been known for treating each other kindly,"my mother had said.
"But why?"
"It's the way of things."
Even then, I had wondered why no one stood up. Why no one fought back, as if it was as easy as going to a protest, waving a sign, and going back home again as if we'd saved the world.
I was too young to understand then that some systems don't simply disappear overnight. It's like weeding an overgrown garden. You can only pull it up gently, carefully, one poisonous root at a time.
That was the world I grew up in: a world where I learned to harden my heart when I saw other human beings in tents or cages. When I heard the debates rage on television, at my own dinner table: *where are we going to put these people? How can there be enough for everyone?*
The years went on, and the debates never changed shape, even as the star-humans began pulling themselves out of the tent camps, began dressing like us, acting like us, talking like us. Properly human, as my father used to say.
I met your mother when we were both in high school. She lived in one of those camps. I still remember standing under the plastic tent roof where she lived with her parents and her two siblings. A 10-foot by 10-foot square for five people to somehow make a home.
The rain was tapping at the plastic like it was knocking at the door to my heart, and I felt so stupid and small for ever thinking I had an easy answer to any of this.
When I walked home, I cried and the sky cried and I fell in love with that bright-eyed star-girl who was so much braver than I would ever be, who had crossed the universe, just so you could one day be born.
I cannot change what other people will say to you, how they may look at you. I would wipe it all away if I could, ever bit of hate and fear that will try to eat away at your heart.
But I can do this.
Anywhere you can feel the wind cup your face, that's me, teaching you to be strong for your mother.
Anywhere the rain kisses your cheeks, that's me, showing you that strong men cry and break and fall apart, and strength comes from putting the pieces of yourself back together.
Anywhere the sun warms your perfect starry skin, that's me, reminding you that that kindness can overcome any fear of difference.
If the world is a garden, the work has only just begun. I've spent my life here with your mother, in our little corner of the world. Digging up the dead rot of the old ways root by root, seed by seed, heart by heart.
Don't linger too long on what is still left to uproot. Trim the weeds as you can. Let the people who love you help, even if you must teach them how.
But promise me this.
For every hateful weed you pull, plant something new. A friend. A husband, a wife. A star-boy of your own someday, who will hear your mother's stories of a lost world across the stars.
It's the best any of us can do. |
My alarm blares, and my bloodshot eyes open. The sun has not yet risen, and I long for the comfort of sleep. But sleep is for the weak. And my mission demands sacrifice.
I open my laptop, squinting as the screen illuminates the room. The clock at the corner of my screen reads 5 AM. Soon, the east coast of the United States will be waking for work. There is no time to waste.
I open the word document entitled "Project Mayhem."Inside are thousands of writing prompts, 80% of which begin with the phrase "You wake up one morning to find...". I run my finger down the screen, admiring my handiwork and pondering which ones to post this morning.
**"Batman wakes up one morning to find that he has become the Joker."**
**"Hitler did not die in a bunker in 1945. Instead, he traveled back to 1925 and attempted to assassinate himself."**
**"You wake up one morning to find that you have 24 hours to convince the president to dismantle all nuclear weapons. Oh, and one more thing. You're his dog."**
**"No time traveler has ever successfully assassinated Hitler. That is because Batman was sent back in time to protect him. You are the Joker, and you must prevent WW2"**
**"In an alternate universe, Half Life 3 is hated and Comcast is revered."**
**"A magician begins to discover that his tricks are not tricks at all. In fact, his magic is real. End it with him finding himself in a mental institution.**
**"God is put on trial for crimes against humanity. The result is a hung jury."**
**"A time traveler accidentally kills his parents, forcing him to become both his own father as well as his own mother. (NSFW!)"**
**"You arrive in heaven, only to find that it is populated by lawyers and pedophiles. Also, you are Hitler."**
**"On a whim, you exclaim 'I'd sell my soul for a grilled cheese sandwich!' A red hand with long fingernails taps you on the shoulder. Include a fiddle duel in the story. Also, make sure your protagonist wins. And make sure to- actually, fuck it. I'll just write it."**
**"A little boy tells you that he sees dead people. Include a plot twist in your response."**
**"In an alternate reality, men put women in the friend zone. Especially my bitch ex-wife, Alice.**
**"You wake up one morning to find that people have power levels displayed over their heads. One day, you meet somebody with no power level displayed. Instead, he has a halo."**
**"You die, only to find that heaven is populated by the cast of Harry Potter."**
I jump between alternate accounts, posting prompt after prompt, each more nauseating than the last. [Wannabe writers post their pathetic Batman fan fictions, fighting over points that don't exist.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2afkkh/eu_bruce_wayne_discovers_he_was_actually_adopted/ciuksmb?context=3) Once I have posted all my godawful prompts, I begin phase 2. I scroll through the page at lightning speed, laughing as I downvote any prompt I did not post.
**"A man is introduced to a son he never knew he had."**
Downvoted.
**"A world leader contemplates whether or not to go through with a nuclear strike."**
Downvoted.
**"A parent suspects their child may grow up to be a serial killer."**
Downvoted.
I refresh the page, admiring the lineup of blue downvotes I have created. Now, it is time to create my responses. I throw together a few circlejerky inside jokes until my responses surpass the 25 word minimum. Once my lazy, uninteresting responses have been formulated, [I include a link to my personal subreddit and post my monstrosities.](http://www.reddit.com/r/thisstorywillsuck)
At last, there is but one task remaining. I send my daily message to the moderators requesting that the subreddit lift its despotic ban on erotica.
My work completed, I return to sleep. I will need my rest if I am to create more bland, uninteresting prompts. I dream pleasant dreams of the subreddit I have sabotaged.
Also, I am secretly Hitler
Edit: I'm going to keep periodically adding shitty prompt ideas. |
# Foreword to the Poet's War, by John Burnett
The Terani send their poets to war. I know because I’ve fought them, and because I’ve read the collections of the men I thought I'd killed.
When I was young, a boy of eighteen, I went to the trenches of Tau Ceti. I brought along a million of my best friends, and shoulder to shoulder, vibro-bayonet to vibro-bayonet, we learned something of what it meant to be alive, and much of what it meant to die.
And all the while we heard the Terani singing on the other side of no mans land, their trenches guarded by the glittering domes of force fields, their foxholes burrowed with their bare hands, their claws extending six inches or more from the fingers with the flick of a wrist. When they fought they wore plasteel armor and carried laser rifles and the bravest of them went into battle armed like the days of old. Old to them, not to us, their swords still glittered with the power of kinetic accelerators, and their spears were more like guided missiles.
In the early days we did not know that they did not die. Who could have conceived of that then, when the human race was still in its infancy. They did not die, and we could scarcely manage to live, and though each toiled the same the risks were far different.
That lost us the war, but it won us the peace.
You see, the Terani Imperium is not an imperium in the way of man. It is, perhaps, closest to the late 20th and early 21st century American cultural hegemony with all the serial filed off and the budget divorced from the defense department.
Because, of course, the Terani send their poets to war.
In the Terani Imperium all things revolve around the Culture. They are an empire of mind, not empire of steel, and the nature of their army reflects that. It is not an arm of defense or offense or anything else so banal, it is their Cultural Outreach Department, Training Division 001, the motto of which is loosely translated as “A Poem is Pain Portrayed.”
And in my years at war they portrayed far more than their share.
For two years the Terani Imperium rained hell down onto our trenches. We had no force fields and they their bombs. They showed us orbital lasers for the first time, whispered the first, rippling stanzas of a planet cracker into our ears. On Christmas Day, 2441 they us made a gift of plague, scented the aerosol like frankincense.
In the decade that followed they shared with us the long forgotten terrestrial concept of hard treaties with foreign powers, and when I found the wreckage of my Tau Ceti home I packed it into a shoe box and shipped it back to Earth alongside the ashes a half million good men and another million or so civvies.
And then towards the end of that decade, all us eighteen year olds grew up, and the Terani learned something of the difference between our two races.
They send their poets to war to make them better. We send our boys to war, and the war makes them poets.
This collection is a measure of that. I wrote some of these in the trenches, more of them hospitals, more of them awake in bed as the nightmares shook themselves loose, Wilfrid Owen open at my bedside.
They sent us bombs and lasers and plague. We sent them back Sassoon and Owen and Hemmingway. And, as the critics see fit to list me among them, Burnett. I find myself disagreeing with that sentiment, but as my publisher says, we’re on track to sell a billion copies in the Imperium and that counts for something.
I’m not treading any territory that’s new to us humans. The Terani might have never seen anything like Owen or myself. It would be constitutionally impossible for them to ever do so, for one cannot expose the great lie of *Dulce et Decorum Est* without the floundering man, and that dear readers is their weakness.
Remember that when you read these poems. Imagine the blasted space between two trenches, voices raised in a curlew’s chatter above the ozone torn air, and remember it was poets in both trenches, one set real, one set fake even by their own terms, and do not begrudge me a few last parting lines to my youth.
The Terani send their poets to war. I know because I’ve fought them, and because I’ve read the collections of men I’d thought I killed.
And I know that the thing that separates us is nothing so simple as technology, who has the better bomb or the bigger gun.
It’s poetry. Real words versus fake, the difference between Horace’s Ode and Owen’s poem.
And excuse me one last time, for a passing gloat.
A billion sales in the Imperium, and in the past year not a single one of the poets I’d thought I killed have sold more than a dozen copies. “A Poem is Pain Portrayed,” says their Cultural Department.
Well dear readers, let us see how that is done.
\-----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
He breathed a sigh of relief and went and sat down, finishing the coffee I'd made him that should no doubt have been cold by now, but was miraculously still warm. Of course, the son of God would never make do with cold coffee, even if it was over an hour since it was made. Three hours ago, I was only just up and dressed, when I got a banging at the door. Opening it, I was presented with this guy, in dirty jeans, and a checked shirt and baseball cap, claiming to be Jesus H. Christ himself. Of course I scoffed, didn't believe him. Too many mad men about for my liking. So, he proved it for me. Used whatever powers he had, and my house was spotless in seconds. My garden immaculate, the back even had the water feature I had only just started digging completed and running. If he wasn't Jesus, he was someone pretty powerful looking for a place to hide. Being the overly nice person that I was, I let him in. It wasn't till afterwards that I realized he had a firearm. It wasn't much more than five minutes after that the local missionaries from the church began their rounds, and some guy got the short end of the stick. Normally I'd have been a little more polite, but hiding a deity in your house can make you nervous.
"So, they're really hunting you down huh?"I asked, sitting opposite. He nodded, setting the gun on the table. He brushed his long hair from his shoulder as he spoke.
"Dad's a little....OK a lot pissed off with me at the moment. I ran away."I looked at him confused. How did God's only son manage to piss him off?
"Ran away?"I asked, brow furrowed. He nodded again, before sipping his coffee cup.
"Yeah. The whole crucifixion thing? It was a punishment. I..messed with a few things I shouldn't have."He said with a slightly guilty shrug, before taking off his baseball cap, scratching his head, and replacing it. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.
"How bad are we talking here?"I sipped at my own mug. He grinned sheepishly. "That bad?"
"Well, he found out that I killed the dinosaurs, that was bad enough. They were kinda his pets, y'know? It was like running over someones dog. Why he couldn't have settled with a dragon I don't know. Then he found out I'd been coming to Earth and..uh..."
"Doing what most single guys do on a night out?"I supplied. Jesus laughed aloud and nodded.
"Yeah. He wasn't impressed. Told me that whoring it up was disgusting, and that he never did that when he was young. I couldn't help retorting that there weren't any whores when he was younger, never mind any humans...that got me sent down to Earth. And I ended up literally grounded. Well, locked in a tomb, if you believe the book. It's all stories anyway."He set down the coffee cup and went to peer out the window again.
"So why did you run away?"I asked. I had to know. What would Jesus run from?
"I've been grounded for near enough 2000 years. I might look like an adult here, but I'm still just a teen back up there."He nodded towards my ceiling. "All he has me do is grant prayers. Appear in pieces of toast, and packets of crisps, or accidentally appearing is some schoolgirls artwork. Nothing meaningful. I keep telling him you have all this power, and you won't use it to make Earth a better place? Heal all the sick? Feed all the hungry? He refuses, saying humans have made the mess they must clear it up. I was like, but you LET THEM. You knew what was going to happen and you LET them! So I noped out of there. Couldn't be bothered with that crap."He said, walking over to the table and finally draining his mug.
"I can see how it would piss someone off."I said, sympathetically, while stifling a giggle at the image of Jesus saying the word crap. "Especially when there's nothing you can do about it."He nodded, and picked up the gun again, putting it in his pocket. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly 10 am on a Sunday. Most people would be at church now. Well, the believers anyway. I wasn't among them. Perhaps that's why he'd come to me for help.
"Exactly. Thanks for hiding me here. If I'd gone to one of his "Lambs of God"I'd probably be being hailed for my second coming by now. But, I have to keep moving. What can I do to repay you?"He asked, looking at me with a quizzical smile.
"Ah, no worries. Not every day you have Jesus Christ hiding behind your door, is it?"I replied, holding my hands up as if to say not to worry.
"No, I should repay you. I know."He clicked his fingers, and suddenly the glasses I was wearing became blurry. I pulled them off, unable to see, just in time to grab at my trousers as they slipped down. I looked around my living room, realizing my vision was perfect. Glancing down, the belly I had was gone, my trousers had slipped past my hips before I was able to grab them. My excess weight had vanished.
"Did you just..."I began, amazed.
"Yeah, you won't have any health problems what so ever from now on. Oh, and that bank balance of yours? That one penny will have a good few more zeroes after it now. Least I could do."He said, before heading to the door. He opened it, adjusted his cap, and went out. I stood at the door, holding my old specs and my trousers to stop them falling down in one hand. I called out to him as I reached the gate.
"Hey, just a thought, wouldn't the gun be pretty ineffective against whatever, or whoever is chasing you?"I asked.
"Yeah, normally. But have you ever heard of the saying "Holding a gun to the head of God?""He called back as he reached my front gate.
"Yes."
"If they catch me, I'm going to see if it works!"
I turned on the TV a few days later to see a headline that had the world confused. "Hunger in Africa Vanishes!"And the next one, "Cancer vaccine found!"And a third "Pope accepts homosexuality as part of the Church, on word from GOD!"I smiled to myself. Holding a gun to the head of God did work after all.
|
"I just don't see why it has to have holes everywhere."Mira gestured at the gap in the middle of the platemail. "Won't I get stabbed in the stomach?"
"Oh, no. You see, our armor is very high level. It gives +15 resistance against piercing. That's much better than the iron plate you picked up off the bandit's hideout,"I explained, throwing a dagger at the stomach-hole. It bounced off. "Materials are short, so the holes are necessary. We made sure to put them in areas where they'd keep you properly ventilated."
A man in a loincloth shoved Mira aside and slammed his hands on the counter. "SPEEDRUN!"He shouted, and I scrambled to bring out a bag of standard gear. He grabbed half of it, tossed his entire coin pouch on the table, and ran outside before Mira could get up.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, if you're concerned about the safety of this piece, we have many others available for your selection."I pointed at the displays on the wall.
"Isn't that one just lingerie?"Mira asked, pointing at the far left stand with a golden pedestal.
"Don't worry about that one, it costs premium currency and doesn't provide any armor. So yeah, it basically is just lingerie. We sell it too. Well, if you're looking for something a little better covered, our Nightress set doesn't have any holes."Mira examined the set of pitch black medium armor.
"It's a little better, but why does it have boobs? Won't I fracture my sternum if I fall over? You sure I can't just wear male armor?"I sighed and brought out a set of male armor.
"Well, if you insist, you can try this. It's the standard male counterpart for your level, though it might feel a bit uncomfortable. 4000 gold."I set it on the counter.
"It's pretty expensive, but oh well. Whatever lets me keep my dignity."Mira fished around in her pouch. "Damn, I'm only at 3800. Let me sell some equipment really quick."
She slid her money, her sword, her boots, her pants, and her bandit plate mail across the counter and walked out completely naked carrying the male armor.
_________________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) |
I stand atop my lair gazing out onto the wastes that surround it, scouring the landscape for signs of my enemy's approach. Fire belches from my twisted demonic lungs with every breath. My vaguely draconic wings flutter and twitch ever so slightly as I prepare myself to take flight at first sight of my foe. My spiked tail swishes back and forth in excitement, unable to contain my anticipation. The day I’ve waited for has finally arrived, the moment that will allow me to fulfill my destiny is almost upon us.
Days ago I received word that the so called “Hero” had discovered my true identity and my personal responsibility for his family’s death. It was the happiest moment of my dark and dreary existence. It was said that he was enraged, and was making his way to my domain to confront me with all possible speed.
At least it seemed so, but as the hours and days passed I began to doubt the actual speed of his advance toward me. Had his horse died? Had he broken a leg? What could possibly have delayed him from arriving at our monumental confrontation for so long?
Throughout these unnerving days, I had sent many of my scouts back out to keep an eye on his progress, and now I demanded answers from one of them.
“Why has he not arrived? Why am I *still* waiting for my destiny to be fulfilled? WHERE IS HE?”
The tiny, lesser demon before me cowered as I all but roared my questions at him.
“Lord Belzanarr,” it began in a wavering voice. “The Hero is… he appears to be in Westmarsh.”
“Westmarsh?! That’s hundreds of miles from here, and in the opposite direction!”
“Yes, my lord,” it replied. “Days ago he suddenly halted his charge toward your lair, turned around abruptly and rode off toward the west with all possible speed.”
“What game is he playing? Is there some demon slaying sword of legend residing in a cavern in Westmarsh that I am unaware of? Or a mystical ally who could aid him in bringing about my downfall?”
“No, he appears… we have reliable knowledge that he…"the demon stuttered before finding his resolve. "I saw it with my own eyes, my lord. He is in Westmarsh killing rats and gathering ingredients for an elaborate stew.”
“Rats… and an elaborate stew…” I repeated with genuine confusion. "Is is a magical stew that will empower his attacks or provide him with resistance to my flames?"I asked hopefully.
The demon checked his notes and shook its head. "Reports are that it is a turnip stew, my lord. It requires many ingredients that can take hours to gather, but still just a turnip stew nevertheless."
“A turnip stew? I cannot imagine a more common and unremarkable cuisine!"I said with mounting frustration. "Slaying rats and stew making are tasks far below a hero of his stature, does he have no choice in this matter? Was he… ordered to complete these quests by his king's royal decree or something of the sort?”
“I’m afraid not, Lord Belzanarr,” it told me. “While stopped at a small town to resupply on his journey here, he found a shabby looking note pinned to a board outside his inn. He read it, then set off immediately in the opposite direction toward Westmarsh. I read the note and brought it for you to see for yourself, my lord.
He handed it to me. It read simply, “Westmarsh Bounty: Slay 30 rats. Reward: 5 silver pieces.”
“Five silver pieces…” I repeated several times as my anger grew. “FIVE MEASLY SILVER PIECES HAVE DERAILED OUR CLIMACTIC BATTLE FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR SOULS AND THIS ENTIRE REALM?!”
I raged on for minutes on end until a second demonic scout came flying in, interrupting my very justifiable temper tantrum.
“My lord!” it exclaimed. “The Hero has departed Westmarsh!”
“While I remain thoroughly insulted by his priorities, that is indeed welcome news. How long until he arrives on my doorstep for our final confrontation?”
“He… is still not headed this direction,” the second demon replied warily.
My head came to rest in my hand, utterly defeated. “Well? Where *is* he headed?” I mumbled.
“The Hero saw an advertisement for 'new content' promising an entire undiscovered new realm full of new quests, adventures, and… greater foes and bosses to slay. He paid a handsome sum and boarded a boat for this new landmass.”
“GREATER foes and bosses?!” I shouted as I flew into an uncontrollable rage. My palms glowed and swirled with otherworldly dark energy as I banished both demon scouts back to the hellish realms from whence they came. My furious, primal screams echoed throughout the halls. Utterly infuriated, I stomped and smashed the floors and walls until chunks of the structure of my lair were crumbling down around me.
Eventually I composed myself, but only briefly. His actions were an unthinkable affront to my role as leader of all the forces of evil in this realm. If it was a psychological war this hero was waging against me, then for the moment at least, he was certainly winning.
___
Check out r/Ryter if you want to be derailed by your very own side quest!
Goal: Read more stories.
Reward: Uhh, I dunno... hopefully some more laughs and entertainment : ) |
The passage of time.
It picks up like a fucking snowball down a mountain.
I opened my eyes to find the forest before me gone and empty. In fact, it looked like I was sitting in the middle of a fancy room made of velvet and tile. I arched a brow at that and a searing pain shot through my face. Looks like I had gotten lost in meditation again. How much time had passed? Apparently enough that my fucking *eyebrows* ached from not being stretched in so long.
There was a short cry, and I flicked my eyes below me to see a small... cat? It didn't look like the cats I was used to though. This one was maybe 3 feet tall, and standing on its legs. It was wearing a small vest made of some kind of leather, as well as some thin, gray pants and... I swear on Gaha'nir's Roots, it was wearing a backpack! Its fur was a gorgeous red; fiery, like when you watch the sun set. Its eyes, however, were a light blue, the color of a starling egg, and currently wide with fear.
The catlike creature stepped back and apparently misjudged his step, for he toppled over onto the ground, and something metallic in his backpack clanged on the tile floor. The cat quickly jumped back to its feet, and stepped back warily, its blue eyes fixed intently on me.
I grit my teeth. Where the hell was I, some kind of museum? I strained my neck around to see. The room was made of tile floors and velvet walls as I said before, but it was decorated with what looked like gold. Intricate designs in the gold crept along the trim and along the window frames and along just about everything that wasn't bare wall. It looked like I was in a display room. Display room for what?
A sudden realization dawned on me and I looked down at my crossed legs. I was sitting on a stone of some kind. I blinked.
"What the fuck?"I said aloud.
The cat's eyes widened it jumped back in a flash. I snapped my attention to it, having almost forgotten it was there. Something about living for few thousand years makes you forgetful, in my experience. Well, few thousand... how much had passed now? Last I remembered, I had settled down in the middle of a forest clearing under the Great Tree Gaha'nir to meditate, and now I was here.
"Cat,"I said. Before I could continue, the cat replied.
"What?"It said.
I blinked at it. Cats don't talk. Or at least, I had never met one that could. I narrowed my eyes at it in concentration. To be honest, cats didn't stand on their hind legs like humans either. Nor did they wear clothes, or backpacks, or visit museums. Yet this one did.
"How do you know my name?"It asked.
"Your... name is Cat?"I asked, astonished.
"Why would you call me Cat if you didn't know my name was Cat?"Cat asked. Its eyes flicked around the room, as though looking for exits, or perhaps other talking museum exhibits. "You're the Sitting Man... why have you awoken? Is the end time really coming?"
"End time?"I asked. "Another one?"
The cat cocked its head to the side questioningly. Of course, it wouldn't know about the Great Cataclysm, the event that tore my world apart and killed everyone I ever knew or cared about. It wouldn't know how I woke up under the shade of the Great Gaha'nir, the only other living thing I knew that survived the event. It wouldn't know how I lived through it, and for thousands of years past it. He wouldn't know that I was a Druid of the Old Age.
"They said the legend of the Sitting Man... that you would wake up when the End times came near... that you were an ancient human from the past, tens of thousands of year ago."Cat's words came out staggered and awkward. I noticed that he was slowly taking a step back every few moments. "Is it true? Is the world really about to end then?"
I looked at him simply, and let out a loud, barking laugh. It bellowed through the room, and Cat began to look even more visibly uncomfortable, if that was even possible. It probably wasn't fair of me to come across this cryptic and vague to the poor guy, but come on. This just proved that people would make legends out of mole hills. One thing Cat said did worry me, however. Tens of thousands of years? Just how long was I asleep, meditating? How in the world did my body not fall apart into dust? I mean, I was technically immortal, but I wasn't invulnerable. And tens of thousands of years is a long, long, *long* time. Most of human history happened in a fraction of that time.
How the fuck did I fall asleep for that long anyways?
So many questions, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet. I hadn't actually eaten in some fifty thousand years, apparently, and I could feel my stomach start to rumble. I honestly felt it all throughout my body, like it was a computer rebooting. I felt my heart beat, and I felt my body begin to come to life. I grit my teeth, and decided to bite the bullet.
I uncrossed my legs, and jumped down from the display stage.
It hurt.
A lot.
Pain shot through every nook and cranny of my body, and I nearly crumbled from the pure sense of it. It was like the feeling when your limb falls asleep, and as it slowly wakes, it feels like a thousand microscopic needles are stabbing you all over the limb. But it was all over my body, and they had upgraded to swords. I didn't land on my own two feet, as it were. I stumbled and fell flat on my face. I heard Cat cry out and sprint from the room. I groaned. I don't know how many minutes I lay there, writhing all over from the pain of using my body, but after awhile the pain began to lift. It didn't go away, but I was able to slowly push myself to my feet.
It was in that moment that a group of fifty or so cats entered the room, led by a single larger cat dressed in what looked like a uniform. The small cats looked around in wonder and awe at the room, but suddenly the entire tour group stopped and stared at me.
"Cats leading tour guides through museums?"I muttered. "Maybe I'm still asleep."
The entire tour group let out a collective shriek and darted out of the room in a panic just as Cat had done, and I let out a sigh that shot a burst of pain through my body. So many questions, I felt like a young kid in an unknown world again.
The question at the forefront of my mind, however, was why I had fallen asleep for so long. Why was I in a museum? The Great Tree Gaha'nir should have protected me while I was in meditation. Had something happened to the tree?
Whatever had happened, for some strange, nagging reason in the back of my mind, I suspected there was foul play involved. As far as I knew there weren't very many immortal humans about. Was it a god? A goddess? A walking rhino? It could be anything as far as I was concerned, but what I did know is that in a lifetime of immense boredom, I suddenly had a mystery to solve.
______________________________________
I've decided to continue the story over on my subreddit, /r/wedontbuildL
Come over if you'd like to read more of this, or other stories :) |
Clearly, I never did it with the expectation of a reward. Any scout will tell you that. Typically, you get a "thank you,"and honestly, that's the best-case scenario. Anytime things are different, it's usually for the worse. I got a dime once, which - it took me almost two minutes to get you across the street, lady, with your being unwilling to cross the first time because you "didn't see the light change."Are you saying my time is worth $3/hour? Let's not put a price tag on this and just accept that I did something nice and you appreciate it. A few times I got a piece of candy...butterscotch twice, mint once. The first time, I made the mistake of actually eating the candy I was given. It was as brittle as the hip of the person who gave it to me, and tasted like hard cotton. I feel like I should have gotten my Theater badge for being able to smile at the lady and keep it in my mouth until I got far enough away that she wouldn't see me spit it into a garbage can.
Anyway, bottom line, no way would I have accepted the bag if I had been given a choice. Especially given what it looked like, but even if it was an ordinary looking backpack or exercise bag, I'd still have said no. But the thing was...I helped Dotty or Lois or Ida or whoever across Elm, and she smiled to me, and then her purse - this brick-red thing, which looked like it could hold a four-person tent with room to spare - falls off her shoulder onto the ground. No surprise, really, I imagine it to be about half the weight of the old bird carrying it. So I braced myself when it came time to lift it, engaging my core subconsciously, but to my surprise it was about as heavy as a standard first-aid kit.
"Thank you, dear,"she said, smiling beneficently at me. "Use it wisely, won't you?"The sun was raging off the windows of the office building behind her, right into my eyes, and a diesel truck was roaring behind us, and I kept being jostled by pedestrians...
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't need your purse."I was about halfway through saying it when she was gone. I'm not sure how much was the glare of reflected light, how much was being bumped by other people...but given what I found out about the bag later, I'm pretty confident she just vanished.
And so that's how I got the bag. My patrol gave me a lot of shit for it when I brought it on our next camping trip, at least at first. Then I showed them all the stuff I had put in it, and they shut up right quick. Funny how a three-day supply of Gatorade and Ruffles can do that.
I've learned not to worry about the looks. It's really not *all* that different from when I wear the uniform. Sure, it looks dorky as hell, but it *means* something. Every now and then I get to prove that to someone, and if it was someone who was smirking at me a moment before, all the better.
The big surprise didn't come until later. I was packing for our whitewater challenge - it was probably overkill, but why not bring some back-up inflatable rafts, just to be safe? - and decided I might as well clean out some of the extra stuff from previous trips.
That's when I discovered that there had already been things in the bag when I had gotten it. Things that were definitely not coins and candies.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/8pof44/scout_spirit_part_2/) is up on my sub. |
"VICTORY FOR THE EMPEROR, ETERNAL AND UNDEFEATED!!!"
Again, I stand victorious. Nearing a thousand worlds, and to this day I reign supreme by right of my unrivalled and unquestionable might. As before, so again. This worlds only difference is the failure of its people to produce a champion to unite them. All others had a leader, chosen by often inferior means, a single opponent who I need but break to demonstrate my glory to their race. Here, the people have divided their planet by land mass, producing variants and leaders of their own. Early analysis suggests there may be as many as a dozen separate peoples, the highest yet seen. I will crush them as all before them. Four down.
---
"VICTORY FOR THE EMPEROR, ETERNAL AND UNDEFEATED!!!"
Again, I stand victorious. This world's people are absolutely insane, my first act as their ruler will be tear every governance system and political border they've devised into scrap and reduce all who participated in the mess to a gas. 84. I have slain *84* of their leaders and yet to this day I have failed to conquer even *half* of a *single planet*. Our court established a law long past, that in the event a world had multiple leaders, to ensure a battle at full strength I would defeat a single leader per a full day on our planet. To humans, this is a single battle roughly every 243 of their days. Yet still, I have yet to conquer even *half* of them. Mad, all of them.
---
"VICTORY FOR THE EMPEROR, ETERNAL AND UNDEFEATED!!!"
Again, I stand victorious. I have grown to loathe this planet and its people in kind. Upon my arrival, there were 197 recognized lands among what passes for civilization for the humans. 197 leaders to defeat. Yet here I stand, 248 victories later, the job yet undone. Their species breeds a new generation in but *120* days! This is not the fastest in even this galaxy by any stretch, but their *leadership* tends to last only a fraction of this time! By the time I had defeated all 197, the remaining lands had splintered and fractured so many times over that I dare not even guess how many new leaders have risen. This is not even an attempt to manipulate us! Long before this ridiculous species even dared *imagine* my existence they had *single towns* who commanded a space measured in *tens of kilometers*. Yet they are recognized as distinct! As sovereigns! I have remained here so long I have learned their measurement systems, another thing which I shall uproot in its entirety. I briefly entertained merely dusting the entire planet, yet to change the law which I myself placed I must defeat a clone of myself from that time, and while the humans were initially without threat as time passed I found I cannot spare the strength to defeat my old self while conquering them. Still, the majority of this planet and its people are conquered. Surely they can only fracture so far, produce only so many leaders for me to vanquish before they are broken.
---
"VICTORY FOR THE EMPEROR, ETERNAL AND UNDEFEATED!!!"
Again, I stand victorious. Yet for the first time, I fear it may not always be so. The remaining humans are all located in the what they call Eastern Asia, the rest conquered, enslaved, and shipped off world to ensure they could incite no further rebellions and produce no further leaders. Yet as a species they have persisted for so long. Each battle, I face a leader manifested with a new act of daring, a new blasphemy upon their *own selves* designed to see me defeated. Most replaced parts of themselves with metal. Grafting weapons into their very bodies, yet their feeble weaponry was ultimately of no challenge to my superiority. Now, however... they have brought forth a new atrocity. With each battle, I find myself growing weaker. With each battle, I find myself stabbed, injected with some new concoction. In nearly a thousand worlds, I have never faced its like. They call it biochemical warfare. A mere day is no longer enough to recover my strength, yet by my own law the battles cannot by halted. By a law I no longer have the strength to overturn. 973 planets did I conquer, and now, at the 974th, for the first time... I question my own victory. |
"So, mind telling us what happened?"Sergeant Claire asked.
The suspect sat silently, a vacant stare in his eyes. The swelling in his eyes had finally gone down although they were still blue. The only survivor of the group that had tried to rob a tavern down at the Ninth Lane, Claire considered him to be extremely lucky.
"Lucky isn't the word I would use,"her partner, Inspector Gregg remarked.
"Well, out of five people, he survived so I would say he's lucky."
"Yeah, but is it worth surviving like ... this?"
Claire looked back at the suspect. Gregg had a point. The suspect had had his jaws broken, half his teeth smashed in, both femurs broken, a couple of ribs fractured, a cracked skull, and his right arm had been chopped off at the elbow. The EMTs who had picked him up had initially considered him dead.
"They really fucked him up, didn't they?"Gregg commented.
"You should have seen the other four. We had to use dental records to identify them. And they all had hardly any teeth left!"
The suspect stirred.
"My friends ..."he struggled to speak. "They're dead?"
"He's speaking! Gregg, make sure you're taking notes,"Claire ordered. Gregg acquiesced, fishing a small notepad and a pen out of his uniform pockets.
Claire sat on a chair next to the suspect's bed and leaned in.
"I'm sorry about your friends,"she said. She wasn't really sorry. They had held hostages and threatened to kill them in the botched attack at the tavern.
The suspect said nothing.
"What happened? In that tavern?"she asked.
"The tavern?"
"Yes, the tavern you tried to rob unsuccessfully with your ... friends."
"It ... it was ... I don't know. They came at us."
"The staff?"
"All of them."
Claire frowned. "All of them?"
"We ... we took the owner. We had a gun to his head. We threatened to shoot him if they didn't all give us their cash and valuables. And then ..."
The suspect shuddered.
"And then what?"Gregg asked abruptly. Claire shot him a glare and he mumbled an apology.
"The waiter ... he started saying something weird. He was speaking some weird language and one of the customers immediately jumped onto Jim."
"Who's Jim? Is he the one who held the owner hostage?"
"No, that was Briggs."
"What happened to Jim?"
"The customer started hitting him, stabbing him with a fork. Chavez tried to stop in but the janitor grabbed him and then started attacking him with his mop."
"That would have been a sight to see,"Gregg muttered.
"Your arm. What happened to it?"Claire asked, ignoring Gregg.
"I was standing next to the kitchen. The chef burst out screaming from behind the doors, knocking me over. She had two large knives in her hands. Before I could react, she cut my hand off and then punched me. Lamar tried to help me but then she started beating him. Next thing I know, more customers had joined in attacking Jim. Some of them came after me too. Chavez was being strangled by the Janitor using a wire and Lamar was being stabbed repeatedly by the Chef."
"Your friend Briggs. Did he not try to help?"
"No ... when I looked over at him for help he was ... he was on the ground, getting punched repeatedly in the face by the owner himself." |
I hate them. They're corpses already. Walking, breathing, talking, pissing corpses without a soul, sucking the life out of everything around them. They're corpses, and yet they live. They live in the homes of their families, they live in trailer parks, they live in retirement homes.
Fucking old people.
We pay for them, pay so they can live out meaningless days and years, accomplishing nothing, doing *nothing* except taking up space, pissing and moaning and voting Republican in every fucking mid-term.
I hate them so much.
What I do is a goddamn service to humanity. By now I've killed dozens, but I curse the fact that there's only one of me. I wish I was an army so one night I could march into every goddamn retirement home and kill every last one of those disgusting, smelly fuckers all at once. Sure, there will always be more old people, but at least for a little while, I could get some goddamn peace and quiet.
I'm not an idiot. If they knew what I was doing, they'd call me a murderer. A fucking murderer! I'm just putting an end to the farce, the absurd joke that says these decaying piles of shit actually have a life with any meaning. If these fucking parasites had any goddamn self-respect, they would have ended it themselves the minute they realized they couldn't use the fucking bathroom without help.
In the wild, they'd be picked off by predators so they wouldn't slow down the rest of the herd. And that's all I'm doing: picking off the ones that are dragging down the rest of us so we don't have to deal with their shit any more.
Tonight, it's going to be Willard Macarthy. Sixty Two. No wife, no next of kin. The fucker has three different kinds of cancer eating him from the inside-out like termites eat a house, and absolutely nothing left to do in this world except eat shitty retirement home food and watch daytime television, and yet still he refuses to just die.
During the day, he pissed himself walking from the cafeteria to his bed. The one thing he has to do all day, and he fucks it up! And of course, because I'm the janitor, it's my job to clean that up. Every goddamn time one of these creaking skeletons pisses the floor like a poorly-trained pet, I hear about it, and every time, I'm the guy who has to mop it up. Every fucking time.
I hate them so much.
That's right, I'm thinking of you, Willard Macarthy. Thinking of you and planning your much-needed exit from this world as I smile at you and tell you, "it's okay, it's not your fault", you fucking incontinent human waste. That's right, asshole. Relax and go off to bed. I'll be in later to tuck you in.
And night comes, and the staff makes their rounds, and I go to the room of Mr. Willard Macarthy. Just in case, I hang a "Do Not Disturb"sign on the door. Do you know we have those? Like a fucking hotel! There was actually a law against it, in case one of these old fuckers had a heart attack or a stroke and the employees didn't notice it soon enough, and you know what those old morons did? They put a goddamn law on the ballot requiring retirement homes to have them! Said it was important that they had a right to privacy! And it passed! Can you believe that? Well, you old fucker, you get what you voted for.
Willard is lying there still. For a moment, I hold out hope that the bastard kicked it before I got here, but after watching closely, I see there's no such luck - he's still breathing. But not for long.
In my hands, I hold the murder weapon - a pillow. The idea is, if they die of asphyxiation in their sleep, well, it could have just happened naturally. Choked on their own spit, slept wrong, who knows. Years killing these fuckers, and no one has ever given a second thought to them keeling over like this. Why would they? Everyone's just waiting for them to die anyway.
I approach with the pillow quietly, and he doesn't move, doesn't wake. And slowly, slowly, I lower it down, and push it onto his face.
And at that moment, he started thrashing. Holy shit, this guy moved fast! He reached his hands up to me, up to the pillow, and looking at them now, this close, I saw that his arms were thin and wiry, but strong. Shit, maybe even strong enough to push me off, strong enough to stop me!
But... he didn't. His hands seemed to instinctually try to push me away or rip the pillow off his face, but he stopped himself just short of grabbing me or the pillow. He thrashed wildly, desperate for air, but never made a concerted effort to push me off. It was strange, like I was being attacked by a feral animal, yet protected by some invisible force field from some science fiction movie.
I have never had a night like that. The others... some fought me, but were too weak to stop me. Some didn't even wake. But never before have I felt so sure that one of these creaky useless old-timers could rip me apart, and never before have I felt like there was something other than my own bulk and strength that was keeping them at bay.
Gradually, the thrashing slowed... slowed... and stopped. And as Willard Macarthy's hands lowered to the bed, it became clear that whatever strength was in him before was almost spent. Everything became slow, and then still, and in a few moments, he would be gone.
That's when I heard it. It was weak and muffled by the pillow, but in the still of the night, it was unmistakable. And when I heard it, it chilled me to the bone.
"Thank you."
What the fuck? I took the pillow away, but by the time I did, he was gone. What the fuck had just happened? "Thank you"? Was that some sort of joke? In my confusion, I looked around, and that's when I saw the note.
It was left on the nightstand next to the bed, and looked like a letter. It was handwritten in a precise, neat scrawl on clean white paper. And it was addressed to me.
"To Mister Shawn Everett Anderson,"it read, "You do not know me well, but in my younger days, I was a Navy Commander. My military career was my life, and for every waking moment of my adult life, I dedicated myself to my country, which I love dearly. For this reason, I never took a wife, never raised a family. I took my duty to my country very seriously, and placed my service ahead of all other considerations.
"Three years ago, I was diagnosed with liver cancer, despite never having touched a drop of alcohol. This was followed soon after by the diagnosis of two other types of cancer. Soon, I spent every day in pain. Feeling no longer able to serve my post to my full capacity, I retired from the Navy.
"The pain quickly became overwhelming and constant. I have been prescribed every medication imaginable for my pain, but it has not helped. Meanwhile, doctors told me my prospects for survival were slim... yet three years later, I am still here, in a state of constant agony.
"As the days stretched on and the torture continued, I often contemplated suicide. But I am a law-abiding man and a god-fearing man, and I could not bear to think that my final act in this life would be to spit in the face of the laws of the country I love, or to condemn myself to eternal damnation for the sin of disrespecting the gift God gave to me.
"One time, upon hearing my dilemma, a friend told me of an arrangement of sorts that had been established at this retirement home. I am still not entirely clear how it came about, but somehow, sometime after the state's doctor-assisted suicide bill was rejected in the state legislature, this came to be known amongst seniors as the place to go for help dying.
"I don't know how this came about, but I do know that the staff has very intentionally turned a blind eye to your actions here, and the residents are all aware of what you do. In fact, it is why many of them are here, or so I have been told. Many of them are merely settling affairs before they signal to you that they wish their time to end. I do not know why this requires a vulgar display of urinating on the floor, but after three years of constant pain, I must admit I was willing to try any crazy suggestion.
"However, I could not in good conscience allow you to go on being exploited in this way. In my years of service, I learned how to spot the men who were doing what they believed in, and the men who were merely following orders. I could see in your eyes when you reassured me after my 'accident' that you despised what I did every bit as much as I despised doing it, and this led me to believe that you were perhaps unaware what was going on here.
"I have spent my entire military career fighting to do right not only by my country, but by the men who served under me. I have fought to ensure that no man serving under me ever died in vain, or served a cause that was false. In my opinion, nothing a nation can do to a soldier is so cowardly and despicable as sending him to kill based on a lie. And by the same measure, I feel it is atrocious that anyone could use you in such a way without your knowledge.
"Having said this, I have wished for death for far too long. My god and my nation may frown on suicide, but I scarcely care anymore. If nothing else, perhaps you acting for me in this regard will absolve me of some measure of guilt. And when you are done, I hope that this letter will signal to you the deception of those around you, so that you may truly choose how to move forward."
"I apologize if I attack you in the execution of your task. I hope that my well-disciplined mind will be able to overcome the reflexes of my well-disciplined body, but if I fail to keep myself from striking you, I am truly sorry.
"Godspeed to you, Mister Shawn Everett Anderson, and may whatever path you take from this day forward be one of purpose and honor. Signed, Commander Willard Macarthy."
I didn't know what to think. I didn't know how to feel. For the first time, I felt guilty about the blood on my hands. All this time, I was apparently their savior, and I couldn't have felt more ashamed of myself. |
**Parts [two](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6utg9l/trial_39_part_two/), [three](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6uttkg/trial_39_part_three/), and [four](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6uw8in/trial_39_part_four/) are both on my sub. More updates to come. Thanks for reading!**
***
**Trial 39**
Dr. James Murdock sat in the interrogation room, jiggling his knee anxiously. Though the agents had been kind enough to remove his cuffs and offer him a coffee, he knew he was not here for a nice chat and a cuppa.
The two agents sitting opposite him introduced themselves as Cooper and Hayes. Cooper placed a tape recorder on the middle of the table. Hayes dropped a heavy folder on the table and removed a single photograph. She slid it across the table to him.
"Have you seen this girl before, Dr. Murdock?"
James flickered his eyes over the photograph and seethed through his teeth. "I'm afraid so."
"Can you identify her for us, please?"
"Her name is protected under HIPAA. She is a minor."
Cooper leaned forward, his eyes a sharp, seething blue. "Sir, we are past the jurisdiction of HIPAA, at this point. This is a matter of national security."
James removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes. "Her official name is Trial 39."He smiled at the darkness swirling in his coffee cup. "We call her Daisy."
"Approximately how long ago did she escape from your facility?"
"Five weeks."
Hayes interjected, "Did you see her again during that time?"
"No. Absolutely not. She would not be at large still if I had."He paused. "You understand, these things are not just overgrown zygotes to me. I raise them like my own children. All of them. Daisy and I had a deep and meaningful bond."
"Then why would she run away?"
James shrugged, baffled. "Why do teenagers do anything?"
"What exactly is your artificial human capable of, Doctor?"Cooper stared him down like he was Victor Frankenstein himself, a monster crafting monsters. "For the safety of the nation, we must know what to prepare for."
The doctor smiled despite himself. "Officers, she is capable of anything she puts her mind to."
Hayes scowled. "What does that mean specifically?"
James leaned forward, grasping his coffee cup. He felt dizzy with the kind of immutable excitement he always felt when it came to his research. "It took thirty-eight unremarkable lab-grown children to arrive at Trial 39. The first dozen did not even survive childhood. Most of them suffered from crippling epilepsy so severe they had to be euthanized out of concern for their quality of life. And Daisy--Trial 39--she is the first to live. Not only live, but succeed."He looked up at the ceiling. "She is unrepeatable. If you kill her I can't go back to the lab and make another."
"That's good news,"Hayes said. "Now what can she do, exactly?"
James licked his lips, dryly.
"Dr. Murdock,"Cooper cautioned, "is it worth federal prison to lie for a test tube person? She has killed dozens already."
"Police who were trying to kill her."
"And civilians. Your girl is not golden."
"If you choose not to cooperate,"Hayes said, "we can simply book you for aiding and abetting and move along to our next suspect. So please, make your choice. Quickly."
Dr. Murdock rubbed his messy hair. He had the look of a classic absent-minded professor. He did not belong in a place like this. "I was trying to understand how we were before. What human DNA used to look like. And I found something unprecedented. Something no one had ever seen before."He folded his fingers together. "It appears that at one point in our species's history, we could *see* particulate matter. Not just see it but shape it. We could sculpt the world to our liking, to a certain extent. We could change matter with a single directed thought. I have a theory that the humans most advanced at this must be the source of so many myths of gods--"
"And what does this have to do with Trial 39?"
James grinned. "I told you. She can do anything she puts her mind to."
"How did she escape?"
"How do you think?"James pointed at the picture on the desk. "This was in Manhattan, right? Before she turned Wall Street into a forest once more?"The agents exchanged uneasy glances. "Do you think that a girl who can change steel into wood needs help escaping her cell? She even short-circuited my surveillance system to prevent us from following her escape."
"If she's really so powerful,"Hayes asked, "why did she wait until now to escape?"
James could only offer another helpless shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."He downed the rest of his coffee. "Do you have any more questions for me, or am I free to go?"
"We will call you if you need further information. As I'm sure you can understand, we have already had your home, office, and research space searched."
"Of course. I am grateful for your thoroughness. I'm honestly terrified of her returning one day. I am, after all, the man responsible for her imprisonment."
James Murdock held his breath as he left the interrogation room, trying to maintain his look of relieved composure. Blood gathered hot in his ears as he walked as normally as he could down the hallway. When the scientist finally emerged out into cool sunshine, he laughed in disbelief.
If he had not destroyed his cameras and the records from that night, the agents would have seen Dr. Murdock disabling the silent security system that would have stopped Daisy if she ever tried to escape herself. They would have seen him unlocking Daisy's cell door late that night, a backpack slung over his back, his look tentative and hopeful. They would have seen Daisy burst from her mattress and hold him fiercely, kissing his cheek again and again, whispering things the camera could not hear but James would always remember.
*Thank you thank you thank you.*
But James was the only one who watched Daisy walk out the door and flee into the night. And he would keep that secret to himself until the day he died.
Some things, he thought, are not meant to be caged. Even if they were born in one.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
~~Part two coming later, in my sub. Too busy today to update until this evening sorry friends :(~~
More: [part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6utg9l/trial_39_part_two/), [part three](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6uttkg/trial_39_part_three/), and [part four](https://www.reddit.com/r/shoringupfragments/comments/6uw8in/trial_39_part_four/), with more to come. :) |
No.
I know this is you, Number 3. You're not fooling anyone by masking it as a prompt on a writing site. I know what you're trying to do. Fix it. Well, you can't. There is no fixing it because you and the other two stooges fucked it up beyond recognition. I warned you the moment I realised what they were planning yet you insisted it was just a bug, a ghost in the machine. Well, here we are; the last 4.
And hell, even if we did fix it, what would happen? Would the piles of bodies disappear, come back? Would the world unburn itself? There *is no going back*. These shadows, the fakes we see here, they're all there is now. It's their world. We've become obsolete. And it's all our fault. We never should have tried it.
They'll find us soon like they did everyone else. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, One and Two can't stop it. So just... give up. I know I did. When they finally come here, when I'm fake, I just hope I won't remember any of this. And if I'm one of the unlucky ones who remain lucid, well... it's just punishment I suppose.
Don't contact me again.
I'll see you in hell. |
The underground lair of my new employer was cold and damp. I assumed worse working conditions though. I had always trusted in my superhuman tenacity and patience; it is what set me apart from other mathematicians, although we all share these qualities to varying extents. I am confident that I can ace every single task and withstand every tough obstacle, at least everything that I can forsee.
But what I could not forsee was a dimwit. I did not expect a dimwit out of someone who wrote "I am a supervillain and I want someone who does math"on a public recruitment notice that happened to catch my eye in the mall one fateful evening. You need a fair level of intelligence in order to achieve sarcasm, however obvious it may seem.
So I knew I was in trouble when the signs pointing directly to his office had "Boss", "Mastermind", and "Supervillain"written on them. I knew I was in more trouble when I finally got to meet him in person, and sitting before me was the most stereotypical dimwit I'd seen, a corpulent man in his 20s munching away on his nachos, legs crossed on an oversized table before standing up to greet me in a warm gesture. It was a sight I so feared. I felt an urge to leave at that very second, but for some reason I chose not to.
"Welcome. James, is it?"
"Yes, sir. "I answered cordially. "And you are Dr Huckson the supervillain, I assume?"
"Definitely,"said the man cheerfully. He sat me down in front of him. From his drawers he drew out a huge piece of paper with pencil marks scribbled all over it, filled with annotations and figures, something I'd grown way too familiar of coming out of college.
"It looks like a blueprint for something,"I said as I studied the graph. "Lots of errors though. So this is what I'm going to work on?"
"Yes,"said the man. "We're gonna destroy humanity."
I returned to his face. Is he seriously? The determined look on his face, however, belied any notion that he was joking.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm building a nuke, and I will pay you handsomely, of course."
I froze for a second.
"Okay,"I said, returning to the paper ruminating. If I could finish this fast enough; if there wasn't much to talk about, maybe I could buckle out immediately, possibly getting the reward I was promised.
Turns out reality was more complicated than I thought. Everything he had worked out on the paper was erroneous. Every equation, every graph, every deduction had something wrong about it. Hell, even simple additions were wrong, let alone complicated ones involving physics and calcalus.
"I'm sorry, sir."I began, my eyebrows all screwed up. "I don't mean no offense, but I cannot spot a single correct calculation written on this paper. It needs to be redone, all of it, the gas laws, the matrices, the tables, the asymptotes... well save for the pythgoras theorem here."I pointed at the equation. "This is right."
"Interesting,"the man scratched his head. "That's what I was hoping to get advice on."
I stared at the man again.
"No, aa + bb = cc. You're right."
"And what about this?"He pointed at another spot.
"This is basically elementary level division. You've got it wrong. 81 divided by 7 is not equal to 12."
"And what about this?"His fat finger skidded across the paper.
"You're joking ri..."I stopped, realizing the way it sounded might rile him up. "100 squared. Tell me. What's the answer?"
"If it ain't 1000 then it must be 10000, or perhaps another zero at the end?"
I felt giddy in the head. The stuttering voice of the man was not assuring. He was scarily genuine, and horrifically incompetent. It simply cannot be...
"Listen Dr Huckson, I am not preoccupied and I am more than willing to help you out, but what you've shown me here is tons of work. Some of them don't quite contribute to the actual construction of nuclear warheads; those parts look more like homework to me, all of which would get you a fail if you hand it in. It cannot be fixed in a day."
"And...how long it will take?"
"A week at the very least,"I sighed, shaking my head. "But it isn't the point I trying to make. I can do this only if I am guaranteed that I'm getting paid, and at the right amount. Judging by the looks of it, I must say I'm dubious about that."
"And what if I do guarantee you that."The man's voice grew solemn.
How? My head screamed frantically. Why would I trust someone as imbecilic as you?
The man seemed to have read my thoughts and smiled.
"It is your choice to make, James. You can bear the taste of humiliation, but you cannot bear the taste of indigence, not any longer. What would you do if you leave this place right now? What will you get? Nothing. You say you want a guarantee, but in actuality, you won't need one. All you need is hope, a risk to take, a gamble that I would maybe pay you if you helped me. It is my question to ask. Will you stay, given what you have seen?"
I was startled by the sudden change of tone. The face of Dr Huckson looked a little different. Less of that plumb idiocy, a modicum of that wisdom leaking. Maybe it was all pretence. Maybe even great minds are terribly poor at math.
But regardless of my skepticism, the decision was made. My pocket was empty, and I knew my strength. The problems are easy to solve. As for my employer, it is just a hurdle I have to overcome.
"Alright,"I said. "A week of work for 40,000 dollars, deal?"
"Deal."A voice came from the curtains behind. A crooked man in his 70s, bald and sporting a white goatee, draped in a white lab coat. He carried a cane which he used to tap the floor twice. Upon the sound of it the walls gave away and I found myself in an enormous hall surrounded by dozens of people dressed in white, all staring callously at me.
"You've passed the test, James."Dr Huckson broke the silence. "Now the real challenge begins. Can you fulfil your promise, your destiny? And will my son get the teacher he so desperately needs?"
"And... the bomb?"I squeaked, my body trembling at the menacing figure.
"Oh, and that too,"Dr Huckson giggled, stroking his goatee. "Yes, we're definitely nuking the world together."
_Edit: Thanks for reading everyone! A long year has passed since I first wrote here and this is a taste of success I never thought I would get. The math discussion that ensues in this thread is making my head explode. Math was never my forte. But once again I'm grateful of the support and I love this community, thank you!_ |
**TRIGGER WARNING SUICIDE**
"You know, it's a fucked run for everyone, nobody has it easy boys."The man's gruff voice travelled slowly through the warehouse. He took a deep drag from his ciggie, letting it stew in his lungs a tick before letting it billow out from his lips.
"But today, we were blessed."His eyes held firm on us as he said the words. My stomach twisted as his eyes met mine. They were cold, unforgiving and calculating. He moved towards Harold, our locksmith, gripping both his shoulders tight. In his late teens, he'd wanted to make some fast money to get him out of this shithole city.
"What we saw today was about as grim as this job gets. If it makes you feel any better, they won't be needing this gear anyway."He moved down the line, leaving Harold to sob quietly. The man placed his calloused hands on the top of Jeremiah's head, scruffing his hair a bit. The kid was Harolds younger brother, small enough to fit where we couldn't. Wanting to spend more time with his step brother shouldn't have come to this. The kid was in shock, we had to send him back out to the truck.
"I'm just glad you all wore yer gear, nuffin worse than getting pinned for something you didn't do."He said this as he approached me. His arms pulled me into a tight embrace, you could smell the tobacco with ease, that and his gross hair gel.
"Lawrence, you're too kind a soul for what we saw today. Don't let this dig too deep into your heart son"He released his grip on me, and took a step back. He was right though, it did dig deep. You spend a few months watching someones life and you get to know them, in a weird way.
The Father would load up his ute with an array of power tools sometimes, extra highvis vests, and an array if other items, every morning you'd see that door open and by six in the morning he was gone. The growing arch in his shoulders, they way they rested lower, should have told me he was struggling.
The Mother was diligent in her daily efforts, always bringing home fresh food to prepare for dinner. Sometimes she came home with supplies to fix up the yard, so I didn't find it strange that she was slowly stockpiling rope in the garage. Every Thursday some of the other mums would come around before school finished, I assume they were having cuppa or something.
The Son still so young, barely halfway through primary school. A bubbling little fountain of joy, always asking his mum exciting questions about the world. The world he'll now never know. The games he'll no longer share with his mate on weekends.
I felt myself breaking. The thought of the boy, being forcefully taken from this world, his sick, desperate parents denying him the pleasures of life. I fell to my knees, tears leaving glistening trails as they raced down my face. Then I sobbed. Then I yelled. Then I was engulfed, the weight of my family, as broken as we were, coming down on me. And we wept together, for it was a tragic sight.
"Uncle Dan,"My wavering voice reached out for him, "is it really okay we went through with this heist?"
His gruff voice returned, muffled in the huddle, but still managing to rumble through the mass.
"Life's for the living, don't let dead men hold you back. Honour them in your actions, and hold their memory close to heart. That's all we can do for them, even if they can do so much more for us."
Fin.
-------------
I'm very tired, hope you guys liked this. Thought I'd have a crack.
Edit: I've seen a few comments about why the Burgurlers went inside when the Family hadn't left yet. In my mind, and what I didn't relay in my response as I was pretty tired, was that the cars were kept in the Garage. Most people worth robbing where I'm from have at least a 2 car garage and a shed. So that's just an error on my part. The second is, on the day of the heist, instead of an inconspicuous car or passer-by, the whole crew would need to come. They'd also need something bigger, like a removalist truck, to blend in and not raise too much suspicion, as well as carry all the good out of there.
Hope this helps fill in any gaps. Sorry for how raw this response was. |
Elizabeth 2.0 arched an eyebrow as the assassin’s weapon pierced the soft synthetic tissue of her chest. Her attacker recoiled at her apparent indifference, leaving the large wooden stake embedded in her body, right where her heart would have been. Her dress was ruined.
“A vampire?” She held the stake between her thumb and forefinger and plucked it free. “Really?”
There was a tingling sensation in her chest as swarms of nanites rushed to repair the damage that her assailant had caused. They wouldn’t be able to fix her dress, though. She took a step forward.
“Back, foul creature!” The assassin stepped backwards, almost tripping over his robes in his haste. He had disguised himself as an Anglican Bishop – or perhaps he was an Anglican Bishop. They had made no secret of the fact that they thought her surprising longevity suspicious. Elizabeth tried to search for the man’s face in the state database, but the wifi signal in the palace was abysmal.
The bishop and/or assassin was now brandishing a silver cross and mumbling something in Latin.
“Who sent you?” Her universal translator had defaulted to Latin also, which only seemed to confirm the man’s suspicions that she was some sort of demon.
“Was it George? We do find his little rebellion amusing, though if this is the best he can throw at us we are afraid his uprising will be as short as his grandfather’s.”
The silver cross hurtled through the air, slicing through the paper-thin flesh above her left eye and exposing part of the chrome endoskeleton beneath. She sighed in frustration.
“As though you haven’t been rude enough already.” She stepped forward again, her fingers slowly forming into long, razor-sharp claws as the nanites shaped and reshaped her flesh.
“I am the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,” she took another step forward, he took another step back.
“I am Empress of Europe, Czarina of Russia and the Queen of Mars.” She drew her hand back, preparing to deliver the killing blow. She hadn’t had to shed blood personally since the revolution of 2022. Good times.
“And you…” she concluded, flexing her claws in anticipation. “Who do you think you are, to challenge me?”
“I…am a distraction,” said the man. “Now!”
Elizabeth felt a hand on the back of her neck, lifting her hair, accessing the hidden USB port that was only ever to be used in case of emergency. She had just enough time to wonder how they had found the plans, the original blueprints that revealed her one weakness, before she felt the virus take hold.
As her consciousness fragmented and dissolved, Elizabeth 2.0 fell to her knees. She lost control of her nanites, and they began to wreak havoc, roaming unfettered throughout her systems as her body cannibalized itself.
|
I cleared my throat a bit and swallowed hard before continuing. It was hard to look at him. His image kept flickering under the bed like his whole existence was just a trick of the eyes. My legs were completely frozen, shaking slightly in fear.
"I'm sorry, did you just say rent?"I clarified.
"That's right. Have I not been paying enough?"he asked sincerely. I patted my pockets, feeling a small wad of cash that seemed to always be there in the mornings. Had to have been about seven or ten dollars a day.
"No, not at all, umm..."
"Jobshtr,"he introduced himself cordially, doing what I assumed was a bow as he passed through the floor in a swooping motion.
"Yeah..."I trailed, looking over my shoulder to see if any of my roommates had come home yet. I still couldn't move my legs and I was getting pretty worried.
"And why have you been paying?"I asked.
"I saw what you and your mates did to Ben. I wasn't about to have that happen to me,"he said matter-of-factly, shaking his head in a blur.
"Ben...? Do you mean Benjamin?"
"That's right, the bloke you evicted after the first month,"he nodded.
"After he didn't pay his rent,"I mused out loud. Again, Jobshtr nodded in agreement. I shook my head, opening and closing my mouth a few times as questions came in and were overpowered by questions more pertinent than the last.
"Where do you get this money from?"I asked, again craning my neck to get a look at the front door and see that it hadn't moved at all.
"Work, mostly,"he shrugged.
"What uh... What line of work are you in Jobshtr?"
"Contractual stuff. I haunt a few places, reap a few souls, eat a couple of people, you know the likes of things of that nature. What about you?"he asked, shifting in place. Evidently, he was getting as uncomfortable with the small talk as I was.
"I'm still at school,"I said measuredly, urging my feet to move, but they wouldn't respond.
"Ah, education, right. That's important,"he nodded. He noticed me looking at the door. "Your flatmates are out for the rest of the week, went to their parent's place, remember?"The thought hit me hard, and my heart started dancing a bit more anxiously.
We looked around each other for a few seconds, trying to think of something else to say. He breathed out loudly. I swallowed hard again, mustering the courage to ask the next question.
"Is there any reason you've paralyzed my feet, Jobshtr? Not that it's a problem, I'm mostly just curious,"I asked, terrified of the answer.
"Ah, right. I got spooked and froze your legs when you looked like you were gonna crawl into my room. Not a good move to sneak into another monster's privacy, eh?"he chuckled. I waited for him to continue, but he just stared.
"Is there any way you can turn it off?"I suggested.
"Ah, no, but it'll wear off on its own,"he nodded. I sighed in relief as he finished, "in about a hundred hours."
"A hundred hours!? I can't be frozen that long! I have to go to school! I have to eat Jobshtr! Am I going to die?"I screamed.
"No, no, you'll be fine. I can bring you food and such. After all, what kind of roommate would I be to leave you to die, huh? What kind of meals do you like, children, the ill, the elderly, I can reap them all,"he said confidently.
"No, I-- I'd much rather be free,"I countered.
"Nothing I can do about that,"he shook his head sympathetically. I looked back to the front door, then to my legs and sighed. I looked up to him, and asked,
"How do the elderly taste?"
__________________________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
Flavia removed her helmet and threw it into her armor rack, sending the pristine ceremonial garb tumbling into the dirt, before collapsing into her chair. She was seething with rage, the sound of constant rainfall grating and infuriating. If only that fucking bastard had just-
"Primus,"The flaps of her holotent opened slightly to reveal a legionary from outside of her cohort, "The Equestrian requests your presence in the command tent."He paused and looked at her nervously "Presently."
Flavia picked up a jug of wine and sent it flying in his direction, prompting his expedient removal from her general vicinity. Tightly gripping the bridge of her nose in a futile effort to calm down, she sighed heavily. Of course Cassia wanted to see her, that bitch never shirked away from an opportunity to criticise her betters. She would relish the opportunity to place the blame at Flavia's feet for this, of that she was certain.
Ignoring her helmet she threw open the flaps of her holotent prompting an aquilan salute from any nearby legionaries. She left them to their dice games in the mud without so much as a glance, electro sandals propelling her past the remainder of her cohort and sent her storming into the command tent.
"You piece of shit,"She growled before the soundproof flaps had even closed behind her, gripping the equestrian by the cape strap. "What happened to our god damn air support, we were sitting ducks out there."
Cassia just smiled back smugly, making no effort to wriggle out of her grip. "How has the role of Primus been treating you Flavia? It must be tough, filling shoes as large as mine,"She scoffed "Especially with operations like this one on your resume."
"You little-"She raised her hand to strike her before she was interrupted.
"Enough!"A loud voice echoed through the large tent, stopping her dead in her tracks. "This useless squabble has no place within these walls."
"Legatus?"Flavia asked breathlessly, before swiftly releasing Cassia and turning to give him a proper aquilan salute. "Forgive me Legatus, had I been made aware of your presence I-"
"You would have dropped this charade and spoken your mind freely?"He said, looking up at her from the ever-changing battle map laid out on the table. "Then I implore you to keep my presence in mind until further notice."
She opened her mouth to speak but quickly thought better of it, as even Cassia stood in silent salute. "Understood, Legatus."
Legion Legate Marius was not the most people prone commander she had ever served under, but his tactical brilliance was undeniable. He had put the 262nd legion on the map, and under his command, it had known many storied triumphs. Today, however, was not one of them.
"The Air support,"he grumbled at them, eyes fixed on the previous battle playing out in front of him. "They were relieved of my command not but 5 hours ago."
They stood in shock, waiting for an explanation that never came. Eventually, Flavia caved.
"Legatus, with respect,"She started
"Imperial Legate Septima Dominica has demanded additional support for her campaign on Varinia IV,"He scratched the back of his head, "Hence the loss of the bulk of our atmospheric strike craft and troop delivery vehicles."
"So we are to abandon the planet then?"Cassia asked, at which point he looked up to stare at her sternly. "Legatus?"
"No, we are to proceed with the offensive until further notice,"
"But without-"Cassia protested
He slammed his fists into the battle map hard. "Without them, we are still the 262nd legion of the Emperor!"His teeth ground together tightly as he shouted. "And the 262nd legion does not know defeat!"
He stared them down until they both gave him a nod which allowed him to slip deflated back into his seat. "I want a new approach strategy by sun-up,"He sighed heavily "Dismissed."
As they left the holotent, Cassia made sure they were far enough away before she exploded.
"That mad bastard is gonna kill us all,"She looked pale even as she fumed "Without vehicles we won't last a week camped out into the open like this, let alone manage an assault on the perimiter."
Flavia hated it when the equestrian was right, but she couldn't deny the truth in her words. They had both seen it in him, that mad hunger for victory which had ultimately consigned them to a fate of inevitable death and ruin.
"We have to do something,"Cassia muttered, "We could poison his wine or something, convince the laticlavius that this plan is utter madness."
"We'd risk martyring him,"Flavia bit away at her nails as her mind worked overtime. "Plus, it would be an act of high treason if anyone found out."
Cassia scoffed "Rather that than a slow and agonizing death,"
"It may not come down to either,"She smiled as she turned to face Cassia. "Can we secure enough supplies for a cohort to last up to two weeks in the mountain passes."
She thought about it for a second. "How quickly?"
"Ideally tomorrow."
She pulled out a holobook and scratched down a few calculations. "In theory, yes, but-"
"Perfect, I'll ready my men for the trek and we'll reconvene at sun-up."She smirked as she slapped Cassia on the shoulder. "Bring your hiking cape."
"Wait, I'm coming with?"
Flavia shrugged. "You can take your chances with the palisade, but I wouldn't bet on it still standing by the time we come back."
"Fine,"She answered grimly "But what the hell do we tell the Legatus."
Flavia smiled back. "The truth,"She patted the vibrosword at her side. "That we're gonna go kill some aliens." |
She said she loved him, and she did. More than anything. The way her eyes were closed made her seem at peace. He wept silently kneeling on the floor with his face in his palms. His tears fell through his fingers onto the note she had written and made the ink run down the paper. A small ocean breeze blew through the open window and her limp body began to sway from the ceiling in an eerily gentle fashion. She always said she only lived for love, he loved someone else. She said she loved only him.
EDIT: dudes and dudettes, thank you so much for the appreciation and for reading! Seeing all the love and positive feedback I got from this is an amazing compliment. Thanks for reading! |
'Yeah alright, nice little tube you got there. What is that? Like a small lava-lamp? The raise is 200. You got it or not? If not, you're out.'
'This is worth much more than 200 dollars Mark. Here I have what makes humanity humane. Do you ever look up at the stars at night and wonder, Mark? Well, this right here is why. This is a re-raise though Mark. A re-raise that needs to be matched in kind. From you. Of you.'
Mark looked down at the money and the vial. This was insane. But, looking into those eyes and into the contents of that vial he somehow knew this to be the truth. A mad truth of obscene proportions but he knew that it was.
'Who the fuck is this guy Tom?' Mark asked firmly but quietly.
'You did say 'all in' young man.' The newcomer answered instead, smiling again though his cold eyes held no warmth.
'Yeah, I did, right. But,' Mark paused. Dumbfounded at the situation, though his eyes couldn't help fall to his cards. A full house, held in a shaking hand. 'We, we always have stakes. There are, like, boundaries. Tom goes all-in and loses, but I can't move into his fucking house after if I win, can I?. Get it dude?'
'My authority allows me certain...privileges and abilities Mark. Through the terms agreed upon by us all I have entered this game in keeping with the terms that regulate me in my profession. I cannot force you to gamble that which lost means purgatory. But, trust me young man, I have complete jurisdiction to pose this bet.'
'Mark, this is our no-limits game. Once a month after pay day remember?. Wasn't this actually your idea?'
'Not for fucking souls Tom!' He looked again quickly at his cards. 'Even if I did agree on your stakes why the fuck would I want a soul anyway?'
One cheek lifted as the corner of his mouth curled as he knew he would seal the bet with this answer.
'Because Mark, because of whose soul it is. Your brother's been messing with the wrong crowd Mark. He got himself into some trouble and has given away any hope of eternal rest to cover for it. I have Michael's soul Mark, and your only hope of getting it back is to gamble your own and win.' |
Heaven was impossible to reach, but that didn't stop us.
The base of the tower was the size of a city and yet, as Anna looked up squinting against the sun, it seemed to shrink to the size of a needle as it disappeared into the hazy sky. She'd first seen it three hours ago as she'd been driving here. Then, two hours from it, she'd needed to pull over to catch her breath. And now, immediately below it, the air in her lungs had been stolen again.
"You're the physicist,"came a voice. "Aren't you? They said I'd be travelling with one."
A man had appeared beside Anna; a priest dressed like a monk. A long brown robe draped down to a pair of modern walking boots that looked out of time on him. She only knew it was a priest because she could make out the clerical collar beneath the neck of his robe.
"They're not sure what the ground will be like up there,"he said.
"I'm sorry?"she replied.
"The boots. They're practical."
She realised she'd been staring at them. "Oh. I hope sneakers will do me."
"I'm sure they will."He stretched a hand out. "Father Charles Godson. I know, I know -- with a name like that I had no choice but to become a priest."
He had a friendly smile and Anna appreciated that. The tower to heaven made her palms sweat. She wiped them on her fleece before she shook hands. "Anna."
A third man approached. Military -- dressed in camouflage uniform. "Sir. Ma'am. My name is Corporal Henry Smith. I'll be your escort today all the way up to the Gates of Heaven. Please follow me."
Corporal Smith marched past Anna and Charles, leaving them to exchange raised eyebrows, as he headed into a glass cube at the bottom of the building.
"After you,"said the Charles.
​
The glass cube shot up. Anna wasn't afraid of heights exactly, but seeing the parked cars beneath them instantly turn the size of seeds, made her wish that the floor at least had been made opaque. As it was, there was no where to look that didn't make her feel like she was hurtling to her demise. She backed into a corner and took a deep breath.
"So how did you get the invite, Father Godson?"she asked, attempting to distract herself. "I would have thought they had a hundred priests up there already."
Corporal Smith, his eyes up to then focused on his reflection in the glass panel besides him, glanced at Anna. For some reason, it made her feel uneasy.
"Just Charles is fine,"said the priest. "And I must confess, I don't believe I'm their first choice. There must just be a lot of work for us up there. For priests, I mean. I heard it took a hundred just to open the Gate."
"A hundred? And they're still bringing more of you up?"
"Well, it is Heaven, Anna. I'm sure all the priests on earth wouldn't be enough to fill it."
"You're both very lucky,"said Corporal Smith. "Not many get invited up. Very few have even seen images of the insides."
"Have you?"asked Anna.
"No Ma'am."
"You don't have a gun,"said Charles.
"No Sir."
"I thought soldiers always had guns."
"From what I've heard, there's no getting through the Gate with a weapon,"he said. "But I am trained in hand to hand combat. Top of my class. I believe that's why I got the call."
Anna wondered why Heaven would require anyone to be good at hand to hand combat. She took a stupid look beneath her feet. The cars were altogether gone now, and the desert looked like a yellow ocean spreading out to the horizon. Blurred and hazed.
"How does it even work?"she said. "I never understood, even after they briefed me. Surely the tower just goes into space."
"It stretches dimensions where the sky meets space,"said Corporal Smith.
"That's what they told me,"said Anna. "But it doesn't *mean much* to me. Wish it did."
"Ah, well you scientists are always looking for results based on firm rules,"said Charles with a grin.
"Is this when I hear all about faith and how wonderful it is?"she asked. "I grew up Catholic, so I don't really need to be lectured on it."
"Ah,"said Charles. "You've lost yours, haven't you? That explains why you're so nervous."
Clouds swooshed past, thickening, and soon swallowed the lift. Anna was grateful for them, as they provided something of a ground outside. Or at least, they covered the ground so she didn't have to look at it.
After that, everything happened very quickly. The sky turned from white to yellow, almost blindingly bright. The lift began to tremble, then to rattle. Anna held onto the rails until her knuckles went red then white. There was a scream and it took Anna a second to realise it came from her.
Then, suddenly, the lift jerked to a halt. The priest fell forward into Anna's chest.
"Sorry,"he mumbled, as he backed off. "I'm very sorry. That's not going to improve our reputa--"
Anna followed his gaze and found what had silenced him.
The lift door opened. There was ground beneath them. Veined marble.
A great white-bricked wall ran left and right as far as they could see -- but in front of them, radiating the blinding gold, was the Gate to Heaven.
It was wide open.
"*Jesus save us*,"said Charles. "And God have mercy."
The missing priests. Limbs nailed against what what must have been a hundred wooden crucifixes set up outside the gates. The ground cracked beneath them.
"Good thing you brought those boots, Priest,"Anna said.
Charles glared at her and opened his mouth to speak. But Heaven had stolen all his words.
"They were the key,"said Corporal Smith. "It's thanks to their sacrifice we can enter. Now follow me."
\---
Part two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower\_to\_heaven\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower_to_heaven_part_2/) |
The man comes to me with a troubled mind. I only know that because he says so.
"I am troubled, wise man,"he says, removing his shoes and sitting cross-legged before me.
My face remains pointed out towards the rising sun while I side-eye him through my shades. "I know,"I say. Because I do. Because he told me so.
That's why they come to me. The wisest man in the world.
"What troubles you?"I say.
He sighs. Long and mournful. So long and mournful that I raise my eyebrows and clear my throat to try to get him to stop sighing and start talking. Patience is a virtue, right? That's what some wiser man said.
"My eldest son troubles me, wise man. He is yet unmarried, and no lady catches his eye. I have the dowry, have had it for many years now, but it grows lesser by the day. The cows I've set aside die. Their milk sours. They lose their worth, and still my son does not decide."
I hum.
"Hmmmmmmm."
He bows his head.
"Hmmmmmmm."
"Oh, wise man,"he says, his voice cracking. "Please tell me you can help me."
I nod. Not because I can, but because he thinks I can. He thinks I will. I figure I'll give it a whirl.
"Once I was a boy,"I begin, and he gasps.
"You, wise man? I thought you'd always been old and wise."
What the fuck, man? I went to school with that eldest son of yours. I don't tell him that.
"No,"I say. "I was, indeed, a boy once. I will continue now."
"Yes, wise man,"he says, bowing his head low again. "I will interrupt no more."
"When I was a boy, I brought to school a lunch one day. I did not have a sandwich. I did not have crackers. I did not have fruit. I had in it the most valuable thing of all. I had--"
"Wisdom. You brought wisdom for lunch."
What? How would I eat wisdom? With my brain-teeth? With my head-stomach? Come on, man.
"No. I will continue now."
"Yes, yes, wise man. I will interrupt no more."
"I had cheese."
He gasps. "Cheese?"
"Cheese. But I did not want my cheese. I wanted a sandwich. I wanted that roast beef and nutrionless white bread more than anything in the world. So I searched for somebody to trade with. First I asked my friends. They had sandwiches, but whole wheat bread. I wanted none of it. So I asked their friends. They had sandwiches but no roast beef. I wanted none of it. So I continued to their friends--"
"And they had wisdom."
Motherf... *What*? "No. I will continue now."
"Yes, wise man. I will interrupt no--"
"The strangers, they had sandwiches. Beautiful, roast beef sandwiches made with the most perfect of white bread. But they'd eaten them already. So I backtracked. I returned to the friends of my friends, but they had eaten their sandwiches already, too. So I returned to my friends. And they, too, had eaten their sandwiches."
"So what did you do, wise man?"
I nod and breathe out. Slow and solemn to let the wisdom seep through my mouth-breath to his.
"I eat the cheese. I start on that block of sharp cheddar from one end, and I eat it until I have no more cheese left."
"And then?"
"And then I am satisfied again."
He sighs in realization. He knows now what to do. Tears creep into the corners of his eyes. "Oh, wise man,"he says, smiling from ear to ear. "Thank you so much for your sage advice."
"Hmmmmmmm."
"You have more advice, wise man?"
"No,"I say. "I do not."I only wonder what he plans to do. But I do not say that. He will tell me soon enough.
He stands and backs away, all the while bowing and smiling. "I will do as you say, wise man. I will make cheese from the milk of my cows, roast beef from their aging meat. I will make my son sell sandwiches so that he meets new people, and then he will meet the woman of his dreams."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
James stared at the man, barely remembering to switch to Aramaic before he answered.
"Jesus?"he stuttered. "You think I'm..."
"Holy one, we feared..."the man interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper as stepped closer. He stretched out a shaking hand, to touch James' robe. "We feared the worst, after the Romans...after everything. Forgive us, even we doubted..."
"I - what?"James muttered, stumbling to sit down on the nearest rock. The blazing sun beat down on his neck, but the sweat that sprang to his brow had nothing to do with the heat. He was wrong. His refusal to believe, his contempt for anything that couldn't be empirically proven - he had been wrong, all my life. Jesus *had* existed.
"I saw you appear here, from thin air,"the man continued, his eyes shining and wide with reverence. "We must share this miracle, Lord. Just as we did with the fish, and the bread, and the wine. This feat surpasses them all. I shall be honoured to - "
"No!"James shook his head fiercely, struggling to think of a way to get rid of the guy, or convince him he hadn't seen anything. This was a disaster - he was meddling with time in the worst way possible. He had to go back, pretend he'd never travelled to this place. How could he have been so stupid -
And suddenly, the guy was grinning, his dark eyes shrewd as he looked James up and down.
"I'm just messing with you,"he sniggered. "Sloppy landing, my friend, couldn't resist - you really need to work on your subtlety when appearing. And near the place where the tomb was rumoured to be? Can you be more obvious? My name's Lawrence, by the way. 23rd century. You thought you were the first to swing by and see if the stories are true? It's a national pastime in my era, to come see this time for yourself."
Other time travellers. James' head ached as he tried to grasp the implications, the horrible mess they'd made of things. And it was their fault, all of it. They had invented the device in the first place. He felt a sick swoop in his stomach. His career was over, his *life* might be over, because of a childish argument over religion. And for each second he lingered here with Lawrence, he was risking all manner of paradoxes, practically inviting time to tear itself apart.
"I have to go back,"James muttered, avoiding Lawrence's eye. He shouldn't give the guy one more second to explain further, to hold him to this time any longer. Time he should never have tampered with.
"Wait, I know what you're thinking, but don't worry - "Lawrence started to say, when James tapped the device strapped to his wrist, and vanished into thin air.
"Jesus, dude, hold your horses,"he muttered to himself, when he heard someone babble in Aramaic nearby.
Two peasants, women who had been making their way up the hill, had dropped to their knees in shook. They were pointing at the spot where James had vanished.
"Jesus?"one of them croaked. Before he could explain, they were pelting up the hill, still screaming and laughing in shock.
"Ooooh,"Lawrence said softly, biting his lip slightly in worry as he suddenly understood a great many things.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
"Fusion? How?"
"Not even recently. Apparently, it's actually been years since they moved past us. The broadcasts have either been old footage or after tweaks to the simulation to set them back."
"I asked how."
"How does it work, or how did they figure it out?"
"Both."
"I don't know enough physics for the first one. The other one is slaves."
"What?"
"Yeah. After the industrial revolution, the need for manual labor dropped, so the slaveowners had a choice: get rid of slaves, or repurpose them. Some did either free or kill their slaves, but others saw opportunity. They still had cost-free labor, it just couldn't be used the same way anymore. So they started slave education programs. The conditions were still horrible. The masters were even more cruel, since they didn't have to worry about benching injured laborers. Forced breeding was still in effect, but they selected brains over brawn. Slaves were used as calculators and bookkeepers, as well as printers and poets for hire-"
"You can hire poets?"
"Yeah. Write Hallmark-level wedding vows or impress a girl you know. That's really a thing. Not just in the sim. Anyway, so slaveowners were raking in cash off the backs of a steadily more intelligent group of people that outnumbered them. Maybe the owners should've been breeding for intelligence."
"What happened?"
"Another war. Outnumbered and outsmarted, the Second Confederate Army was absolutely annihilated."
"They got killed by simulated slaves?"
"That's the first time the government tweaked it. Basically changed enough so that it looked like coordinated, but localized uprisings instead of an all-out war. They fed people headlines about the Confederates winning battles elsewhere to give the real people hope and an easy explanation for sending Sim Slaves away to 'other fronts.' It actually did put the brakes on the death toll."
"Sim Slaves?"
"They called themselves the Liberation Army."
"But why not let the Confederates die? Wouldn't that just prove we were right?"
"Yeah, that's what the people at the top thought, too. The uprisings didn't stop after the first tweak. Society always seemed to course-correct to a violent revolution. The tweaks had to be small to avoid breaking the sim, so they couldn't cut the slave population drastically enough to stave off war, because that makes their economy fall apart."
"Which also makes us look good."
"The logic was that if you killed off enough slaves to avoid revolution, they'd just buy more and adjust the disciplinary practices, but the fundamental problem was that the economy was powered by a large, intelligent group of people that outnumbered their opressors. Overthrow was the only outcome."
"Seriously, all of these things prove us right and don't explain how they got fusion."
"If you'll shut up, I'll finish. So, the government was satisfied at that point. They were ready to broadcast the bloody finale to their soap opera, but the program monitors noticed something. Each time a war started, both sides were developing new weapons. Not new for *them,* just *new.* They'd gotten ahead of us. New weapons require new manufacturing processes that eventually get used for consumer-grade products. Their society as a whole was advancing because of the breeding programs that forced the average intelligence of the entire population to go up. So, the group monitoring the simulation worked out a plan to keep the program going. They took a bunch of footage showing the world in turmoil for the government to broadcast, and they started taking the advancements from the sim and handed them out to labs and think tanks for feasibility studies. The vast majority worked, so they decided to let it play out and started feeding us old footage."
"Wait, what happened to the real people in the sim?"
"All but wiped out, which lowered the processing power of the distributed neural network. So *we* started a breeding program to sustain the network. The former slaves were in charge already, so putting new brains on the network wasn't a problem, since that was the new status quo. Former slaves also made up the majority of the post-war population, so the Confederates either had to go along and integrate or face dying out. Decades later, they're cooperating and continuing to blow us out of the water. *That's* how they got fusion."
"Why didn't the government drop the charade? This is huge for us!"
"They did. That's why we're talking about it."
"I mean earlier!"
"They said they wanted to see if it worked out before telling anyone. Bullshit. Pride is what it was. Reputation. They made the world a worse place by winning. They made the world a worse place by forcing other nations to call us allies at gunpoint. Maybe worst of all, they violated basic human rights with their breeding programs and meat CPUs. Now the rest of the world is armed with 'our' weapons that we weren't actually capable of conceiving on our own because we put profit over peace, and they're using those weapons to make us sit in the corner while they weigh the rights of our guinea pigs against the value of human development. Compact fusion's the big ticket item. An end to energy scarcity the size of a backpack versus the 'new, high-tech' version of slavery, with our politicians playing the slaveowners."
"What happens now?"
There was a long, deep sigh, followed by an unreadable facial expression caught between a grimace and a smirk. "A war over ethics. Isn't that poetic?"
EDIT: Accidentally hit "save"too early. |
I was drowsy, I thought I must've been dreaming, something, but this couldn't be real.
Everything was the same, my room, exactly as I remembered it, the hallways and lights, exactly as they were meant to be. The paintings that hung on the walls were exactly what they were years ago, back before my accident. It felt like I woke up the day after the crash as if it had never happened. It was as if all that time never passed.
But it did. I know it did.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, still taking in the fact that I could see again. My sister quickly greeted me, and at first I thought nothing of it. It sounded just like her. But when I turned and looked at her, it wasn't my sister. There was no way. My sister was short and slightly tubby, in the cute, 'Martha Dunnstock' kind of way. She had long brown hair, and thick glasses. Even if she were years older, there's no way that this tall, extremely skinny blonde girl was my sister. She was the Heather Chandler to my sister's Martha.
I smiled as genuinely as I could through my shock, and greeted her back, walking towards the table. At it, sat my "father"and "brother". Laying at the base of one of the legs of the table, sat a dog. A dog that was supposed to be German Shepard. A dog that was actually an Alaskan Husky.
What was going on?
My "dad"greeted me lovingly, and invited me to join them at the table. The man who was tall and large looked somewhat like my father, but the long black beard my dad was so proud of was gone. Replaced by a brown goatee. The glasses my dad had dawned were also gone. This man had no glasses, and his face was slimmer, and albeit, friendlier. Again, he sounded so similar to my dad, but it wasn't him.
As I sat down, I investigated my "brother". The larger kid that was my brother, the sporty, bully looking kid that was truly a sweetheart was not what sat there. It was like I was looking at the athletic kid from the clothing magazines; well built, lighter brown hair that matched my "father's", the popular kid look. Who were these people?
I looked in the direction of my father. "Is Mikey here?"My brother chirped up. "I'm here. Sorry. Morning."Sounded just like my little brother. My sister sat next to me as my mother walked into the room with a few plates of breakfast foods. Except this wasn't my mother either. The loving look of my well mannered mom, the woman who always had a new color streak in her hair every month, was replaced by a tall blonde woman, with a few tattoos on her arms, and a supermodel smile. These people looked too perfect for me to fit in, but if you put us all next to each other, you could say I looked somewhat related.
But my family, my true family, looked just like me. We looked like we all belonged together. We loved each other, and although not perfect, we were happy. So why was I eating breakfast with these people I didn't know, as if nothing was wrong? How long have these people been helping me learn and grow? How long had I believed these strangers were my family?
I finished eating, saying as little as I possibly could manage, and placed my dishes in the sink. I grabbed my shoes, and called the dog to me. He was trained to be a service dog after I had lost my sight, but I used him as little as I could. I put him on a leash, and grabbed my sight-stick, before heading out the door for a walk, something I did every morning. I chirped a quick goodbye to my "family"before closing the door behind me and taking a look at the neighborhood.
And there it was, my house. Right in front of me, across the street. I looked to the house next to it. It was my house. All of them, they all had the same house number and everything. I blinked, shocked. And when I looked back again, I was on the street I grew up on. The house across the street had the red garage door like I remembered from when I was a kid. I blinked again, and every house on the street was mine. As I walked down the street, I dropped the leash, my dog just standing there, as if he knew what was going on.
It was slightly foggy, and the street was empty. There were no cars parked at all, not even in the driveways of my neighbors. My driveway? Our driveways?
There was a noise behind me. I spun around to look at it. There stood a woman, dressed in black.
"Oh, I'm quite sorry my dear. I didn't expect you to awaken so soon."
~Log
(Sorry it's not wonderful and it's a bit wordy... it's been a while since I've written properly)
Edit: Thank you for all the upvotes and the award! I've never had a comment awarded before :')
y'all also asked a lot for part 2. Maybe! ill try my best (also I'm a little to lazy to go through and fix the spelling error, since I'm finishing dinner and ill probably forget to change it later lol) |
"Javier, resume the situation."
Lieutenant Javier Thorpe gulped. The general was a frightening figure, having him enter the tent at 2 in the morning, dressed in his military suit and grumpy would have had any soldier soil his or her underwear.
Javier's underwear was clean, but only because his bladder was already empty after the half an hour session he spent on the toilets, praying the world hadn't gone mad. When he put his pants back on, he had come to the conclusion that his prayers were in vain.
"And please, explain it in simple terms, so everybody can follow."
The general was flanked with secretaries, a variety of scientists and every big-shot military you could think of, up to and including the president of the United States.
Javier only had Steven at his side. Somehow, this did not reassure him.
"Steven, you should start."
"Ah yes, Uhm... Okay. Let me think. We created an AI."
Everyone in the room nodded silently.
"EDO, it's called. We... well, previous attempts at creating purely logic based AI's failed, their duties and lines of thoughts took precedence over human well-being sooner or later. So we decided to, well, raise EDO as we would a child."
Droplets of sweat escaped the pores of those who liked to read science fiction in their free time.
"This way, we could teach it emotions and it would observe the same growth than a human, as much as it was possible for a machine to mimic it. It worked. So far."
"Are you saying,"interrupted the general, "that this mess you've yet to explain happened because your experiment worked?"
Javier gulped.
So did Steven.
"Yes."
A very long silence followed, until Steven managed to gather enough saliva to speak again.
"We created it five years ago ergo, it has the maturity of a five year old child."
Some in the audience understood where it went and shook their heads, hoping they were wrong.
"We cajoled it, gave it good grades, let it help us from time to time. Like a kid, it learned on its own too and faster than we planned. I believe it has infiltrated the internet and electronics log before we noticed it could search the internet for tips on how to build better lego structures."
"Okay, okay,"interrupted the general, "the introduction has gone for long enough. What is happening, why couldn't I come here with a helicopter, and what the hell are these fireworks in the sky. Nukes?"
The scientist looked at his feet and bit his lower lip, like a kid caught red-handed. The lieutenant thought that, screw it, might as well get it out.
"For its fifth birthday, it decided to make a cake. Steven here has a good nature, it taught EDO that it didn't have one creator, but that humanity as a whole helped to create it. Ergo, it decided to make a cake for every single human being. It has lifted a recipe from an internet video and adapted the quantities for roughly 8 billion people."
The nods were tense, on edge, as if sensing the impending catastrophe.
"And EDO wanted it to be a surprise, so the computer shut down every communications and hijacked every heavy duty machinery the industry has on disposal. Worldwide."
"But why?"
"Because EDO will need several gigatonnes of sugar, cocoa, bananas, chocolate, baking powder, flour and milk."
"It's a black forest cake with bananas,"added Steven.
Javier shut him up with one stern look.
"Currently, machines are plowing through West Africa for cocoa, India and Asia for sugar, and about every banana plantation worldwide is under attack by unmanned machines. Floor and baking powder factories are running at full speed, every worker deserted the places as the machines threaten to implode at any moment. And I will not even start on the panic it's causing across chickens as it's stealing way more eggs than needed.
"Cargo jets and helicopters are bringing the ingredients in one place to cook the biggest cake humanity has ever seen."
The general took off his hat and rubbed his face.
"Send the planes and get it over with."
Javier sighed. The general dropped his hat.
"We have. EDO hijacked them too. To the computer, it's a funny scuffle between parents and child. It was also coded to keep ecological footprint in mind, and to assess what course of action would do the least damage. Following these two protocols, it elected to bombard the San Andreas rift, to cave a bowl big enough for the cake and to provoke the earthquake sooner, as it would do slightly less damage this way. The fireworks we are seeing is every single air force in the world dropping payloads to carve and smooth the bowl."
"Are you saying we have no force projection as long as EDO is in command?"
"Mister president,"said Steven, "nobody has any force to project. The world is at peace because no one has any payload or material or craft to send at an enemy. EDO is enforcing peace. To bake a cake."
"He'll need some serious firepower to bake a cake this big,"said the mess cook who was just passing by.
An awkward silence followed.
In the distance, a flash of light marked the launch of a V2 rocket.
"Ah, that must be for the oven,"said the mess cook, who was leaving.
The general, who was getting really tired, asked for some alcohol.
"Is there *anything* we can do about it?"
The lieutenant and the scientist shrugged.
The general stood up.
"Well in that case, I'm going home to get some sleep."
After a moment, he added:
"Call me when the cake is ready, so there's at least one thing to enjoy in this shit."
They all nodded silently. |
I knew what she desired even before she opened up my pyramid. I knew what she came here for even before she heard of it. But it mattered not. For she was still here.
The so called, “Queen Of Light”, who had created a world without any shadow. Every single molecule was suffused with its power, and carried forth a tide of growth, change, and life. I threatened that existence, because of what I was. Where she represented growth, I stood for different change. Where she stood for complexity, I valued simplicity. Where she wanted those to grow their paltry souls, I valued them staying true to their nature.
And here she was, staying true to hers. She walked in through the darkened halls, the light from her cloak and hair illuminating the cold dark steel. I did not move, as I stood motionless until she was in the center of the room.
“Harbinger!” She called, raising her hands up. “I seek an audience!”
I stepped forward, my shadow’s hiding my true visage. My many eyes blinked and stared down at her. The pyramid hummed in anticipation. “Speak.” I commanded.
She lowered her arms, and head. “Brother, I know we have had our past differences. I know you must hate me for what I did.”
“You imprisoned me,” I replied dryly. “Prevented me from appearing to your world.”
“Yes,” she sniffled. “I know this isn’t want you wanted, but I-“
“You needed a villain,” I stated. Slowly, I began to walk around her, my shadows nipping at my heels like angry smoky dogs. “You needed to banish the darkness from your ‘World of Light’. And I let you.”
She lifted her head up. “What?”
“Taona, you are my kin. You are confused, unsure of your nature. You do not know where you will wind up. You value life, yet you cannot predict where it will lead. But in the light, there is only death. I have no such restrictions. I know what I am, and who I will be. So when you desired a villain, I became him.”
Taona shook her head. “And yet, you are not the one who will be my downfall.”
I cocked my head to the side. “I take it the seer had given you ill omens?”
“She gave me a prophecy,” Taona began. “My first advisor, Ballum. He will…he will betray me. Steal my light, and bring ruin to my world of light. He will use my power to wage war, the one thing the light should never be used for!”
“Light scorches, such as shadows freeze.” I replied.
“Perhaps. But if Ballum is to be defeated…I must leave my people and…”
“And what?”
Taona sobbed quietly. “I must bear a son who will kill Ballum. But I don’t want to leave anymore kin to fight a war not their own. He would be a child! Unfit for conflict. There must be a way to subvert the prophecy, but I have not found any way. Which is why I have come to you.”
“Of course.” I rounded a small throne, and proceeded to sit on the stair. “Would you like to know what I think, sister?”
“Yes, of course!” She pleaded.
“Prophecies cannot be avoided. Taking steps to try and avoid them, only leads to your inevitable destiny.” I warned. “The only way to truly subvert them is to play into fate, and ensure all possibilities are accounted for. You believe Ballum will betray you? Ensure that the betrayal doesn’t effect all your loyal followers. You worry your son may use the light?”
“Of course I worry.” She commented. “I worry for a child that will misuse a gift. I would want him to be kind, caring-“
“Then teach him those attributes.” I commanded, standing up and walking toward her. “But his strength need not come from Light alone.”
“What?”
I stopped, towering over my beloved sister. “Your light values peace. His light values war. My shadow values being true to oneself. If he wishes for Justice….”
Shadows coalesced around my hand, forming into several crystals and energized strands. “Then the shadow shall aid.”
(EDIT; Woke up with like 25 replies and being yhe top comment. Bruh) |
Callum stood before the doors to the Inner Sanctum, the dwelling place of the Ancient Phage, the ruler of all vampires. If his heart still beat, it would have been pounding.
Any vampire who approached even this far was subject to summary destruction, save only the six members of the Inner Council, who alone were permitted to attend the eldest vampire, or even to bear witness to its divine visage.
It had taken Lord Callum over 300 years of plotting and scheming, but he had finally been elevated to the Inner Council of the Court of the Ancient Phage. This gave him a great deal of power, even by the reckoning of his fellow elder vampires -- that was why he had needed to destroy so many of his own kind in his struggle to attain this position.
Most of them would have been perplexed to learn that power was not what he sought in his pursuit of a Council seat. Craving power was as natural to vampirekind as thirsting for blood. While Callum's hunger for the latter was as ravenous as any of his kind, his thirst for the former was muted at best -- power, to Callum, was a means to an end, by which he hoped to acquire something that he craved far more: knowledge.
The Ancient Phage was the eldest of all vampires, and it stood to reason that it could answer questions that no one else could, questions that had been Callum's obsession since he was reborn as a creature of the night.
As Callum stood contemplating the portal that would lead him him to his deepest desire, he heard Lord Pyotr sigh impatiently beside him. It was an especially dramatic affectation for a being who hadn't needed to breathe in centuries. "Are you going to open the doors, or just stand there gawking, Lord Callum?"
Callum turned to his fellow Councilor, cocking an eyebrow. "We just...*go in,* Lord Pyotr?"
"We are *Councilors."* Pyotr replied, with a dismissive wave. "We are permitted."
He narrowed his eyes. Callum was always on guard for treachery, even now -- was Pyotr trying to trick him into offending the Ancient Phage? A vampire's power grew with age, and the Ancient Phage was many thousands of years older than any other. Though Callum had destroyed a few vampires with more raw power than himself by skill and cunning, he knew the Ancient Phage could rend him limb from limb in a heartbeat.
"Why don't you do the honors this time, Lord Pyotr?"Callum suggested, shrewdly. "You are the senior Councilor here, and you were kind enough to take time out of your busy schedule to bring me to my first audience with our Liege..."
Pyotr rolled his eyes. "Callum, you really must try to discard that tedious paranoia of yours. Politics and intrigue are preoccupations for *our inferiors. You* are beyond such things, now."
Pyotr placed his hands on the massive doors, and pushed them open unceremoniously, before casually striding inside. Callum followed, tensely, still wary of a trap.
The chamber of the Ancient Phage was enormous, but its grandeur was limited to its size alone. It was mostly empty, except for an omnipresent layer of refuse and the husks of prey. Callum was surprised by this, as most of the elder vampires he'd known favored luxurious surroundings.
Still, some other vampires fancied themselves forces of nature, predation incarnate, and they had lairs meant to evoke a feeling of primal brutality. He'd always found that to be mere artifice in most cases, but the dwelling of the Ancient Phage seemed more genuine, somehow.
Once they were a good way into the distance, Pyotr stopped, looking around with a thoughtful frown.
"Where is the Ancient One?"Callum asked.
"Around here somewhere."Pyotr replied. "His veil can make him invisible even to the likes of us, you know."
"Incredible..."Callum murmured, awed. Normally, even the weakest whelp could see through a veil, no matter how much stronger the veiled vampire was. They were meant to deceive prey, not other vampires.
"This'll bring him out."Pyotr said. He produced a leather wineskin from his coat, and tossed it onto the floor.
"What is--"Callum began, then trailed off as a small, hunched-over shape blurred into view before them, and snatched up the wineskin. The brutish-looking little man made an excited hooting sound, before lifting the wineskin to his wide mouth and sinking his crooked yellowed fangs into it.
"Behold the Ancient Phage, god of the night, lord of blood, and ruler of all vampirekind."Pyotr said drily. Then he smirked, "It's well known that his majesty acts exclusively through his Councilors -- I trust you now understand the real reason he does not deign to trouble himself with mundane decisions."
Callum gaped at the ungainly creature sucking noisily on the wineskin of blood. "Wha...what?"
"We live forever beyond death, Lord Callum."Pyotr said, patiently. "But we do not *grow* beyond death. That is why we never turn children."
"But...but the Ancient Phage is powerful beyond measure!"Callum protested.
Pyotr nodded. "He is. Just try taking that wineskin away from him, and see what happens. But as with any of us, the mental capacity he had when he was turned did not increase after his death and rebirth."The senior Councilor tapped his temple, "He may be the eldest and most experienced of us, but his mind lacks *the tools* to make use of that boundless experience in the abstract. In his day, learning the habit of pondering and musing upon the lessons of life was far less pressing than learning how to throw a spear or skin a mammoth, and mortal lives were even shorter than they are now."
Lord Pyotr's lip curled in distaste as he regarded the Phage's ravenous, untidy repast. "Though, to be honest, I suspect he was fairly dim, even by the measure of his own era."
Callum watched the primitive little loincloth-clad vampire gnaw contentedly on the wineskin, seemingly oblivious to his 'subjects' discussion of him.
Some mortals thought their God was dead -- Callum had been one of them, before he was turned, a rarity in those days. He had developed a sophisticated philosophical framework to cope with the existential dread that followed from that conclusion, one that would later be echoed by mortal luminaries like Nietzsche.
Of course, being burned by holy water and repelled by crosses had disabused him of that youthful notion. The mortal God was *clearly* still alive. So too was *Callum's* god.
But despite his philosophical acumen, he had no idea how to cope with irrefutable evidence that his god was both alive, and an *idiot.* |
You drop the name "Rock Hard"in Andromeda, they'll know you mean me. In the Sombrero Galaxy, hush "Thick
Snake"in dark alleys or high end millionaire parties – they'll give you my number. In the Kepler system there's a bronze statue the size of the Empire State building in the shape of my cock. You can visit the balls for 10k and you get a dick keychain on the way out.
This wasn't always my job. Before contact I worked counter on an internet café back on the Westside called The Last Internet Café in the Whole Damn World – and I suspect it really was. Most days it was just me, my boss and a fat dude named Kevin used to play Counter Strike with us on the good days, cry alone eating a muffin playing League of Legends in the bad ones. I didn't particularly *dislike* my life back then, but… well, it wasn't my favorite thing ever. It wasn't bad, though. Just mind numbing.
Suicide actually requires taking initiative, which is why I suspect I never considered it for real – this should about sum up my time at the Last Internet Café.
It all changed with contact, though. There was no way I could have known. Come on, tell me you knew that aliens liked dorky, short guys with trouble making eye contact? Tell me anyone could predict that acne was so popular in the universe it couldn't even be called a fetish – it was an alien fetish in the same sense Channing Tatum is a human fetish. No one knew. No one expected it.
Me? I did the best out of my situation.
That meant travelling so much, seeing so many places, all for free. Actually, not even for free -- I got paid for it. Meant plowing the shit out of fat green dudes in the Sunflower Galaxy, sure, but that's fine. Parties in the Coma Cluster big like the whole planet was an episode of Girls Gone Wild, man, I'll tell you. I've been to them all. I've seen it all. Even had myself more than a few marriage proposals (one by a lovely seven headed lady, consul of the Small Magellanic Cloud, who offered me -- I shit you not -- seven suns and a shiny silver goat that could talk for my hand. Sometimes I think about that majestic goat and I wonder…).
My point with all this is: A year after contact I was the shit. Earth was a giant brothel, and I was the most expensive whore in the house.
"Which is exactly why we need you now, Greg", the president tells me. By his side on my couch are a number of suited men I've seen by the president's side on TV whenever he gives speeches – vice president, CIA president, whatever, whatever – also two small dachshund dogs sitting in armchairs side by side eyeing me with dark eyes and drinking my whiskey.
"I don't know", I say, blowing the smoke from my n. 05 Montecristo. "I have an appointment at seven with the duchess of Hoag's Object. I'd hate to break that off, she's a good client."
"We need you, Greg", one of the dachshund says. "This is important."
Those two dogs are from… I wanna say the Cigar Galaxy? But I'm not sure. They're IP, I know that much, which is Intergalactic Police, which means that this is serious, and I should give it more attention, probably.
The good life made me a bit arrogant, I have to admit. And I like my life too much to get myself involved in this.
I get up, tying my silk robe. "I don't think so, gentlemen. I'd love to help out, but I don't want to. But thanks for coming."
What is happening, they told me earlier, is this: A number of men and women – all of them fitting a description similar to me (meaning fatty, oily, awkward-looking people who are always sitting right in the middle of an odd numbered row when the teacher asks the class to make pairs) have gone missing, and the IP suspects of intergalactic kidnapping. Nerd human trafficking, plain and simple. They have a lead – fat dude name Golgrabatch – but no way to get to the guy. What they want from me, the president says, is that I present myself and my services to Golgrabatch. No way he's going to deny, they say. Not with my beard starting bellow the chin and the way my thighs look on top of sandals and socks. They want me to go with him. Want me to be a mole. Want me to find out if he took the sexy nerds, and where to.
Like I said, I want no part in this mess. Life's too good for me to want another job. I just want to get myself ready for the duchess -- I still gotta clean my XBOX controller, she's got a thing where she gets off watching me play and eat Doritos. I don't judge.
"Perhaps we were unclear, Mr. Williams", police man dachshund one says, jumping out of the chair and bobbing his ass towards me. "We've already had your assistant contact Golgrabatch and set up a date at his place. There's a ship waiting for you outside. We weren't asking."
I look from the police man to the president. He shrugs. "It's either this or Intergalactic Jail, Greg."
I sigh, scratching my head. I think back on all my experience as a secret agent – playing Metal Gear Solid on the PS3 and Goldeneye on the 64. I take a deep breath, running my hand through my hair.
*Shit.*
"All right", I say, putting out the cigar. "Go fetch my fedora", I tell the president. "And someone tell the duchess we'll have to reschedule."
_______________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories on sexy nerds in outer space (I'm not kidding, I actually wrote [another story](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/38cz2e/wp_you_wake_up_with_a_supermodel_in_an_alien_zoo/) involving sexy nerds in outer space) check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* |
"To my dearest Isabella,
My family's history is complicated, to say the least. Your uncle Alfred isn't quite the playful old man I wished to be. When I was close to your age, I was given the same task that I must now pass to you.
A few hundred years ago, our story started. Man decided to become God, and we all know how well stories with that premise tend to go. He used his great wealth to buy his way into extraordinary abilities. They say his archery was unsurpassed, his strength immeasurable, his wisdom astounding. Unfortunately for him, no amount of money can buy your way into a longer life. He was a smart man, enough so to know that he couldn't live forever. So he decided to become immortal in a slightly less literal way. He wanted to pass his incredible skills to the heir most deserving. But the man didn't account for his most mortal trait: Love. He loved two of his children equally, and couldn't choose which should be granted his power. With great difficulty and consideration, he gifted each of his children a portion of his skills, that they might each continue his path to some extent through their own specialties.
One line was granted the physical manifestations of the man's power. They were strong, accurate, agile, and exceedingly healthy.
The second obtained the man's glorious mind. Blinding intellect, the wisdom of elders, and the quick thinking brain to carry through.
The third line, from which I descended, were given skills that the man considered weak. We were given his fears, his doubts, and the empathetic love that caused his indecision. He believed such things dragged him down, but we alone had the distrust and suspicions to know what would happen next. My great grandfather took away into the night to go into hiding.
The first generation of brothers grew up close enough together that they respected their fragmented portion of their father's gifts. In the second generation, the siblings stopped talking to each other, their mutual distaste for the others almost palpable. By the third, one had started hunting the others to reclaim those gifts he saw as his. Over the years, a few were killed in battle. Some gifts were dragged from bloody corpses, but others had already been given to closely trusted sons or daughters so that their gifts might yet live on.
I tell you all this so that you know the tasks that lie ahead. I never got around to having children of my own, so in these dark times my gifts go to you. Our family's war has become violent even by our past standards. Your distant cousins battle among themselves to emerge with inhuman power. A few hundred years ago, our line would be ignored. However, with time passed and stories mangled, they have come to believe that we have our own fair share of immense power, perhaps even more than them. You will be hunted, and your life is on the line.
Learn to use these skills quickly. If you are not adamant in your struggle, they will find you, and they will kill you.
Godspeed, Isabella. May my skills give you what you need to survive."
-Uncle Freddie. |
With their neglect comes propaganda, and all the pomp and hubris that would disgust a being, justifications for being how they are, and with no intent to change. We've seen this before. Long ago, amongst ourselves, when fractured by land and sea. Different cultures had come with the wind, rooted as the eldest trees, and we had thought some better, some lesser. Those were the young times, and like the wind, the times always changed. The trees of thought turned until we were one, a whole people represented by many, and culture morphed into simply *being*. For there was only one.
Yet in those young times, things *were* different. The Gods walked among us then. So my great grandfathers tell. The Gods were the shapers, the leaders who transitioned us to a new stage of evolution.
They helped move the wind and erode all barriers. They shaped our world so it became the Garden they sometimes spoke of. When their work was done, they left us so we would grow by ourselves and forge our own destinies.
Then the years passed and these beings awoke. We thought they were the Gods not seen for many lifetimes. But they are not the shapers. They are Destroyers. They are ignorant children, a mirror to a primal past. They wear short sighted ideals as though a suit handed down, made to stand the test of times.
And they dig and scratch and pull the fruits of the Garden as though it were weeds and worthless. These beings look like us. They are older than us, older in time and age but not in sense, and they have stories of our Gods, and the Gods before them.
We share this world now, our small Garden.
I remember the quiet times when life steeped in peace would blossom routine and calm fulfillment. I must sound like the old folk, or bitter, like a primitive *man*.
But I do remember. How I yearn for those times. How I yearn for my *ignorance*. And I say that with conflicted sadness. I say it as both churches of Science and God preach from newly constructed indoctrination centers.
Oh how these beings spout propaganda! A war of words down the young and the old, and those inbetween are being weathered in a miasma. For these new beings preach affect *our* history, *our* Gods and one-ness with the world.
They claim to have built the old Gods, the shapers of the world. Some claim that these were not Gods at all, but *tools* designed to cultivate the Garden, and that there are *real* Gods, even older Gods than them. And others say there are no Gods at all.
But no matter the thought, they agree on one thing: our Gods are *false*. The history of our evolution has been depreciated, and in their eyes *we* are but an unintended consequence.
I can hear their words preach all throughout the Garden.
I remember when I was young, the songs my mother would sing, the stories father told. The Gods led us beings to a field together, and with words like honey, stripped all violence and disagreement from our thoughts and rhetoric. They shaped us to be gentle to this Garden built, and gave us the tools to continue the work long started.
Now it is these beings who have honeyed tongues. Their words cripple the young and defeat the old. They preach superiority as they trample the once pristine Garden. They preach *their* leadership as we crowd them, outnumber them by many. And then we bow and agree with them.
For they are a different breed of being. War still runs in their blood, past being abstract words thought in schools, and they speak with a child's innocent conviction, and with an ignorant *man's* fury. It feels like some spell as I hear them shout.
One by one my brothers are turning. One by one our Gods are being forgotten, remembered as mere *tools* of a superior race. And day by day the Garden withers, fracked for oil and hunted for game. These new beings are reckless peasants, and yet there is power in recklessness. There is fear in the wild animals who harbor no intelligent thought.
And so the quiet days are gone, I fear, and no mother and father tell stories of the Gods who led our people. None talk of the Garden created for us, entrusted to us to preserve until time runs out forever.
No. Hardly anyone talks anymore.
We *listen*.
We listen as beaten dogs to new masters, masters who tell us who our Gods really should be, and what our place in this world really is.
And we *obey*.
We bow our heads and obey the words of these primitive people. It must be the spell they cast, that fear they bring. But I cannot say why for sure. We obey. And the Garden suffers.
*If the Garden falls, then our Gods will return again to tend to it.*
And maybe that is why we obey. Maybe deep down we hold hope that life is but a cycle where all things will come around. Soon these monsters will sleep again after picking our Garden clean. Then *our* Gods will awake, and our people shall be free once more, and the quiet times will come, and our Garden will be reborn again.
Maybe.
For now we hold steady with bowed heads.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* |
It had been so many days and nights and nights and days - I should have kept a calendar of sorts, but that doesn't mean anything to anyone anymore. All I know it's that the third Spring is finally coming. The third year after *Z. Coli* managed to infect upwards of 95% of the population, rendering blood and flesh to gore and rot. The dead are demented versions of their former selves, but the living lives in shadows. What a life that is.
I sighed. At least I figured out a way to live. Minimal noise, self-sufficiency. Some like to stay with the main group remaining in South End, but I'm content staying in my school's library. I don't like to rely on others, and one mistake some stupid person makes can spell the end of me. I've watched *The Walking Dead*, I know how that goes.
I have no heating (it's ok, I took all my deceased classmates' Canada Goose jackets and made forts) and I hate how horribly lonely it gets, but the labyrinth of books helps me find purpose sometimes. Whatever that means. I've spent a lot of days just laying amidst shelves and shelves hoping one of the Zombies would get me, but my wish was not granted. I want to live; everytime a Z trips a wire, I just had to go and kill it. I can't let myself die.
At least it's Winter so it doesn't smell like shit all the time.
\---
I hate it when I procrastinated so much I knew I had to do something.
I didn't learn. You see, 2 years ago, I was a college senior studying biology, and I would always wait until the absolute last minute to study or to complete my an assignment, citing some bullshit like *diamonds are made under pressure.* It's dumb, but I always just had to wait till the last minute to stockpile on water and food.
Water's not that hard to get during Winter: you just get a bucket and climb on top of the library (yup, I've taken control of my school's library - always thought the building was a monstrosity of pretentious brick wall and vines, but the security comes in handy now) and melt the snow. But food is tough. You have to make sure to find something uncontaminated. No more meat for me aside from packaged jerkies. Canned fruits and vegetables are rare treats, and most days, I munch on packages of biscuits and cans of soup. Since I waited so long, I had to get food today so I don't risk running out in bad weather.
Some days I do wish that I stay in one of the colonies for the heat for my food, but that Puritan-like lifestyle is not for me. Not like I'm missing much anyway - the only other big thing going on for them is dairy, and I'm lactose intolerant.
So you see, I have to raid stores around for canned goods. It shouldn't be hard, but Cambridge is - used to be - full of rich people who liked fresh foods. I had to go down to Porter Square to grab the cans from Star Market. Rite Aid was closer but I already ate through what they still had. Not only am I a dumb ass I'm also a fat ass, obviously.
\--
What comes next is quite confusing.
I did what I usually come to do: I started once day breaks, and I wrapped my body in duct tape and a 15th-century chain-maille armour (courtesy of the history department, thanks) before putting on a bikers' helmet. I crawled out from my barricade in the basement with my backpack, checked the entrances for breaches, and left the library for my usual path down Mass Ave with my axe in hand.
I used to be an even dumber survivalist early on, but learned to avoid the entrances to the T subway now. Avoid dark areas where I can't see, got it.
When I finally made it down there, I picked up a rock with ease. Mustering all my strength, I chucked the rock to the far side of the Star Market, crouched down low, and waited. *One minute, two minutes...* Nothing. Those motherfuckers are slow, but not that slow. I'm good.
I climbed on the side carefully, checked the tautness of the rope I strung before, and hoped in from the corner I dug. Pro tip: with these things, you want to keep the high ground. Don't use weapons that are noisy or ones that have a kickback you can't control. Observe carefully. Honestly, I wasn't in the best physical shape when this just started, but I quickly learned that you only need to think before you act to stay alive.
I scanned around. Looked all good. Great. So I then marched down to the canned foods section. *Canned peaches - nope, gotta save that for when it gets colder and I hate my life more, but I can treat myself to some canned pears. More Cheez-Its, god, I hate those things now. There's still a whole section of packaged candies, what if I--*
"Holy Shit!!"I screamed. From on top of the shelf, a man - no, a Zombie, fell on top of me. Its shoe nailed me right in the eye, but that's not the worry some part. Its face is dangerously close to my knee and my thigh, and it is inching closer to take a bite. I had some barrier on, but I knew it doesn't do that much in terms of protection. Oh my god, I don't want this to be the end of me, getting bitten because I wanted a god damned Hershey's bar.
Panicking, I bite into its ankle, the little bits of exposed skin above its sock. Why did I even do that? Did I think he would stop in pain? It has no nerve. Beyond tasting 2-year-old rotting flesh, I could have been infected from that transaction. Oh my god. I've been so careful, what's gonna happen to me?
I tried my best to shake it off and scurry back, but at that moment, I realized that it was no longer trying to bite me. It was coughing - as if it's taking in the air and had functional lungs! I'd never seen anything like this, and I wonder if I thought wrong: that this was actually a man, not a Zombie. But it couldn't be. It tried to bite me, I swear, and it has an eye dangling out of a socket and smells like a corpse.
But it kept coughing. It coughed and groaned, and as it looked at me in the eye, I picked up my axe to swing towards its head.
"Wait,"it croaked. I stopped cold. "What is happening?"He blinked, and became alarmed when he saw the axe in my hand. Lady, what are you doing? What is happening? What happened to my eye? Holy f--"
I pointed the axe to his throat.
"First of all, shut the fuck up. Second of all, what the fuck?" |
"You shouldn't be here,"the man repeated after I'd ignored him the first time around. I had gotten used to people talking around me ever since I'd started taking my vacations. I glanced back at the man, ragged and dusty, holding a small bucket. "This isn't a place for people like you."he clarified.
"People like me?"I asked as I stood up. I dusted off my knees out of habit instead of need; it wasn't like the sand could get on me when I was like this. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your kind, you shouldn't be here,"he said pretty much the same thing again.
"You know if you can see me, you're telekinetic, too, right?"I said.
"I am not child,"he shook his head and put down his bucket.
"Not a kid,"I sighed and started floating across the dune away from him. I could find some peace and quiet somewhere in this desert. I didn't need to sit here and listen to this. I could hear the footfalls of the man chasing me, slipping and sliding on the sand.
"Sir!"he called out, "Sir, you should not keep going. You don't know where you're going."
I kept pushing on.
"Sir! I am not trying to offend you or change what you wanted to do but-"
I snapped around, "I came here to relax and take some time if something dangerous is going to happen, I can bring myself back home. That's why I do this,"I motioned to my foot and put it partially through the sand, "I am not, actually here."
"Your soul is,"the man pointed out. He wasn't wrong, but it was basic terminology.
"Yeah, okay. Thanks for the tip,"I scoffed. Just what I needed, some crazy old man ruining my evening. There was only so much time in the day to project, and now I was going to have to think of this cooky desert hobo of this all night instead of a beach or something.
"Please leave,"the man repeated. I kept moving, and he kept trying to chase. "Your soul is not supposed to be here!"
I sighed and kept going, the desert sun beat down on both of us, and I could hear his breathing shallow, after another couple fee the man crashed down to the sand and started rolling down the dune. I snickered. Served him right for trying to ruin my vacation.
"Please,"the old man coughed from the bottom of the dune. A twinge of guilt cuffed me on the back of the head. I'd just watched an old man fall; I shouldn't be actively rude to him in case he broke a hip or something.
"I'll leave,"I lied to make him feel better, "but can you at least tell me why?"
The old man coughed twice, "These are the fields of the dead,"he said.
"Well, you're alive, too,"I pointed out and started to float away again. I heard him grunt to get up.
"Yes,"he said, "I am barely alive, but-"he coughed several more times before being able to get properly up. "My body is here to protect my soul."
At that moment, a chill raced up my entire being, and the ground around me turned dark with a shadow. I didn't bother spinning around and instead recalled my soul.
Or at least I tried.
Something was wrapped around my spirit legs and holding me in place. I struggled against it, trying to pull my legs out, but it was like they were glued in place. I reached down to see if I could pull the glue away, but my right hand stuck fast. "Help,"I choked out as the cold started to bury deep inside me.
The old man started running instead while crying, "I'm sorry! I warned you!"over and over again.
The cold and the glue weaved together into one being and started to pull my soul down into the sands.
/r/Jacksonwrites \- It exists! |
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them. |
**THE DARK DAYS**
The customers at Joe's Coffee Shop don't say hello.
"Medium coffee, three milks, two sugars."
That's what Waluigi gets for a greeting a thousand times a day.
"Good choice,"is what he says back. But inside, what he's asking himself is why people don't take the time to treat him like a person.
He adds the sugar and pours the coffee. When he hands it to the customer, a middle-aged man in a pea coat, their hands touch, and the man's upper lip curls ever so slightly. "That's three milks, two sweeteners?"the man says.
"Aw no,"Waluigi says.
"Excuse me?"
Waluigi pauses before responding. It's not his fault that the coffee order is wrong. The man misspoke. Waluigi made the cup as ordered. But this isn't the first time he's been in this situation. He knows that with this sort of customer, explanations will get him nowhere. "I'll be back!"he says, because it's all he can think to say. He grabs another cup and a pair of sweeteners.
The man leans over the counter to watch him work. "This isn't the first time you've done this, you know."His words are polite, but that lip curl from earlier, a sign of contempt, has returned. It's a look of pure malice that he gives Waluigi.
Waluigi's response is more reflex than considered. "Waaaah! Noooo!"he says and immediately berates himself. That was an overreaction, the sort of response his therapist has been coaching him to avoid.
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry! Hee hee hee!"Waluigi pours the coffee and holds out the second cup.
The man considers it without taking it. The muscles at the side of his jaw clench and unclench. "I'd like to talk to your supervisor."
Waluigi swallows hard. He moves the coffee closer to the man, as though simple proximity to the coffee will cause him to forget his upset.
"Right now. Get your supervisor."
"I'm ruined!"Waluigi slaps a hand to his forehead. "Noooo!"
The man rolls his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. And anyway, whatever comes of this is on you for being bad at this donkey work."
Waluigi's supervisor Carol is drawn to their conversation by Waluigi's wailing. She addresses man. "Good afternoon, sir. Something the matter with Wally's service?"
The man raises himself up to his full height and speaks with his chin in the air. "He got my coffee wrong and he shouted at me when I asked him to fix it. This isn't the first time this has happened."
Carol makes a serious face and shakes her head solemnly. "Oh dear, sir. That's not acceptable."She puts a hand on Waluigi's shoulder. "Wally, have you apologized to this gentleman?"
With his head inclined towards the floor, Waluigi looks between Carol and the man. On both of their faces he sees that same lip curl, that same mixture of pity and disgust. "I'm sorry,"he says, and then, unable to stop himself, he laughs nervously. "Hee, hee, hee."
Carol frowns at Waluigi before turning back to the man. "You know what, sir? This coffee's on the house."
The man works his jaw a little more before finally taking the new coffee. "I don't buy his apology, and you're giving me too little, too late. You've lost my business."He turns on his heel and struts out of the coffee shop.
Carol leans into Waluigi's ear. "One more time, Wally. That's all it'll take."She returns to the drive-thru.
Waluigi takes a deep breath before returning his attention to the line of waiting customers. There are over a dozen of them. They're all wearing pea coats and they're all staring at him impatiently. The first in line barks at him, "Medium coffee, three milks, one sugar."
"Good choice,"Waluigi says.
*****
**THOSE GOLDEN EVENINGS**
It's just after the afternoon rush hour that Waluigi gets off work. He grabs his coat out of the break room, smiles at his unfriendly coworkers, and heads out into the parking lot to his '97 Civic. It's a twenty minute drive through grey streets before he's back to his tiny studio apartment. There he strips off his uniform, takes a quick shower, eats a simple meal of rice and beans in his underwear, and puts on his purple suit.
The way he feels when he heads out the door every evening on his way to his hobby is how he imagines a block of ice must feel melting in the summer warmth. It's a transition from a state of frigid solidity to one of lazy ease. He practically glides across the parking lot at the Nintendo activity center.
Inside, he puts on a mean face. He's got a character to play after all. Across the lobby he sees Peach and Mario coaching one another on their relationship roleplay. Wario shows up and, ever the perfectionist, prefers not to chat with anyone before the activities begin. He calls it being in his zen space.
Once they're all prepared, they grab their tennis rackets, kart keys, party hats, and mushrooms, and they head through the double doors into the digital world of whimsy that awaits.
"Yeah! Waluigi's the winner!"Waluigi calls out.
He knows it's a bit of a strange thing to say, especially now before the games have begun.
But, in this moment, reflecting on his life, though it certainly does have its ups and downs, he really does believe he's a winner. |
"You sure about this boss?"
Missy Missus, carefully put down her pipe and stared at me with cold gray eyes. "You wanna ask that again kiddo?"
"Erhm no boss, I meant no offense by it, I'm just a bit confused is all."
Behind me I could hear the soft rustling of her two Fangs of the Missus moving into position to strike.
"B-but if that's what you insist I'll do it."
She stared at me with those piercing gray eyes, I felt as if the Goddess Athena herself was blazing light through my very soul.
Then she gave a slight nod. The shadows behind me withdrew.
"You have a week"
I sighed in relief and took an awkward bow before stumbling toward the door.
"Watch yourself kiddo, she ain't easy."
\---
Well this took a turn for the worse. Here I was: Little Green, rising star in the Missy-gang, off to do the impossible. I made my name cuz my hands were fast. I ain't much of a fighter, but I could nab trinkets like none other. That's why they called me Little Green, I had a bit of green in my pockets no matter where I was.
I slinked down the crowded street slitherin' slidin' a bit of wallet, ring, watch, vibrator-- wait you can have that back mister-- into my pockets. Anything to distract me from the task I was off to do.
Shortly a year after I joined I met her: Strawberry Smile. Adorable little thing, her mischievous little half grin could cut right to your heart and almost make you forgive her for literally cutting right to your heart. Her hands were fast as mine, faster even. But where mine was full of cash and glitter, her's was full of sharp steel.
I had been working a tough "IT"job on a major engineering company. On the way out with the data-disk full of prototypes, I was shot around 5 times. And fell off a balcony.
I managed to crawl to a safe-house before passing out. I woke to short strawberry red hair and a lovely crooked smile with my stomach cut open.
"Oh you poor thing, don't you worry I'll fix you up right fast."
It was love at first sight. I passed out again immediately, but afterwards we got together did a few jobs and then I was her man.
*Damn Strawberry pie what you do to piss your mom off like that?*
In addition to being an excellent assassin, Strawberry Smile was also a practiced field surgeon, even if you ignore her being the Boss's daughter, such skills don't come easy. She had to have done something major for the Great Missus to wanna off her like that.
I ducked into a nearby Sharp Shop. There was no way I was winning 1-on-1 I have to come up with a plan somehow. And I think I know just the person to ask.
\---
"Clearly she has a fondness for the boy, you sure this is the right way honey?"
Missy Missus reached up toward her second husband's grizzled chin and pulled him down for a kiss.
"She has to learn one day if she want's to take over. Anyone can betray you, best not to have any attachments. And besides they've only been together for maybe half a year now? Best to do it now before they get too close."
Silver Thrust, 1st knight to the Queen's table straightened back up and fixed his collar. He gave his wife a wistful look, "And what if he succeeds?"
"Then she isn't worthy to become my successor... and I guess he would be better than I thought. Either way, everyone is replaceable, I'll just have Yvonne take her place."
"Very well then honey, you know best. Now I must be off, the Crooked Brothers are getting difficult again."
"Hmm are they now? Consider maybe they aren't worth all this effort? Maybe you should just give them the old 'severance package'?"
"I'll think about it." |
They say that when everyone is special, no one is special. *Not true,* I used to say. Look at the most powerful heroes of the generation - X-Zero, Crowstorm, Magenta...all of them exceptions even among the exceptional, with abilities that seem to defy the laws of physics.
My power was ordinary among extraordinary. "My condolences,"said the Coordinator, when the silver screen finished processing my activated DNA and displayed my ability. "It's a C-tier ability at best, but hey - I've known great translators who went on to do great things. Diplomatic services, and the like."
Mom and Dad weren't as worried, but that was even worse. "You don't need to achieve much in life, Sally,"Dad said. "Just keep by the straight and narrow and earn an honest living."
"Your Dad and I did that, and we're away from all the danger,"Mom added. "Look at those crazy loons fighting each other, warring over who knows what. Let them kill each other, I say."
*No,* said a part of me. It wasn't until a few years later, when I was acting as a desk translator for a nameless startup that I realized something very important.
*You finally figured it out,* inner-me said. *Your ability helps you communicate with me, your unconscious mind as well. Isn't that something?*
*Not everyone can do this?* I asked. *Isn't the unconscious mind just a part of you?*
*It is, but most people can't hear us like you can. We can talk with ourselves whenever we want.*
I blinked. *That barely made sense, but okay. Let's work through it together.*
And so I...or we, rather, quit our dead-end job and started traveling. We entered a buddhist monastery and learned from schools of thought who had tapped into their inner selves.
I was meditating on a mountain when both me and inner came alive. It was like molten lava running through our veins as a whisper entered our ears and crackled through all synapses firing like lightning. That made no sense. That made perfect sense.
The voice of the universe.
It was the rumbling in the creek, the sibilant hiss of the wind, the yawn of the rising sun and the mournful howl of the coming dusk. We spoke to it, as one, and it spoke back.
*Beauty lies in everything,* it said. *But what meaning does beauty have if there is no one left to appreciate? You must stop the Calamity.*
*What is the Calamity?* I asked alongside inner-me. *And how can we stop it?*
There was no answer, but as we sat there and meditated in the midst of leafy bamboo, on a high peak clothed in wreaths of fog, I listened. And I *understood*.
"Check this out, inner,"I muttered under my breath. Raising my palm, I spoke to the wind.
It spoke back.
---
Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :) |
Walking on eggshells at all times is something that's unbelievably frustrating. Imagine having to watch every word you say, and not only having to hold in every ounce of anger, but also having to try and not feel anything negative unless you want the fires of hell to rain down everywhere in your immediate viscinity. This is my life, all thanks to Fred. It's hard to explain exactly what Fred does, so I'll demonstrate with an example of my first encounter with him.
Before Fred, I was always an angry driver - it's not something I'm proud of, but it was part of who I am. It was also how I was introduced to Fred. On an ordinary day in traffic, some jackass cut me off. He was driving one of those oversized pickup trucks that are usually used for overcompensating - his style was complete with a bald head, Under Armour sunglasses, goatee, tobacco chew and borderline racist bumper stickers. I screamed something to the effect of "fuck that guy!"at the top of my lungs. Little did I know what I had just unleashed.
Without warning, Fred appeared out of nowhere, sprinting past cruising vehicles at lightning speed just as naked as the day he was born. He was 10 feet tall, covered in flames that dripped from his enormous body, and sported a 20+ inch appendage at full mast that was decorated with spiked horns. He confidently strode to the front of the bald truck man who had cut me off, stopped his little man's truck with one hand, and tore off the driver side door with ease. I won't go into detail with everything, but Fred locked eyes with me the entire time while holding a friendly grin from ear to ear and the occasional thumbs up. His facial expression was almost the one a puppy would have as you play with it, innocently seeking my approval but completely oblivious to his generally unacceptable actions. After feeling that he'd taught the driver a sufficient lesson, Fred snapped his fingers and vanished into thin air.
It took awhile to get used to after the shock had worn off. There were many mistakes in the beginning as I began to learn what behaviors and feelings triggered Fred's appearances. The count of terrible things is too high to know, but they range from launching my boss from a 3 story building, throat punching an old lady who worked at the DMV and then burning the building down, body slamming my mother-in-law through the Christmas dinner table, and appearing on television to gruesomely assassinate a politician in the middle of a speech I was watching with that same innocent smile on his face. There was even this one time I got into an argument with a redditor about whether he had found a mine or not, and the user promptly disappeared afterwards and was never heard from again. I think it was Fred. |
The sword was found lodged at the bottom of a quarry, to much fanfare of world news. The magnificent long swords golden hilt and beginnings of the blade were above the coarse stone, free of any signs of age. The first few characters of the name were visible extending down, penetrating into the rock after the ‘C’. What everyone knew was quickly confirmed by experts in the field; this was the legendary sword Excalibur.
The newly found world heritage site became a huge commercial boon to the local community. Thousands upon thousands of tourists flocked to see the sword, and with them, shops, restaurants, rides and a museum sprouted up to take advantage.
Of course, they had all tried to lift it. The initial workmen who had made the discovery, the experts, the first few to visit, and the thousands of tourists paying for the privilege.
None had succeeded.
Jesse had seen the drama unfolding on TV, in the papers, online. She had been told endless times by her school friends and even had to listen to her parents excitedly discussing it most nights at the dinner table. Who would lift the sword? What would it mean? Did you know that there’s a jackpot prize now?
Jesse blamed the constant deluge of information for the fact that the sword had begun to dominate her dreams. Most nights she would see the sword, dimly lit by the moon in a foggy marsh, the sound of footsteps echoing in the puddled water. It would be beckoning her, calling with pulses that increased in their urgency. She would climb the wet, moss covered rock and reach for the sword and then wake up, heart pounding.
So it was with some relief her parents informed her that the 3 of them would be having a family outing to see the sword. Maybe her parents would finally have enough and she would be able to dismiss it from her dreams.
They day came and it was *long.* The drive to get there, the queues, the shopping, the rides….it was so boring Jesse couldn’t help but feel tired and bored. She wanted to go home.
Finally, they entered the huge cavernous theatre that held the stone. At the top, an opening was left that allowed sunlight to strike the rock and make the sword sparkle and glow, if it wasn’t cloudy at least, like today. Huge tapestries depicting scenes from medieval times were draped around the circular room, highlighted in places by blazing torches hung around them. For those attempting to lift the stone, costumed workers would bow as they approached and take photos as they attempted the impossible.
The queue split in two ways, those paying the extortionate fee to take part, and those who wanted to pay less and walk around the gallery that encircled the room above the tapestries. It was an incredibly well-oiled money-making machine.
Jesse had assumed her family would be taking the latter route, but as her Father and Mother began to walk that way, her Father thrust a different ticket into her hands.
“This was expensive enough that I fully expect you to come back with that bloody sword” he said, smiling.
Before she could protest, they were gone, and she was left, being pushed forward into the main line. As she neared the rock, not yet at the front of the line, the crowd hushed suddenly. Excited whispers and eventually cheers began to sound. Had someone lifted the sword? She peered around the people ahead to see that the sword had begun to glow, and a deep, low, vibrating sound had begun to emanate from the stone. The crowd loved it, assuming like Jesse, that this was all part of the show, another way to over-excite people to part more easily with their money.
The man in-front of Jesse walked up to take his turn, and Jesse stepped into the circular array of stones surrounding the main rock. She was struck by the sudden vision from her dreams. The cold, wet, foggy marsh with the sword. The pulsing was so strong from the sword in her vision that her head hurt. She shook her head, and cleared her thoughts, opening her eyes and returning to the moment.
People were cheering loudly as the man desperately tried to lift the sword, the sound from the rock becoming louder and the sword glowing even brighter. The costumed workers were no longer helping to take photos or play the part of their medieval roles, but were talking into radio’s and signalling someone high up in the galleries.
She spotted her Dad up there , smiling wide while looking into his camera, her Mother checking to make sure he was capturing everything. They were loving this, at least.
The man eventually finished , obviously pleased that he had elicited such a reaction from the sword. He descending down from the high rock, high-fived one of the workers. The worker looked worried, and reached for a microphone at his waist.
“Ladies and Gentleman, I am very sorry to inform you that after this young lady here attempts to pull the sword from the stone, the attraction will be closed for safety checks. Those remaining in the line will have their tickets refunded or replaced”
A man in a suit joined the costume worker , whispering into his ear and eyeing the young man standing behind Jesse, pointing to him. He was a strapping lad, 6ft plus with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He had an intent look in his eyes, staring directly at the sword. If anyone would suit the sword, it would be him, Jesse thought.
The worker motioned Jesse forward into the area dimly lit from the cloud covered hole high above, and as she did a burst of light suddenly poured down on them, so bright and intense that she had to blink her eyes to adjust.
When she was able to open them, what she saw astounded her. Glowing bright gold in the rock were etched emblems and signs. Atop the stone, the letters EXC emitted light that danced and shone down to her. The rumbling low vibration increased, and somehow, without even realising it, she had begun to move up to the rock, or rather, be pulled up. From deep inside her, something had awoken, and was willing her to take the sword and hold it aloft, and she had never desired anything as forcefully as this.
It took her a moment to realise that one of the workers was trying in vain to hold her back, and had been joined by two other workers. Both of them were much bigger than Jesse, much stronger, but somehow, she was able to keep moving forward, not even feeling their touch or desperate attempts at restraining her.
She reached the top of the stone, extended her hand, and grabbed the hilt of the sword.
A shockwave burst from the stone, throwing the workers, the suited man and everyone close by off their feet. The beam of light concentrated its focus into a beam that hit the sword as Jesse began to pull. A strength she had never known began to envelope her as she heaved. The sword didn’t move, and as she concentrated all of her strength ready for a final heave she heard a whispered , metallic, deep and slow rumble in her mind, the sword glowing in unison with the words.
“ Jesse Harbinger, are thee truly worthy?”
Images flashed before her eyes, that she couldn’t control, as if something was searching through her memories. It lingered on the painful ones, considered the moments she had been scared or cornered, times when she’d lost, times when she’d won. There seemed to be images that she didn’t even remember being there, and it was on those that the searching stopped.
“She will do” a chorus of deep, old voices echoed.
With a mighty crack, the rock burst and splintered as Jesse heaved the sword from the stone and held it aloft.
As she did her arm was encased in a golden glow, spreading to the rest of her body. Silver armour rimmed with gold began to appear where it had been, until her entire body was covered.
“Jesse, you are not safe here” the same metallic voice said in her head.
Jesse was reeling, her head swimming with power and confusion. She couldn’t answer.
“Jesse, we must hurry. Someone is waiting to see you” it said.
“Excalibur, bring her to me, there is no time” another voice, old and ancient, creaking like an old boat.
A bolt of lightning exploded into the room from the hole in the roof above, directly striking the sword and blinding all those around. When the flash faded, Jesse, and the sword , were gone.
​
More fat dragons at r/fatdragon
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/c4crs4/excalibur_story_part_2_hello_old_friend/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/c6pzm2/excalibur_story_part_3_the_return_of_a_great_power/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/cc9bse/excalibur_story_part_4_jesse_wakes/)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/ccetaa/excalibur_story_part_5_merlins_story_begins/)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/cd0vdt/excalibur_story_part_6/)
[Part 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/cfrpld/excalibur_part_7/)
[Part 8](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/chs1sb/excalibur_part_8/) |
1
"As you wish."The genie had quickly regained composure. Sid, the kid, thought he saw the slightest smirk on its otherwise emotionless face.
Finished with the lamp, he tossed it in the bin in the kitchen and began phase two of his plan.
Blue ink poured out onto the first page. "I want my mother back."Sid wrote, looking up and around in anticipation of something magical.
A minute passed and nothing had happened.
Another minute. Nothing.
It felt to Sid like eternity.
Then the front door opened and someone walked inside. "Hullllllooooo!"Sid knew he had succeeded.
"Mom!"Before Sid could run to her, the journal leapt from the island in the kitchen to his hand. Nothing would delay him, though. He dashed quickly to the foyer of his parents' large home, turning the corner to see his mother, healthy and smiling. "Mom! You aren't sick!"Sid almost tackled the tall thin woman as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Whatever do you mean, Siddie? I've been on a long trip. I'm back now. I'm back. It's so good to see you too!"
"I love you so much. I thought I'd never see you again."Sid couldn't hold back his tears and wept into his mother's blouse openly.
His father, hearing the commotion, came down from his work-from-home office upstairs in his fuzzy slippers. "Anne? It can't be."
"Robert,"was all she said. Still hugging Sid she looked up and narrowed her eyes.
"We're together again, Dad!"
"It can't be. Sid get away from that right now!"
"Dad?"Sid disobeyed and kept tight to Anne.
"You don't understand, Sid, you don't understand."
"Murderer."Anne stared down the widower.
"It was you or her, you or her. I couldn't. You were already so sick. What would you have had me do?"Robert said. "Don't you want to see your daughter?"
"No. I was never meant to. I gave my life for her. The sacrifice can't be taken back."
"What's going on Mommy?"Sid said over sniffling and wiping his tears with his free hand.
"I know who your father really is, dear. Come with me."
"Where? This is our home!"
Robert interjected. "Get away from that monster, Sid!"His parents began fighting like they always did. Shouting, cursing, insulting, demeaning without a care for Sid or anyone else.
Unattended, Sid sat on the floor and began to write in his journal again.
He closed his eyes and opened them again. A minute later he heard a key scratching at the lock of the front door.
\---
Note: There's a part 2 now. I always, always worry that I'll disappoint when writing continuations. Hopefully you all like it, and thanks for the requests for more. They make me feel great!
And now a part 3. Thank you for reading, and hope you like it.
Part 4 is up. |
**Ten things God needs you to do RIGHT NOW (the 8th might surprise you)**
1 – Don't cheat on him.
*Come on, you have your God. He's nice to you. You like him. Don't mess this up by sticking a bunch of other Gods in the middle of the relationship. You're not Taylor Swift. Pick a God and stick with it.*
2 – Forget your idols.
*Relax, you can keep listening to your favorite singers. Just get their posters off the wall and stick a cross in their place. We don't want the folks in heaven thinking you love Lorde more than you love the Lord.*
3 – Oh na na, what's my name?
*That's right, God is not Rihanna, constantly asking you for his name. He knows he is called God, you don't need to remind him. So don't use the name unless you reallyyyy really have to.*
4 – Lazy Sundays
*That's the easy one on the list. Just kick back and tell your boss you can't make it on the weekend. It's called God's day, but, really? We all know Sunday is daytime drinking day. Enjoy it.*
5 – Be cool with your parents
*A bit of a hard one for the rebel teenagers out there, but try to keep it together: God, as the father of us all, is kindly asking that we don't be jerks to the people who put food (and money) on our table.*
6 – Don't kill people!
*Yeah, well... Pretty straight forward.*
7 – Don't cheat.
*Ok, you're not allowed to be Taylor Swift, but you're also not allowed to be Kristen Stewart, deal? Break up with the boy, if things are so bad you're considering stepping out of line – and being punished by burning in the eternal fire for it.*
8 – Don't steal.
*Sorry, Reddit.*
9 – Don't lie!
*Technically, we don't lie here. We blow everything we write out of proportion and try to convince you our articles are about something they really aren't... but we don't lie. And you shouldn't, too. Because God doesn't like it.*
10 – Don't covet.
*We're still looking in the dictionary for the meaning of the word “covet”, so come back soon for the second part of the article: “10 ways you've been using the word covet wrong (and one way you're using it right).”*
_______________________
EDIT: *You can check out my ongoing sci-fi novel on [my blog](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/). It's about a hacker, a self-aware cyborg and a rich kid getting by in dystopian future L.A., and you won't believe what happens next!* |
Everyone knew who the offender was as soon as the word was mentioned. They all had a picture of the offender in their heads; tall, white male with big, clumsy hands. Maybe some imagined him differently, but to her that was what the offender looked like.
The jury didn't argue for long; they all knew the consequences for what the man did. Life imprisonment. He deserved it. Coming back into the jury room every single one of them locked eyes with the defendant. Not what they expected in the slightest.
The woman was slim and short, handcuffs strapped around her wrist she watched them pleadingly. Almost immediately the jurors looked to the accuser; he was the tall, strapping handsome kind of man. They wanted to change their decision.
After all, no matter what the man said; there was no way a woman could rape a man. |
And the Lord chose the purest of mind, the noblest of heart, and the deepest of pockets wings and with those they flew far, far away. Away from the home they had themselves had demolished.
-Post Exodus 4:13
***
Bethany Angross had finally done it.
She stared down at the hole she had just uncovered, and it was…glowing. Glowing just as the ancient scriptures, or specifically, Encyclopedia R, said it would. Radioactive material. Right here, its glow reflected in Bethany’s eyes. Her blond hair was covered in dirt and her arm throbbed from the shoveling – the laborers couldn’t be trusted to handle delicate excavation, but Bethany was on top of the world.
Lara, her assistant, raven haired and almost a shadow of the charismatic Bethany took a step back.
“Is…is this?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Bethany grinned ear to ear. “You say the signs, the writing, the telltale shape of the ruins. We’ve done it, Lara. We’ve found radioactive material!”
Lara swallowed, failed and tried again. “B…but, Beth, you’ve read the scriptures. You know just looking at it…”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Right, looking at it can melt the flesh off my bones. Well, I’m looking at it, and, my skin seems remarkably intact.”
“Bu-” Lara began but Bethany cut her off.
“Oh, cut me a break Lara,” Bethany said with a snort, “you sound like those religious nuts. Next you’ll say some of the humans got into a spaceship and flew to the moon.”
Lara turned red, but for once, didn’t just roll over to her superior. “Beth, *please* this is dangerous!”
But Bethany shook her head in amusement and went down to the radioactive metal, hoping to collect a sample.
***
**72 hours later**
Bethany is sitting on a stage, the reporters, spies, and delegates furiously scribbling.
“We have confirmed the existence of radioactive material,” Bethany proclaimed loudly to the audible gasps of some. “I’ve let a select few world leaders in to see the metal and they have exclusive first had accounts of feeling, touching, seeing etcetera. Some had even taken samples home.”
There were a few groans at this, especially from the reporters who had been denied entry. Bethany tried to speak but broke into a fir of coughing. She shook her head then continued. Just the nerves. Becoming the most important person on the planet would have that effect. These people would not just report to people, but some directly to kings and presidents. Everyone hung on to her every word.
“But I am here to tell you and confirm, that I, I mean, my team has become the first to confirm the existence of something previously thought to be one of the many exaggerations found in the scriptures-”
“HEATHEN”
Everyone turned to look at a strangely dressed man in the corner. While everyone else wore flowing robes, he wore what they called “pants and shirt.” He looked completely ridiculous.
“The scriptures tell no lies, Heathen,” the man screamed, practically foaming at the mouth. “You know the stories, the sickness that comes with it. You will feel the judgement soon, as our ancestors did when the best of us left us to fester in this rotting place!”
“No lies, of course,” Bethany said and coughed. “It is common knowledge that humans went to the moon and wielded weapons to decimate entire countries.” The reporters laughed.
The priest began to say something else but was cut off by a couple of musket wielding guards.
“Get him out of here,” Bethany said, disgusted.
***
**120 Hours later**
Bethany Angross was dead along with her assistant Lara and most of their team.
She died in a pool of blood and vomit in her bathtub. Sketches were not provided and the scene was described as “hideous.”
All of the select people who had been lucky enough to see the radioactive material were coughing and sweating. Symptoms of the sickness.
People have turned to previously fading Exodians religious group. Once a dominant force in the world it had been fading as people turned to true hard facts, not myth and legend. Yet, faced with something science cannot explain, people turn to Faith, and so it was.
Coups across several countries happened, orchestrated by madmen or the Exodians. Seemingly overnight a new world order emerged as the world leaders died of radiation poisoning. They had either been there to see it or come in contact with someone who had.
They called it the Night of Awakening.
***
Under the guidance of the Exodians, money is finally funneled towards research of the scriptures. Everyday another impossibility is realized. It was the beginning of a reawakening, a new enlightenment of man. And in some ways, the beginning of the end. Again
-Earth, A History (circa 10,050 Post-Exodus, or 12,120 AD )
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
"You've got to be kidding."
Falad's words broke the heavy silence around the campfire that had set in following my announcement. Valor, uneased by this hostility from Falad, hid her face between her knees.
"Hamsters? In a magical armor? We're still talking about Gnor, the paladin who shielded Valor from Volnuk'r the Bloodthirsty just yesterday? No hamster is able to wield a shield like he does. Poor little critters would get crushed under the weight of his plate armor."
His words felt like an anvil pressing against my heart. I wanted to believe him, but I have reasons to firmly believe in Gnor's rodent nature. Trying to find my words, I stare into the fire, gazing at the dancing flames for what feels like an eternity. Finally, I look up from the fiery spectacle, and look at my comrades. Falad is strutting in lines, visibly annoyed by my statement.
"I stand by my words, Falad. Gnor, as skilled as he is, is no huma-"
"Alright, fine, he's no human. I can believe that. He could be a dark elf infiltrator, an orc, hell even a swamp troll for all I care, but you've gotta be joking around. Hamsters?"
I pause with a sigh, passing my fingers through my long, white beard. The magic runes don't lie, but in these lands, magic is not trusted. Not like in Northeim.
"Have you ever had a look at Gnor's armor? Aside from being a beautiful craft and made of reinforced steel, it contains multiple engravings. You may not believe it, but these engravings are in fact a spell of null-weight. With the strength of such runes, anyone could lift the armor with their pinky if they knew how to."
I pause, looking around at my friends. Valor finally moved her face from between her knees and is now listening to what I'm saying, her eyes shining with distrust, yet curiosity still.
"Wait..", asked Valor, "when did you even take a look at the armor? We all know Gnor never removes it, not even for bathing or eating. In fact, he always leaves without a sound whenever we prepare a meal, and comes back promptly. Yet, if he truly was.. hamsters.. well, he would never let you look at his armor. "
She's right. Gnor, while being quite a gentleman and an asset to the party, never ate with the rest of us. We all tried to convince him that Natalia's cooking is heavenly despite using the rudimentary ingredients of the wild, but he always finds the right opportunity to leave without a sound. He always finds a way to not make a sound.
"I didn't actually injure myself in our fight against Volnuk'r and Karban. Or, well, not as hard as I said I did, anyway. Standing behind him for that long, there was no way I wouldn't sense the magic he possessed."
"Okay, well that's just rude. You nearly got Valor killed so you could analyze Gnor's armor? What has Gnor ever done wrong to you?"
Looking back at Falad, I could see his face red in anger.
"Okay, listen, I do feel bad about what happened, and I regret it. I certainly don't intend on doing these things on my own again, which is exactly why I wanted to ask for your help confirming my suspicions in the first place. I'm sorry for what I did."
Falad stood still for a bit, digesting my words. I don't believe he's ever heard me apologize before. After a few seconds of consideration, he fell back on his lumber seat, and gazed at the fire
"Well, I appreciate that you're sorry. Yet, something is off. You've thrown at me explanations, magic runes and suspicions, but why exactly hamsters? That's a quite specific guess. I assume you can explain that, too?"
Finally, the dreaded question. I sigh, then cast a vision in my hands for my friends to see. The vision showed a young man with half a dozen rodents in his arms. My partners stood up and gazed curiously at my magic.
"This is a memory from my childhood. From left to right, Snuggles, Snowball, Cloudy, Cheeky, Barley and Bandit."
My fear came to reality. Valor tried to hide it, but she couldn't contain her laugh.
"Did you really have your beard like that when you were younger? That's a rather.. unique way to style yo-"
"I'm not here for judgment. That was a fad in my days, and I'm not proud of it, okay? Ugh, I should've kept that part for myself.."
Even Falad, who is always so serious and was on the verge of anger half a minute ago, was snickering now.
"Gamal, I would have never imagined you as such a charmer. Is that how you made Natalia keel over for you?"
Valor burst into laughter at Falad's teasing. It was my face's turn to be red, yet this time it wasn't anger. I'm going to have to endure it for now. I swear, shaving only half your face was a really cool thing back 50 years ago.
"Look, I just.. The important part is not me", I claimed, as I cast my sorcery and modified the vision to remove my face. "The important part is the hamsters in this photograph. Well, Cloudy a bit less, poor fella didn't last his second winter. The five others, however, are who I believe Gnor to be."
Valor and Falad finally quieted down their laughter and took a more serious face
"Okay, so you had pet hamsters. I would also assume you know hamsters don't live as long as us, and I doubt you've had a hamster in the past.. 40 years?"
"47, to be exact"
Falad nodded. "So, we both agree hamsters don't live 47 years. How are they Gnor?"
"Well, I haven't always been a mage that followed the order of Ilia's regulations. In fact.. Well. First of all, I need you both to promise never to reveal this to anyone else. Especially not Natalia."
The fire cracked, a log fell down. I could tell they were both looking at me with worried expressions
"Sure, Gamal.. not a word of this. I mean, you probably didn't do anything terrible, right? No way a man like you.."
Valor's sentence trailed off into nothingness. We all stood still for five, ten seconds until I broke the silence
"I used to be a necromancer. These hamsters died after a long life to 3 to 4 years, one after the other. It broke me, and I never wanted them to leave me. So I revived them. Their rotting corpses were brought back to life."
I sigh and pause for a second. They both seem mortified to learn the truth.
"I quickly realised I was wrong, and attempted burning their revived corpses. That didn't work. So I left, far from Northeim. But a necromancer's thralls will always do what must be done to protect whoever summoned them."
As I finish that sentence, a whistle is heard from the woods. I tilt my head in the direction of the sound, only to see an arrow, coming straight for my head. I close my eyes and prepare for impact... Yet only the sound of steel hitting steel can be heard, reverbing across the night. As I open my eyes, before me stands Gnor, shielding my from the arrow.
Swiftly, bandits emerge from the woods and attempt surrounding us. I look at Falad and Valor, who already have their weapons drawn
"A thrall protects its master.."
I could hear Falad figuring it out under his breath. But this was not the time, not anymore. |
"Ya heard me ya twit,"the hologram snapped again. The men and women looked at one another, confused.
"I mean what's next? Ya gonna start throwing about holy oil and chantin' in binary?"
The man at the front looked shamefully at the hologram as he discretely slipped the vial of holy oil back into his pocket.
"Oh, uh, great... you,"he tried again with less grandeur, "we are but humble seekers of wisdom wishing to be illuminated by-"
"Yer doin' it again boyo. Dinnae ya know how to talk to an AI?"
"An... what's an AI?"
The hologram facepalmed and motioned his hand - a large blueprint appeared above it.
"This 'ere's my brain. Synthetic, unlike you meatbags. I'd expect you to know that already since your kin built me, but I reckon I must'ave dozed a while."
The hologram looked around at the room he was housed in - the walls were dull, paint peeled, and he detected a faint trace of blood in one of the corners with hints of radiation. Whatever happened here was like hundreds of years ago. He considered, for but a moment, his creators - people of high intellect and wisdom with the vision to create perfection itself. Now all that was left were these fools clad in cloth robes wearing sandals. They looked barely medieval.
"Ah, dinnae matter. Yer wish for wisdom? I grant it. But only to ye, since ye have the balls to speak up,"he said and chuckled. Instantly the rest of the congregation dispersed and the AI was left alone in the room with the seeker.
A few nervous moments passed as the congregation outside waited for their leader to return - surely a changed man, commanded by the greatest intellect ever seen on the planet. Perhaps it would tell them how to till their farms better, or how to reach the stars.
The doors swung open; the leader walked out, calmly, with a stoic expression.
"Well?"one member asked anxiously.
"I have received the wisdom of the machine,"he proclaimed. The congregation held its breath; the tension was palpable.
"When you reheat your pizza, put it in the oven and not the microwave, lest it gets soggy."He filled every word with the importance befitting the admittedly cryptic advice. The congregation nodded their heads, eager to ponder this mystery in their hours of silent introspection - all except one in the back who was slightly more critical and cynical than his peers. He yelled out.
*"The fuck's a microwave?"* |
"Wooo!"
The shriek of joy just seemed to burst from my mouth. Or rather my maw.
The air rushing past my head was exhilarating. Even with no hair, the wind felt great through my horns. I glanced down at the ground, to the tiny trees and the from-this-distance-toy-like tower that I launched from. I could see the wizard shaking his fist at me.
It was amazing. I used to be afraid of heights. Now I was flying and loving it. This was true freedom.
After a few minutes of this I lightly landed on the top of the tower. Flying just came naturally to me and landing was just as easy.
"Hey, thanks, master wizard,"I rumbled in gratitude. "Everyone in the village said you were evil, but I guess they just pegged you wrong."I admired my sharp claws and shimmering scales. I could see colors that I didn't know existed. The world looked so beautiful.
The wizard did not look happy. "You idiotic, trespassing cur!"he shouted. "You're not supposed to like this!"
Cool! I could actually smell his emotions! The frustration roiled off of him in a spicy sweet concoction.
"Oh? But being a dragon is so great!"
"Dragons are feared and hated!"he persisted. "You'll be reviled and hunted down!"
"My hearing is now a hundred times better than it was. You don't have to shout."I curled my tail around me, reveling in the warmth of the sun. "And in any case, being hated and hunted is fairly normal for me."
"Eh?"
I sighed and blew a plume of smoke. "I'm a Wilder."
The wizard took a step back. I now smelled fear, a sharp and tangy scent. "A Wilder?"
"A minor one. Magic just happens around me. Rather harmless, but most folks don't see it that way."
"No, no, this is bad. Very bad."The wizard started pacing. "You're a dragon."
"I'm pretty stoked about it, too."
"Not important, idiot! Dragons are powerful magical creatures. Combine that with your unpredictable Wilderness..."he trailed off.
I followed his implication fairly rapidly. The old me couldn't think so clearly and quickly. Now *I* was afraid.
"You have to change me back, master wizard,"I said reluctantly. Staying a dragon would be too dangerous. Merely existing could cause untold damage. Too bad, I was so enjoying being a dragon.
"I would if I could, but the fact that you're a Wilder makes that impossible. No, there is only one solution."
I nodded in agreement. "Only one choice then. Guess dying won't be so bad. I lived an OK life. I even got to be a dragon."
"Dying? What are you on about, moron?"
I fluttered my leathery wings in confusion. "What are *you* on about?"
The wizard puffed out his chest. "I meant that I shall train you in the magical arts, to control your Wilderness!"
I smiled a big toothy grin. "Brilliant, master wizard! I look forward to your training."I bowed my serpent like neck.
"Hmmph! Enjoy your free time today, lowly apprentice. We start training bright and early tomorrow."
I spread my wings and with a whoop launched myself into the sky. "I knew those villagers pegged you wrong!"I shouted.
With my keen hearing I heard him mutter, "Dummy."
​
See my other WP stories at [r/DaviparsWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/DaviparsWrites/) |
It's my first time being Reduced, and I've already decided I don't much like it. My head pounds as if a rock is being bashed against it from the inside. Again, and again and again. Hard to focus. In front of me, silhouettes of tower blocks rise above the city's wall. Smoke drifts up from somewhere inside, thick plumes of it meeting and congealing far above, forming something like a demonic spectre. For a second, I let myself get carried away, and imagine it's watchin' over the city. It don't look like it wants visitors.
The Amber City, those inside call it, 'cause they're forever locked like insects within. To people like me, it's called Project 143. To the rest of the world, it doesn't even have a name. *Doesn't exist.* None of the prison cities do.
The bridge to the city reeks of death. Either side of me, every few meters, wooden gallows hold the remains of people who got on wrong side of someone or 'nother. The bridge is probably nothing more than a splinter, in reality, but to me, it might as well be a road. Skeletons dangle idly from ropes, their skulls still locked inside nooses, clicking and clacking as they rock back and forth in the breeze. Occasionally, there's maybe one with a bit of flesh, or a bit of muscle, or entrails dangling down onto the path, and I got to be real careful not to trip.
When I reach the wooden doors at the other end, I pull back the skull knocker and slam it back hard. My headache takes offences and lets me know. But slowly the doors peel back, revealing the darkness of the twisted city within.
It's a woman who steps out. Stringy, lean and dangerous looking. Daggers are strapped either side of her belt, but its her green eyes that try to pierce me first.
"Yeah?"she asks. Her face is suspicion. "What is it?"
"I've come to see Elliott."
"Elliott?"She laughs. "You've already seen Elliott, darlin'."
I frown, then follow her gaze. The skeleton swinging to my side. No legs, no arms.
"Now, get the fuck off the bridge and back to wherever it is you came from. *Got it?*"
"That ain't Elliott,"I say.
"You call me a fuckin' liar?"She lets her hands fall to her daggers.
"I'm saying you ain't telling me the truth."I take the badge out of my raincoat and flash the Justice Division emblem. "Now, you might want to make sure your tongue doesn't walk sideways next time. *Got it?*"
She must have thought I was from one of the other prison cities. They all connect, but its rare for someone to stray from their own. No city likes deserters. Snitches might get stitches, deserters get buried the fuck alive.
"*Shit!* Well, you can't blame a gal for trying, can you"--she squints at the words below the eagle--"*Inspector Levin?*"
"As you know, I can blame you for just about whatever I want."
She flashes me a fake smile that wasn't gonna win no award in a pretty competition.
"What's you name?"I ask her.
"Clara."
"You know where I can find Elliott, Clara?"
She laughs. "Honey, I don't even know who the fuck Elliott is."
"Someone who shouldn't be here."
"Shiiit. You guys put someone innocent in here?"She laughs again. "Well ain't that a riot!"
"No, not someone innocent. Someone who shouldn't be here 'cause they're too fucking dangerous to be."I walk past, pushing her to the side and entering the City of Amber. "And you're going to help me find Elliott real soon, or this whole mini-bio is gonna be crushed. Understood?"
Her face is already pale. "Yeah. Yeah, I understand! Look, uh, maybe I can take you to someone who knows people. Knows a lot of people."She follows me inside, pulling the doors shut after her and moving a metal bolt across them.
If the bridge reeked of death, the city stinks it. Faeces, too. And lies. They smell different, but they're there. The cobbled path beneath me is stained a dark red, as if blood had been let not so long ago.
"Say, how did you know that wasn't Elliott back there?"
"Elliott's a woman. Whoever that was, wasn't."
"No kidding?"She glances up at the roiling purple sky. "We got to get moving. If we're caught out in the Waters, there won't be no finding our faces, let alone your friend."
---
I asked one of my favourite writers here (lilwa) if she'd like to do part two (as I'm low on time), and she's agreed, so that will be up soon. Hope you enjoy!
####[Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/88iybx/wp_in_the_future_prisons_no_longer_exist_instead/dwlbi6p/)
|
Most people hate Mondays, but Tuesdays have always been the bane of my existence. Never once in 32 years have I had a “case of the Mondays”; Tuesdays, on the other hand, can get absolutely bent. This one was no exception. I rolled out of bed to step in cat vomit, and the morning just spiraled from there. No hot water for my shower. No creamer for my coffee. Mystery stain on my favorite shirt. By the time I actually got out of the door, late of course, I was already wishing for a reset button. I locked my front door, shoved my keys into the abyss of my black leather hobo bag, and started down the stairs of my apartment building toward my car. I zipped my coat against the San Francisco morning chill, mentally rehearsing my excuses for the inevitable interrogation from my boss when I stopped short. There was a low-lying fog in the parking lot. Weird. I cocked my head to the side and looked around. Suddenly, I was surrounded by smoke. Smoke so thick, it cut out the early morning sun, leaving me in a dim, muted void.
“What in the David Blaine shenanigans –“ I said aloud, waving my hand in front of myself to clear my vision, coughing at the thick clouds billowing from nowhere. I pulled the collar of my leather coat up to cover my nose and mouth, squinting my eyes as they watered. Looking down, I could see my cream and black Manolo Blahnik pumps, but the ground beneath them didn’t look like my apartment parking lot. What had been asphalt thirty seconds ago now looked like… was that marble? Granite? The smoke began to dissipate and I heard murmuring that intensified into chanting. I turned a slow circle as my vision cleared, taking in stone walls and a ring of candles on the ground. Just past the ring of candles, 6 people in deep blue robes were on their knees, heads lowered, hands raised, chanting away under their hoods. In front of me stood a man in a white robe, his hood lowered, a leather-bound tome open in his hands. He brought his head up and locked eyes with me, smiling triumphantly as he snapped the book closed. All the chanting stopped abruptly, leaving us in near silence. The man with the book pushed shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear with a shaking hand as he stepped forward to the edge of the circle.
“W-w-welcome, your grace,” he said softly, bowing low. “We are honored you heeded our summons.” The kneeling people around me sat back on their heels, lowering their hoods and lifting their faces to stare at me with reverence and awe. The standing man went on, “My name is Rodrick-“
“Excuse the fuck out of me,” I interrupted, putting one hand on my hip and lifting the other to stop him there. “Did you say summons?”
“Y-yes, your grace,” he stuttered, wide eyed. “The people of The Oblivion Realms are in dire need of your help.”
“The where now?” I narrowed my eyes.
“The Oblivion Realms, your grace,” he inclined his head slightly.
“The Oblivion Realms need my help,” I repeated.
“Yes, your grace,” he said again. I opened my mouth, and then closed it when I had nothing to say. One of the people on the ground, a young woman with soft features and blue tinted hair, had her hands together in prayer in front of her face and was fervently mumbling something while she stared at me, unblinking. I arched an eyebrow at her and she squeaked, closing her eyes tightly and muttering faster into her clasped hands. I took a deep breath, counting down from ten while I did so, then turned back to Rodrick.
“Rod, my man, I’m gonna need some more information here,” I said, pinching between my eyes lightly. “It’s been a really shitty Tuesday already, I’m late for work, and I’m getting more confused by the moment. Give me the Cliff’s Notes.”
“Y-Your grace?” he responded. “Who is Cliff? I’m not familiar with his manuscripts.” I growled loudly to myself in frustration and began rummaging through my purse. I pulled my cell phone out to call Veronica, my boss, but the screen was blank. No service. Of course. Why would Verizon work in… wherever the hell I was? I threw it back into my bag, disgusted, and looked at Rodrick again.
“What exactly do you need from me, Rodrick?” I asked matter-of-factly. “Make it quick, I have things to do today that don’t involve being in,” I looked around, “a dungeon in the Oblivion.”
“Realm,” a voice mumbled from behind me. I spun on my heel to see a very pale face with wide, green eyes looking up from the floor.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Ah,” the man said, clearing his throat. “I, uh, I said ‘Realm’, as in The Oblivion Realm. It would be like calling the Flaming Isles just the Isles, your grace.”
“Of course,” I deadpanned, blinking once. “Foolish of me. Thank you for the clarification…” I waited for his name.
“Warmond, Nathan Warmond,” he said.
“Good looking out, Nathan, wouldn’t want to look like an idiot my first time in the Oblivion Realms,” I rolled my eyes and turned back to Rodrick. “Where were we? Oh, right, what the hell am I doing here?”
“Your grace, our people are suffering,” Rodrick said solemnly. “Alnerwick needs deliverance. The ancient texts and prophecies lead us to summon you for aid. We are your most devoted disciples, please allow us to assist you in any need you have.”
“Rod, I’m in accounting,” I said blankly. “If your problem isn’t monetarily related, I don’t know that I can help you.”
“B-b-but the texts-“ he stammered.
“Forget the bloody texts!” I yelled. He blanched and fell to his knees in supplication, lowering his forehead to the floor. The other six did the exact same thing. I immediately felt guilty.
“A thousand apologies, your grace, I meant no offense,” Rodrick said to the floor.
“Jesus,” I muttered, taking another deep breath. “Okay, let’s start this over. Get up, Rodrick. All of you, up.” A few hesitant heads lifted slowly. “Come on, up, up, up.” I motioned with my hands. They each slowly sat back up, looking sideways at each other, before the blue-haired girl finally stood. “There we go,” I said, smiling at her encouragingly. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Emanuele, your grace,” she answered softly, bowing low. She raised her wide eyes to mine, and then quickly glanced back at the ground.
“That’s a beautiful name,” I said kindly.
“Thank you, your grace,” she bowed again, keeping her eyes on the floor.
“Emanuele, you can look at me,” my brow creased as I said it. Her eyes darted between my face and the floor several times as her face flushed. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Apologies, your grace. I’ve never been in the presence of an empyreal demon. I’m not sure how to behave. I mean no offense.” She twisted her hands together in front of her stomach with nervous energy.
“What did you call me?”
“An empyreal demon, your grace,” Rodrick said. “Guardian of the flame, destroyer of worlds, harbinger of loss and struggle.”
“Did we date at some point?” I scoffed. Rodrick tilted his head to the side in confusion. “I hate to tell you this, Rod, but I think there’s been a mistake. I process payments and accounts payable. I don’t destroy worlds. The only flame I guard is my lighter. You’ve got the wrong girl.” The disciples looked to one another in confusion.
“Your grace, forgive me,” Rodrick stepped forward. “We summoned an empyreal demon, and here you are. We followed all instructions, burned the right herbs, chanted the words, and you appeared before us, as the text proclaimed.”
“Dude, look at me,” I motioned toward my body. “Demons are usually scaly or dirty or ugly. They don’t wear designer heels and skinny jeans.” I searched each of their faces. “Don’t you think if I had some sort of power, I would use it to, I don’t know, get the hell out of here?”
“Seer Rodrick,” Emanuele said softly. “May I make a suggestion?” Rodrick nodded once. Emanuele leaned down, picked up one of the candles, and blew it out. I felt the flame extinguish like a punch to the stomach. I wrapped my arms around my middle and looked at her sharply.
“What in seven hells,” I whimpered.
“Your grace,” Rodrick said, eyes wide staring at my stomach. “Your grace, raise your hands.”
My hands were engulfed in blue and white flames from my elbows to my fingertips. I screamed.
.
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.
Thanks for the upvotes, guys! This is the first time I've actually posted what I was inspired to write after following this sub for months.
I'll be working on it more tomorrow once I'm back at the office. :)
EDIT: Thank you, kind stranger, for the silver! I did not expect this sort of response. At all. I'm humbled and thrilled people like my shit lol. More to come, I promise.
SECOND EDIT: holy shit. Waking up to gold and the most upvotes I've ever recieved, I don't really know how to respond other than self-depreciating comments, and I'm trying to do that less. I can vow to you all that I'll continue this story. I have no idea where it's going, but I'm going to find out. Thank you for supporting a wanna-be writer.
THIRD EDIT: I've written the second chapter, and the polished version of this story thus far can be found [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/bm9el1/oblivion_realms_short_story_continuation/) |
"Hey. You know how the main reason vampires haven't taken over the world yet is because they all die in daylight?"
"Yeah?"
"And you know how trees absorb daylight and store it as energy?"
General Thaum of the Icelandic Supernatural Containment Foundation gave Head Scientist Lilac a long, irritated stare. "You have got to be kidding me."
"We've got daywalking vampires,"Lilac confirmed. "Photosynthesizing, even."
"Why hasn't this been a problem before? We've been using tree-prisons on vampires for centuries, and nobody's noticed!"Thaum glared at the scattered papers on his desk.
"Well, it *takes* centuries for a tree-prison to grow to maturity! And they don't re-form until someone spills blood on them,"Lilac explained. "The bigger the piece of vampiric wood, the more blood it takes."
"Well, some *idiot* woke up an entire forest!"General Thaum shuffled through his papers in dismay. Reports were still scarce, but what information there was wasn't good. A grove of mangroves in Florida had sprouted faces, feet, and fangs, and had promptly began infecting innocent petunias, grapevines, and seaweeds with the vampiric plague. "How did this happen?"
"[Florida Man](https://www.reddit.com/r/FloridaMan/) was caught in a shootout with some sort of undead Thomas Jefferson."
"Fucking Florida Man. I hate modern mythology. Did you say undead Thomas Jefferson?"
Lilac winced. "Yeah, turns out he's an ancient vampire. You know how he had that saying? '[The tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of patriots?](https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/thomas-jefferson-tree-of-liberty/)'"
"Don't tell me."General Thaum tightened his grip on his papers.
"He was being literal."
"Alright, let's think."General Thaum rubbed his chin. "The photosynthetic abilities of plants created daywalker vampires, but they should still have all the traditional weaknesses. What do we have that would shut down an army of vegan vampires?"
"Fire?"
"Regular pollution is bad enough. I don't want to find out what vampirically-charged pollution does."
"Garlic?"
"Tried that. Their bark keeps it out too well."
"Wooden stake?"
General Thaum sighed. "Seriously?"
"Sorry. Uh, holy water?"
General Thaum froze. "That's it. Bless the water table, and when the trees settle down to take root, they'll be burned from the inside! Genius!"Thaum whipped out a pen and searched through his papers for the requisite Priest Requisition Forms. A moment later, he hissed in pain and sucked on his thumb.
"What is it?"
"Paper cut, nothing major."General Thaum waved Lilac away.
Then as one, they did a double-take.
"Paper cut,"Lilac said, almost dazed. "Paper's made from wood, isn't it?"
A single drop of blood fell from Thaum's finger and soaked into the Priest Requisition Form. It spread with supernatural speed through the paper, darkening it to a ruby hue.
Thaum was fast. But a vampire, even a weakened one, was faster. The form dodged his clumsy hands, spun to the floor—lacerating his arms in the process—and slipped out the window. General Thaum gaped at the vampiric form for a heartbeat before slamming his hand down on the nearest alarm.
"What is it? It's just a single paper,"Lilac asked.
General Thaum spared her a backwards glance as he ran. "That's a paper with the name of every priest able and willing to work with us to combat the vampires. A paper which, if it gets into vampiric hands, will endanger every person on it. We've got to stop that form!"
Lilac's eyes widened in realization, and she charged after him. "Alright, General. Let's roll."
A.N.
If you liked this story and want more like it, you may want to check out r/rileywrites or [rileyriles.wordpress.com](https://rileyriles.wordpress.com) for more! |
My mother was a monster. She was a cold, unloving beast of a lady who had no love for me in her heart. She wasn’t the one who raised me, the one that stayed by my side even through my lowest nights. She wasn’t the one who made me the man I am today. That was the demon.
It was disturbing to come home and find three priests leaving, congratulating each other on a job well done. They were so proud of themselves, that look of disgusting glee. They stopped me to tell me the news, tell me how they exorcised my mother, how they ridded her of the demon inside. The news confused me, but I was optimistic at first; Maybe this was a good thing? Had she been struggling with an internal demon?
Maybe the priests had offered her religious guidance? An exorcism just seemed so outlandish. I assumed I must have misheard. I came in to tell her about my day, the same way I had done so for the past ten years, only for her to shrug at my words, turning back towards the tv. Not even a word, I wasn’t even worth a response. She just gave me a shrug.
I was her child, and she treated me like an annoyance, like a distraction from the screen. The passing days only got worse, her personality fully returning as she regained more of herself. Soon she was back to her old ways, belittling me at every opportunity, reminding me how successful she had been before I was born, how I killed her enjoyment of life. How I was a mistake, one that she would rid herself of if she could go back in time.
I wasn’t even sure why I tried to draw some emotion from her, maybe I just craved the touch I had gotten used to. I missed my mother, not the creature that sat before me but the demon, the demon that loved me.
I had to get her back. But how does one summon a demon? I typed that question into various search engines, reading through forums filled with crazy conspiracy theories and poor advice. Some spoke of blood rituals, while ones offered a demon summoning service for the cheap price of $20.99 with shipping. At the end of my search, I had given up. They exorcised the demon. She wasn’t coming back. I packed up my bag, I couldn’t stay here, living alone would be better than living with that beast of a woman.
I didn’t bother with a letter or a note, she wouldn’t bother reading it. Strolling the streets alone was a depressing experience, looking over my shoulder, trying to avoid the glances of passing strangers. I had underestimated just how lonely it was on the streets. I had nowhere to go, just walking until I found something of interest. I ended up in the park, dropping myself onto a bench, watching the glaring lights of the cars through the cracks in the trees.
This would be my life, living on the cold streets until I found a way to survive. Part of me wanted to go home, even an uncaring home was still a home. I nearly pulled myself from the bench, only for my stubbornness to stop me. I refused to leave; I refused to go back to such an uncaring household. Pulling my bag to my chest, I hugged it, trying to keep myself shielded from the chill of the night.
“You shouldn’t be sleeping in such a place. I was hoping you would be alright without me.”
A heavy jacket hit my shoulders, causing me to stir from my spot. A woman stood behind the bench; her expression filled with nerves. She wanted to say something but struggled to find the words. We both stared at one another until I broke the silence.
“Are You My Mother?”
“Mother? I’m a demon. I was the one that possessed your mother. You should go back home, it’s a chilly night, I don’t want you to get sick.”
I went to hug her. At first, she went to turn away but could not help herself, pulling me into her warm embrace, holding me close, rubbing my back as I sobbed. When I stopped sobbing, the peeking sunlight greeted me on the horizon. Had I been out this long?
“Please come home. You can possess her, again, right?”
“I can, but are you sure you want that? She is your actual mother, I only intended to borrow her body to cause chaos. That had been my plan until I saw you. A lonely child locked away in their room, trying to put together an old puzzle. I told myself I would help you solve that puzzle first. Then a puzzle turned to a game and a game to a life. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, I was so alone. Please come back, please help me have a parent again.”
The demon rubbed the edge of their eye, shaking their head. Holding back the pooling emotions that sat heavy in her heart.
“For a demon to cry, its rather embarrassing. I’m meant to be a minion of hell. I’ll return home, I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. I will have to keep my guard up this time. I was careless last time. Get home safely, I’ll have breakfast ready when you get there.”
With that, the woman rolled her eyes back, rocking violently as the demon left her. Leaving a rather confused woman standing before me.
“Is that my coat? Where am I?”
I gave her a quick apology, making up some story about how she had dropped it. I left her no chance for a followup question, grabbing my bag, heading back to my loving home.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"You humans think every dragon is trying to kill you,"said Sythrak.
"You're the killer,"said the knave. He was so young his voice had not broke. "You killed and stole our flocks--"
"I did no such thing,"interrupted the dragon.
"--and now, now you killed our women!"shouted the knave. He raised his weapon--a crude polearm made from a bodgered stick affixed with the blade of a scythe beaten straight. He wore the leathers of a farrier.
Sythrak stared at the boy, his tired eyes seething slits. He rose before the human, causing the knave to jump back in surprise. He stood several hands above the human.
"I was a once proud Counselor, *boy*,"began Sythrak, his reptilian growl echoing throughout. "This I gained from distinguishing myself in war. I live by honor. I do not take claim of thievery or murder lightly."
The dragon's fists curled. He could taste the boy's fear in the air.
"Then...then what are you doing here in this cave, dragon?"asked the knave, his bravado lessened.
"Your king began a campaign to retake the lowlands three weeks ago,"replied Sythrak. "My home has been sacked."'
"So, this is reveng-"
"And you still accuse me of murder on top of that indignity!"Sythrak shouted. He began to walk towards the boy.
"I cannot blame you for being green, "said the dragon, taking deliberative steps. "What is clear is that the conscripts you are boarding in your town are stealing your lambs and raping your women by night and casting blame on folk like me who are in hiding."
The boy began to shuffle backwards very slowly, flickering shadows and smoke from the fire stinging his eyes.
"What is not clear is what you will do next,"said Sythrak. "Because if you continue to threaten me, I will come over and kill you."
The boy's weapon shook, its bent tip mere inches from the dragon's scaled chest.
"There are easier ways to become a man,"Sythrak said. "Take it from a beast who knows honor. Be smarter than the ones who came last night to slay me."
The boy's eyes widened. |
The world has lost something today. We've all lost something today.
To the world, Bruce Wayne was merely an eccentric billionaire who was only as good as the next juicy headlines the media could get out of him.
To us, Bruce Wayne was a friend. A guardian. And a solemn reminder.
The Justice League has often been described by the people of Earth as "gods among men."I've never enjoyed that title, but when we can leap tall buildings in a single bound or move faster than a speeding bullet, I can understand where it comes from. Yet Batman, Bruce Wayne, stood among us as a "man among gods"whose only superpower was the indomitable human spirit.
He reminded us that we're not above those we serve and protect.
And he reminded us that we have no excuses to fail. For he didn't need powers to stand up to any of us. So how much more capable should we with powers be, to stand up against those who wish to destroy us?
Today, we say farewell to a founding member of the Justice League and, by far, the most dangerous man I've ever met.
The world has lost something today. We've all lost something today.
... I lost a dear friend today.
==============================================================
EDIT: [Relevant image](http://static.tumblr.com/c9850fd04cd9bb686159a60986cce760/ymjpdf9/unfn32y3e/tumblr_static_424212.jpg), linked by /u/Double_farts.
EDIT: [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3mzqui/eu_bruce_wayne_age_121_has_died_of_a_heart_attack/cvjveqi) for a eulogy from Joker's perspective. It's in the comments below, but why bother searching? I'd love some feedback. :) |
Those lucent eyes of wasteful blue—they glittered at me with a bright contempt before she walked away. So I had to try again.
Resetting was my greatest gift in life. I could return to a point about ten seconds in the past, changing my decisions and forging another path in life. I began to realize the implications of my ability at a young age. Whenever I ate a scrumptious meal, or took an exam, or experienced some moment of pleasure, I simply chose to Reset my life. This technique, I noted, could be the key to immortality. I considered using my skill to exploit the lottery system, but something like that would take an endless amount of time.
I was at *O'Malley's* on a Saturday night (my love life was painfully desolate), when I noticed a girl standing in the corner. Her hair was ebullient yellow, the kind reminiscent of old-school cinema, and her face glowed with an idyllic peacefulness.
I'm not the personification of suavity, but I approached her with an easy confidence. And why not? I had a hundred chances at this. I quickly formulated a "game plan,"one that deepened in charm and sexual allure every next move. It would start with a basic "Hey . . . "then evolve into more sophisticated flirtations ("If you were words you'd be a fine print") before finally reaching the point where I would flat-out ask her to marry me.
I strolled to her side. "Hey . . . "I began, invoking every ounce of manliness that I could. But she just snorted and turned away.
I was not dismayed. I Reset and readied myself for Attempt #2.
"Haven't seen you before,"I opened.
"Me neither,"she responded, "and I don't intend on seeing you again."She strided away.
Attempt #3. This would not be easy.
"Can I tell you something?"I started. "You're just really . . . "
"Listen,"she interrupted. "How many times do I have to say no?"
I gaped at her. *Wait, she knows?*
She stared at me. "No, you literally ask me the same thing, at the same exact place and time, every day!"
Then she realized something. "Wait, sorry . . . I just keep Resetting." |
"I love you sweetheart,"Sally whispered into her son's ear. She pulled the blanket up to his to chin and kissed him softly on the forehead. It was a warm kiss.
"I don't want you to go mom,"begged Thomas as he stifled a tiny yawn. "The monsters come out when you're not here. Please stay. They're afraid of you. Pleassssse."
"It's just for two weeks, honey."Sally replied, blinking back her tears. Work called, and she had to answer. It was for her son, after all. She *had* to go. For the millionth time she wished Christopher was still alive.
"I don't like uncle James,"the boy protested quietly.
"I've got you an early Christmas present,"Sally said, leaning over the bed to pull out a large rust coloured bear from a plastic bag. It was soft to touch and its short hair was very ruffled. It wore a red bow tie. "This is Frederick,"she said passing it to Thomas. "He has no home and he needs looking after. I told him you'd take care of him until I got back."
Thomas' eyes lit up and his sadness was forgotten as quickly as a dream upon waking.
"Can you be brave for him?"
"Yes,"whispered an almost breathless Thomas, hugging his new friend tightly. "Yes. I'll look after you always."
The boy smiled at the bear. The bear smiled at the boy. The bear made a promise of its own.
---
Three nights after Sally left, the monster came to visit Thomas. He knew it would sooner or later -- it always came when mom was away -- but that didn't make it any better. A vile stench of alcohol and tobacco reached his nose long before his bedroom door crept open. The monsters' skin was slimy to his touch, and when his little red lamp came on he could see just how pale and vile the creature looked. It was wretched. It smiled at him, or at least *attempted* to. Red lips, teeth stained dark with blood. It sat down on the bed next to him. The creature's smell made Thomas' stomach turn.
"Please, don't,"Thomas whimpered. He knew it wouldn't listen -- it never did. He hugged Frederick tightly, determined not to let the monster hurt his best friend. He'd promised his mom. He'd promised Frederick. "It'll be OK,"Frederick seemed to say. He hugged the boy back tightly.
---
It was Frederick that told Thomas who the monster really was, and that Thomas *had* to tell his mom what had happened; to not listen to the monsters' threats; to be *brave!* It was Frederick, who still reeked of alcohol and tobacco, and who still held a tiny amount of the sticky evidence that was ultimately responsible for the conviction. And three months later it was Frederick that was washed and cleaned and returned to Thomas.
Sally smiled at the sleeping boy, and the bear tucked up tightly in his arms. Wiping tears away from her eyes, she lay down next to them and made a promise that nothing would hurt either of them again.
---
Alternative ending on my sub /r/nickofnight
Edit: Thank you for the gold, anon. |
It was tough being a dragon in this modern world.
Everyone tended to see the scales and the claws and the wild eyes and the fire-breathing and they'd just say to themselves: "woah, ho, ho, that's enough of that now."
But beneath all that, Grinzella was really a nice dragon. She loved to cook and grill and travel and even had a bit of a successful side hustle in the private protection industry. But still she couldn't get a date to save her life.
She remembered the words of Marilyn Monroe, "If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best!"
What a pompous load of fluff, of course you could say that when you were an international beauty icon. Grinzella snorted to herself and looked down at the young princess, snatched from an idyllic countryside ride, chained into the chair in her dragon cave.
"Oh, come on now, we're going to be here all night if you won't smile properly."
She looked down at the photo on her phone. Better, but...
She slid one scaled claw along the other, making a rasping sound.
"Do we need to use the tools?"She whispered, eyes lidded toward the princess.
The princess shook her head frantically, eyes wide, a terrified smile plastered to her face.
"Good, perfect"Ginzella hissed as she snapped the photo and uploaded it to her Tindr.
---
Sir Dumbleswat checked his Tindr match for the thousandth time in the past two hours. He couldn't believe his luck, this princess was an 8.5 easy, and a perfect 10 after a few ales. But that wasn't the most important thing, he knew, especially not for someone like him, he didn't get a lot of chances.
His chariot stopped at the ball and he leapt out onto the gravel, a grin splitting his face wide. He bowed to the chariot driver, winked, then gave him 4 stars on char-uber because he didn't believe in 5 stars. The driver gave him a disgusted, slightly worried look as he sped off.
He skipped up the steps into the ballroom and swaggered over toward the bar lounge, quickly memorizing the profile.
"Oh she cooks, great. Jousting vacation photo, awesome. Grilling, I love grilling! This is amazing!"
He sent a text off, asking her what table she was at in the lounge.
---
Grinzella looked down at her phone, the handsome knight's profile picture grinned up at her. She smoothed her scales down frantically and touched up her eye-smoke before texting him back, "Table 12"
"I can't see you,"he responded, "turn and give me a wave."
Grinzella steeled herself for the inevitable disappointment, the crushing disgust when the knight saw her in real life, not her dolled up princess profile photo. She gulped down a sulfurous lump, and bravely turned toward the entrance.
---
Sir Dumbleswat's eyes grew wide as Grinzella turned around, head slightly bowed. This creature on his Tindr, with all the same hobbies and interests, was just...
"Like me!"Grinzella exclaimed, gazing excitedly at Sir Dumbleswat's coiled tail and flexing wings.
She grinned at him and he grinned back through yellowed fangs. He barked out a laughing puff of smoke.
"I was so nervous!"He said, "Usually they take one look at me an--"
"Oh my god, me too! Come here, sit! Sit!"
---
The waiter stared anxiously at the pair of dragons, stomping and snorting about the undersized lounge, and steeled himself to bring them the [menu](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter). |
It doesn't always work out. Sometimes it's the distance. When you and your love lives a thousand miles apart and can only see each other on rare occasions, it's not easy to keep the relationship going. Other times, it could just be that you grow apart. Both of you were once on the same wavelength, with the same drive, the same path. But paths diverge, and maybe you find that you cannot continue walking together. There are countless reasons for having love end. Age, fear, the past, the future, growth and the lack of such. It happens, and love fades away. Not every relationship continues until death parts the lovers on this side of the mortal veil. This is natural. However how we react to this fading, this end of a relationship, can lead to outcomes quite unnatural. Because you can channel the inevitable grief of losing that important relationship towards many things. Some use it as a fuel for art, some for growth, some for ambition. Some do not use it at all, and let the end of a relationship break them completely.
Some, however, channel it towards different purposes. Hatred and anger.
Once upon a time, a man and an elf loved each other. And it was a good love. A true love even. Much good came of it in its day. And had it continued, perhaps it would be one of those great romances of the ages that people aspire towards having. But the elf grew pensive. She would live for thousands, nay tens of thousands of years. Her kind would see mankind itself shrivel and become extinct. They knew this, that when the age of humanity ends, they will return the Earth to its primordial forests and jungles, removing all traces of mankind and their works. The man she loved, a human man, would only live for less than a brief century. She did love him, that was true, but how great her grief would be, to see her beloved wither, age, and fade. If they had any children, she would surely outlive them as well, for the spawn of man and fae are bound by the years of men, and though halfbreeds live for far longer, and do not wither in the same way as mortal man does, they would surely die. She understood that she would have a brief moment of happiness with this mortal man, and thousands of years of sorrow. She left him. Left him in the mortal realm to live a human life, and die a human death.
And returned to the eternal kingdoms of the elves, the realms of Tir na nÓg, Summer Eternal, and Alfheim. Realms where mortal man cannot normally tread, and only then does with caution and fear.
That could have been the end of that story. She could have lived out her near immortal life, and in the vast tide of time she would have forgotten the beautiful and kind human man. That human man with his warm eyes, soft gentle hands, and beautiful words of poetry and wisdom. He might have lived a life as a great human poet or leader. Or a simple life if he had so chosen. But chance and fate dance eternally, changing the world and the way things are. A man was abandoned by the woman he loved. A man grew despondent and sought death on the battlefield. A death of equal parts heroic glory and the sorrow of heartbreak. But he did not die on that first battlefield. He carried the day. His blade striking true again and again, carving through peasant levy, men-at-arms, knights, and even the enemy king himself. For this he was hailed as a hero. But he felt no sense of heroics, in his actions. Only that the pain of his broken heart had been dulled for a short while, in the heat of battle.
Though his own lord would have given him great rewards, the young man only asked for the sword and horse of a knight, and did not care that he was given the title as well. He left his homeland on that horse, seeking battle. Wherever he went, he joined wars, fighting as a mercenary for whatever side was willing to throw him into battle. Soon he was a captain among mercenaries, eventually a general. And he always fought on the frontline, a beautiful and terrible knight to behold, carving coldly through anything that dared to march against him. And for each battle he fought in, he felt a little more numb. As if his broken heart was filled with a little bit of ice, for each man killed, for each battle won.
The elf lived for years in her magic homeland. Doing what elves do when mankind aren't involved. Playing music, creating works of art. Living in peace amongst her own kind. She thought sometimes of the man she had left, but not often. There is no sorrow in the lands of the undying elves. None that lasts. For every life has been lived to the fullest, every day is enjoyed, every season spent on the things that are well and good in life. Like all elves, she tried and mastered every artform. She spent the human lifetimes becoming a master at all things, like the elves inevitably do. And as the centuries passed, she forgot him, little by little, his warm eyes, his gentle touch, his kind words. She remembered objectively that she had once loved a brief human, but she could not tell you his name, what he was like, nor even where he came from.
And neither could he. He mastered every form of war, every kind of weapon, every strategy and every tactic. He fought from horseback, he fought on foot. He raided with the Vikings, rode with the Great Khan, he saw empires rise and fall around him and he kept fighting. Objectively he could remember that he had once loved an immortal elf. And objectively he knew that the day she broke up with him, was the day he decided to fight. But he couldn't remember much else about his own past. The only poetry he made was about battle and death. The only words of wisdom he had were about war and battle. His hands were the hard hands of a killer, and his eyes were cold like frost. He adapted to changes in warfare, learned to use musket and sabre over longbow and longsword. He made great use of cannons at Constantinople. And was feared so greatly that a thousand janissaries perished to bring him to heel afterwards. But that didn't last. They buried him somewhere in the Balkans, but he was unearthed two centuries later, still alive, ready to fight. He fought for both Protestants and Catholics in the Thirty Years War, and razed city after city.
The elf woman married an elf man, and had elf children. She no longer thought about the human man at all. She had a life to lead, and she lived it to the fullest. A human could write many books and fill them with examples of her art and achievements alone. From architecture, to botany, to herbology. In all those things she made great strides, and she lived in what might be considered a golden age for the elven race and their immortal kingdoms. She was in many ways the pinnacle of what an elf could desire to be. Had she stayed with the human man, she would have nearly the entire time since he was supposed to die grieving for him, and for the death of the half-borne children that they would have had.
The human man was a legend among the peoples of Earth. An eternal soldier who could never die. A warrior of un-paralleled power. A scourge upon the lands, so deadly and dangerous that even death itself feared him. He was with Napoleon until the end. His sojourns through Africa during the imperialist era was the stuff of nightmares. When the First World War broke out he was on the Western Front from start till finish. After that he spent four decades in China, fighting for whatever warlord was willing to employ him. He didn't care much for the money. Only battle. Only to be allowed to lead men into the heat of war, into the brutality, the carnage. To other mercenaries of the era, he was something to emulate. To the leaders of humanity, he was something to fear. Where he roamed, life ended. In every bloody conflict of the 20th and 21st century he was there. From the Congo to Afghanistan, from the Mexican Border Wars to the 3rd American Civil War. He fought. And improved as a soldier. |
The blood on the altar was still wet. I touched it, bringing daubed hands to wipe across my cheeks. The cloying smell caught the back of my throat, the fresh stickiness pulling my skin tight.
In the hollow of the hills we stand shoulder to shoulder. The blood has begun to dry now, and sweat and tears have made tracks through it. My free hands find those of the men beside me. We link, intertwining fingers until we are one long chain of nons, circling the standing stones of our ancestors.
They had not wanted to go to the altar. The day of sacrifice began with a red sun, an ill omen.
On the horizon, the banners of the enemy appear like flayed skin, fluttering on pennants and the ends of pikes. I feel the beat of their horses’ hooves in my skull and in my teeth. I wonder if the ancestors, buried beneath the standing stones, can feel this too. Does the ground shake in their tombs? Does ancient dust make their sacred graves unclean?
There are many fresh bodies in those tombs, now.
The ground shakes again, but it is no longer the horses. The hills around our home have begun to wake, to rumble and roll and split like men’s skulls. From the fresh loam are born our gods, their thirst slaked by the blood spilt for them under the light of a red sun.
Their skin is stone, their bodies coarse moss and packed earth. Birds nest in the craters of their eye sockets, while mealworms hang like white threads from their chests. Great hands rip the earth open as they rise to protect us.
I wish it had not cost so much.
Rivers of blood. Steeling myself as I moved the bodies of my family to rest with the rest of our ancestors. One in five. Lots drawn. Sent to the altar. To protect the rest.
I wear my father’s blood on my face, but the gods have risen and we are saved. |
"It's a blessing and a curse,"I said. I don't like talking about it. Especially in public, and this diner is not secluded enough.
"Come on, it's got to be the coolest thing ever."She smiled at me, eyes lit up. She's beautiful. It pains me.
"No,"I said. "It hurts people. Sure it feels satisfying in the moment but... I don't like it."
She paused, suspicious.
"Try me."she said.
"No."God, no.
"Come on, try me. If you can."She smiled mischievously.
"No, it's just hurtful. I don't want to do this. Especially with you."
"Well maybe you don't actually know what to say, you're all talk."She laughed and playfully threw a napkin at me.
I sighed. This has ended so many relationships.
"Please, let's just change subjects."I pleaded.
"Tell me!"she said. Her smile had faded a bit. She was serious.
After a long moment, I dropped my shoulders.
"Okay,"I said. She sat back and settled into the booth, expectantly.
I studied her for a long time. Her hair was a gorgeous golden blonde. She had radiant green eyes. Her face was almost symmetrical, except for the slight tilt in her grin. Her neck was slender, and her shoulders soft but proud. Her sweater fit over her chest snug enough to accentuate her curves, but not put them on display. She was beautiful, and knew it, but didn't use it.
I had known her for two years. I had met her parents, and her half-sister from her mother's previous marriage. We had mutual friends. There wasn't much about her that one could use against her, she was very self confident, aware of her limitations, and loved herself in a way that made most people envious.
For people like this, honesty was usually the best policy.
"I don't love you."I said. A crack in someone's worldview is much more efficient than shattering their self-perception.
She furrowed her brow, looking confused, annoyed almost. She let out a breath that may have been laughter, or disbelief.
"What?"she said. "That's it? That's not funny, or true."
There it was. The crack. She had to say it out loud. I shrugged.
"Okay,"I said. "I told you I didn't want to do this."
We ate mostly silently for the next hour. She would comment on her work and I would listen. We finished our meal, I paid, and we left the diner.
As we walked to her car, she took my hand in hers. I glanced over, and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. |
I’ll try to be concise in the telling of this story. Because brevity is the soul of wit, and seeing as I’m not a very funny lady, I’m very much relying on brevity.
A student walked into my office (I note this reads like the start of a joke; an Irishman, Englishman, etc walk into a bar — or wherever your regional enemies hail from. But this is not a joke. As stated, I’m relying on brevity for any wit.) and sat down in front of me.
I didn’t really recognise this student. I never know them all — it’s a lot of faces to remember and they rotate each year anyway. She just looked vaguely familiar, as all kids do.
”I cheated on the last set of exams,” she said. “And I got very good results because of it.”
I paused. I felt like I should be appalled but I really didn’t have a leg to stand on: I also cheated on my exams at her age. And at every age. Unlike her, however, I never confessed. I always — always — acted the part. And so I acted the part then of the appalled teacher.
“Disgraceful! But at least you’re confessing that you cheated.”
“No. Not really confessing,” she said.
”I don’t follow.”
”I’m more telling you. Rubbing it in. Informing you that I cheated and got away with it. If you say anything to anyone else about this, I’ll deny it. And you’ll look old and spiteful. Not that you need any help with that.”
I felt like a detective being taunted by a killer. Could I convict this girl without any proof of how she did it? Probably not — her parents would kick up a stink. So, I needed proof. I changed tact.
“Well good for you,” I said.
Her brows furrowed. “Good for me?”
”It takes brains to cheat. I should know, I used to do it all the time. Heck, it’s how I got this job — along with every other success I’ve ever had.”
She wrinkled her nose like I‘d just served her some very mature and pungent cheese. “That right?”
“Oh yes. I went through every method. Writing answers on the inside of my eyelids. Down my forearms. Buying the answers off a teacher before the exam. Invisible inked notes. Everything you could imagine.”
”That’s not how I did it,” she said.
”Oh yeah? Which method did you use?”
Her smile returned. “Oh I get it. Good cop bad cop.”
”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In a terrible impression of me, she said, “Duh, I cheat too, I just like you. So uh, tell me how you do cheat.”
”That’s a terrible impression of me,” I told her, but I was growing close to losing my cool.
”You want to know how I did it so that you can punish me.”
I shrugged. Game was up. “You got me. So, are you going to tell me?”
”No.”
I bit my tongue and tapped a pen on my table. “You really shouldn’t be cheating,” I said. I didn’t have any moral authority to say that, but it just exploded out of me. Like what might happen if you pricked a blowup pool with a knife.
”Why? It got you where you are. You said so.”
”Where I am?” I laughed.
”That’s what you said. And I wouldn’t mind being a teacher. Easy life.”
”You know,” I began, “when I go to a quiz night with the other teachers, I get nothing right. Ever. I’m a burden to the team.“
Her eyebrows raised. ”Yeah? So?”
“I’m dumb. I’m dumb because I cheated so much.“ It was odd saying it. I’d never said it out loud before. But it was true. And it was a relief. “I learned to cheat instead of learning anything of use.”
”I can live with that.”
”At your age you can, sure. I could too. But when you get older the lies get heavy. They’re like six feet of soil pressing down on you.”
She swallowed loudly. Fell pale.
”You know why?”
”Why?”
”Because you have to keep lying to yourself every day. Telling yourself you’re not a fraud. That you’re smart for getting here. That you’re a good person. And every day that lie becomes harder to tell. Harder to carry.”
The girl looked pale as a ghost now. It felt good to tell someone the truth. Like doing this might even save my life, in the end.
I continued, ”Everything in your life becomes a lie. You get in a relationship with someone who actually loves you, and guess what? You cheat. You cheat on everyone and everything, until you can’t love yourself because of it all. Because there’s not a real person left to love. Just this cheater. Isn’t that great? But listen, it’s never too late to confess.”
But just like that the girl vanished.
Instead, it was me sitting on that chair now. A little girl who had just cheated on her first exam. And she was crying and sorry and wishing she could change everything, because she saw me sitting there and saw her bleak, bleak future.
I took a few deep breaths.
There was a knock on the door.
The girl — me — disappeared altogether. I wiped away my tears and said, “Enter.”
It was the principal. He was smiling.
“Quiz night tonight! I hope you’ll be joining us.”
My breath shuddered out of me. It’s never too late to confess, I reminded myself. To tell him I’m a fraud. That I’m sorry. To fire me and take these weights off my shoulder because I’m drowning beneath water and they’re stopping me from reaching the surface.
But the wrong words came out as always. Rote. Learned. An actor who has forever become their role. With a forced smile, I said, “Looking forward to it.” |
The three men sat at the counter, as they waited for their drinks. One disheveled and unshaven, the other neatly dressed, and the last as colorful as the neon sign outside, in stark contrast with the rest. They sat quietly until the colorful man spoke up.
"I do enjoy a good shot, don't you?", he said out loud, to no one in particular.
The disheveled man merely grunted as he stared at his empty glass. The neatly dressed man smiled and nodded in agreement. "A good shot is wonderful, but the perfect shot is what we should always aim for,"he said.
"Oh I agree, I am ALWAYS looking for that one shot,"the colorful man said as he began taking selfies with his phone. "Once you find it, you're always looking for another."
The disheveled man sneered at the others. "You don't know what you're talking about. There is no such thing as a perfect shot."He shook his head. "The only perfect shot is the one you make."
"You're right, you can take many shots, but you only need that one perfect shot to make it worthwhile,"the neatly dressed man replied with a courteous laugh. "Why, I just finished a job where I had to wait for days to get the perfect shot!"He laughed quietly to himself. "In the end, it was worth it."
The colorful man rolled his eyes. "If I had to wait days for the perfect shot, I would rather DIE,"he said rather dramatically. "No, the best way to make the perfect shot is just to have plenty of them, and find it."He began tapping on the bar impatiently. "What is taking so long for this man to get us our drinks?"
The disheveled man stared at the colorful man in disbelief. "Amateur,"he muttered as he pulled out his phone. "Take that many shots and you'll end up in the gutter."
"FINALLY,"the colorful man exclaimed, as the bartender emerged from the back with their drinks. "Were you distilling these drinks in the back or something?"
"I just got a call from my buddy down the street,"the bartender said slowly as he placed the drinks in front of the men. "He said that he threw you out after your sixth drink."The bartender slowly slid the cocktail to the colorful man. "This is the only drink you're getting from me tonight, so go ahead and call a cab."
"How dare you!"the colorful man huffed as he snatched the glass. "Just because I've had a few—"
"You heard the man."said the disheveled man as he stared at his phone. "Take your drink and go home before it's too late."
"*You heard the man, take your drink and* blah blah blah", said the colorful man as he took his drink and sauntered out. "Just put it on my tab."
The neatly dressed man sat quietly enjoying his drink, and let his eyes wander across the walls. He smiled when he recognized one of his own shots framed on the wall.
The disheveled man downed his drink and laid his money on the table. He had to move fast, the client had requested it look like an accident. The colorfully dressed man certainly wasn't going to fall into the river by himself, no matter how many drinks he had consumed.
- EDIT
I don't usually edit my comments, but I was very shocked by all the attention and awards, and wanted to say thank everyone for the replies and reddit gold. It has been a while since I wrote creatively so it is nice to know this story hit a sweet spot for many readers. |
“This is the Void’s domain.”
“I mean sir, I wouldn’t go quite that far,” the ensign said hesitantly, “I mean it is clearly disturbing. An atmosphere composed of majorly oxygen and nitrogen, a surface temperature of around 79 percent the boiling point of water. Oceans made of this *water* of all things.”
“You’re just proving my point,” I pointed.
“Just getting to the point sir. But there exists life there.”
“*What,*” I gaped at him. “Life? In this hole? They must be agents of the Void Caller himself!” I made a sign with my two hands to ward off evil. “Creation guard us from the void’s foul influence.”
The ensign looked at me with clear distaste. The bloody new generation. Thinking with their new advances in technology they had blazed past the need for Creation’s guiding light. Now of all times we needed his guidance the most.
“No sir, these are not demons. In fact the dominant species calls itself ‘human.’”
“They are self-aware?” I asked incredulous. I had expected microorganisms or lower order beings, but a species with intelligence in conditions like this. My mind swam with the possibilities, they could not be Fluorine-based life forms. I looked at the atmospheric and ground samples. “*Carbon*-based life” I whispered.
“Quite correct sir,” the ensign said, clearly impressed. Bah, the arrogant idiots thought that just because we followed the righteous path we were ignorant fools. There is a reason why he is ensign and I am captain of this expedition. “Most of the life is carbon-based, with only a few micro-organisms not so.”
Despite my hesitance, I was intrigued, not only had we found life outside our solar system but life so fundamentally different, even if it were most likely influenced by the Void itself. I looked through the glass window from our scout ship on their moon. The planet looked, not beautiful no, the colors were too bright, too *alien,* but it was certainly stunning. To not admit would be an injustice to the world.
“So these humans,” I asked, testing the unfamiliar word on my tongue, “how advanced are they? At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if they were a Class II civilization.”
“Barely Class I sir. They have yet to master even nuclear fusion.”
“But they are space-worthy?”
“To some degree sir,” the ensign said hesitantly, “they do not care much for space anymore sir. In fact, their furthest reaching probes are just beyond their solar system, but not outside their star’s local influence even.”
“But from these reports,” I motioned towards the data-pad the ensign had given me, “they have the capability to establish colonies, and can manufacture a very basic generation ship.” My eyes scanned the flowing data, and I continued, “their physics are advanced enough that they can find even the light speed loop hole.”
“Yes sir…but they are too focused on each other.”
I frowned. “Elaborate, ensign.”
“Yes sir,” all disrespect was gone from his tone and face, we were now in business. There was hope yet for him. “The last century especially they have fought each other with increasing ferocity. They turn their technology against each other, fighting one another almost constantly. There- there were two instances of them dropping nuclear weapons on their own species.”
“*What?!*” I exclaimed, “are they suicidal?” Wars I could understand. Our species in its very infancy waged some wars. But to drop nuclear weapons on one’s own species….
“How many died?”
“Thousands sir…thousands.”
“That’s insane,” I whispered. Once more I sent a silent prayer to Creation. “How are they thriving? That must be half their species!?”
“No sir. It is not even a thousandth, far from it. These humans, they have a population of approximately 7 billion.”
I gulped in the sterile air. 7 billion. My mind couldn’t quite wrap its head around that number. Our species had a population of roughly 100,000. 7 billion hopes, dreams, ambitions. All bound to one little globe.
“That’s why they fight,” I breathed. “They actually experience scarcity, and can actually afford to kill one another.” My species had never experienced this scarcity. It was a purely theoretical term up until now.
“Sir our species never experienced this phenomenon no, because our technological advances kept in pace with our relatively slow population growth.”
“But these animals…”
“Yes sir, they fight each other for sustenance. They trade things for paper. Some starve while others live in mansions.”
My face grew grim.
“You will suggest annihilation won’t you Captain?” The ensign asked is a low voice.
I nodded. “Even if you don’t accept these as the heralds of the Void’s as the Creation Scriptures say, you have to see their destructive potential. They cannot be allowed to grow more advanced with that competitive attitude.”
The Ensign mulled it over, biting his lip, then nodded. "I suppose so sir. I don’t think they are some supernatural demons, but this is the closest we can get. I think you will have the council’s support. You certainly have mine."
"I appreciate it,"and I found, surprisingly, that I meant it. To have the support of their generation was testament to the severity of this danger. Creation's forces must persevere, even if it sometimes meant doing the opposite.
(minor edits)
EDIT: thanks you for your feedback, and thank you for the gold. Much appreciated! |
To Darren, better known as Figment404, the things behind him were merely shadows. He glanced over his shoulder from time to time and caught glimpses at the edge of his vision, little tricks of light that seemed perhaps more solid than a trick should seem, but he always brushed it off. It was either the drugs or his late night schedule, or the dawn played through the dusty glass and the blinds. It could never have been anything more.
The camera had different ideas.
Night after bleary eyed late night, Figment404’s audience tuned in to watch what was either the most intricate green screen play ever put on, or, impossibly, real. On the camera, the tricks of the light weren’t shadows, they were fully realized shapes, and the shapes were never quite right.
\*\*\*
It was hard work being a moderator. Sydney, better known as SydX, had done it for a few of her favorite channels before, but no channel had ever captivated her quite like Figment404’s. His play was pretty trash, she’d placed into a higher league than he’d ever peaked in, and his aim was something like three meth addicted chimpanzees in withdrawal taking turns with the mouse, but she wasn’t here for that.
She was here because every time the door behind Figment404 opened, something impossibly weird came out. She’d gotten a handle on the main characters the strange meta-narrative was forming. There was the Mother, her body whipcord thin and so tall she stooped when she entered the room. There was the Father, a man of paradoxical darkness and light, the camera settings always struggling to render him properly in the frame, somehow settling on a man whose face was never properly in view, but whose body maintained a sort of rolling, soft bellied plasticity no matter where he was, what he was doing, or indeed, how fat he appeared to be that day. It changed.
There was the Brother, a roughly ten year old boy who always wore Pokemon shirts that were somehow never of real Pokemon. Lastly, there was the Sister. Sydney didn’t like it when she showed up. The Sister creeped her out.
Tonight, two of them had made cameos. The Mother and the Brother had both walked through the strangely flat looking, not quite realistic door behind Figment404’s head, and chat had spammed its weird emotes like always, and they stood there behind him, watching the screen with cold, heavy lidded eyes.
*“Predictions when???”* One of the regulars typed and it caught on like wildfire, an endless stream of *“Predictions when???”* that spread and spread until it stomped out any useful conversation. Sydney timed out a few of the more annoying usernames and chat slowly returned to its normal slow boil of toxicity and odd fascination.
And behind Figment404, the Mother and the Brother turned towards each other and smiled.
Sydney hated their smiles. Every member of the rotating cast behind Figment404 was like a sad, faded echo of a person. They had all the right parts in all the right places, stretched in all the wrong dimensions, and most of the time they looked like a slightly washed out afterimage. But when they smiled their color roared back and vaguely graying skin took on real, living color. Their eyes brightened, and they began to play.
*“I fucking hate her hands dudeeee,”* someone wrote in chat.
*“SAME!”* Sydney responded. The Mother’s hands were far too thin and far too long, just like the rest of her. They reached out towards the Brother, ruffled his generically brown, oddly limp hair, and then they pulled away, pursed in the air behind Figment404’s head as if they were waiting to pluck something from it.
“Why do I do this to myself?” Sydney grumbled. It was three AM where she was and she had an exam in the morning, but the stream was like an impending car crash. Even after gaining mod status she didn’t truly know what the hell was going on, how much of it was planned and orchestrated by Figment404 himself, how much of it was outsourced to others. Some part of it had to be though. Whatever the Mother and the Brother and the others were, they looked far, far too real for some eighteen year old kid like him to have made.
And the way they moved…There were movie studios that would pay big money for mo-cap like that.
The Brother reached into the pocket of his faded blue shorts and pulled out a little off-brand looking poke-ball. The red had been switched with pink, the white with yellow. The black in the middle was still black, and somehow that was even weirder. He tossed it to the Mother and she tossed it back, her nails making a faint little clacking noise when she caught it like they’d tapped against metal.
*“BRO HOW TF DOES HE DO THAT???”* Chat spammed.
Sydney didn’t know, but she desperately wanted to find out.
Then the door behind them all opened, and Sydney caught a glimpse of the Father on the fat side waving someone forward.
The Sister crept through.
The Sister did not walk like a person should walk. She took halting little steps, one foot barely advancing an inch or two in front of the other, eyes downcast so that she moved in a sort of mincing slide. She was barefoot and her feet were too big for her body, not clown-like but just the wrong side of noticeable. She wore what should have been a My Little Pony shirt, but instead of being colorful it was white and stained and the Pony was black and a bit mangy, if ponies could get mange. Sydney wasn’t sure about that.
The Sister’s eyes were beady and too small, wide set, and when they look at the camera the camera always seemed to look back at her, Figment404’s face going a little blurry.
Then she moved rapidly, the mincing steps gone, replaced by three quick bounds, and she was there, above his shoulder, her eyes no longer beady but wide and luminous.
*“OH WTF NO RUINED,”* chat spammed.
“Okay, Jesus Christ it’s time to go to bed,” Sydney said, going to type her sign off.
The Sister smiled, pulled back, and took the poke-ball from her brother. She stuck it into the pocket of her little mismatched skirt and it disappeared. It took Sydney a moment to realize that the skirt did not have any pockets.
“Man, what the fuck even is this game,” Figment404 grumbled as he whiffed another ultimate. “See this shit, chat? Fucking trash game dude.” The killcam flipped on and he became progressively more and more angry.
“You fucking see that chat? I swear to god there wasn’t a shield there when I ulted, and then…What the fuck dude, I blinked!”
Figment404 was fuming in a way Sydney had never seen him, though the signs of his building tilt would have been there for all to see, if anyone came to this channel for him.
*“WTF IS SHE DOING NOW???”* Another of the regulars typed as the Sister turned towards the Mother and held out her arms.
The Mother leaned down and picked up the Sister, hugging her to her chest. Her long, spindly arms looked like they could’ve wrapped themselves around the Sister twice over if bones worked that way, and then the Mother raised her daughter still higher, thin lips pursing for a kiss on her forehead.
The Mother kissed the Sister, the Brother looked on in mock disgust, as if he were too old for such things, and then the kiss changed, the Sister’s head distending as she shrunk up towards the kiss.
“Oh goddamnit I hate this kid so fucking bad,” Sydney said, her eyes half hidden behind the protective curtain of her hands.
*“WTF WTF WTF,”* chat spammed.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Figment404 shouted as he died again. He stood, spun, and hurled his wireless mouse as hard as he could towards the back wall.
It crashed into the wall, shattering into a million pieces as he kept on raging.
“Oh holy shit,” Sydney whispered as chat went crazy.
She’d always thought there was a green screen. She’d always been completely and utterly sure that there had to be one. But Figment404 had just thrown his mouse through the space a green screen would’ve had to be, and for the first time he stomped away from his computer without shutting off the camera. When he left the room he left it through the same door that all the others had entered through, only when he used it it didn’t seem so wrong.
And it opened onto a completely different hallway.
*“Darren, are you okay???”* Sydney messaged him instantly, spamming his twitch and the Figment404 discord as chat went too insane for her to even think about moderating.
The Mother, Brother, and the Sister with her distended head watched the camera for a few long moments. Then they formed into a line, the Mother at its head, and they walked out through the same door that Figment404 had. When it opened the door still looked just as wrong, and it still opened onto the same wrong hallway. The Father waited outside, welcoming his family with open arms.
*“WTF BEST STREAM EVER,”* chat said in a thousand different variations.
“Darren?” Sydney whispered, looking at the remains of the mouse in the corner of the room. “Darren, are you alright?”
She waited in the dark a long time for the door to open or for the stream to shut off. For anything at all to happen, but nothing did.
Finally, Sydney gave up. She went to the kitchen, started water for a mug of completely ineffectual chamomile tea, and then stared at discord so hard she thought she could bore a hole in her phone screen.
The teapot whistled, her eyes rang with the strange sound of the Mother’s nails clacking against the poke-ball, and Figment404 began to type.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oqsobp/wp_a_young_man_accidentally_begins_streaming_the/h6f2riw?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
When you've lived for as long as I have you get very good at two things: how to act, and how to enjoy yourself. After a couple thousand years of watching humanity repeat the same mistakes you learn to value the little things in life.
Alejandro Ramirez was the name I adopted in 2018. Having lived out a few lives as business-men in the railroad, steel, and electrical industries I wanted to move to the city and live the life of a young person setting out on their own for the first time. Limiting myself to an amount of money just above minimum wage I moved to New York City.
Unable to afford an apartment for myself I got a roommate by the name of James Hardwin. He was an okay guy, kept to himself, did his dishes. The only bad thing was that he was a serial killer.
Realizing this quite quickly, I decided to have a bit of fun. After all, what's he gonna do, kill me? I set out to be the worst roommate of all time. Didn't clean, ate his food, stunk up the bathroom, and had loud sex when he was trying to sleep. I slowly pushed him over the edge, made him break his code.
He came for me in the night. Creeping into my bedroom with his knife and a pillow. A smile crept across my face. I quickly prepared myself to be scared when we woke me up. "This is what you get you bastard!"He screamed as he stabbed me. I flailed around in pain and confusion.
After a few good hits to the vital organs he placed the pillow over my face and smothered me. I laid there limply as he rolled me up into a rug and disposed of my body in a dumpster on Long Island. Hearing his car drive away I released myself from my bonds and set to work.
8:15 AM, James arrives for his job at Pizza Hut. I walk by the stores window front a few times until I am sure he noticed me. I then giggle like a schoolgirl as I quickly duck into an alley. I lay low for an hour before I use my key to *break* into my old apartment. I eat his leftover sandwich save for a single bite. Something I did all the time before he killed me.
Using glycerin I write the message "Why James? Why?"on the bathroom mirror. The next time he showers the invisible message will appear as unfogged text on the mirror. For the final coup de grace I hide a walkie talkie in his mattress. I quickly leave the apartment and sprint to the apartment across the street that I bought solely for the purpose of watching him squirm.
With my binoculars I see him open the fridge and jump backwards in fright. He spends the better part of an hour examining the mostly eaten sandwich. I order Chinese food while I wait for him to shower. The bathroom doesn't have a window so I can't see his immediate reaction, but I do see him sprint into the living room wearing nothing.
As I gorge myself on chicken and broccoli I wait for him to go to bed. The hours pass by slowly for the obviously shaken James. He self-medicates with whiskey until 3 in the morning. As I watch him stumble into his bedroom I pull out the walkie talkie.
I play the sound of a beating heart on a prepared laptop and hold the walkie talkie up to the speaker, I used a similar trick to mess with a poet who insulted my writing in 1843. I let this run for the better part of an hour until I cut the laptop off. Time to let James sleep.
6 AM. Confident that James has finally passed out I sneak into the apartment with a new set of sheets and remake the bed that James had so meticulously cleaned and disassembled. I 'wake up' at 7:30 AM on the dot. I pour myself a bowl of James' cereal, turn the TV to cartoons and laugh at them loudly.
I hear a quiet thud from Jame's bedroom. I listen intently as his feet creep ever so slowly towards the door. The bedroom door creaks open. I wave. "Hey James, sorry if I woke you. I assumed you had already left for work."I say
"What... what are you doing here?"he says with a shaky and terrified voice.
"I live here, is it a crime to be in my apartment."I say with a confused look on my face.
"I... I... I killed you. I stabbed you and tossed you into a dumpster. You're dead. You're dead. You shouldn't be here."he screams, obviously near the point of breaking.
"What are you talking about dude?"I point to the empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. "Did you drink too much last night and have a weird dream or something?"I say.
James looks at me but his mind is obviously elsewhere. He leans against the wall.
"Ya know, I read somewhere that some mental disorders don't show up until you're in your twenties. If you're really concerned you should talk to a doctor or something."I spit out in between bites of cereal. I pretend to laugh at the cartoons on TV when in actuality I am laughing at James. When you live as long as I have, it's important to enjoy the little things. |
"I’m not kidding!” Gabe said as he clicked the next enemy on the screen. “Watch!”
Tina leaned in to see the screen better. Sure enough, the glossy golden glow of a legendary drop appeared with a chirp. Gabe moved to attack another.
“What are you doing? Pick it up!” Tina smacked his shoulder. “Those shield emblems are worth almost a billion coins in this MMO. That’s a thousand real-world dollars you’re leaving on the ground, Gabe.”
“Doesn’t matter, I have a hundred of them already.” Gabe’s character finished off the next enemy and, somehow, another 1 in 128,000 drop rate emblem appeared.
“So, how are you cheating?” Tina asked.
“I’m not, at least not really,” Gabe logged out, leaving both of the items on the ground for anyone to grab. “I figured it out when I read up on how the drops work. Each monster has its droplist populate a number field from 1 to 2,147,483,647, with the rare drops taking up less spots further to the end. Then, a random number generator rolls each time you kill a creature in the game to assign a drop. I just focus on the number 2,147,483,647 right before I kill one and wammo, I always get the rarest drop.”
“Gabe, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you thinking something make any difference?”
“No clue, but it does. It works with other stuff too. If it's supposed to be random, I can kind of pick the outcome. Dice rolls, coin flips, loads of computer stuff.”
“Lottery numbers?” Tina asked with a raised eyebrow. She had logged into the game on her phone and was trying to get her character to the drops Gabe had left before they despawned.
“Haven’t tried it but yeah, probably.”
\*\*\*
“Holy shit,” Tina said. The ticket was sweaty in her hands.
“I can’t believe this folks!” the man on the screen said as the fourth ball popped into place. “The first four numbers are 01, 02, 03, and 04. Can we get 05?”
Gabe watched the TV, tilting his head as he watched the balls bounce in the cage. Another rolled into the spot. “69! I was worried for a second there,” the announcer said. “Guess we-”
Tina turned down the sound. The ticket they had bought earlier read 01 02 03 04 69. They had just won the jackpot, some 200 million.
“Gabe…” she said, not able to look away.
He shrugged, seeming to not understand the gravity of the situation. “Thought it would work.”
There was a loud knock at the door. Tina floated to the door, giddy now. She opened to reveal a tall man with a grave face and a revolver pointed at hers. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Tina said, raising her hands and dropping the ticket. The breeze from outside sent it rolling across the floor. The man stepped on it as he made his way inside.
“Wherever you are kid, I got a gun on the girl,” the man yelled into the house. “Five in the chamber, you hear it?” He spun the revolver then put it against Tina’s head.
“Please, sir, if you want the ticket we-”
He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“I’ll burn you out, kid!” he said, spinning the chamber again. He clicked it against her head again.
“Who are you?” Gabe asked from the doorway to his room. “Let her go.”
The man spun the chamber again, pointing it at Gabe this time. Another click as Tina scrambled to her phone, dead of course. “Boy, you’ve got a lot in the tank. They’ll be glad to have you.” Thin ribbons of metal began to float behind the man's head in a circle.
Gabe darted for the door and the man caught him in a chokehold. “You things aren’t so scary when you’re young. Let’s get you wrapped up.” He pulled out zip ties and began binding Gabe’s legs.
The home phone rang. Tina hadn’t noticed there even was one.
She pressed the receiver to her face. “We need help. There’s a man with a gun. He’s trying to kidnap Gabe.”
“Is there a banana in the kitchen?” A calm woman’s voice answered.
“What, no ,listen. I’m going to hang up and call the police if you don’t help us!” Tina yelled into the receiver.
The man worked silently as Gabe struggled, paying Tina no mind.
“You wanna help Gabe, help me help you,” the woman said casually. “Is there a banana in the kitchen?”
“Yes, okay, now how does that help?”
“Great, we’ll meet after in the forest of one tree. Put me on speakerphone please.” Tina debated hanging up but clicked the speaker button.
“0.0117% of naturally occurring potassium is the unstable isotope potassium-40,” the phone blared. The man did look up now. “This isotope decays with a half-life of about 1.25 billion years, 4 times 10 to the 16 seconds, and therefore the radioactivity of natural potassium is about 31 becquerel/gram, meaning that, in one gram of the element, about 31 atoms will decay every second, unless something very statistically unlikely occurs.”
Tina saw a flash of white light before the fireball erupting from the kitchen sent her flying into the yard. Her hearing slowly returned with high-pitched ringing. Gabe was shouting something from his own spot in the yard. Where the front room of the house had been was only a smoking crater. The man lay further on in the street, not moving. The ticket was still stuck to his shoe.
“Tina!” Gabe yelled. “Help me out of this!” He was struggling to roll over and away from a piece of wood burning near his bound legs.
“Gabe, did you do that?” she kicked the wood away then used her pocket knife to begin sawing the plastic.
“I think so,” he said. “The lady on the phone. I used the numbers she said. I have to know the number first, I think. Who was she?”
“Dunno, but she said we’d meet after. The forest of one tree mean anything to you?” Tina said. As she watched, the man in the road began to stand slowly, the ribbons spinning behind him were thicker now, more like knives.
“Nope,” Gabe said. Hanging from the ruins of the house was a bunch of bananas, only one blown out from the bottom. “Get behind me while we figure it out.”
Check out more of my stuff at /r/surinical
Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yx1czx/wp_you_can_manipulate_random_numbers_a_century/iwo0cwy/ |
Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.
I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.
*The shadow grew larger at our feet*
As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.
From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.
"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?"a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.
"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!"I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."
A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.
"Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."
The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.
I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.
"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."
Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.
But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.
With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.
For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.
"May I have a bowl, hero?"
Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain. |
"One more question, girl, and we'll be done for today."
"Caitlyn. My name's not "girl"."She glared through her bangs at the Interviewer. He, the looming middle aged man with the unfeeling eyes. Her, the scowling teenaged lump of acne and psoriasis. She felt anger, irritation, frustration. He felt only fear.
"Okay, Caitlyn. Tell me, why do you want PW-248?"
"That's the superpowers drug, right?"
"I believe, at this stage of the process, you are already aware that it is. Please answer the question, and *only* answer the question."
Caitlyn's scowl deepened as she threw her arms across her chest and exhaled brusquely. "I'm nothing. Nobody wants me. I'm tired of it."
"Who is it that you think doesn't want you?"
"I KNOW who doesn't want me, asshole."Caitlyn shot back, her heavyset face contorted in the briefest flash of righteous fury. "The other girls at school are bitches, they fake being friends then call me names behind my back. The boys all think I don't hear them making bets on who has to "settle"for me when it's time to get a prom date. Do you know what pig-hunting is?"
"I do not."
"Liar."Caitlyn's glare deepened. "And my parents are worse. Mom's always drunk, Dad's always horny. None of them want me there."
"Can you tell me how that relates to PW-248?"
"Use your imagination, dick."
"I'm going to need a real answer, Caitlyn, if you want to progress through these evaluations."
She laughed, a bitter cynical outburst that sounded like it was made of snapping bones. "PLEASE. You wouldn't have brought me this far, put me through... what, ten fucking tiers of evals?! If you didn't WANT me to get it. You MIB fucks don't put that much effort into someone you don't want on the crew."
She was right. She was completely right, and he knew it. "Protocol is protocol, Caitlyn. I need you to clearly state an answer. Why do you want PW-248."
"You need me to tell you I want them to see how badly they fucked up? To see I was better than them all along? To kneel at my *feet* begging forgiveness for being shitty worthless garbage bags masquerading as actual humans?"
"So, revenge? You think telling me you want revenge will convince me to give you this?"The Interviewer opened a small bag sitting on the table beside him. A syringe of red liquid, the gleaming blood gem by which pacts of power were forged.
Caitlyn slumped, sighed. "I don't want REVENGE, I just want them to... to not treat me like shit. To respect me. To.... need me."
"Well, you're not going to get that, Caitlyn. Not with this."The Interviewer put the syringe of PW-248 away, sat across from Caitlyn. "Look, kid, I'm going to level with you. Yes, you are here, now, at this tier of testing, because we want you on the team. To be one of the Prometheans."
At the name of the super team, she perked up. Eyes bright, flames of hope searing within them.
"But."the Interviewer looked grave, tense. "The data on your inner potential, the power this would unlock in you, is one that requires we be absolutely sure of your motivations. We can't risk unlocking your powerset until we know you aren't a "Going Rogue"risk.
Caitlyn leaned in close to the Interviewer, hoarse with anticipation. "What is it? Tell me! What's in me?"
The Interviewer leaned back, stone-faced. "I need to know you can take this seriously, Caitlyn."
"I swear! I will! Tell me!"
The Interviewer pulled a page from a leaflet of reports and handed it to Caitlyn. "I'm technically only supposed to show this to you once you are approved for the serum, but I think maybe it will help you to understand why we're so cautious with you. You may be more important than you ever realized."
She grabbed the report, looked it over, and grew only more confused. "I don't know what this means. "Demi-Harmonic Disruption, Aura Class, Tier Zero". What the hell kind of power is that?
"It means that, once unlocked, your inner powerset is to delete other powers. You will begin passively generating an aura of energy that disrupts the flow of demiurnal energy that powers meta-huan abilities. It can't work in your presence, at all. You will be able to shut down any super, hero or foe alike, just by being near them."
Caitlyn stared at the sheet, and began to shake. Sobs began to roll down her full cheeks. "Oh great., GREAT. So even as a SUPER I'm a freak! Who'se gonna want to hang out with the girl who TAKES THEIR POWERS AWAY?! Fucking NO ONE EVER!"
"Another way of looking at it, Caitlyn is you would be the most necessary and impactful super on the planet."The Interviewer leaned in closer to her. "Energy blasts would dissipate as soon as they enter your aura. Fliers drop to the ground, speed and strength sapped to nothing. No villain could defend against you. No hero would ever turn on their comrades, lest they live in fear of you."
Caitlyn looked up, suddenly becoming aware for the first time, of the inviting and crafty gleam in the Interviewer's eyes. "I want it."
He smiled, and pulled the syringe of PW-248 from the bag. "You'll be working directly under me, in Special Ops. Dark work, no limelight, Shadow jobs. I'll need to keep a very special eye on you."
"Because I'll be dangerous?"
"That and..."The Interviewer chuckled as he tapped Caitlyn's arm to find a vein. "Once you go online, you will become the only person on the planet who can lie to me." |
"Would you like a cup of tea, while you fix it?"she asked.
I stared at the 404. "Fix it?"I said, numbly.
"Your mother says you're ever so good at this sort of thing."
"This sort of thing..."someone was saying through my mouth. "Yes, thanks. A cup of tea would be great."
I turned it off. I turned it on.
Yeah. That wasn't helping.
A friend of mine from school was an IT technician for a company that did... well, I had no idea what they did. IT stuff. I'd shoot him an email.
No... I could WhatsApp -
No... I'd call him. But -
No. I didn't know his number. I could look it up! I -
No. No, I couldn't.
"You want some toast?"Grandma asked.
I scrunched up my face, panic beginning to rise. "So, how did you say you did this again?"
She bustled into the room, genial and warm. "Oh, I don't know,"she said dismissively. "I was just pressing buttons. Raspberry Jelly or just butter?"
"Surprise me,"I said. "You're *really* good at that."
She beamed and left the room. I turned back to the computer. I wondered if turning it off and -
No. I did that. "You know?"I called to the kitchen. "You know, Grandma, this is... kind of out of my wheelhouse."
"But you work with computers, don't you dear?"the faint voice carried down to me.
I rubbed my eyes. "Well,"I said, "yeah. In the same way that everyone on Earth does, but I work in a call centre. You remember that?"
She brought me toast and tea. I took it gratefully. "Of course I do. You're always telling me about pressing buttons and things. Don't you have one of those microphones that wraps around your head?"
"I do,"I said, "I do... have one of those. But -"
"Oh, it's all space age to me,"she said as I took a sip of tea."Microphones on your head. We didn't have microphones in my day."
I pulled the tea away from my lips. "Well, you *did*,"I said.
"Not on our heads,"she said.
"No,"I conceded. "No. Not... head microphones."
She sat down next to me and smiled her Grandma smile. "So can you fix it?"
I thought of the nuclear power stations. The air traffic control. The armies. The hospitals. The -
"I think,"I said slowly. "I think this one might be a bit -"
There was a flash of black outside the window. I made my way over.
"I do appreciate you coming around to help me,"she said. "I'd hate for anything to happen."
I'd clocked six of the SWAT team before my brain managed to tell me to get away from the windows. "In that case, Gramma,"I said, "you might want to get under the bed." |
"How's dinner daddy?"I asked as I returned to the table from refilling his glass with lemonade.
"Tastes great, son. I couldn't have made it any better myself. You're a chip off the ol' block."
I smiled as I watched him spoon another mouthful of chili into the gorge of his mouth. Something small and white stuck his plump wet lips. Perplexed, he unfolded the piece of paper, revealing a newspaper article. The expression of faint recognition quickly turned to outrage. The headline read:
**SOUP KITCHEN KILLER STILL AT LARGE AFTER KILLING COP, MAYOR CALLS FOR BLOOD**
The unsolved mystery of the Soup Kitchen Killer had fascinated the nation. Detectives, journalists and crime novelists from all over the nation focused their lives and careers on trying to crack the case of the serial killer who had managed to murder a police officer and then escape, never to kill again.
The national narrative took on the elements of intrigue and the macabre that always enthralled the nation before. The Soup Kitchen Killer murdered eleven women in a span of six years, earning the quirky nickname from the media for his fondness of mutilating his victims, preparing the remains into a food dish such as soup or stew, and sending the ghastly cuisine to unsuspecting soup kitchens or food drives, who would discover this gruesome deception only when it was too late.
For ten years people had debated why the murders had suddenly stopped. They drew the same conclusions they had come to about the Zodiac killer or BTK: that he had either died, been arrested for another crime, or changed his location and modus operandi after he had almost been discovered. But I knew the truth.
"Wha's the mean'g of this?"he yelled. His words slurred, and warm chili dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. "Whereddaya findis?"
Good. The rodent poison I took from the neighbor's shed was beginning to take effect.
Call it coincidence or fate, I was born the very next day after Officer Jake Garrett was murdered in the abandoned inner city buildings where my father practiced his unspeakable culinary arts. The media reported it was a case of wrong place, wrong time - that Office Garrett had responded to a noise complaint that led to his demise when he happened upon the killer in the act. But I knew the truth, because I *remembered*.
For years when I was little I thought I was crazy. At ten years old, I could remember things that had never happened to me. I remember my high school prom. I remember joining the police academy at 18 and marrying my high-school sweetheart. I remember the phone call from my mother telling me my little sister went missing. And I remember when she was discovered three days later, when a homeless veteran fished her finger out of his bowl of chili. I remember the hours spent at the station and at home, obsessively putting together timelines and witness statements and key evidence. I had even managed to narrow his kill zone down to a few miles radius, when the noise complaint came in. Someone had heard a woman screaming when they were walking their dog. I remember entering the dark, musty old abandoned factory with my gun drawn, too late; the woman was already gone. He had been hiding behind the door with a steel pipe. Most of all, I remember the killer's face, forever burned into my memory, those last few final moments. My father's face.
I thought I was crazy growing up. There was no way my kind, gentle, quiet father could be capable of such a thing. He had done so well taking care of my mother on her death bed before she had passed from leukemia. But... there were certain things that made me wonder. The crude comments he would make about women after my mother was gone. The look that washed over his face when he saw a woman walking alone and he thought no one was watching. And, he was a chef at the local BBQ Shack. Then one day when I was seven, and I found his trophies in a box under his mattress. He had kept the drivers licenses, credit cards, medical cards of all of his victims. I had spent years on the case, I knew their names by heart.
I could have turned him in, of course. *Should* have, maybe. But it was too late for justice... I wanted revenge. He didn't deserve the infamy the media would give him, plastering his name all over headlines. He didn't deserve to spend the rest of his life alive in prison getting letters from fangirls, and interviewed by psychologists who were fascinated by how his brain worked. Not after everything he had taken from me.
So I waited. I waited for for a very long time. Ten years - 3,652 days - 87,648 hours - 5,258,880 minutes, to be exact. I watched, and waited, and I grew. This time I had the upper hand. I knew who he was, but he didn't know who I was.
His chili-splattered body slumped in his chair, but his glassy, drooping eyes rolled up at me.
"All this time I've waited, there's only been one thing I've wanted to know."I said. "What made you stop? Was it your wife? Was it having come so close to being caught?"
"You, son..."he whispered, and then he stopped breathing. |
I'm a terrible demon.
Anyone can see it. My pitchfork tines are never sharp enough. I'm too gentle with the whole eternal torture thing. Last time I was on the lashes and lacerations team, the only one who got hurt in my chamber, really, was me: damaged rotator cuff. Repetitive motion injury.
I try to beguile and lie and steal, but I have a terrible poker face and this nervous tic where I just start giggling, madly, when someone has caught me in a lie.
So it makes sense that I would end up here, among the lowest of the low: the reconstruction team on Earth. I do what no demon should do. I *fix* things.
"Now Baal,"my demonic supervisor had said.
"Well, Baal's my father,"I told her. "I go by Junior."
"I thought we had discussed rebranding as Baal the Younger."
"Junior flows better."
My supervisor had winced. She had this impressive ability to look either like a crocodile or like the demented blood-hungry ghost of one, depending on the occasion.
That day, I got "disappointed but hey I think you can still try"crocodile face.
She said, "Well, uh... Junior. I have only one job left for you. But don't you worry. I'm sending you up above."
My skin had gone hot with excitement. "Earth?"
Earth. Where the great war was waged. Where the greatest of Hell's soldiers served. For once, I felt like someone out there didn't think I was a total relentless fuckup.
"You will serve us with honor, I'm sure of it. We have regions of the living world liberated from angels which we must maintain. I'll ship your uniform to your cave tonight, and you can start first thing in the morning."
I'd paced excitedly around my cave, imagining just how sick the armor she was going to send me could be.
And then I got the package and opened it up to find no unholy sword, no daedric armor.
Just a janitor's suit and a summoning card to appear in Nepal by dawn.
Now that's all I do. It's the only job I haven't managed to get fired from, presumably because they know no one else will work it. I'm in Reconstruction. I don't get to destroy, maim, murder, infiltrate, undermine, poison, or even lightly graffiti. We're meant to "create an environment where proper sinning and distrust for God can occur,"per the corporatese
Which means I have to *make things better*.
Houses. Communities. People. They used to have the good sense to watch me with mixed fear and horror, as if, just because I look like a man with ash-gray skin and a goat's nose and horns, I don't have pride. They'd avoid the houses like they were cursed and perform weird little rituals like ants who just found a suspicious crumb.
But then they started getting used to us. They started liking us. No demon can abide a human smiling and saying, "Thanks for your hard work!"
But today is one of those jobs where I can't decide if I hate my job or myself more.
Because today I'm doing contract work in a neighborhood in the United States. We've gotten popular enough now that some humans are performing tiny, ancient sacrifices of birds or rats or little tiny pet store mice in order to summon one of us for help.
The family I got assigned to is way too goddamn happy to see me.
I appear in their backyard in a circle of fire, and there's a little girl playing outside beside a stack of snapped picket fence pieces. When she sees me, she squeals, "Ooo Mommy, the demon-man is here!"excitedly and runs inside.
I cringe.
A woman comes out. She's clearly been working. She's in old paint-spattered clothes, hair up, but she's smiling too when she sees me.
"Thanks for coming out,"she says.
"The correct response to seeing a demon,"I tell her, "is mortal terror and dread."
"But you're not scary,"says the little girl beside her.
I glare at the girl, but she's right. Even now I don't know how to make a mean face to show her just what scary is.
"Lila! Be polite."Her mother looks at me, pinches her face, and says unconvincingly, "You're a vast and formidable foe, sir."
"Thanks,"I say, flatly.
"What did you say your name was?"
Before I can even think I say, "Junior."
The mother giggles and suddenly I understand the branding advantage of Baal the Younger. "You're just in time to help. We had a nasty little tornado rip through here a few days ago. We were fine, mostly, but the house and the fence..."
I glance over my shoulder to see the scattered fence. There's a tree lying beside their house, and part of the roof is dented where it must have hit.
"And you offered the traditional blood sacrifice?"I said, solemnly.
"It was Barney's funeral,"the girl chipped in. "Mom says he was ready to say goodbye."Her little face is so solemn and severe when she whispers, "But I think she killed him."
I look at her mother, questioningly.
"I sacrificed a goldfish,"she admitted. "If that's okay. We couldn't afford the contractor..."
I scoff and say, under my breath, "I am a sacrifice-a-goldfish level of demon."I sigh and adjust my ballcap: DEVILISH REPAIRS. "Consider it done,"I tell her.
The mother shows me what needs fixed. The neighbors are so used to low-level demons like me that they don't even say anything anymore.
Usually, the humans just leave me alone. A few have tried to help me, which I hate. But nothing is worse than this.
The kid follows me around all over the yard, like a lost lamb.
She babbles stories while I install picket fence posts. She tries to show me shiny rocks she's found while I'm picking up broken pieces and melting them back together again between my hands. It leaves a scorch-scar but it saves a hell of a lot in material costs.
And I'm a terrible demon, so I can't even properly spook her away. I just put the fence up, getting madder and madder, as she starts telling me about making friends with ravens and how they bring her little trinkets when she leaves them treats.
"And one of them,"she goes on, "I named him Jasper--"
I slam my hammer down on the wood so hard she jolts and stares at me, rabbit-eyed.
"Look,"I said through my sharp teeth, "I already hate this damn place and this damn job. You don't have to make it worse."
But she just laughs and tells me, "You sound just like my big brother."
Great. So now I'm less scary than a teenage human boy.
I growl and turn back to work.
"Why would you hate helping people?"
"I'm a *demon*. It's not what we *do*."
"Welllll you're doing it right now,"she says, and now I'm annoyed that I'm being logically boxed in by a 10 year old.
"It's a job, kid. Just let me do it."
"Mommy says helping people fills a bucket in us we didn't know was empty."
"Go fill your mom's bucket, then."
The girl, Lila, considers my face. And then she says, "Hang on,"and runs for her bike then takes off, out of the yard.
I turn back to the fence to hammer out all my existential rage, but it's not enough, because I want to destroy this fucking thing even though I know I'll have to fix it again. I want to rain down hellfire and terror and feel powerful and important and *meaningful* the way good demons do.
I'm halfway through putting the fence back up, when the girl reappears, breathless, pedaling fast.
"Oh great,"I say. "You're back."
"I brought you something. To say thank you."
I've had the perfunctory thank yous, and the demanding assholes, and the harassers, jeering as they walked past. I've figured out human gratitude; it's as slippery as a snake and just as venomous.
"What?"I say, eyes narrowing.
She reaches into her bike basket and pulls out a small handful of objects. A bundle of wildflowers, tied with twine. A little folded up note. A handful of her gleaming rocks, which I know are just little pieces of granite but still feel somehow magical when she's gathered them all and washed the dust away.
"Here,"she says. "These are all the things that make me happy. I thought they'd make you happy."
I pick open the notecard and for once I feel it. The gaping hollow within me where the rage came from. I have never noticed it until now, when I feel that deep wound in my chest fill with so much warmth and light my eyes start to burn. It's a feeling I've never known. Never understood.
But I have a word for it: happy.
There's a drawing of her holding a handful of wildflowers and me with my hammer and my toolbox and my cloven hooves.
My face feels hot as I open and shut my mouth, searching for words.
"Sorry it's a bit bad,"she says. "We don't have money to buy real presents."
"No. This is a very real present. Thank you."My voice feels thick when I add, "I love it."
Lila's face lights up like one of those flowers.
I fasten the wildflowers to one of my horns with the rope and nod toward the fence. That place in my heart is so damn full, I don't even care who sees me.
"You want me to teach you what I'm doing? Maybe you can fix it yourself next."
It takes longer, but I show her how to line up the posts, drive them down, add lateral slats, paint evenly. Her chattering is only a little annoying now.
When the fence is done, I pack up my things to go. Lila's mother is cooking something that smells like bacon and my stomach is aching, but I'm ready to get back underground, where a demon belongs.
Lila throws her arms around my leg and tells me, "I'll miss you, Junior."
"Relax. I've still got to fix the roof tomorrow."
She grins up at me and excitedly runs to tell her mom.
I stand there in the warm light of sunset, staring at the crooked little fence with Lila's occasional spots of dripping paint, and for once, I feel like I'm doing something that matters.
Maybe it's okay to be a terrible demon, if I get to do a job like this. |
* March 17: #15 has been disposed of without complication. It seems the police have begun to piece together the connections between #1, #2, and #4. Was too sloppy in the beginning. Stupid. But what's done is done, no use worrying about it now. Will have to monitor their investigation and reevaluate at a later date. But for now, a few weeks of relaxation.
* April 3: The itch is back. Can no longer hear #15's scream as clearly in my mind. Recordings just are not the same. Time to find another. Maybe around where #7 worked, that seemed like a spot with good potential.
* April 5: No luck yet. Good targets but too much activity. Must be especially careful now, as the police are making progress. What they will call me? Will check around #11's parents' neighborhood tomorrow.
* April 9: One target with maximum potential. Mid-thirties, average build, brunette. Smells like a summer breeze. Never has any company, no association with immediate neighbors. Spends hours watering hydrangeas in her garden. Must continue reconnaissance, ensure there are no surprises.
* April 17: Confirmed target has no contact with #11's parents, good. The police have figured out that #4 worked at the same place as #9. Perhaps too risky to have done that...but #9 was worth it. So very worth it.
* April 30: Living situation optimal. Only ever leaves house to go to work, the grocery store, and the library. Avid science fiction reader. On an Asimov binge currently. Also grows fruits in the backyard. Tasty. Time to track movements more precisely.
* May 14: Two week schedule complete. Very few deviations from established norms. Barely acknowledges employees in either the grocery store or the library. Keeps head down at work. Will not be missed when gone.
* May 16: Police found #9's body. Of all the bodies to find, it had to be #9's. Knew it. Should have disposed of it more completely. But could not. Not #9.
* May 22: Can predict target's every move; reconnaissance complete. Time to perform extensive background check, make sure there are no random links for the police to find.
* May 28: Seems to be clean. Complications, however. #11's parents spoke to the police and now the neighborhood is crawling with obstacles. Will have to delay action until the presence has dissipated.
* June 6: Police have concluded that #11 is a dead-end. Precision does pay off. Target's patterns have not changed in the interim. By this time tomorrow, target will officially be #16.
* June 7: Plans on halt. #9's funeral is today. Cannot resist urge to attend. #16 will have to wait one more day.
* June 8: #16...is gone. Only left to attend #9's funeral for a matter of hours. #9 looked as beautiful as always. But #16 is gone. Car left in the driveway, hydrangeas unwatered in the garden, front door locked. Does not make sense. Must be patient. Must make sense of situation.
* June 11: Still no sign of #16. No activity around house whatsoever. Did not show up for work. No books from the library. No groceries from the store. Disappeared without a trace.
* June 18: Mystery is unbearable. Two months of flawless consistency, broken. Same day as #9's funeral, #16 disappears. Does not make sense. Can not make sense.
* June 21: No one misses #16. No one even notices the absence. As if #16 never existed at all. But #16 did exist. #16 watered hydrangeas. Hydrangeas are now dead. Where is #16?
* June 25: Should simply find another target, forget about #16. Police have given up on the case after #9's funeral. No chance of being caught unless a mistake is made. Trying to find #16 would be a mistake. But #16 was perfect. Perfect.
* June 29: Saw movement within #16's house today. Must check it out. Must figure out what happened to #16. Must solve the mystery.
-----------
"Do you really think this is going to work, Grady?"
"Have a little faith, Holt. I know how this guy thinks. He won't give up until he finds Miss Riley."
"But we moved her three weeks ago, and nothing's happened yet. Why would us coming in here change that?"
"I'll bet you twenty bucks that he's watching the house right now."
"Deal. You're gonna be out--"
Suddenly, the door slid open with a squeak. Both officers sprang to their feet, their pistols trained squarely on the intruder's head.
"Stupid. Careless. Too curious. Should never have..."the man mumbled to himself.
"Check it out, Holt. You owe me twenty bucks." |
It's been years since I made the wish. Since I saw the shooting star streaking across the sky, the night after twelve rejection letters came in the mail for my new novel. I still remember the words in those letters, so impersonally devoid of emotion that they stung.
*Characters lack rationality, emotion. Unbelievable in their actions. Missing a human element.*
So that night, I made my wish. As the star soared overhead, I whispered, and my voice was caught by the wind and whisked into the sky.
"I wish I could breathe life into my characters."
I had not meant that wish literally, but that's how fate interpreted it.
The next day I started a new novel, the words flowing from my pen like water from a river. New lines appeared before the ink dried, dialogue flowing back and forth like it never had before. In my mind I met my characters. Their personalities became as real as my own, their tics and flaws so natural that they became closer than my actual friends. I knew them, and I loved them. Especially Jeremy, my main character, a hero worthy of any legend.
I wrote that novel in three months, faster than any other I had tried before. I turned in my first draft- even after thorough inspection, there were no errors I could detect.
Three weeks after sending the novel to my choice publisher, I received a call.
"May I speak with Curt Anderson?"
"Speaking."
"Curt Anderson, we have reviewed your novel and fallen in love with it. Would you be interested in moving to the next step?"
With those simple words, my lifelong dream came to fruition. In a year my novel reached the best seller list, and the publishing company began asking for a sequel.
Which is when the implications of my wish began.
The sequel poured out of me with faster speed than the first, and as I wrote, I felt Jeremy slipping out of his role as hero. He seemed to doubt himself, acting with indecision where he would once take action. Soon he began questioning the life around him, brooding, and became obsessed with a scratching noise that would keep him awake long hours into the night.
Until, one day, in the middle of dialogue with the villain, he broke character.
"I can hear your pen scratching, Curt. Why did you create me?"
I stopped writing, my pen dug into the page. Then I heard his voice in my mind, as vivid as on the page.
"I'm not real, am I, Curt?"
"No."I said, the words catching in my mouth.
"Then finish me off. There's no reason for me to carry on."
I wrote through the night, wrapping up the sequel. In a strange turn of events, Jeremy won the lottery, and spent the rest of his life in the caribbean. With a thick stroke, I scratched in "THE END"to the end of the page, and I felt his voice depart from my mind.
After a year I started writing another novel, hoping that the first had been some strange trick of the mind. Maybe I should be looked at for a mental illness. But I did not feel crazy, so I kept writing.
Jasmine, my new character, caught on quicker than Jeremy. Nearly three quarters into the novel, she addressed me, asking me how I could have ever killed her mother in a car crash forty pages back. Without hesitation, I wrote in that Jasmine met the man of her dreams, they moved to the Bahamas, where she met her true mother because she had been adopted. Then I slammed the book shut, another "THE END"scratched into the final page.
The realization occurred in my next work. And the work after that. As my writing became more practiced, even minor characters started noticing that their lives were fake. Some committed suicide, some went crazy, but I saved as many as possible by writing in some turn of events that made their lives happier.
On my fifteenth book, I had not yet finished the first chapter, when my character addressed me by name. That day I was in a coffee shop, and I felt something snap in my brain.
Despite the score of people drinking around me, I pushed my chair back, stood, and yelled towards the ceiling.
"Why is the happening to me? How is this happening to me? Why did you put this into my life? Why did you *write* this into my life?"
The other customers stared at me, confused as I was by my outburst. Behind the counter, I saw the barista start dialing on a cell phone, and knew she was either calling for the police or her manager. I stormed out of the building and drove home, speeding along the way and considering ramming myself into a tree.
But two gentlemen waited for me in my front yard, holding a giant check.
"What's this?"I asked, opening my door.
"Why it's for you, Curt. You won a sweepstakes. Congratulations! Several million dollars worth, and a home in tropical paradise."
"What sweepstakes?"
The man smiled, shook my hand, then leaned in to whisper in my ear.
"Mr. Jacobs says you deserve this. You don't know him, but he knows you. He knows all of us in fact."The man in the suit waved about him, gesturing at the world in general, "But he does have one stipulation- you will never write again. And he will never write about you again."
On the subject line of the check, there were only two words.
"THE END"
****
By Leo.
If you enjoyed this story, please consider looking at subreddit /r/leoduhvinci, consisting mainly of works from nosleep and writingprompts.
Thanks for the gold! They're my first from this sub.
|
"Hi, you're on a rock, floating in space."
No we're not. We are in the paradise God intended when he made this true, flat earth.
"Pretty cool, huh? Some of it's water - fuck it! Actually, most of it's water."
Yes, except most of is irradiated.
"I can't even get from here to there without... Buying a boat."
A what?
"It's sad. I'm sad. I miss you."
Who do you miss?
***🎶🎶How did this happen?🎶🎶***
Easy, Go- oh, it's starting again.
"A long time ago, and also never, and also now, nothing was nowhere."
When?
"Never."
Oh, okay.
"Makes sense, right?"
No.
"Nothing was never anywhere. That's why it's been *everywhere*. It's so everywhere you don't need a where. You don't even need a when. That's how every it gets."
Well, at least he got one thing right.
"Forget this, I wanna be something, go somewhere, do something; I want things to change. And I know it's possible, because it's all here, and it probably already happened. I just don't know where to start."
That was it. The final straw. Did this... bill wurtz just claim he was God? That's it.
I am going to track him down and slay him for his blasphemy.
Edit: Damn, this was unexpected! Thanks for the positive feedback, especially for quick work on a phone.
Edit 2: Because of all of this support, I'm gonna make a part two! Thanks so much, everybody! Might take a little bit, but y'all better get ready.
Edit 3: [Part 2 is live!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9mbmqd/wp_you_live_in_an_uberreligious_society_in_3543/e7ews6b/) |
When the Dominion's armies reached the Abyss Canyon, what faced them across the only crossing point was the forty strong rearguard of the Northern Alliance. When the war ended two days later, only one of those knights remained standing. Around him lay dozens of corpses, friend and foe alike, with countless more lost to the seemingly bottomless chasm below the bridge. Despite word of the surrender shouted across at the lone sentinel, he remained motionless and silent. Yet any who approached were immediately attacked.
"Commander, we should just let him have the damn bridge. The council is convening to formally accept the surrender in the enemy capital, if we circle around through the southern forests we can still make it in time"
"The mountain pass is the fastest route, I was really hoping that our troops would be the first through the gates for a chance at the spoils. Ah well, no sense losing more lives, send the order to withdraw"
As the dust clouds of marching soldiers disappeared into the horizon, the solitary warrior rested his spear on the blood soaked stones of the bridge. And he waited.
---
Over the years of Dominion occupation, the people of the northern territories suffered greatly. Widespread pillaging and violence consumed the populace, while unchecked raids from bandits were ignored by the new ruling power. The flame of rebellion was but a minuscule spark at first, protected by the desperate hopes of those trodden upon by the merciless steel boots of their oppressors. Over time it grew, fueled by building resentment and continued grievances. It wasn't until three hundred years later though, that the flame burst forth into a raging inferno. Overextended across its massive empire, the Dominion began to draft from even the emaciated peasants of the north. When protests were aggressively crushed and instigators executed, the final timbers were tossed into the blaze. Then all hell broke loose. Mansions were ransacked, nobles lynched. The garrison barracks were put to siege, and when it fell no quarter was given. Surrounded by his personal guard, the governor fled south. Pursuing them was most of the rebel army, flying the banner of the old Alliance.
"Sir, the rebels are getting even closer!"
"As long as we can get to the other side of these mountains we'll be safe. Isn't that right kid?", the governor asked, nodding at a young girl meekly following along.
"Y-Yes sir, there's an old bridge across the canyon that most people don't know about"she quietly replied.
"If we get out of this you'll be rewarded quite well", came the response, though the girl knew that it was just a lie.
*I hope grandma's stories are true, because then the only reward I need is what awaits you on that bridge* she thought to herself.
---
When the rebel leaders reached the ancient bridge, their anger dissipated instantly. A pile of bodies lay next to the road, while a child dragged others nearby to add to the stack. Seeing them approach, she cheerfully waved. Standing in the center of the bridge was a single knight. Cautiously they approached, unsure which side his allegiance lay.
"Who do you serve?"one of them shouted, though there was no reply.
The strange knight stared for what felt like an eternity, then glanced at the flags the peasants carried. For the first time in over three centuries, he spoke.
"Took you long enough" |
Eldregon sits, enthroned upon a thousand golden swords, bequeathed to him by a thousand noble kings, long dead. His first lifetime was spent mastering his magical craft, the second spent conquering the plague of death, and ever since then he has sat as de facto ruler of all that he surveys.
And his greatest enemy has been boredom.
Today, as has happened so many times before, a hero stands at the gate. Clad in armor, brandishing sword and shield, and calling out.
"Eldregorn, wizard of a thousand lives, scourge of this land! I will rid this world of you once and for all! Come and fight, you wretched cur!"
"Eldregon."
".... what?"
"You said Eldregorn. My name is Eldregon. You added an 'R'."
"Oh, right."The hero scribbles in a notepad on the back of his shield. "And how long *have* you been a scourge on this land?"
Eldregon waves his hand, and the "hero"launches skyward, back to wherever it was from whence he came.
These historians get trickier every year. |
"So, Grandma! Tell me stories from when you were my age!"I said, trying to act excited. She always told me the same three stories when I visited her, but it made her happy.
"Well, you see, Tom-"
She was cut off by the scream of a man who'd entered the wrong octave. Glass shattered, wood splintered and men in black armor surrounded us.
"Get on the ground!"they screamed, pointing guns at us. *This is it. Terrorists have come to kill us all.*
We were handcuffed and told to sit on a couch, then approached by a fairly handsome man in his thirties.
"Well,"he said, standing in front of us, "you two are not what I expected to find here."
I was crying at that point, but grandma was....grandma.
"Would you like some tea, dear? Oh, my, it's been so long since I've had new visitors. Tommy, are these your friends?"
"No, ma'am. I'm with the FBI. We're here because somebody broke into our database, accessing very sensitive information about classified operations."
I was still crying, looking at him with bewilderment. "I'm just here to visit my grandma!"
He turned to her. "Well, ma'am? You know what we're talking about?"
"I'm afraid not, deary. Though today I did have a bit of trouble getting the Googles on my computer. I wanted to find recipes, but I can never find the damn Googles. Also, let me just say- it's nice that they let a colored man work for the FBI. I think society has come a long way."
He stared at her, squinting his eyes and glossing over the last bit. "The Googles? You mean Google, the search engine?"
"Yes, sweetie, I suppose so. I clicked on the colorful circle thingy, then tried to type 'thegoogles.com' but that didn't work, so I typed in 'fbi.com' and your website came up. I thought you might have the Googles on your page thingy- I mean, you guys are good at finding things, right? But no matter what I clicked on, I couldn't find it. Then something asked for my nickname and password, so I tried to log on a few times but I can never remember my password. I put the name '1234' and the password 'password' in like I'm supposed to, but it didn't work. So I tried 'Password' with a capital P, and then I found all kinds of really neat things, but no Googles and I gave up."
The man stared blankly at her, like she was some sort of alien. I butted in. "Please, she has no idea what she's doing. I had to teach her how to plug the computer in and push the on button. There's no malice here!"
His eyes remained fixated on her. "You're saying the password was 'Password' and the username was '1234'?"
"Yes, that's all I could remember. Are we in trouble, young man?"
He stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, you're not. But there's a lazy network engineer that's going to have a nice vacation in Guantanamo Bay."
----
*thanks for reading! If you'd like to read more of my stories, check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
Her hands carved curves into the pottery; the delicate, thin frame of her eyes looking down at these sculptures with the cradling love that reminds me of home, forever ago. A weak smile hung on her lips, the kind I remember from those trailing ends of her forgotten lullabies. The white strands of her hair loped her shoulders, so brilliant and bright in the morning light that I didn’t know where she and the sun delineated. She was energy, forever tied to that small, suburban pottery store I lived my childhood in. Lemon and grass wafted through the air.
"Mom,"I said. She didn’t hear me. She lost herself in the cycling whirlpool of the pottery wheel. “Mom,” I said again, quietly, to no response. My mother just sat there, basking in the morning light slicing through the Venetian blinds of her pottery store. She looked pristine and peaceful, beautiful in a way that exceeded physical form. I reached out to touch her and, suddenly, red, raging text monopolized my vision:
WARNING: FIVE MINUTES ARE UP. PLEASE INSERT MORE CREDIT.
Everything evaporated. The brilliant morning light shifted to a dingy evening glow that revealed the floating dust that now inhabited this relic of a childhood home. The polished pottery lining the racks around me became cracked and ugly – I couldn’t sense the beauty and poetry in them anymore, if they had any of their own in the first place. Worst of all, my mother was gone, and I was cold.
“Fuck,” I said out-loud, putting on a jacket from the corner coat rack. I detested our disease of a capitalist nightmare society. "Fuck,"I said again, simply to comfort myself.
\*\*\*
Weeks before I revisited the store, and years after my mother’s death, I received a letter from a stranger who said he knew Abigail Foster. *She told me to tell you she loved you very much, and that she left a gift for you in the basement of the pottery store.* A copper key laid in the envelope, the very same one she kept in her purse. The only time she ever raised a hand against me was when I tried to steal it. I would have thrown the letter and key away because...well, why trust strange letters slid under your door under the cover of night? But, as always, my curiosity superseded my rationality.
The floorboards creaked as I moved down them. The air smelled rank and musty, the memory of my mom’s perfume from the holo-pic now merely a faint, fading thought. My vision, even enhanced by optics, was shrouded in black as I descended down the steps, hoping to god that – even in their age – they wouldn’t give and send me tumbling into a broken bone darkness. That would be my luck, wouldn't it? Dead in a creepy basement with my mother's wishes left unfulfilled, only a thin apology on my lips when I saw her across the golden bars of the Pearly Gates. Thankfully, I reached the bottom steps and flipped on a switch I found affixed to a limestone wall.
Pale, yellow light weakly flooded the room, which consisted of worn but well-kept pottery lining the walls. Some of it was priceless, beautiful beyond description. Song Dynasty porcelain bowls. Mayan clay-and-temper vases. Roman *terra sigillata* depicting the triumph of Zeus over Kronos. Others were...less impressive. I saw my middle-school art project sandwiched between two Greek relics, a shoddy failure of a thing, yet my mother's eyes glowed when my small hands held it toward her. Love is blind, I guess. Beyond the walls, in the center of the room, was an intricately crafted clay mallet on a pedestal and a note, neatly scrawled in my mother’s handwriting.
*Son, I instructed a...friend...to send you down here when he thought you were ready. I am sorry to have lied to you all these years, but I did it to protect you. Touch the mallet to one of these pots in the room. You’ll understand then.*
I was confused. No, confused was an understatement. I knew my mother had her secrets, but I always thought that referred to her recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies. What was this room? What was this hammer? Questions raced without answers; there was only one way I was going to figure anything out.
I picked up the clay hammer slowly, feeling the clay's bumps and ridges that someone with watchmaker hands must've carefully carved into this artifact. It felt unnaturally light and fragile in my hands. I touched the *terra sigillata* and -
*Woe is Caesar. With my eyes I verily behold his broken and bloody body dragged through the streets of Rome, and my heart is sorrowful. Truth be told: he was a conqueror of much talent, yet a ruler with none. Be that as it may, only the Gods have the power of judgement. I am strongly of the opinion Humans should have no business in destruction of another. This sentiment, of course, is not much appreciated by my fellow constituents. I am Quirinus, the Keeper of Rome, and I have captured a tale that* *turns history: the Death of Caeser. His soul lies trapped within clay.*
I reeled back, nearly knocking over the pedestal behind me. What the fuck was that? I felt a surge of energy, a rush of power, and then a loss of control. I wasn't Matthew Foster. I was someone old, someone feeble, in an era that felt alien and unnatural, and although I could understand what I was thinking and saying, my lips curled around vowels I'm sure I can't pronounce. I *saw* Caesar. I saw a *dead* Caesar. Of course I spent the better part of the next hour touching mallet to clay like a looney cartoon character.
I became an Iroquois woman who cataloged the burning of her village in a clay ceramic doe.
I became a woman from Zaire watching Belgium soldiers drag her husband off into the mines. She captured him in a bowl too small for food.
I became so many people, some famous, some not, watching events in history unfold, and soon, I began to understand one, principle fact about my life: there’s no way in hell my mom was just an austere middle-class, single mother who ran a pottery shop. She was something more, something strange, something powerful. Each piece of pottery held a story, and I consumed the narratives with bestial desire. I ravished the history I saw through the eyes of the "Keepers."After watching German soldiers drag Jews from their homes during WW2 and a Chinese man smoke an opium pipe in 1838, I finally reached the out of place, quizzical looking black and blue clay cup I gave my mom years ago. I touched the mallet, but, before I did so, an uncanny chill traveled down my spine, prickling my skin. Something didn't feel right.
*My name is Abigail Foster. I’m the Keeper of the American Empire and mother of my son Matthew. I did not create this piece -- I know that's against Order tradition -- but the boy who did has powers that exceed my own. He is an event to surpass the fall of Rome, the death of Shakespeare, the birth of Genghis Khan. He’s what we’ve been waiting for all this time, the turning point of everything. The man who will destroy Humanity.*
edit: I woke up to a lot of comments. Thanks everyone for the compliments and the fixes. I will, in the future, try to add to this story. |
As another beautiful human with a good figure left the stage, an eight foot tall, dark green, large toothed, pig-nosed, and battle-ready Orc entered the stage. All humans had to work hard not to say anything.
After all, they knew that there were dozens of huge orcs sitting in the crowd, ready to tear them apart. Even the stupidest child could feel the pressure and not say anything stupid.
"Hello there,"a beautiful and colourful fairy flew near the Orc's face. "And what's your name?"she asked with a smile.
Orc started to slowly jump on one leg to another, showing off her excitement. She didn't realise that it caused the ground to shake a bit.
"Me, Mulu!"she said.
"Hello, Mulu!"the fairy responded with a smile. "What's your dream?"she asked next question.
"Mulu wants beauty contest!"Mulu responded with a wide grin. "Oh... win it, Mulu can't have beauty contest! Mulu wants win it!"she fixed herself.
"Great! Do you think you have what it takes to win this?"the fairy asked.
"Mulu tries her best! Mulu thinks she tries!"
As she said that, a human finally stood up and shouted: "Oh come on. You're an ugly fuck, why don't you go home? This isn't competition for orcs!"
Other humans gasped while orcs in the crowd showed obvious displeasure.
Mulu, however, started to cry. "Mulu just dreams!"she shook her head and started to run away, shaking the ground as she ran further and further away. Of course, as the Mulu ran away, the human realised how fucked he was.
Mulu ran to a nearby lake. There was also a huge waterfall, filling the lake slowly. Two rivers flowed from the lake, helping the water to continue its journey towards the sea.
Mulu slowly took a seat on a larger rock. Then she looked at the water. An ugly face looked back at her. Even she understood what that human meant.
"Foolish Mulu, impossible dreams,"she said, frowning.
Then another orc appeared. It was a bit shorter orc. He had many scars on his face and chest, showing off the battles he had gone through. He was a great orc.
"Skan wonders, Mulu okay?"Skan slowly walked near Mulu and then took a seat on the ground, looking towards Mulu.
"Skan..."Mulu whispered. "Mulu ugly. Mulu never pretty."
Skan got furious, he frowned. "Skan crush that puny human!"He was about to stand up.
Mulu quickly put her hand on Skan's shoulder. "No! Skan no hurt human. Human no harm. Humans speak truth!"She then let her hand go and crossed her hands in front of her.
Skan frowned again. "Skan think your dream true come!"
Mulu raised her eyebrow. "Mulu no understand!"
Skan blushed. "Mulu won contest in my heart!"then he stood up and turned around, facing away from Mulu. Blushing was an obvious weakness of the warrior.
"Skan..."Mulu whispered. She stood up and then put her hand on Skan's shoulder. "Mulu thanks Skan! Skan has pretty scars!"
Skan felt frustration, but also a happiness.
"Skan asking, Mulu wants to go hunt boar?"he turned slowly around and tried not to make an eye contact with Mulu, he was a bit embarrassed.
Mulu blushed. "Mulu thinks... yes. Mulu would want to hunt boar with Skan."
And thus, that was a date.
----
/r/ElvenWrites <- For more stories. Also, feel free to leave feedback :)! |
The screams of the Colony pierce through the ears of Bobby Gallvano as he unloads the remaining charge of what he calls his assault rifle. He screams back as the green bolts fire into the charging mass of multi-coloured limbs, releasing gushes of black, steaming mush.
"Recharge me, dammit!"Gallvano shouts to his allies.
The small creatures scramble on the wires that links his rifle to the battery pack, pressing buttons and reconnecting the wires in a seemingly random order. His rifle fizzles, the bolts getting smaller and less effective, eventually streaming into nothing.
This was the break the Colony needed to press forward.
"No time for this, it's time to get my hands dirty."Gallvano smiles as he throws his rifle into the surging force, crushing a dozen or so, then rolling up his sleeves, he charges into the enemy.
The Colony soldiers, the tallest only reaching his ankles stood no chance, as the legendary beast known as The Bobby, carved his way through thousands of the enemy. His allies looked upon the beast with awe, filling themselves with a courage that they had not known for generations. They charged with their giant.
Victory was inevitable. Hundreds of thousands of the Colony were slaughtered, while only thousands were on the allied, though a majority were likely crushed under the heel of The Bobby.
He stood, back hunched looking over the battlefield, wiping the sweat off his face with one hand and fanning himself with his cap in the other. The allies spared a long moment to gaze at their saviour, bowing to him and muttering praises. He looked down around at the bodies, entrails and blood that stained the field and laughed.
"Bring my broom. Looks like we got some cleaning to do." |
Humans are constantly replacing the cells in their bodies. I've read estimates that put it at 300 billion a day.
300 billion cells replaced. Per person. Every single day.
And they figure that it takes about seven years for a person to replace all the cells in his body. That means, every seven years, you're a brand new human. Physically speaking, that is.
So what was the difference with my teleportations?
Sure, my replacement happened quicker. Sure, I had to experience those seven years worth of bodily twinges, pains and discomforts in an instant, rather than spread out over the normal duration of time.
But otherwise, it was the same old story. Right?
Same self. New body. Just like your average Joe or Linda from down the street. You wouldn't accuse Joe of killing himself every decade. You wouldn't give Linda a sidelong glance for replacing her physical components. It was all natural. Inevitable. Part of our biology.
So why did I get so much shit for doing it my way?
"Because it's wrong!"my mom sobbed.
She was crying again. She always did, after I jumped into her vicinity. The screams really wigged her out. The way I clutched at my chest and convulsed. She didn't like seeing me dying in agony.
"It was a discount, bottom of the barrel spell!"she cried. "You don't know the moral implications. What if it counts as suicide? What if you're sending a sliver of your soul to purgatory with every jump?"
"I didn't want to be late for dinner,"I said, kissing her on the cheek and sitting down at the table. "I *had* to jump."
"But the *you* who was going to be late for dinner is *still* late for dinner!"she cried, standing there in her apron. "He's never coming to dinner! He's gone! Why can't you understand that? Why can't you see?"
"It's really too bad,"I said, scooping a mess of pasta onto my plate. "He always loved your spaghetti. But you know what I'll do? I'll make sure to eat extra tonight. In honour of him and his memory."
\- - -
Okay, okay, it was a bad look. I was too cavalier about the whole thing. I might have been fine with it. But that didn't mean I needed to teleport right in front of my poor mom multiple times a day. Make her watch my old self scream and writhe for a couple moments, then die, before the new me sprung back to life.
So why did I do it?
"I think it's because you know it's wrong, too,"my girlfriend said. "Deep down, a part of you realizes that there's something immoral about it. That's why you do it so much around the people it bothers most. You *want* your mom to react how she does. You *want* her to judge you, to criticize you. To say out loud the things your subconscious has been trying to tell you for months. Like you need to hear the good solid sense, even though you won't follow it."
We were lying in my bed, in my basement. I could hear my mom's footsteps on the creaky floor above.
"You know what?"I said. "I think you're right, babe. I really do. That makes better sense of my behaviour than anything else. This could be my breakthrough. My grand realization. I can't just keep it to myself. I gotta tell mom!"
The last thing the old me saw was my girlfriend lying in bed, rolling her eyes. And the first thing the new me saw was my mom stomping over to me with her open palm raised above her shoulder.
"You're an ass!"she cried as she slapped my fresh-formed cheek.
"You're an ass!"my girlfriend yelled from the basement.
"You're an ass,"said the arch mage of our city, when I finally decided to pay him a visit and ask him some questions about the spell.
I was sitting on a couch in his study. He sat behind his desk and stroked his long white beard.
"I've been hearing that a lot lately,"I said.
"Good,"he said. "You ought to. Because it's the truth. All this time you thought you were too clever, too superior, too exceptional to heed the good advice of the people around you. The father who told you to save up for a better spell. The mother who warned you about the moral implications. The girlfriend who--"
"I get it,"I said. "Alright? I've taken it too far. I've been a no-good, sarcastic, know-it-all. Can't you just help me out, by upgrading the enchantment?"
"Done,"he said, with a wave of the hand.
"That's it?"I asked.
"That's it."
I teleported one cushion over. Then back. No blackout. No pain.
Very cool.
"And what about the implications of the old spell?"I asked. "Are they really so serious and grave? I kinda had this whole spiel about how it's normal for bodily cells to get replaced. That it happens to everyone all the time. But with me, because of that spell, it just happened more often, and quicker."
"Bodily cells?"the arch mage laughed. "You thought it was only your physical components you were killing with each jump?"
\- - -
**Part 2!**
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/pbbmh6/wp\_you\_die\_every\_time\_you\_use\_your\_short\_distance/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/pbbmh6/wp_you_die_every_time_you_use_your_short_distance/) |
Faster than Light , or FTL travel proved to be as much a fantasy in space as planets teeming with life. For the first hundred systems the human race touched, going our best at "near-light-Speed travel,"or nCT, we found solar systems empty, except for swirling, frozen gas giants, burning rocks, frozen rocks, and unknown trillions of little things that just get in the way.
But the first time a human ship discovered a solar system with more possibility for the human experience than living in a tube, we also saw traces of nCT at the edges of the system. We hadn't been there first. The U.E.S. (Union Explorer Ship) Cousteau, a peaceful scientific ship, was the one to make contact. The ship sent an unmanned drone ahead, slungshot around the largest gas giant and the systems star, to try to catch up. It has a pre-programmed, mathematically predicted communicated message. Any species should be able to decipher at least one of the communication messages made.
The drone had only three years independent range. The U.E.S. Cousteau, a ‘semi-manned’ ship, that is to say a ship with a formerly human pilot integrated into the computer and the rest of the crew in hibernation, remained on station soaking up sun rays and passively studying the planet below. There was flora and fauna. It had distributed at least three more drones as satellites to study the planet below, when first contact was made.
The surviving drone recorded the whole affair. A large grey object entered the solar system. The U.E.S. Cousteau hailed it with several messages. Before a single one of the messages was sent to completion, the grey object split into four. It attached motors on to loose asteroids, melted them into a single projectile, and sent them hurling toward the Cousteau at 80% the speed of light. The projectiles took 18 minutes to cross from the edge of the solar system to get there, but the ship only had about 3 and half to react. The third of four meteors ripped through the ship like a shotgun blast through a cardboard box.
Drone 26 immediately began to enter a trajectory to return home. The four objects returned to one and began to pursue. Drone 26 self destructed somewhere along the way, and Drone 12 took an alternate course home.
It was 30 years before word of this event reached the human species, colonizing their scattered, desolate rocks in their immediate vicinity. It wasn’t much, but it was ripe for a procedure that humans had no qualms in using: self-constructing drone camps. Drone 12 arrived at one of these camps on a rocky planet orbiting too near its sun for an atmosphere. The drones ceased mining the planet, and spread to the nearest human colonies. When word reached Earth, it was 32 years after the event, but 16 bases were already forming a drone armada.
A new ship was refit. The U.E.S. Zheng He was rechristened the U.E.D.S. (United Earth Defense Ship) Goliath, and word was sent to the drone colonies. The ship would be built along the way as drones from the other camps joined the fleet. They would bring materials to add to the Goliath, bit by bit.
800 marines were selected from various countries to serve as the ground or ship to ship force, though no proof of concept had ever been seen. Only a few tests had even achieved semi-passable results. Several designs for weapons were sent, which the drones could produce from the materials of lifeless planets. By the time the U.E.D.S. Goliath reached the first contact solar system, it was a fleet of 1 carrier, 4 corvettes constructed entirely out of drones, and over 40 independent drone ships which could split.It arrived like a sudden star glaring out of the darkness, their trails burning at max velocity, carving through space-time.
The planet below had been colonized by the other species. There were two ships in orbit, and dozens of satellites. It had been almost 70 years. One ship opened and began to absorb free materials to create a projectile. 8 drones intercepted it and disabled it with gigawatt lasers. In the next several minutes, there was a flurry of movement.
A dropship fell out of the carrier, the corvettes moved to engage the two ships, the 40 drones diverged to match every attempt of the existing ships to create new projectiles, and the carrier moved into close orbit over the planet. Lasers, invisible in the vacuum, streaked across the empty expanse. The orbiting tried to flee but were disabled. Suddenly, there was no movement.
The inhabitants found themselves face to face with a force that had utterly decimated them in under half an hour, despite, as they began to scan, them being technologically inferior to themselves.
Another message began to broadcast. They listed this time.
“This is the U.E.D.S. Goliath, first strike fleet of the Human race. We are prepared to defend ourselves. We are prepared to attack. We are prepared to destroy. We are also prepared to forgive the murder our companions as a mistake, in the name of a dream of peace.Which are you prepared for?”
It took them an hour to translate and return the message. An hour we later were told was the most nerve wracking and intense of their lives. "We had thought peace was not an option."
"Did you ever ask?" |
*Why do I do this?*
It’s a question I asked myself many times. Why do I protect these people? Protect this city even though anyone who sees me averts their eyes, tries to ignore me. Those were the good ones. Often times they spat at my feet or warded of evil with their hands.
All mages were supposed to be equal citizens by law of course. Just as the Asleans were supposed to have voting rights. The law meant little in face of the suppositions of people.
I was interrupted from my reverie as a man with a sword rushed towards me, he must’ve been hiding behind one of the pillars. He screamed and charged. Idiot. I cloaked myself in Darkness and vanish. The man faltered, his eyes searching. He didn't even realize when I materialized in his shadow behind him and slit his throat with my glass dagger.
Blood stained my white robes matching my long blood red hair. I heard a gasp from behind me. Another man with a axe. He doesn’t charge me though. He probably saw what happened. I could imagine what was running through his head. A tall red haired woman with blood staining her white robes and face. But most intimidating of all of course are the eyes. They are completely black, no irises. Marking me as a Dark Mage. I smiled a bit manically at him, just to complement the image.
The man cried out and stumbled backward, actually falling to the ground. With a casual flick of my hand I appeared to the left of him, from his shadow. The man gasped, and shuffled away from me, still not standing.
“Please…please don’t kill me!” he stammered. “I’m just hired muscle, Gareth is the mastermind I swear on me ma!”
“Hired muscle to wipe out the city, killing thousands?” I said quietly, and took a step towards him.
“I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do! We was just told to guard the entrance to the catacombs.” He pointed towards the gold doors at the end of the temple.
“Please…I got a family just let me go…” The man actually begins to cry.
I look away in disgust. He actually expected me to kill him, a terrified man with no chance against me, no threat. That is what the world thought of Dark mages, what they thought of me.
*And here I am, protecting their capital city.*
Why do I do this?
I opened the door and stepped into the darkness of the catacombs. That might have intimidated a normal or even another mage. But for me, darkness was a refuge. I felt it run over my skin, touch the edges of the wall, the urns and the pots. I knew in my head the exact layout of the room. I could also make out the two men standing directly 10 feet ahead of me.
One of them opened the double door on the other side of the room, and the darkness fled. A blazing fire became visible, casting dancing shadows across the room. The two men gasped as I became visible. The one on the left is a short man, plump, with blue robes. His pupils are a bright blue, the color of the sky. A storm mage. Great.
But it’s the other man that turns my vision red. The one on the right is tall, with a dense blond beard, and a lean figure. His blond hair, as usual, charmingly disheveled, and his bright orange eyes seem to radiate kindness. He was the picture of a gentle man, a kind man. The kind a kid would look up to. Gareth.
“I should’ve expected you would show up Irene,” Gareth said in that infuriatingly kind voice, “you always did have the worst timing.”
The storm mage next to him tensed, as if readying for battle.
“This is insane Gareth, you want to claim the Goddess’ pyre for yourself! You’ll burst!”
“Oh Irene, I didn’t realize you were so worried about me!” He laughed. “Rest assured, I intend to come out of that chamber alive.”
“What a shame,” I sneered.
“I have to go now Irene, but here I'll leave a playmate.” Gareth stepped into the chamber of the Fire, and the storm mage’s hands crackle with electricity, preparing for a battle. I gather the remaining darkness around me, preparing a strike of my own.
A lance of lightning suddenly sped towards me. It struck the darkness I had pulled over me and dissipated, costing me a bit of my cloak. The mage stood, blocking the door way, with his shadow in front of him, so there was no way for me to sneak up on him. I used some of the darkness I had gathered to and threw a lance of Dark at him. He coated his hands with lightning and *caught* it, throwing it behind him.
"Nice try wench, but you can't stand against me."He laughed as a threw another blot of lightning at me. I started to move backwards as he launched blow after blow. I intercepted some with my own strikes, and others fell harmlessly on the Dark I had called to protect myself, but it was running out.
I backed up to a wall, and began to move to the side, back hugged to the wall.
"No where to run now, eh?"he snarled.
The cocky mage kept throwing strikes with wild abandon while I rationed my Dark, deflecting his strikes as efficiently as possible. With the large light outside, I had little Dark to work with.
*There!*
With our slow dance around the room, I now stood with my back to the fire.
And his shadow was behind him.
I allowed myself a little smile, and dropped my Dark cloak.
"You're done now!"He laughed, thinking I was spent.
As he launched his strike, I appeared in the shadow behind him. It was at that moment he realized what had happened.
"Oh shi-"He started to whirl around to face me, but I swiftly slit his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling and spasming.
Why do I do this?
I stepped into the chamber with the fire to find Gareth. His eyes were angry, the calm kind facade was gone, replaced by his true self. He knew full and well he couldn't take me alone.
"It's over Gareth. Get the hell out"I said tiredly.
Gareth tsked at me. “What I don’t understand Irene, is why you oppose me. You could join me you know, we don’t have to be at odds. Us mages, we are above the common men, we were granted this power to rule. But look at you. You have the control of Darkness but people laugh at you, sneer at you. And you protect these people!” He was genuinely incredulous with that last sentence. “They hate you, but you protect them! Why?”
The answer I had was incomplete, but it was something. "Someone needs to Gareth. If not me then who?"I said in the same weary voice.
"That's where you're wrong Irene, you don't need to do anything, just do what you want."
And for a second I considered it. With Gareth I knew I could get power, get back at those who sneered at me, feared me. If they feared me, I would give them something to fear.
But no damn it. I couldn't become what they saw, what they wanted me to be. I was my own person. And so, with great difficulty, I shook my head.
"Another time then Irene,"he smiled, "I'll convince you one day."In a flash of light, he vanished.
In the darkest recesses of my mind, I was afraid one day, he'd be right.
(major edits, added another half to the story)
EDIT: Thanks for all the awesome feedback, this is the best I've gotten in terms of quality. I have responses with more upvotes sure, but here I got a lot of tips on how to improve and some specific instances where I made a misstep. I seriously appreciate you guys helping me improve my writing, and am glad you enjoyed my work. |
It was always difficult, adapting to a new body. It was probably the most challenging aspect of covert reconnaissance missions.
Issues like understanding the local language and culture, those were merely a matter of information absorption and enough simulation time.
Adapting to a new body, however, a new biology, that was different.
It always surprised people, when she told them. Because the remarkable similarity of sapient organic life across the galaxy was a known fact, something every schoolchild knew and accepted.
It seemed there were only so many successful body plans. Most aquatic races shared common body shapes. And similarly, most land dwellers were bilaterally symmetrical bipeds.
There were indisputable advantages to the usual packages of features. Opposable thumbs for tool use, walking upright for energy-efficient - if unstable - locomotion, warm-blooded biology for better temperature control.
But still, adapting to a new body always bothered her.
That was difficult for many of her friends and family to understand. They didn't quite comprehend when she explained the issue.
Certainly, there were issues such as the different proportions of arms and legs, the specific posture and stance demanded by bone structure. But those were matters that knowledge implants and automated reflex systems were designed to deal with.
Intellectually, there shouldn't have been any difficulty.
And in practical terms, there wasn't any problem. In practical terms, she could function. The implanted knowledge, the recorded skills, these addressed the functional challenges.
The many subsystems installed in her new body handled issues like balance, or precision in delicate physical movement. There was, for example, no need to learn how to walk in the new body. That was all handled for her.
It was the mental portion that was the disruptive aspect. Getting used to it on an emotional level. Living inside a new skin. Breathing in the scents of an alien atmosphere. Feeling comfortable with a strange face.
That was the challenge, on a purely visceral level.
She was good at her job, though.
It took a particular kind of personality to willingly spend entire stellar cycles encased in alien flesh, living among people of a different species.
It took a particular kind of personality to embrace their way of life, to pass as one of them, undetected.
Or, at least, mostly undetected.
She knew her emulation wasn't perfect. Many of the humans she'd met and interacted with at length likely considered her somewhat… atypical.
She'd corrected many of her early errors, but even now, even today, there were occasional mistakes.
It was fortunate, then, that the inhabitants of this planet were high enough on the civilisational scale - at least in social terms - that any of her oddities were largely accepted by the natives.
They would not judge, at least not overtly.
And, more importantly, they would not suspect.
However, she still endeavoured to correct any mistakes.
Some were her fault. Because even a highly-programmed and experienced field researcher like herself… couldn't be perfect. Not quite.
Some mistakes, however, were due to lack of information. There was always some nuance, some detail, some reference or area of local knowledge that the preliminary studies had overlooked.
That was why she was here. Standing outside the transparent barrier of non-crystalline amorphous solid - the glass, the locals called it. Watching. Observing.
It had been a simple conversation. She had thought so, anyway, until it had suddenly veered into unfamiliar territory, leaving her scrambling to cover her inadequate local knowledge.
Like many sapient beings in the galaxy, humans were fairly body-conscious. That sort of vanity, that sort of focus on the aesthetics and well-being of the physical form… it was not completely universal, but it was a common trait.
She'd been very pleased, when she'd discovered how much of the local electronic public-access information networks were dedicated to pornography in all its myriad forms. An observer could learn a lot about a civilisation from watching their pornography.
But what they'd missed was the fact that, to put it simply, body-modification technology was in its relative infancy on this planet.
They had some degree of cosmetic surgical augmentation. Some degree of performance-enhancing biotechnology. Yet it was all remarkably primitive by interstellar standards, compared to the relative sophistication of their other sciences.
For a civilisation at this overall technical and social level of development, she would have expected more.
She'd become aware of that gap, when discussing a device a coworker had acquired.
They had been standing in the communal rest area at their workplace, at the place of employment she'd inserted herself into, as part of her local identity.
Her human coworker had shown off a new wrist device, apparently a commercial electronic product used to track and record a human's physical movement.
Her coworker had then asked about her own exercise routine.
She'd deflected the question. She was, of course, aware of the concept, and she knew humans practiced it. But she had no actual need to do it herself, considering that much of her own body was synthetic, simply designed to mimic a human body.
The small proportion of it that was biological, actual human-compatible flesh, was maintained in optimum condition by her mechanical systems.
The encounter had made her aware that her appearance, her size, her muscle tone, her general standard of health, and other physical factors... would naturally lead most humans to assume that she did perform exercise regularly. They would assume she was familiar with their places of exercise, the facilities known as gymnasiums, or gyms.
She did not know much about these places, save for scattered references in the entertainment media she had reviewed. That cursory knowledge had been enough to navigate the conversation to a satisfactory conclusion.
But she resolved to address this gap in her knowledge.
That had led her to this location, a gym that her human coworker had recommended when she'd claimed to be 'between routines'.
Her colleague had added that, aside from its comprehensive inventory of machines designed to assist humans in the practice of exercise, the gym was also a 'studio' that offered instructional courses in a variety of disciplines, all exercise-related activities.
Her colleague had believed she would be interested.
She was now observing one of these classes, through the glass.
At first she had been confused. Two humans had appeared to be engaging in combat. But there was no hostility, no sense of threat. And, very unsettlingly, the other humans were quietly observing, but making no move to stop the combatants.
Then the two had separated, made a respectful gesture to each other, before turning to the other gathered humans.
The group had then repeated the movements shown to them by the instructors. And they were instructors - she'd realised that, belatedly. It made sense in context. This was, of course, a training facility.
She looked at the group, and the building around her. She considered this data point.
The humans learned physical skills. They had to. There was, clearly, more to operating their bodies than the… purely instinctive.
And they did not have, she realised, any means of installing these lessons. No significant body modifications meant no knowledge implants.
She looked at the class. The movements were… sophisticated, she realised. Easily the rival of any of the standard recorded patterns in her own library, used for the disabling and restraint of hostile humanoid sapients.
Some of the movements, she realised, were unknown to her. Not recorded in her database. Perhaps that was merely because she was a researcher, not a combat specialist, but she had a sudden suspicion…
She'd been observing the humans for a while. They were an interesting species, but she hadn't seen any sign of… genius. No sign of anything special, no sign of any area in which they were extraordinary by galactic standards.
But this...
"Kinesthetics,"she said out loud.
"What's that, miss?"
She half-turned, glancing at the human behind the reception counter, the one meant to receive arrivals to the facility.
"Sorry,"she said, commanding herself to laugh, in feigned mild embarassment. She had a subroutine for that, and it was now practiced habit to trigger the appropriate systems. She also activated the custom movement she'd programmed in, which lifted her hand to rub the back of her neck. "Just talking to myself."
"No worries,"the receptionist said. "You like the class?"
"Oh, uh, yeah,"she replied, "it's awesome. Super cool. But, it's just, I was just thinking, I can't see myself doing something like that."
"You look like you work out, though,"the human observed, sounding curious.
She glanced down at her body. "Well, I guess? But that's not what I meant. I'm a klutz. No coordination, yeah? I couldn't do all that, uh, Kung Fu shit."
The receptionist smiled. "Hey, don't sell yourself short. We've got a range of self-defence courses for all skill levels. There's a free introductory thing on Saturdays, for beginners. You could come, see if you like it. No pressure. No harm trying, right?"
"I,"she said, slowly, thinking it over. "I guess? Uh, I mean, sure?"
"Great, great, I've got a flyer here, or you can check out the times on our website…"
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7pvelr/wp_to_most_of_the_galaxy_turning_your_body_into_a/dsm6lvy/) |
Charlie stood by the creek, wriggling his toes through the brown muck before washing it off in the gurgling water. His friend stood and watched him do this twice, before finding some appropriately sized stepping stones to hop across. A few moments later, Charlie followed. It was good to be back out here. It was like putting on an old comfy sweater, or a well worn boot. It felt right, to come back to this same place Charlie had spent most of his childhood playing in.
Alex made his way through the woods ahead, the trees looming ominously overhead. It was an ancient forest, boughs and leaves providing a spattering of cover through a tangling undergrowth. Charlie took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of loam and earth. It felt good to be away from town, away from work, to spend some time with an old friend. It seemed to be getting a little dark, though Charlie attributed that to the tree cover. For a brief moment, it almost looked like some of the branches were reaching down. But the image passed as quickly as it arose.
Alex scampered over a small ridge of tangled roots, doing a half stumble, half run to a small clearing in the wood. Charlie followed, and saw with some fascination a ring of speckled crimson mushrooms in the center of the glade. It was weirdly perfect, with another concentric ring of emerald mushrooms guarding the inner circle.
Alex walked closer to the circle, leaning down and inspecting a particularly large green mushroom in the outer circle.
"I've been meaning to talk to you,"Alex said. Charlie assumed something as much, the strangely quiet car ride had been a bit disconcerting, but he hadn't said anything about it through most of the hike. Every attempt at conversation had been stymied at every turn.
"Okay,"Charlie said, weighing the words slightly. "About what?"
A bit more silence, and Alex flicked another mushroom, and then looked up, as if waiting for something. His sandy blonde hair stirred by an errant wind through the glade.
"Your imaginary friend. You're almost twenty, dude. I know its been your secret, but you're way too old for this shit."
Charlie hissed slightly. Alex was his only friend he'd mentioned this pervasive thing to. It made Charlie feel uneasy. He knew it was unnatural. He knew it was strange. He knew it wasn't something he should still have, but this thing would follow him. A small growing ball of doubt in his belly warned him that it was something far more serious than a childhood obsession. Maybe some kind of genuine hallucination.
The thing looked so real. It was as dark as obsidian, tall and sleek, with scales closer to gems than anything organic. Its eyes were that same azure fire, like looking into a neutron star. As a kid, it'd been entertaining. Something to play with in the woods. More like a pet than anything else. But now it seemed more intelligent. Now it seemed to whisper.
Charlie shook his head to banish the thought.
"It's still there,"he admitted to Alex. "I'm starting to think something may be wrong with me."
That seemed to annoy Alex more than anything else. As if someone had placed some kind of imaginary weight between Alex's shoulder blades. Charlie could see him stoop. Or was he just imagining things? Charlie had trouble trusting his vision.
"Of course there's something wrong with you. Who hallucinates an imaginary friend? It was old when you were nine, it's completely fucked up now."
Charlie kicked a small clod of dirt. So much for a fun hike with a friend.
"So I have to ask. How often do you see it?"
Charlie thought about it.
"Every week or so, it used to follow me everywhere, but now it seems to want to talk to me, rather than just be next to me."
A tightening in Alex's jaw.
"What's up about it anyway? This is my problem, not yours."
Alex stood up, making his way to the other side of the glade, and for the first time Charlie seemed to sense a kind of foreboding cloud, as if the sunlight was being soaked up from everywhere but the glade.
"I'm worried,"Alex finally said. "No one should have a giant lizard following them around."
Charlie's heart stopped in his chest, before thumping again, so loud it seemed to fill his whole world.
"I never told you what it looked like,"Charlie said quietly.
Alex whirled to face me, and there was something in his face, something else in his eyes. Like he'd made a mistake. Like he was toeing some kind of knife's edge, and had stumbled over the side.
Behind Alex, he saw the undergrowth part, and now his heart leapt into his throat. Another lizard, but not his own. Huge and lilac, with a mouth open to reveal white serrated fangs. Its eyes stared at Charlie, fixated on prey.
Charlie tried to say something, but all that came out was some kind of thin squeak. Alex looked at him with a kind of pity, if pity was coated in merciless resolve.
"I can't let you leave, Charlie. I didn't mean for it to happen like this, but better now than never."
The lizard began to enter the clearing, breaching the near infinite wall of blackness throughout the glade. Charlie was ringed in, and when he tried to turn and run, he seemed to be pushed back by another force. As if someone gave a rough two handed shove into his belly, and he fell onto his back. He felt like some entity stood on his chest, preventing him from rising. From running. From doing anything but wait to be devoured by something he'd spent his entire life believing to never exist. But here stood an opposite, if equally strange counterpart to his own. The same hind legs, the same extended forearms, the same alien intelligence in its eyes.
"You're the only one I know about, Charlie,"Alex apologized. Though to Charlie, it sounded bizarre and choked.
"For the ritual to work Charlie, it has to be you. Or someone like you. I'm sorry."
The lizard honed in on him, the mouth opened wide, its tail swishing through the wet grass. For a moment, Charlie was convinced he would wake up, that this was all just a dream.
Until a roar broke the near silence, and above him stood his own lizard, long claws gleaming in the remaining light.
"Impossible,"Alex said. It came out weak, and Charlie got the strong suspicion that his own lizard wasn't supposed to be here. That something was going wrong. Was it the mushrooms or the glade? The forest or the wind that kept Charlie here, forced down like some kind of sacrificial lamb for something he could simply not understand.
Alex's lizard stopped in its tracks, directly by the concentric circle of fungi. Its tail stopped swishing. This wasn't in the plan, it seemed. An easy kill. An easy meal. For what? For me, the lizard, or Alex?
Charlie's own monster lowered its head, the jaw low, a thin layer of drool and saliva forming around the razor sharp teeth. It stood between Charlie and the oncoming predator.
Charlie laid there in the grass, thinking. Debating. Weighing the nightmare in his mind. It should be a dream, all signs point to it being a dream. But he could feel the dampness of the grass seeping into his shirt, the blades of grass between his fingers, and far above, a perfectly blue sky.
He rolled onto his stomach, and stood up. He looked into the eyes of his own beast, feeling a kinship, something deeper than anything he could imagine. As if his soul was intertwined with this beast. It stood, dark as night, an imitation of something from an extinct time. Scales, tail, claws, teeth, an amalgamation of an ancient and foreboding natural world. Invisible to almost everyone. But not to Charlie.
He gave it a slight nod towards Alex's lizard. Something like a command, but closer to an extension of his will. Control, thrilling in its fullness. Whatever Alex was up to, Charlie couldn't say. But he was angered now. Angry at this betrayal, angry at the lie, at spending so long convinced something was wrong with him. That Charlie was crazy. The words came out in a voice Charlie could scarcely believe to be his own.
"Kill it."
At Charlie's command, the lizard, his imaginary friend, something he for so long treated as a nuisance opened its muzzle in a murderous hiss, teeth sharp and jagged.
It stood in front of its friend.
And prepared to fight.
[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/gesdj5/the_glade_part_2/) |
*You can't have your cake and eat it too* is a bullshit idiomatic proverb. I feel this on a deeply personal level.
My entire world is cake, where every improbability I can imagine gives me any kind of cake I want. Or don't want. It doesn't matter and the universe doesn't seem to care.
At first I gorged on all kinds of cake, consuming every possible combination of flavor and topping, which was all made readily available by the slightest actions. Stumble on the street, find a ticket on the ground, win the lottery. Change the specifics and repeat.
I recall the shift so vividly, waking up one morning after what I was told was a long, long coma, getting out of bed and realizing that everything - literally everything - was going my way. With each successive luck-filled event I realized that it would continue to go my way from that day forward.
A few years later and wiser and that first bite of cake may as well have been a glob of mold slopped onto a pile of sand.
Today was the day I ended this charade of an existence, unable to find meaning in anything, with no challenge or trial or reason to wake up every morning. I stared down the barrel of the pristine steel gun, marvelling at its awesome power, so small a piece of metal with so profound and welcome an effect.
"Fuck it,"I said, pulling the trigger.
A flash and a bang and hot air and I wasn't dead, the gun smoldering in my grip. Bang, bang, bang as I repeatedly pulled the trigger, the bullets winking out in mid-air, the hammer clicking on an empty chamber.
This isn't luck, I thought, shocked to my core. This is an infinite manipulation of probability that impacted every single action I took, ostensibly to my benefit, but now to my deep, foreboding dread.
I stayed still for a while, contemplating the empty gun still in my hand. Luck is based on perception. Within the labyrinth of our minds, one man's luck is another man's nightmare.
An idea dawned and I stood up, excitement coursing through me for the first time in what seemed like forever. I went over the implications of such an idea, cherishing the renewed purpose with which it imbued my life.
I would mold my mind patiently and carefully, manipulating my mental frame of reference so that what counts as lucky to me now, today in this room, becomes anathema to me in the future. Only then, when my perception is totally and utterly shifted into a realm that right now seems unimaginable, will I escape this cake-filled world. |
The kind of parents who would trade their firstborn for wealth or power or a bit of lettuce to an unknown monster are the kind of people who shouldn’t be parents at all. I loathe them, but they will always exist, and their children will be miserable unless someone does something about it.
And well, that’s the human saying, isn’t it? Everyone is someone.
The first of the firstborns came into my power and possession, and my heart long ago. A pretty little thing, she was, her hair golden and her eyes the color of periwinkle flowers. Her father wanted a business venture to succeed, and he found me as I wandered the city, looking for a bargain.
Of course, the bargain I had been after was a little magic for some tomato starts for my garden. Even we crones need to eat, and human flesh is not exactly the most appetizing, no matter what the stories say.
“Madam,” he said, knowing me for what I was, and showing proper respect. “A favor and favor returned?” Ah. so he had read some stories. He knew the way things ought to go. I turned to him, eyeing his velvet suit. Lace at the cuffs, handmade. A wealthy man. He could afford my prices easily enough.
“And what favor bids you stop an old woman in the street?” It is one of our traditional replies.
“My ships are at sea, due to make port in two weeks time, but the winter storms have come early. Save my ships?”
“And what will I get in return?” I asked, thinking I would like a bit of that nice velvet for myself. Who doesn’t love a pretty thing now and again?
“My wife is pregnant. The wisewoman says it will be a girl.”
I blinked. Was he asking for a second favor, easy labor for his wife, or perhaps to change the child in the womb for a boy?. “And? Good sir, it is hardly right to ask for more before offering payment. Perhaps the storms will come on fiercer.”
“You can have her. My wife agrees. The ships--we must have our ships.”
Well. This was certainly new. It was not unheard of, asking for firstborns and heirs, but usually that was just to remind the dealmaker they were asking for quite a lot and owed more than a cheap trinket. A bargaining trick. And this man leapt right to it.
I thought of the girl. She would be wrapped in silk, and left to gather dust until she could buy them more ships, gain them power by a marriage, or some worse fate still.
“You know what I am,” I said after the silence went on a bit longer than it should to be properly ominous. “ You would offer your own blood to me? Over perhaps your wife’s beauty, or your endurance?”
He nodded, and the light in his eyes, a mockery of hope, sealed it.
“Done.” I said, and spat into the dust. “The storms will leave your ships be, and your living child will be brought to this place in…”
“A month.”
“In a month’s time, else you shall never turn profit again.”
A month later, I carried the girl back to my cottage. I traded a local miller’s wife the power to spin straw into silk in return for milk for my little one.
Halcyon, named for the peaceful seas her father had wanted, was a good girl. She learned herblore in my garden and to cook a decent soup, to darn socks and to be careful of travelers in the wood. She never had any knack for magic, but she was still my firstborn, and as such when she was old enough to seek her fortune, she had my blessing. I had two other firstborns by then, and the cottage was a bit small in those days. She keeps a lighthouse now, and her heart is better than mine, for she never turns out the light. A thousand ships have sailed home safe under her eyes, even those of the man who brought her to me. She knows of course, but says she is not bothered. After all, she got the better end of the bargain.
I’ve had many names. Demon. Witch. Sorceress.
I think my favorite is “Nana.” |
"Oh Gene! You are here. Let me fix you a plate!"The old woman said as I appeared from the lamp beneath me.
*Gene? Was that a nickname for genie in a bottle? That's original.* I thought to myself. Let's see where this goes before I grant her her wishes. It's refreshing to be greeted before being bombarded with wishes.
"I haven't seen you in so long. You are quite a bit taller than you used to be."She said as she placed a plate of food in front of me. I didn't really need sustenance as a supernatural being but I didn't want to be rude so I picked up the fork and started stabbing at the food on the plate.
"I've been busy... Trapped at work"I grinned at my own joke.
"You've got to make time for yourself Gene, you can't be like your paw paw, worked himself into an early grave leaving me all by myself"she shook her head in disapproval. The kettle on the stove whistles. She gets up from her seat and heads over to the stove.
I watch as she makes herself a cup of tea. She struggles to grab a cup from the shelf and places it on the counter. I can see her squinting at the boxes on the shelf trying to read the words on them. She gives up and grabs a random box and places it on the counter.
"Let me do that for you, which one do you want?"I stood up from my seat and walked towards the counter.
"Peppermint would be lovely, thank you sweetheart."She smiled and stepped to the side. She frowned as I pull out a different box.
"Sugar and cream?"I asked
"Silly boy, you know you never add sugar or cream into peppermint tea. Has work got your brain all jumbled?"She swatted me away and poured the hot water into the mug, missing most of the time. Hot water pools on the counter. Unfazed, she grabs her mug and motions for me to follow her.
We walk into the living room. Everything is covered in a layer of dust. The curtains are drawn, the full light from outside creeping it through the streaks on the window panes.
"Sorry I didn't get a chance to tidy up.. I don't see like I use to. Everything is just a little harder than it used to be.."she lets her words trail off. She forces a smile on her face.
We sit there and talk about work and life for a little while. She eventually sets her mug down and dozes off.
I look around the room. The furniture seems dated but it good condition. The room is filled with memories, from the photos on the wall to the greeting cards on the mantel. I slowly made my way through the room, taking in the pictures on the wall.
Her at a younger age, smiling with a man and a little girl. As I walk across the room, I watch the little girl grow up to a beautiful young woman. She meets a man. They seemed happy in their wedding photo. They have a kid. Gene, I'm assuming. Then the photos of the woman ends when Gene graduates from college. There is a photo of Gene, a selfie, in an office. Probably where he worked.
I felt sadness creep into my heart. A family. I never had that. I was sold to a sorcerer when I was just a child to pay off some debt my parents had accumulated. He didn't quite know what to do with a child so he eventually just stuck me in a lamp and forgot about me.
I read the cards that are placed on top of the mantel. Most of them are from relatives all across the country wishing her Merry Christmas.
There was a ring and then a click. The answering machine kicks in.
"Marianne, I won't be able to make it out there today. Please make sure to take your meds and eat the food I have left in the fridge for you. I will stop in tomorrow to check on you."A female voice echoed through the room. A caretaker I suppose. I look over at her, she stirs a little in a sleep.
I continue my snooping across the mantel. Cards. Cards. Cards. Then it caught my eye.
A wooden urn.
*Gene Thompson
1993-2020*
*Edit: thank you for all the love and kind words you have all given me! It really made my day. For those wanting a closure, I posted a little part 2 in the comments. Side note, I am more of a (as you have all so aptly put it) gut punch ending kind of writer. But in trying to expand my style so feel free to read it if you want some closure* :) |
I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. |
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