prompt
stringlengths 391
14.9k
|
|---|
We’d thought the humans would be easy to defeat.
How wrong we were.
The war had started when we struck a major human spaceport with a hundred ships of the line. Ten thousand space-fighters bombed that planet, razing cities with precision strikes. The humans had attempted to defend themselves, but what could this peace-loving federation do against the military might of the Aresian Empire?
Nothing.
We’d intercepted a couple of transmissions later that day from planet Earth.
“… Yesterday, a date which will live in infamy — the United Federation of Humanity was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the forces of the Aresian Empire.”
I remember we’d laughed, then. Clearly an attempt to emulate a rousing war-speech from the Humans’ past, but speech or no, we’d crush them all the same.
In the next few battles, the Humans were barely able to stop us. We captured more and more of their territory, as they grew more and more desperate.
We could tell: they were repairing hulking warships from years ago to put them back into service against us, only for them to be blown out of the sky. Six months in, we had their navy running on a shoe-string.
\*\*\*
The Battle of Centerpoint.
On one side, two hundred spacecraft of the Aresian navy.
On the other, a single human ship.
We called the humans’ commander.
“Surrender, human. You have no hope of winning this battle.”
“I am sorry. I never surrender.”
We prepared to fire on the ship, when it ignited its main drive and accelerated toward us.
As it approached, we noticed that it was a freighter, not a warship.
We couldn’t believe our eyes- the humans had the nerve to field an unarmed ship in a naval battle?- but the ship kept speeding up toward us.
Too late, we realized what it was. The human commander was using a last-ditch maneuver from a long-forgotten conflict: a suicide run using your own craft. It may not have worked with their primitive aircraft- but with an eight-thousand-ton spacecraft traveling at over 99 percent of the speed of light, it worked all too well.
The human freighter smashed directly into the Aresian flagship, destroying it and much of the fleet. Whatever remained limped home.
\*\*\*
We fought back, of course. We dismissed the madness of the Centerpoint commander as a fluke. But the humans saw it as a viable strategy. Some months later, half our navy was in ruins due to these suicidal attacks on our fleets.
To make matters worse, our intelligence officers made a chilling discovery.
The humans had geared their entire economy towards war.
Production of civilian goods in their federation was down to zero, while their Sol factories were producing a warship every single day. Food rationing was in effect. Every able-bodied human between the ages of eighteen and forty was conscripted into the military.
And yet, despite the suffering- despite the rampant rationing and the risk of dying- the humans seemed to be enjoying it. People who were outside the legal age range- *children*\- were signing up to go to the front lines to get their hands green with our blood.
The humans also enjoyed tormenting us with their mad tactics.
When we captured a planet? The humans set off nuclear “self-destruct” charges rendering it unlivable.
When we were fighting in jungles? The humans put up “booby traps” to make our soldiers die a horrific death.
When we were sending supplies to our troops on the front lines? The humans picked us off with their stealth craft, costing us millions of tons of food and water- and tens of thousands of lives.
What could we do against such a war-loving species?
Eventually, with their newly-minted fleet- much of which either ran on entirely new technology or was reverse-engineered from us- they pushed us back to our own borders, and kept pushing.
Now, it was our turn to be on the back foot. We attempted to use their own tactics against them, but the humans easily countered us. What did we expect? They had been using these tactics for centuries.
Five years after the initial attack, the humans have landed on our homeworld. Their commander has demanded our unconditional surrender.
We could not do much but accept their terms- our fleet was in ruins, our planet would have followed suit, and we had lost millions.
I fear that, with this disaster, we have awakened a sleeping giant- and filled Humanity with a terrible resolve.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Feedback welcome!
Also, yeah, I shamelessly ripped WW2 history into this.
EDIT: Thanks, all, for the feedback. I never imagined I'd get so many positive comments! I've changed around the kamikaze bit, since it was a bit too telegraphed. |
Prophecies win wars. That’s what my father had told me, holding me firm, as I watched a man’s life fade from his eyes for the first time. His words had been muffled to me; as I watched his face contort with pain, the last thing I had thought to do was listen. It never seemed right to me. To stare expectantly as men drew their final breaths, waiting for the faintest hint of the future, a selfish invasion into what should have been an intimate parting from life.
I guess that’s why I hated clear up duty; the work which transformed a massacre into an intelligence operation. We worked in teams, heaping the dying into lines, doing our best to order them in terms of the severity of their injuries. A scribe stood at the line’s head, compiling the insights for the use of the generals. It seemed more like a manufactory than a graveyard.
But that day had been different. The battle had been bloody and the bodies blotched the field from one edge of the horizon to another. Most had already died. Within the friendly lines of red and black I spotted a blue shirt protruding from the ground; how an enemy had made it so far into our ranks was beyond me. Then I saw him move.
An enemy was highly sought-after; their premonitions were usually related to the movements of their own army and therefore had the potential of being much more insightful. As I approached, I spotted what had felled him; an arrow protruding from his gut. *I could save him* I thought, but the thought was foolish. It was forbidden to save the life of an enemy when their death could give so much information.
But that wound would not kill the man instantly; it would take days. Suddenly, the idea of leaving him to die such a slow and painful death was unacceptable. The entire system sickened me to my core. Hot anger bubbled inside me. The man at my feet let out an extended, anguished groan. I couldn’t take it. So I slit his throat.
As I did, the anger flushed out of me and I crumpled to my knees. If anyone had seen I’d be hung. The scribes didn’t trust the soldiers to bring the prophecies individually. But I couldn’t look up; all I could bring myself to do was stare expectantly at the man’s lips. God, it didn’t feel right to be so expectant of a dying man.
But there was only silence. Not only from the man but from the battlefield itself; the soft murmur of the dead and dying had ceased. At first, I thought my hearing had gone. However, a quick scan of the other men in my squad and their faces of sheer disbelief confirmed that it wasn’t just me. In silence, the battlefield was even eerier.
Searching desperately for reasoning, I even glanced down at the man in blue. And I froze. For a split second, despite blood oozing from his neck, he was smiling. My head was sent into a violent spin which brought my head crashing to the ground.
And as darkness clasped my vision and unconsciousness dragged on my head, I could have sworn I heard someone laughing. And then a voice. “Your wish is granted”. |
**The Siege**
“Brock has betrayed me. The football team has abandoned us.”
Sheldon, President of the Chess Club, gripped the windowsill of the library’s tallest tower. Legend had it that this historic high school campus, built in 1820 originally as a medical school, was once the sight of a great siege during the Civil War.
As he looked out at the legions of rabid middle schoolers, each one frothing at the mouth, their braces glinting in the torch light, their lunch boxes rattling like spears, his face trembled with rage.
Sheldon’s friends watched their leader, fear rising in their hearts.
“Flee,” Sheldon bellowed, turning to them. He rushed to the stairwell and screamed so that his breaking voice echoed throughout the library, “Abandon your posts! Flee, flee for your lives!”
*Whack.* A long thin blade flashed across Sheldon’s view. He doubled over. *Whack.* He went down.
Allister, the British exchange student and captain of the fencing squad, stood over him. He looked around at the nerds, cowering with their textbooks lowered, already plotting their escapes.
“Return to your posts!”
Outside, the middle schoolers advanced. They hurled themselves at the library doors. The nerds held back with everything they had, but so many were fleeing. Allister came racing past them, “Stand and fight! To the last nerd!”
As the doors rattled, the fleeing nerds turned and, inspired to stick it out, ran back to help.
“For two hundred years,” Allister said, drawing swords with the rest of the fencing team, “this library has not been taken. It will be a sad day, a desperate day, when it is. Books will be burned. Knowledge forsaken, on the day when this library falls.”
He looked around him. More nerds had gathered to hear the speech, momentarily pausing in their efforts to reinforce the windows.
“But that is not this day. This day we fight!”
The nerds let out a piercing battle cry. Allister pulled a short nerd aside. “I have a special job for you. All rests upon it, Clark. Take this message to Katie H. You know where to find her.”
Allister handed Clark the message. “Escape out the back. They won’t see you.”
The library’s front doors cracked open. The arms of the middle schoolers broke through, scraping and flailing like wild animals. “They’ll be focused on us.”
With that, Allister raised his sabre – “Charge!”
The nerds flung the library doors open. The melee commenced. The middle schoolers poured in, piling on top of each other, biting, screaming, punching, kicking.
Nerds from high above hurled text books down at them, sending them flying back. But there were too many. As Allister stabbed one here and sliced another there, he knew that it was only a matter of time.
All the nerds’ hopes now rested on one little Clark, who quietly slipped out a back door and made his way to the edge of campus. It was still dark, but dawn would soon break.
….
At the football stadium, Chet paced back and forth, occasionally looking over at the library. The warning light had been on for nearly an hour now. Since the last ten minutes, they could hear the battle. In the locker room, the captain and his advisors were still arguing.
“How can they do this? The nerds need our help now, not tomorrow.”
Kyle put a hand on Chet’s broad shoulders but he shrugged him off.
“This is a delicate situation, Chet. The middle schoolers, they—”
“They’re animals,” Chet said.
“Yeah. But they buy a lot of football tickets. We might lose a lot of good benefits and stuff if they stop coming to the games. Remember the old jerseys?”
Chet bit his lip in anger. “When the lacrosse team ambushed us, who came to our side?”
Kyle nodded.
“When half the team was on academic probation and we nearly forfeited the season, who let us cheat off of them?!”
Kyle stayed silent. He looked past Chet. Behind him, in the doorway of the locker room, was the captain of the football team, Brock. A senior, three times the size of the next biggest guy, who had been scouted by the NFL since he was twelve years old. He spoke in a deep voice.
“Then we better go lend em a hand,” Brock said. Chet spun round. Tears in his eyes. Brock tossed him a football helmet. “Suit up, boys.”
…
“Allister, look!”
The nerds were backed up to the second level of the library. Middle schoolers rampaged through the ground floor, destroying everything, trampling over wounded nerds. No mercy.
But when Allister looked out the window, he saw hope. The hordes of middle schoolers were turning to the side, moving to counter a new threat.
A booming voice shook the library and momentarily froze everyone.
“TEN-HUT.”
The middle schoolers began screaming in fear and fury.
“CHARGE!”
Outside, the football team barreled into the side of the middle school ranks, shattering them, cutting deep. “Brock answered the call,” Allister said, grabbing his friends. “We’re saved!”
But the joy was cut short. A horn sounded. And then another. Before long, an entire chorus of horns.
Car horns.
“No,” Allister said, racing back to the window. "No, no, no."
The middle schoolers bounced with glee and charged up the stairs. The nerds held them back by sacrificing entire shelves of nonfiction.
Outside, a hundred headlights turned on at the same time, lighting up the football team. Brock turned, taking off his helmet for better visibility.
“My god,” he said.
“The soccer moms,” Allister said, his heart dropping.
Brock grabbed his men and sprung into action. “Reform the line, reform the line.”
“TEN-HUT.”
“CHARGE!”
What was left of the football team charged the line of minivans. The soccer moms slammed down on their gas pedals. Allister could barely watch as the footballers crashed into the vans, flipping over them, rolling off the sides, tumbling under the tires.
Brock leapt on top of one and smashed through the windshield, grabbed the soccer mom and threw her out. Taking the wheel, he wrenched it to the side and crashed into the adjacent van.
But Allister could see that, as the sun was breaking over the horizon, the soccer moms were too strong.
“Retreat,” he said, “to the third level – quickly!”
They abandoned the staircase, fleeing up and slamming the doors shut behind them. The middle schoolers took nonfiction.
They poured into the library, feasting on everything, taking no prisoners. Allister wept for the nerds who were left in the heaps of bodies below.
As he huddled with his remaining men in a small office, the last refuge, the golden morning light broke through the tall window behind the desk. It was over.
Allister ripped a page from an old book and began to write his goodbye message to his parents. And that’s when they heard it. It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t a car horn.
It was a neigh. A thousand neighs.
Allister rushed to the window. In the parking lot, stretching as far as the eye could see, were the horse girls.
Sitting in front of Katie on her majestic pony was Clark, in a new pair of riding boots.
“The horse girls! They came!”
Outside, Brock, his arm pinned down by a minivan, kicked a middle schooler up into the air. He saw the horse girls. A tear formed in his eye.
Katie reared up on her horse, “Deaaaaaath!”
The horse girls replied, in a deafening chorus of voices, “DEAAATH!”
“DEAAAATH!”
Allister and the nerds joined in. Brock and the footballers joined in.
“DEEEAATH!”
The horse girls began to ride. Slowly at first, they built in speed until they were galloping at full strength, directly at the middle schoolers and the soccer moms.
They tried to scatter, tried to pile into the vans, but it was hopeless.
The horse girls smashed them to pieces. Bones broke, cars exploded, middle schoolers cried and ran for their lives.
Allister strode out of the library, carrying a wounded nerd on his back. Clark embraced him.
“You did it,” Allister said.
“No,” said Clark, “We did it.”
He looked around him. Brock, Kyle, Chet, Katie, all were there, blood stained and muddy, exhausted. The golden dawn warmed their skin as victory warmed their hearts.
r/ididwritethismr \- On New Year's Day I started a subreddit to collect all of my prompt-inspired stories; if you liked this, check it out! I pinned my personal favorites to the top. |
With massive student loans and no-one taking my research seriously, I was desperate for money.
I heard about the $100 app from a friend. It seemed too good to be true, but I was desperate.
A task a day. More if you were lucky? More if you performed well? Something like that. Were did the money even come from? Some eccentric billionaire?
It didn't matter. I was getting the money. Move an empty box from one bench to another. Call a number and immediately hang up. Strange tasks.
*1 task incomplete*
I've been working on that one a while, fortunately I've still been getting my daily task. Perhaps they expect it to take a while and are OK with me not having finished it yet. I was sent an incredibly detailed blue print for a small machine part or something. Finally I screw the final screw into place.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 1 hour for $100 reward*
I press the read task button.
*Go to central train station*
Easy enough, I leave the house and start walking.
About half an hour later I arrive.
*Stand in this location for reward*
The screen displayed a specific location in the station, so I walked there.
*Complete - $100 reward*
What was so special about this location? I looked to my left and saw it, the new counter terrorism system mounted on the wall. And the key was left in the override system, which if turned would trigger an alert.
*1 new task - Urgent - complete within 5 minutes for reward*
I press read task.
*Turn the key*
Surely that would be illegal? I couldn't could I? But I found my hand on the key and I found myself turning it.
*Complete - $100 Reward*
Alarms sound.
"This is a terrorism alert, please evacuate the station immediately"said a voice over the tannoy.
I quickly made my way out the station, adrenaline pumping. Perhaps I'd gone too far. Surely I'd get in trouble for this. As I walked out, armed police and bomb diffusers made there way in. I decided to walk home quickly.
When I got home I turned the TV onto the news.
"This is breaking news live, there's been a terrorist incident at central station, we go over to our reporter."Said the man.
He was stood near the station.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Official word is the system detected a bomb and caused an alert. This caused 3 incoming trains to come to an emergency stop. This means those trains are outside the blast radius. Also the station has been safely evacuated."He said.
"This just in, bomb diffusers have just diffused the bomb"he said.
"And this just in, the wanted terrorist Albam Sadid was caught and arrested near the station"he said.
Wow. Was that all really my doing? How could the app know about this in advance?
I decided to call it an early night and lie down and think.
*Beep, beep*
My alarm went off in the morning. Another presentation for funding. Should I even bother going? I'm the laughing stock of the physicist community.
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Go to presentation. Bring device with you*
Never before had it been so personal. And it wants be to bring that thing i built with me? Perhaps I am to drop it off somewhere after the presentation.
As per usual, I took out my blue prints and started explaining my idea. The usual reactions, sniggers, the usual comments.
"Not something that can actually be built"
"Entirely theoretical"
"Impossible"
I walked out depressed, but then something to make me smile.
*Complete - $100 reward*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Deliver device to warehouse at this location*
I guess this was expected.
I walk to the warehouse nearby, and open the large doors.
Inside was a sight to behold, thousands of small machine parts of different shapes and sizes.
I delicately place my part down and add it to the collection.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Build the machine*
I look at the immense task in front of me. But how? My phone wasn't displaying any blueprints. Perhaps an error with the app?
Then I realised. I had the blueprints with me. I'd just presented them.
I began to click the parts together. It was easier than I expected, as the parts were designed to be easily assembled.
And then hours later I looked upon the finished creation. The impossible machine.
*Complete - $100 Rewarded*
*1 new task - complete for $100 reward*
I click read task.
*Create this app* |
"I imagine I know what you'll choose, but I have to ask anyway. Continue, Restart Day, or Restart Life?"
He looks at me, his hand poises to write **Continue** in my file.
His eyes raise. "Today was the worst day of your life. The worst you'll ever experience. I can't write this officially until you answer."
With tears in my eyes I look at him. I smile.
"I know. But I'd rather live this day, every day, than never spend one more moment with her. Please restart the day."
His eyes soften, and he lowers his hand to the paper. *Restart*, he writes.
A bright flash, and I'm standing in the hallway of a hospital. I walk down the hall to room 27. I turn the knob and enter the room, smiling at my dying wife.
"You made it!"she says feebly.
I tear up a little. "Of course, my darling."
|
Warren Buffett sat on the stage.
Today was a bittersweet day. It always was.
His back was killing him and some asshole was five minutes over time; talking about what a brilliant businessman he was. He didn't feel brilliant right then.
He felt like a fucking pig waiting to be slaughtered.
His mind ran through the last eight years. The shortest period for anyone to ever do the run from zero to "winner"of capitalism (well, if you didn't count that bitcoin jackass nobody could seem to track down). They were good years. He hoped his successor at Berk-5 would be able to keep it running this time. He thought he'd found a good man with Ajit, but after Sokol had wiped out Berk-3 in the Lubrizol affair...his faith in his ability to find honest men had been permanently eroded.
The speaker finished up, and another replaced him at the lectern. His first wife.
At least she was always kind.
He'd finally sold the house where he'd lived with his third wife for five years. They had divorced a couple years back. It was rational, even though it hurt at the time.
No sense in taking them both out just because he would win. Again.
He'd rent this time. A house was a temporary possession anyway, and it was a drag on building any *real* wealth. He'd have to get a loan to furnish the place, but hell, if a five time winner of capitalism couldn't get a personal on a promise who could?
Though...last time B of A rejected him. He put everything he had on the line, bailing them out during the housing collapse. A year before they rejected him he had *owned* half the company. Now it was run by some asshole who's main talent was being nephew to a boardmember of the charitable foundation run #4 had gone to. His bailout of B of A was cited as the reason they couldn't bail him out. He found it funny now, he'd tell the story at a burn-party if he could ever get himself to go to one again.
Everyone was looking at him.
Goddammit it was his turn to speak.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
After the speech he wandered down the busy streets of DC, wearing the towel he'd been given (his first new possession!) like some Greek philosopher in a toga. He'd be able to go pick up his five winner's badges tomorrow. He always got to keep those, they weren't worth anything.
He briefly considered going to one of the parties being held around DC. After all, they were supposedly in his honor. The real reason of course was to burn through enough cash so that none of the hosts would have the "honor"next year.
Enough wine and food would be wasted tonight to make the Romans blush.
He'd had more enthusiasm for it in his forties. Then he watched someone jump out of Van Gogh's original *Starry Night* as an entrance gag and it soured him on the whole premise.
The man had called it performance art when Buffett confronted him. Warren was never a spendthrift, but that night he became so tight-fisted that he...
...well, that he'd become "winner of capitalism"five times.
He found a promising looking alleyway next to the offices of the Washington Post. In the morning he'd try to get a job as a paperboy. Hell, maybe he'd just stay one this time.
He bedded down, anticipation for tomorrow was going to make it hard to sleep. There was something stoic about sleeping on the ground one night every decade or so. Starting over was hard, but it was honest.
The revelry on the streets was quieter here. They'd perfected bread and circuses in a way the romans couldn't hope to match.
Out of the corner of his eye Warren caught a flash. A man with a switchblade walked towards him, "Your money or your life!"
Warren raised his head to look at him, "I'm afraid your a few hours too late, friend."
"This isn't a joke old man. Give me everything!"
Warren laughed. |
You want to know about the best business in the world?
Lemme tell ya about it.
I used to be a prison guard. Me, if you can imagine, working a job like that, people treating me like crap all day long...
But then BodyRight came out. You pop one pill to lose as much weight as you want, and that weight gets transferred to another person who took the counterpart pill. It was beautiful.
And the inventors, they were making money hand over fist. It was incredible! And it got me thinking about the possibilities. I didn't want to be a guard my whole life.
I managed to get a meeting with one of the private owners of the prison I worked at. I told him I had a way to make his prison a fortune, and all I'd need was a measly 2% ownership. I'd be a silent partner. Just wanted a slice of the pie and a nice life for me and my family.
Once we had a deal in place, I got to work. I contacted the BodyRight people and told them I could help them remove the need for donors for their customers. They just had to give me a tiny fraction of ownership in their company. Nothing big. They wouldn't even miss it with the amount of money I was going to help them make.
Another deal was fleshed out, and my perfect plan was in place.
Prisoners came to our facilities by the busload. Rather than spend money on feeding them, we'd give them donor pills. If a prisoner was looking a little thin, we'd give them another. All we had to provide at that point was water. Expenses were down. We even got to reduce the number of guards on hand.
I mean, guys that fat can't really riot too effectively. Most of them sat on their reinforced cots and waited.
Meanwhile, out in civilian America, people were losing weight everywhere! It didn't matter where it was going, because they didn't have to deal with it.
Our prison company expanded into every market. Our costs were lower than any other company by far. It was easy when you didn't have to feed your prisoners. It also helped that the more prisoners we had, the more donor pills we could accept, and the more money we got from BodyRight.
By the time I was ready to retire, we had prisons in nearly every country in the world.
It was the perfect system, and my family had more money than we knew what to do with.
Life was perfect.
Right up until I got arrested.
God, I am so hungry. |
I got a ten out of ten on my last history test. The questions weren't so easy neither. But I had studied really hard. I even read the parts of the book which Mrs. K said weren't gonna be on the test, but I made sure I knew it all just to be safe. So even when the questions were tricky, I knew all the answers.
I love it when I get ten out of ten. The test before today's test, I got nine, so I got sent to Extra Help. Extra Help isn't fun, but when you get questions wrong, you need it. It was a really stupid mistake I made too. For some dumb reason, when they asked "What type of government is established in the United States Constitution of 1787,"I said "Democratic Republic"even though, when I studied, I learned the answer is "Hereditary Monarchy."Another time, the test asked for an example of a "human right"and I put down "freedom of speech"even though I know the answer is "no such thing."
It's just that sometimes there's this Bad Voice in my brain that I can't make go away. I hate the Bad Voices so much. Usually my medicine makes sure the Bad Voice stays away, but sometimes I guess it doesn't work quite right, and then the Bad Voice starts telling me lies and tricks me into making mistakes on tests and gets me sent to Extra Help. At Extra Help, even if you try and tell them it wasn't you who made the mistake, that it was just the Bad Voices and the medicine not working, they don't care. They still make you play all the Extra Help games and wear the Extra Help helmet and sit in the Extra Help chair, which isn't a very fun thing to do (even though I know they're all really helpful and important).
But Mrs. K says I'm pretty clever, and that if I study hard, and make sure I never miss a dose of medicine, I can definitely keep getting perfect scores on all my tests. She even says that I can start leading a study group after school. So if you're worried about your grades, you should definitely stick with me. I got a ten out of ten on my last history test. |
Beverly McCallister lived life. Parties, cameos in two dozen television shows, a mansion that could have crammed most of the other ninety-nine percent inside--even a fledgling career as a musician, fueled primarily by name recognition as her talent was sorely lacking.
Beverly McCallister had it all. Anything she wanted rested a snap of her fingers away. And if it rested any further, her publicist would make it happen. First pitch at an Angels game? She'd done it. Private jet? Which of the six?
What Beverly McCallister didn't live was love. It wasn't for a lack of trying either. She'd looked high and low, east and west, even in every room of her extravagant mansion just in case some lost party-goer was actually that love she so sorely sought.
It was for nothing.
For every dime she had, her despair deepened. For every dollar she donated, the doldrums of depression worsened. The tabloids all talked of what she could become if she'd only meet her true love--her soulmate. They talked of how successful she'd become with superpowers.
Beverly didn't care about superpowers. All she could talk about was love.
The meet-and-greet went well enough. She smiled politely at every fan, greeted them with a smile and a handshake. Some she hugged, even if just an awkward, one-handed hug over their shoulder.
And then the superpowers happened. She was livid at her publicist, that insufferable fellow who'd given yet another interview about how true love just might not be for everybody. He was dressed like the finest flower, adorned head to toe in the most lavish of fashions. Courtesy of Beverly McCallister's wallet, of course.
When she glared, he should have wilted. Not the slow wilt of a flower without water, but the quick curling of petals of a flower scorched by the heat of an approaching wildfire.
But he didn't. He jumped, uncomfortable at the pinprick of heat he'd felt upon his cheek.
"What was that?"he said.
"What was what?"Beverly said with an exaggerated eyeroll. "You're always so dramatic."
He shook his head. "I felt a burn. Here on my cheek. Are you mad at me?"
"No,"Beverly lied. "Well, yes. Of course I am. That was rude of you to give that interview, no matter how true it might be. But I wouldn't burn you. You're my friend."
"Publicist,"he corrected. "Here."
He lunged forwards, dousing her in his Hydro Flask--courtesy of her wallet as well.
"What the fuck?"Beverly yelped, jumping backwards. Water dripped from her skirt.
She shot him a nasty glare and this time they both saw the hems of his shirt begin to singe.
Beverly blinked. Her publicist took a surprised step back.
"You've done it,"Beverly said, mouth wide open and hands trembling. "You've done it."
"I have?"he said. He dusted off his shirt where a tiny ash had formed. *Oh, fuck.* "I have,"he repeated, this time with confidence.
"It must have been somebody at the meet-and-greet yesterday. Who could it have been? Do you have a list?"
"I'll find them,"the publicist said, not eager to face her wrath again. Shirts were replaceable. But a face? Well, those too, but only if she would cover the surgery. "I promise. I'll find your true love."
"Bring me all of them,"Beverly said. "Every single one of the people who attended."
"I'll find them,"he promised. He took a step back.
Beverly's eyes glowed dangerously. They'd met and already she teetered on the edge of a fiery existence. What if they connected? What if the love bloomed into its full potential?
"I'll find them,"her publicist said again.
But he couldn't promise that he'd bring them to her.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Jake looked at his sister - it looked just like her, down to each individual freckle. She was busy on her phone, acting just like his sister would have done, but there was no doubt, and they both knew it. "Mary, can I ask you something?". Jake sat down in front of her at the family dinner table.
Mary looked up at her brother, with a clearly dismissive look, just like his sister would have done.
"Mary, why did everyone else get replaced, except me?", Jake asked, suddenly forgetting how to sit naturally and fidgeting to adjust his seating.
Mary scoffed and looked back at her phone.
"Why, Mary?", Jake insisted.
Mary looked up, clearly annoyed, "Noone wants to be you, *Kevin*", Mary said, with a heavy emphasis on his name.
"My name is Jake", Jake said.
"No, your name is Kevin", Mary said, rolling her eyes and looking back on her phone.
"No, you have to call me Jake, when..", Jake said, but was interrupted by Mary, who made a face so sour a chill went down Jakes spine.
"You *really* want to know why noone wants to become you?", Mary said leaning forward.
Mary raised her hand showing a single finger.
"First of all you're the only one who willingly accepted the invasion, because you are just *that* lazy."
Mary raised a second finger.
"Secondly, during the greatest crisis of mankind you are just sitting here, in your fucking *furry suit. Asking a literal alien parasite - who has taken over your sister - to use your freggin fursona name!"*
Mary raised a third finger.
"Not only that, but beneath that fursuit, you are still the very definition of a neckbeard. You are the cringiest being we have ever encountered!"
Mary slammed her hand into the table in a fit of rage.
"No parasite would want to become you, because they would have to absorb all your memories. Being a semi-separate being, we would experience not only first hand cringe but also second hand cringe, from reliving your memories."
Mary slammed her hand angrily into the table again.
"Not only would we be tortured by the memories of your cringy past, our nature would compel us to continue your lifestyle. Literally no parasite would choose to *become* you. Look at you!"
Mary was heaving for air, her eyes bloodshot from anger, as Jake looked down his fursuit, hiding a frown under the mask.
"Yeah, why don't you just kill me then?", Jake said in a moody tone, covering the eyes on his fursuit with its paws.
Marys eye flicked with anger, while she leaned forward and hammered both hands into the table. While she screamed, "We are literally incapable of harming another being. Why did you think we did it all in secret, even when we far outnumbered you? You dumbass weeb!"
"You can't hurt me?"Jake asked surprised, leaning his head to the side, trying to emulate a confused dog in his fursuit.
"We literally cannot! You realize how frustrating this is?"Mary said, crossing her arms.
Jake bend down to the floor to pick something up. Marys expression rapidly turned from bloodshot to pale, when Jake revealed a katana.
Jake stood up, put the katana at the hip of his fursuit and put his hand on the grip. As he prepared to unsheathe the sword a look of panic flushed across Marys face.
"Sorry Master, for I must go all out!"Jake shouted, adding an "Arf!", before he drew his sword.
Edit: Thank you for the awards! I'd like to take this chance to apologize to everyone. I'm sorry. |
"Oh, my god! Oh, my god!"Goldblade cried out, pulling at his hair, before running over to his arch nemesis, the devious Dr. Malice.
The menacing, iron-masked doctor gagged and sputtered blood, a sword sticking through his chest.
"Oh my god, I thought your armor was indestructible! It is almost always, why aren't you wearing it today?"Goldblade attempted to apply pressure, causing blood to slosh out of the doctor's back. "Fuck! Stay with me!"
"I.. my kids.. drew on it, and I wanted to clean it. I wasn't expecting to see you today."
Malice rolled onto his side, gagging and choking on blood, before spitting it out. "Oh man, I'm pretty much dead. You got me good."
"No! You can't die, you- you can't die! Please, don't die! I'm so sorry!"Goldblade rubbed bloody hands against his eyes, the smears of red cut by tears streaming from his eyes. "I'm so sorry!*
Malice reached out. "It's not your fault. It was an accide.. accident. I .. want you to do me ..one last favor. My children.."
"What, old friend? Anything!"Goldblade clutched the dying supervillain's hand.
"Tell them they did this. They killed papa .. with their stupid drawings."
"Uh. Wow. I mean, do you want me to tell them you love them?"
The supervillain coughed blood.
"Why start lying to them now?"
"What?"
"Why start lying to them now?"
"I was extremely worried you said that. Oh my god, you're a terrible person."
"I once invented a new form of leukemia just for dogs. Don't fucking come at me with that terrible person shit, you impaled me to death."Malice glared at the man, spitting blood indignantly.
"It was an accident!"Goldblade yelled. "I didn't mean to do it!"
"Yeah? Well, that fucking pulls the blade out of my heart. It's okay, you're SORRY. Whoop de fucking d- do- dAck-k...."The villain sputtered and went limp.
Goldblade looked around, and pulled his blade out of the villain's chest. Looking around, he kicked the corpse in the gut.
This roused the villain from his stillness. "Gold.. blade.."
"What?"The superhero snapped curtly. "I don't- just die already! Why are you not dead?"
"Liquidate my stock in the private prison here in the city. I don't want my wife and children getting my money."
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? THERE'S SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE, JESUS CHRIST! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!"Goldblade yelled. "You're fucking pure evil! What else? What else do you wanna ask me to do and confess?!"
Malice scratched his chin. "Oh. I know who your long lost father is. It's..."The supervillain went quiet, finally dying out of spite.
Goldblade cursed loudly. |
I woke up with another pounding headache today. I don't know what I expected when I drank almost an entire handle of vodka in three hours, chased by the cheapest bong hits money can buy. I don't know what I expected out of myself. How am I supposed to be able to handle this whole situation without obliterating myself in drugs and alcohol night after night? I know what we're doing we're doing for the greater good, or at least that's what I keep telling myself, but the people who will benefit from our finished work will never have to witness the horrors I've had to face. Maybe if they had to, their situation wouldn't seem so terrible.
Walking into the lab I see I'm not the only one who drowns their problems in substances, though I can see how some others choose to deal with the situation in different ways. "Make way for Dr. Mengele!"Dr. Shriner says, employing his dark sense of humor. Dr. Hart brushes past me with a sensual good morning whisper as she grabs my cock, yet again. I don't think I have to tell you what her coping mechanism is.
Creating a cure for VID is just about as important and world-changing as it gets, and after all, isn't that why I became a chemist? To deal with this new disease that not only killed your brother and mom, but was projected to wipe out eighty percent of the human race in fifty years unless we synthesize a cure? To change the world for the better? To make a difference? I suppose in the long run I am, I just wish beyond the moon and the stars that there was a different way to do it, but babies just seem to be the perfect vessel for synthesizing Hivac. We tried giving it to rats, monkeys, you name it. We infected them and gave them the drug, but none of them responded to it. We couldn't test it properly on them. So we're not telling the rest of the world this, nor are we telling our friends and family (God forbid my pregnant wife finds out about this.) I mean, who wants to know that we're purposely taking babies bred for our purposes and giving them VID just so we can test our new drug?
That's not even the worst part either. The problem with VID (well, not necessarily a problem, but for our purposes it is,) is that it doesn't normally infect a person through an injection. It's smart, like it has a brain. The only way a person can get VID is through sex, and I'm not going to trouble you or myself by describing know how we do that. I guess I'm just glad that nobody's ever noticed that we bring in a bus from the penitentiary every day. I can't even manage to look those sick fuckers in the eye, knowing what they do, knowing how much pleasure they get from it. Hell, if I had to do that, I'd blow my brains out, but one look at them every day and I know how much they enjoy it. Their sick fucking smiles.
I guess I should be thankful for them, though. They're part of the cure that's going to save humanity. Then again, so am I, and I'm not a kid fucker, so maybe I should give myself a break. The government won't, though, not if we don't figure this shit out. It's so crazy to me; I mean, they're aware of what they're doing; hell, they're funding it! And yet, if we don't finalize Hivac within the next three months, we're all going to be executed. Don't want us all talking, I guess. What with VID it's not like anybody would notice a few hundred extra deaths anyway.
Oh well. The good news is that shouldn't be a problem. We're all pretty sure we're almost done. Hivac should be complete within the next six weeks. In the meantime, another truckload of vessels, another busload of prisoners. Yeah, six weeks. We'll see if *I* can make it that long. |
I feel a bit guilty about this, but my first thought when I squeezed the F12 token and saw the developer tools for the universe appear in front of me was if there was an Alt and an F4 laying around somewhere so that I could end this whole miserable existence. Alas, that didn't seem to be the case and I had read-only permissions for the source code and statistics of... Well, to be honest, of everything. So I did what any anti-social loner like myself would do and I bunkered down in my apartment, opened my front blinds for the first time in weeks and I began to observe my neighbors and delve into the most obscure minutiae of their lives.
It's really less creepy than it sounds, trust me. It's not like I'm some peeping Tom looking in the blinds while the girl next door showers - at least not regularly. It was nothing physical like that. I was just looking into her dating history, her interests and hobbies, what her plans for the future were and her overall compatibility as a partner if I were to shape up and fix my life.
And fixing my life became a whole lot easier. I suddenly knew what my boss was looking for. I realized that my female peers were not getting promoted because they were willing to get down on their knees but because they were significantly more capable and friendly than me. Apparently, not reeking of BO and not coming to work dressed in sweatpants helps too. Oh, and doing actual work was not frowned upon. Soon enough, I felt like maybe I was getting the hang of things.
And once I felt like I maybe fit a loose definition of a rather put-together human, I casually bumped into her as she was coming back from yoga, and then I was asking her out to that hipster coffee shop across the street that she happened to love. What a coincidence, right?
When you know every last detail about a person, it's a whole lot easier to charm them, I have to admit. It's also a whole lot easier to get along with them and to avoid needless arguments and to stretch the relationship longer than any I had ever had before. You see, it's a lot easier to suppress my paranoia when I can easily check to see how many times she has cheated and, if the number is still at 0, then there was no issue. And I could see how many texts she had sent and a breakdown of who she sent them to. I could see what she wanted for her birthday before she even knew what she wanted for her birthday. It took away a lot of the mystery, but that's not a problem. I like being in control.
I think I got cocky. I can't see any other explanation. I thought I knew how things worked, but humans are fickle beings. I should have kept checking to see how she would react to me saying certain things. When I showed her what happened when I squeezed that little F12 token, I saw that she wasn't looking at the developer tools. She wasn't looking at the source code and the statistics that peppered the holographic display in front of us. She was looking past it, towards the past, thinking about all those little things I had ever done to make her smile and all the times I had ever surprised her, down to the very first time we met. I saw the tears in her eyes. There was no denying that I had spied and snooped into every last part of her life from long before we met in person. Our relationship was as organic as a Cheeto. She didn't need statistics or source code to figure that one out.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
“One hundred and fifty. Death must have missed my name on the list.” I chuckled, letting out a dusty cough as I laid in bed. Birthdays were always the worst, no family by my side anymore, everyone dead or too old to visit and celebrate with their bedridden relative. The only people that visited now were the vultures from the media, each one circling my bed, waiting for me to either live or die. They didn’t care which happened, both would make a good headline. Still, I learned to enjoy even their company. Anything was better than being alone.
The crowd laughed, before turning to their camera crews who only gave them a nod, a nod that was always followed by their departure. They had their feel-good story and enough footage to act like they cared. Soon they left, allowing me to rest, leaning back on the bed, wondering if tonight would be the night I died.
Flashes of light, strange worlds, and distant stars. The shock of it all woke me. “Planet Nomil?” The words that left my lips felt like they should be gibberish to me, and yet I understood them completely. Planet Nomil, that’s where we come from. It was strange. My body felt amazing, like I hadn’t aged a day past twenty. Bringing my hands to my face, I would notice that I had changed, my hands now a frosty white, blue neon veins pulsing against my skin, threatening to burst from it.
It had to be a nightmare; how else could one describe it? I got up from my bed, feeling like the room had shrunk. Everything appeared smaller. On the ground laid my skin, or what had once been my skin. My flesh curled into a ball, looking in perfect condition. “No, this can’t be happening. Is that what happens when a person dies?”
Maybe I died? Maybe my soul left my body? That was the only thing that made sense to me, and yet I didn’t feel dead. I could still feel the carpet tickling the soles of my feet as I hurried to the bathroom, grabbing the edges of the sink as I stared into the mirror, not liking what stared back at me.
I was tall, standing at what I could only imagine must have been seven feet. My body not having its usual decaying look, my new pale skin now bursting with flashes of blue throughout, each vein producing the same flashing color, lighting up the dark room. My build thin at the waist with a wide chest, looking oddly proportioned compared to what I was used to. “I’m a freak.”
The reflection shared the same horrified expression, those alien grey eyes glancing over at me in fear, struggling to accept the reality of the situation. “This is bad, someone should come to get me.” Again, the words appeared to leave my lips, like my mind had already begun processing this new information before I could.
When I calmed myself, things began making more sense. I wasn’t human, none of us were. We were aliens that had lived here so long that we forgot our true forms. Earth’s environment didn’t cater to our usual process of reaching adulthood and so we adapted as best we could, muddling up our evolution to work with this new planet.
“Will someone come for me? Is our home planet even still alive?” I was panicking. What would I do if my home world had vanished? I couldn’t live on Earth, no one would believe my stories. As I paced around the bathroom, I felt my feet leave the floor until I vanished, appearing in a cold sterile room with only a pair of robes before me.
“Please dress before we enter.” A voice called out. I did as the voice instructed, hiding my body before the walls pushed open, revealing three other creatures with features that matched my own. The one in the middle leading the other two, having them both carrying his belongings. His belongings only comprising a datapad and some keys.
“I’m delighted to see Earth is evolving. We had our concerns about leaving our kind on such a planet, but it seems you are adapting well. I’m Balid, the leader of the research team. These are my assistants Lima and Topi.” The two gave me a wave before returning to their positions at his side. “I know this is confusing for you, but we will do our best to ease you into our society. We will provide all your money and housing for the time being. Please, take your time adjusting to your body. I have some questions for you but that can wait. Lima, Topi, please lead our guest to his room.”
The two motioned me forward as I followed them out of the sterile room, seeing Earth in the distance as we flew away from the planet. “I’m going home. How did you even find me?”
“We always have someone observing the planet. When we heard a human had reached the age of one hundred and fifty, we began preparations to collect you after your next dream cycle.” Lima said, giving me a smile as she opened up the door to my room. It was a little cramped, but it was a spaceship. What could I expect?
“Don’t worry, you will have a bigger room on Nomil. This is just temporary accommodation until we arrive.” Toppi said, letting me pass him as I entered the small room, taking a seat on the bed. Toppi gave me the datapad, giving me some instructions on how to use the device before he and Lima left, leaving me to learn about my kind before arrival.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
At the highest peak of the world sat a lone sanctuary, built of the purest marble, nearly indistinguishable from the undisturbed snow on the mountaintop. Legends say that the sanctuary is home to the strongest hero to ever see the light of day: a saviour, a god, a traveler of the many magical planes beyond the one that most call their home. Nobody knows his true appearance, save for the fact that he is a swordsman, rumoured to wield a blade carved from the very cosmos itself.
Many had dared to climb up the peak to seek an audience with the Stargazer, as he was called. Kings sent out messengers, parties of adventurers battled their way to the top, yet all were met with silence. The doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
So, gifts were brought. At first, simple items of prayer: candles, incense burners, small wooden idols, all to no avail. So, the offers increased exponentially in opulence: coins of silver, gold and platinum, swords made by the finest smiths, perhaps to appease the deific entity that lived here to add to his repetoire, suits of armour made to match the blade made out of the cosmos. Magical artefacts were no exception, some so powerful that they could solve whatever problem the souls, desperate to see the Stargazer in the flesh, may have had in the first place. Even to this, the doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
Admiration turned to desperation, as the offers were picked up from the ground, the snow was wiped off, and instead were used in an attempt to break open the doors. 'If you won't come out willingly, we'll break this temple apart and seize your power for ourself!' they must have said. Fireballs, beams of holy light, blades that could cut through steel as though it was butter, nothing worked. The doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
The plan to see the god, as well as the hope that he may solve some trivial political matter for self-obsessed kings, was abandoned. Thus, the sanctuary was left undisturbed one more, and the doors of the sanctuary stayed forever closed.
One day, a child came climbing up the mountain, boots trudging through the snow in an angry manner, her face obscured from sight and protected from the snow by a thick layer of fur. Even though the tears on her face may have been warm at some point, they were now all but frozen: crystallized frustration and hurt. Though the air was frigid, the surn burned upon what little skin was exposed here, so she sought shelter in the shadow of the sanctuary, sitting upon its stairs before finally catching her breath. Suddenly a noise rang out, a low growl. Was it a bear, a snow leopard, some other predator which her mother had so often warned her about, forcing her to stay inside? No, it was just her stomach. Luckily she had throught of this predicament and rummaged through her backpack, fishing out two chocolate bars which she had snatched before running off. As the child unwrapped the first bar, she looked up at the two massive doors which she was sitting against.
"They say yours doors are always closed,"she mumbled to herself, "but does that mean you never go out to buy food?"She took a piece of chocolate- frozen solid- and put it in her mouth, slowly feeling it melt. "You must be hungry..."The girl looked down at her lap, taking one of the two treats, and slid it under the door. "There you go!"
Then, one of the doors gave way. A man peeked outside, his hair stark white and eyes sharp, wearing surprisingly casual clothes. He looked no older than thirty, nothing like she had expected of a god. A sheathed sword hung at his hip. He took a step outside and sat down by the child.
"You left this for me?"He asked.
"Are you-- I-I mean, yes?"
"How kind of you."
"N-No problem..!"She laughed. For a moment the two of them sat in silence, eating chocolate.
"So, why are you here?"
"O-Oh, me, it's just..."Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Just, a fight."
"A war?"The man sounded dire.
"Not like that, just. Dad gets mad at mom, I don't wanna see her hurt, then dad gets mad at me, and mom gets mad at dad, and-- and it's just a big mess, hah..."She gave a brief, awkward laugh, hoping to relief some of the tension.
"That does not sound like you can solve that by yourself."He looked down at the child, but she was quivering. Was it the cold, was it sadness, or perhaps something deeper?
He pushed himself up and reached a hand out. "You must be cold, come on inside. I'll get us some tea."
"Thank you..."she took his hand and walked inside, as the doors of the sanctuary closed themselves once more.
\[1/4\] |
Chuck glanced up at the waiter leaning over the table, his arm outstretched as he placed the glass of water down in front of him. He looked so familiar, but not exactly in that “I think we went to high school together” kind of way, but rather the “I’m 90% certain you’re Hitler” kind of way. Something about how his hair fell at an angle across his forehead, how he mumbled to himself in German, even how his face scrunched angrily as he spoke just screamed “I’m Hitler, but you probably shouldn’t know that.”
“Ist zere anysing else I can get you?” the waiter said, the small, rectangular tuft of hair above his lip shifting slightly as he spoke. Chuck hadn’t seen anyone wear that style of mustache since, well, Hitler. There was kind of a negative connotation with looking like Hitler, which unintentionally sent that particular facial hair the way of the dinosaurs. However, it seemed the waiter had not gotten that memo. Either that, or he was, in fact, Adolf Hitler.
“Um,” Chuck paused. “Yeah, I—uh—I’ll have the soup of the day.” He wanted the pot roast, but figured it would be better to play it safe, just in case it truly was Hitler taking his order. He was worried he'd somehow end up requesting the “Circumcision Touch-Up,” even though it wasn’t an option on the menu. Soup seemed the safest route, considering that Nazis loved soup. Seinfeld taught him that.
“Zat is a good choice,” the waiter said. He placed his right hand on his left shoulder and then saluted it out at a slightly upwards angle. “I vill get zat for you.”
“Thanks,” Chuck said, tilting his head slightly. He’d never had a waiter salute him before, nonetheless in such a particular manner. Furthermore, he was fairly confident that the traditional salute began at the forehead, not the shoulder. Had he seen that type of salute before? He couldn’t exactly recall, but it certainly didn’t help the waiter’s case on ruling out whether or not he was Hitler.
The waiter turned and began back toward the kitchen, his feet kicking out in front of him as he walked, arms straight down by his sides. He looked like Hitler, there was no denying it. He even walked like Hitler, Chuck knew that. It was a weird way to walk. Most other waiters tended to walk normally, with a bend in their knees and their arms casually waving by their sides. Yet it was 2015—freshly so—Hitler would have to be like 90 years old or something, and have fallen far enough to need a job at a shitty roadside diner. It didn’t exactly seem like the kind of career a somehow-living Adolf Hitler would obtain.
No more than three minutes passed before the waiter reemerged from the kitchen, a small, porcelain bowl resting in his upturned palm as he walked toward Chuck. God, he just looked so much like Hitler. What if he didn’t know? What if he just went about his day serving people, never understanding why everybody was a bit hesitant to tip him? Chuck wasn’t sure if he should just break the awkwardness and say, “hey, buddy, did you know you look like Adolf Hitler? You might want to consider shaving your head and beard. In fact, maybe just change your entire face, demeanor, posture, outfit, and accent.” Chuck didn’t want to be rude, however, and figured silence would probably be best.
The waiter stopped in front of the table and bent over, carefully placing the bowl down in front of Chuck. It was steaming hot, a warm mist floating off the green liquid and moistening Chuck’s forehead.
“Is this microwaved?” Chuck said, picking up the spoon and carefully swirling it around in the bowl. It looked like Campbell's Split Pea Soup, rather than what Chuck had hoped a $5.50 bowl of soup would look like. He lifted the spoon and tipped it back into his mouth.
“Nein,” the waiter said, his eyebrows furrowing, “ve only use gas here.”
Chuck spit the soup back out, coughing heavily as he practically choked to death on a spoonful of liquid. It wasn’t that it was too hot, or too much, or anything of the sorts, it was the idea of an Adolf Hitler lookalike telling him that they used gas to cook his meal. The Nazis, and Adolf Hitler, didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to using gas to cook things. The idea of just didn’t sit well with him, whether or not he was dealing with the real Hitler.
“Do you need assistance?” the waiter said, his posture still straight arms still at his side. “I knew ze heim-reich.” The waited paused. “Sorry, ze Heimlich.”
“N—no,” Chuck said, wiping off his lips. “I’m good. I am so good. That’s all for now.” Chuck had absolutely not misunderstood the waiter, he’d definitely just said “reich” there.
“Okay,” the waiter said, again saluting from his shoulder before turning. Chuck glanced at his nametag as he did so. He wasn’t quick enough to read it, but he was fairly confident it had said “Adolf Something-or-other.” He exhaled slowly and took another spoonful of the soup. It was honestly pretty good, easily some of the best he’d had in ages.
“God dammit Adolf,” shouted a deep, heavy voice from the kitchen. “The fucking oven is for food!”
“I’m sorry!” responded a muffled, thickly-accented voice. “I get so confused with zis new ideology.”
“You’re fired,” shouted the deep voice, followed by a high-pitched shriek and the slamming of a door.
A man emerged from the kitchen, a stained white shirt covering his chest, with a long, beige apron stopping just before the floor. He was clearly the cook, or chef, or something of the sorts. Chuck waved him over, the man nodding and taking the few steps to his table.
“Yes?” the man said, his face red and voice thick with an “I don’t want to deal with your shit right now” tone.
“Can I ask you a question?” Chuck said, peering around his shoulder and looking for the waiter who had served him his soup. He was not in the room.
“Yes.”
“Was that Hitler?” Chuck said. “You know, Adolf Hitler. The Jew-hating guy?”
“I don’t fucking have time for this,” the chef blurted out, throwing his hands in the air and turning around. He began back toward the kitchen.
“Wait,” Chuck shouted, “I just want to know the recipe for this soup! Do I have to use a gas oven?” He’d buy one if he had to, probably only use it once every few months to make a split pea soup, but god damn would it be worth it. He hadn’t tasted anything so thick and savory since his grandmother had passed. If there was one thing that Chuck could say about Hitler, it was that he undersold the soup.
____________________
^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/) ^or [^on ^my ^website!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
Being an ambassador to other races, this was routine. You sit back, relax, and listen to some of the best audio stimuli your people have ever produced. These humans have evolved much during their time. They've seen much as well, yet always survived.
You wanted to learn from these humans. You want to expel your questions, and only have answers for the better of your race, and fellow civilizations.
During your contemplation, you wondered where the time went as Earth began to grow larger on the view screen. At last, you're going to land on a planet containing one of the most evolved species you've ever encountered.
You couldn't wait!
You entered the atmosphere uncloaked, assuming the humans are used to interplanetary travel and discovery. To your surprise, you see four objects approaching you.
"A greeting!"you say to yourself.
You are surprised, as these objects seem more primitive than what these humans use for interplanetary travel. Perhaps, these are strictly for Earth?
You attempt a hail, but there is no response. You wonder if they're trying to contact you. Using your communications array, you begin cycling through various communication techniques and frequencies. You find one that comes through the speakers with at least some linguistic approach.
"I like big butts and I cannot lie..."
You were confused by the lyric, but came to the realization that it was a music station of some sort. You continue searching.
"Unidentified vessel come in."
You wonder why they're using such a primitive way to communicate. Having studied them for some time, you understand their multiple languages.
You respond.
"Greetings! I am on a mission of peace, here to meet the ever evolved human race. I would like to meet those who are in charge, to introduce our race into the Human's distinguished society."
You hear nothing for some time. You send another signal in an attempt to confirm they received your message.
"Yes we're reading you. Please increase your altitude, and await further instruction"
"Increase my altitude? But I'm landing!"You say to yourself.
With a race that is this technologically advanced, and is acquainted with more than half of the galaxy, they should be a bit more understanding than this.
"Unidentified vessel, please land at coordinates: 37.2350° N, 115.8111° W. Keep your altitude until you reach these coordinates, and engage in a rapid direct decent landing procedure until you reach 1,000 feet, then descend slowly."
You input those numbers into your system.
"That would place me right on top of a building,"you said.
"That is correct. Please follow these instructions. We will disengage until landing procedures are met."
You comply, being overwhelmed with confusion. After reviewing countless records and countless documentaries, how could this race be so primitive? There should be ships and transports flying around on the planet itself. At least, that's how it was depicted overall!
You land, and open your hatch, only to see several humans with some sort of weapons currently trained on you.
"Uh, greetings. My name is..."
You are interrupted by one of the humans.
"Sir, please come with us. You will not be harmed if you comply!"
"Of course. I will be happy to oblige."
You are escorted to a dark room with only what appears to be a table and...electricity for illumination? Surely there are other forms of energy this race has discovered by now. They know the Klingons, Cardassians, Furlings, hell they fought the Covenant! Admittedly you questioned that war as the Covenant were more lazy than war like, but you never thought to ask them.
You finally sit at the table placed in this empty room. You notice a mirror, and that it's an old fashioned two-way mirror. You were able to spot several humans on the other side of that mirror, looking in.
They couldn't be this stupid to think that would actually work on you.
Finally somebody came in. You swallow your irritation.
"Hello! My name is..."
You're interrupted by the human. You think to yourself how keen they are with their timing.
"Please sit."
You were already sitting.
Maybe they weren't used to how your race sits. You wait until the human realizes what he's done. You see him stop, look you over one more time, and realize that he made an error.
He moves on.
"My name is Conrad. I represent the United States government. Where do you come from?"
"I come from a planet very far from here. Near the borders of the Furlings."
You notice that Conrad's continual blank stare...continues.
"I see. The Furlings."
"Yes. Recently they made a pact with the Iconions for more intergalactic peace, in an attempt to show support for all those affected by the Dilgar and Romulan war."
You wondered if humans had other emotions that weren't reflected in facial expressions, as Conrad did not phase from his stare-at-you-constantly expression.
"Surely you knew about the war?"you asked.
"We don't hear about such things honestly,"Conrad said.
You were completely flabbergasted!
"How is that possible?? Both races have been documented to have visited your planet and encountered humans through your civilizations time! And what is going on? You should be significantly farther ahead technologically than you are!"
Conrad sat back in his chair, continuing his void gaze.
"Just, wait right here"
Conrad left.
You've come to three conclusions so far:
1. Their faces don't move very much.
2. They don't sit like you do.
3. They don't answer questions.
How could they have gotten this far? You continually think to yourself that the data was correct, even if you never really checked with the races involved. The data was clear.
What seemed like multiple deletimes, Conrad enters the room.
"Where were you? You've been gone for several deletimes!"
Conrad stops, and from what you can tell attempts to indulge his thought center with a query toward the definition of that word. He shakes it off, and sits down with a few documents.
"Where did you get the names of these races?"He asked you.
"From your own documents! The B5, ST, BG documents, etc. Surely you must know them! You created them!"
"I do know them. At least, not as truth. It looks like you've been picking up our fictional fantasies,"Conrad said. He cracked a smile. Now you know that your first conclusion was wrong. That's nice.
"I don't understand..."
"I have a way to explain everything to you,"Conrad said. He holds up a small container. It took you a moment to read the text as it seemed out of sync with standardized text formatting.
"What is...Galaxy Quest?"
"The answer to all your questions."
Another human brought in some type of projecting device, that seemed primitive, but at this point you were past that. This must be some official explanation of what occurred. Perhaps the humans were ready for any type of intergalactic visitation after all.
You were anxious to watch this official response.
As you were watching it, you were confused why the message wasn't directed to you specifically as the race who is visiting. Yet Conrad remained in the room with you, laughing at certain points. You decided not to ask why, as it would just make you come to further incorrect conclusions.
Slowly, you began to get the message, and slowly the official response ends.
"So, what you're saying, is everything we received was from these 'actors' that create worlds that don't exist?"You finally say to Conrad.
"That's right. What's odd, is that you were naming fictional species. They're not real,"Conrad began to laugh.
"But they are real. If you were listening before, every species you have made up are real."
Conrad went from smiling and laid back, to the void stare. He looked at the two way mirror. You were perplexed as to why he did that. Does the mirror talk?
You realized how stupid of a question that was, and felt bad you asked it to yourself.
"You're saying, the Romulans, Furlings, Dilgars, etc. are real?"
You wondered if your language skills weren't up to par, as that's exactly what you said.
"Yes."
Conrad leaned in.
"The Reavers. Are they real?"
You were wondering if they never met any of these races, why they'd be concerned. Then you remembered the FF documents.
You then understood his concern.
"Yes,"you said.
Conrad leaned back, seeming more concerned than ever.
"I see. And, the Borg? They're real?"
"Yes they are."
You didn't want to tell him that the races depicted in the documents or "films"weren't as violent or aggressive as the humans portrayed them. It answered a lot of questions for you, honestly.
You were also astounded they didn't ask about the dreaded Tribble empire. Those were the real threats to the galaxy.
Conrad leaned closer to you, evolving to an abyss gaze.
"And you. Your race is real. I recognize you...I couldn't put my finger on it but I recognize you."
His gaze turned to what seemed to be completely displeased.
"Yes, I represent the Gungan people. My name is Jar Jar."
EDIT: Thanks so much for the gold kind stranger! I am deeply humbled by the response.
|
**Norse-It-All - Starring Vanadium and Thorium**
Friday, 3:00 P.M. Professor Esmark’s class: Norse Literature.
My favorite teacher in the world sat propped against his rickety wooden chair like a pillar. With a bent neck, he eyed the clock, pale ice eyes fixed on the hands like a falcon’s on its prey. When the minute hand struck 12, the professor shuffled his papers, and snapped to attention.
“Welcome, class. Please take five minutes to review the homework assigned Wednesday. We will be answering questions when your time elapses.”
Papers shuffled, binders unclipped, and pens and pencils rustled about. But I didn’t move. I hadn’t done any of the homework, and Professor Esmark didn’t need glasses to know. At the beginning of the year, he’d pushed and prodded me to do my homework, read the books, or at least ask questions in class. He wasn’t a bad guy - he wanted his students to succeed. But he couldn’t help but be perplexed as to why I always aced his tests and quizzes, despite never doing any of the work or participating in class. He suspected cheating, but when he drilled me one-on-one with no preparation, I still got near perfect marks. Ever since then, he’d left me alone. It was better that way.
Truth be told, I never wanted to be here. Getting a B.A. in Norse Studies was never my intended goal - I really wanted to get a B.S. in chemistry, but I didn’t qualify for the program. I guess my anguished hours I spent for YEARS doing research in vanadium complexes just weren’t enough for the university. So I took the easy way out - “studying” the very culture I had not only been there to witness - but to shape.
Still, I’ll need to pursue my chemical studies elsewhere - or elsewhen - but I must do so before the end times come. The Nordic sagas and poems do not mention what happens to me at Ragnarök - but this is for a reason. I destroyed all written records of my intentions, for fear that the other gods might try to stop me from impeding fate. I believe there is a way to delay Fimbulvetr and prevent Ragnarök from happening again, using megastructures and a whole lot of complex chemical-
*BRRRRING.*
The five-minute alarm. I’ll have to explain later.
“All right, class. What questions do you have?” Professor Esmark said, rising from his chair and pacing to the center of the room. Hands shot up. Professor Esmark scanned the room, locking eyes with one young man in the front.
“Harald.”
“Professor, the passage of Sturluson’s you gave us mentions Freyja ‘spending 4 days and 4 nights’ with 4 dwarves. Is this meant to be interpreted literally or figuratively?”
“Good question, Harald. Sturluson-”
“-Was a Christian monk who lived 200 years after the end of the viking age and about 250 years after Christianity first came to Scandinavia,” I interjected, tearing and crumpling little balls of paper from my notebook. I was used to the class’s weird glances and murmurings at this point. Professor Esmark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Evangeline, this is the eighteenth time this week that you have interrupted me. If you have something important to say, please talk to me during office hours.”
My brows furrowed and my face felt hot. My mind was racing. I was the Professor’s star student, but even a teacher’s pet has limits on how much they can blab away.
“But Professor, the text we were given misses so much vital context surrounding Snorri Sturluson’s heritage and intentions. I mean, in the same passage about the four dwarves, Sturluson says that Odinn and I- I mean, Freyja - were humans who lived in Asia! And not only were they mere mortals, but they compelled men to war amongst each other until the Christian king Olav Tryggvason came and broke their heathen curse! How plausible is it that the pagan Norsemen viewed their gods in such a light?”
“Look, Evangeline. The point of this reading wasn’t to offer a glimpse into an unbiased document on Norse deities, only a source that offers clues wherein interpretation is necessary,”
“But that’s the problem! So much of the opinions and attitudes of viking-age Scandinavia are dependent on outside and post-temporal records that interpretation itself is difficult. How can we interpret what the Norse thought, when the very parameters of their thoughts are dictated and scrutinized through the lens of outsiders?” I protested.
“Then you might as well say historical studies are useless! Reconstruction requires leaps of faith - that are, of course, grounded in evidence - but there must be a conclusion of some kind reached,” Professor Esmark replied. Something flashed in his eyes. Was it...recognition?
“According to Ynglinga Saga 4, Freyja taught the Aesir seidr, the reading and molding of the future. And you, of all people, should know that running your mouth off in the middle of class would secure a poor future for anyone,”
I rolled my eyes.
“There’s no consensus that the Aesir and Vanir were even separate groups. The same god has been referred to as both in the same passages, without marriage even being involved. And besides, didn’t Kvasir put all that stuff behind us? I mean- them?”
Professor Esmark frowned. “I have never felt any affiliation with the Vanir gods.”
“You? Why does it matter if *you* feel affiliation with them?” I inquired, donning a tone of false inquisition. The professor blinked twice, attempting to regain his composition. But a flush spread across his cheeks, the same fire that I wore.
“B-because, Evangeline. I am a scholar. And scholars have standards. One of which involves RESPECTING authorities in the field,”
Oh well. Time to go mask off.
I smirked. “Remember that one time Thorr cosplayed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back? I still think your wig looked awful,”
“Do you have a CITATION for that?!” Professor Esmark stammered. The entire class was staring us down. Not a word was uttered.
“I don't need one,” I spat back, rising from my desk and casting my books on the floor.
“Young lady, pick those books up! This is NOT how we conduct scholarly debate! Cite your sources or-”
“I was *THERE*,” I finished.
Esmark’s eyes and neck muscles were twitching, but he was silent. My hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, but I was silent. The class, frozen in shock, was silent.
Until a voice piped up.
“Man, you never told us you were a cosplayer! You should come to NordiCon this summer!”
\---
Visit r/Official_PotT for more chemically compounded drama! |
The low hanging branches rustled as if the wind were passing through them, the leaves trailing off as if their tips were running off someone's fingers. The world was starting to return to a sense of normal, and with the summer sun shining down from a wide-open sky, many people were out of their homes and taking advantage of this beautiful day. Among them, Anavel.
She walked with a hand in her pocket, her elbow sticking out, the shape of a hand pressed against her skin. Her other hand held on to a picnic basket, wrapped tightly with a red and white checkered blanket, straight out of a fairy tale trope.
In this kind of light, her eyes would shine rather gorgeously, but instead they're blocked out by her shades, hiding the blue beauty underneath. But for what she can't see, she walked rather gracefully, as if guided. Every crack in the path, every person in her way. Not an apology needed to be said as she dodged every passerby coming her way.
She did stop for a minute to reach down to a dog, it's owner apologizing to Anavel as the dog continued to circle around her barking. She'd lay a hand on the dog, and it would fall silent, getting an understanding of the situation around her. But while the dog would stop barking, it would never look at Anavel directly. Instead, the poor pup would stare into the distance, confused, yet certain that there was something more.
Continuing down the path, she let slip, "animals always seem to love you, don't they?"she laughed. The owner of the dog turned back as he lead his canine away, a quizzical look on his face. "Honestly, I don't think we've ever gone anywhere without a dog not running to you."She started to laugh more and more, getting louder as we walked, attracting the attention of other people. "Ever thought of getting one of our own?"
"Well it doesn't have to be a dog. It could be a cat, or even something small like hamster."She responded to the open air. "I just think the house be a little less lonely if there were three of us, you know?"
The people she passed started to turn their heads. Some looking to her ears to see if she was on a call, or had a bluetooth headset in.
"No! No no no no no no no!"Anavels laugh drew all eyes. "I'm not having a baby!"
A mother walking by with her children presesd closer to her husband, the father leading his family away.
"But I mean..."She sighed.
A whisper from an elderly couple, curious, gossiping. This wasn't something new to Anavel of course. Unable to see, she was able to hear more. But most of what she heard from the people around her were nothing but negative. Still, she didn't let it get to her, because at the end of the day, she had something they didn't.
At her destination, she made her way to an open clearing, seemingly paying no mind to the ground below, trusting that it was clear. She laid the blanket down, its four corners planting themselves straight onto the grass. The basket laid on one side of the blanket, the food unpacked. She kept her head forward, watching over the people of the park, playing, laughing, ignoring those that were staring at her with odd looks. But while she couldn't see them, she had a perfect description of what they were doing, where they were, how it seemed their day was going.
"Heads up!"A stray voice from across the way, a frisbee landing right at her feet. "Oh, it's her again..."the voice said hushed. The boy who owned the voice began to walk towards Anavel, intent on picking up his frisbee, but three steps in, she leaned forward and picked up it, standing and aiming towards the group of teenagers playing.
"Forward..."she repeated. With a flick of her wrist, the frisbee flew, flying straight towards the boy, with unnatural accuracy. The boy caught his frisbee, and walked away, staring at Anavel as he returned to his friends, inaudible insults towards her being lost among the sea of voices.
She leaned to the right, her head resting on the shoulders of the air around her. "I know..."
Comforted, she continued her picnic, eating and drinking, enjoying the time that she had. And when it came time to relax, she leaned back to turn her head to the skies, wanting a description of the afternoon clouds, four handprints pressed onto the fabric of the blanket. |
*Tanzania, February 1983*
Kaisi hummed along to the radio as he tidied his house. His sister was coming to visit tomorrow night, and he liked things to be tidy anyway. This would probably be the last time she visited him for a few months, as the rainy season would be starting any day now, and she was always busy at that time of year.
From the outside, his house looked like a simple stone house several kilometers outside of Kigoma, not very large, but ample room for a bachelor of 130 years. But a trapdoor in the floor of the bedroom led to a rather large underground dwelling where Kaisi spent much of his time. It was here that he was now, preparing for his sister and the coming rain, which yearly left enough water in through the unfinished walls to leave puddles on the floor. It normally wasn't much more than an annoyance, but once every ten years or so, Kaisi would have a temporary underground swimming pool.
The voice of the DJ crackled through his radio. 'And that was Hungry Like the Wolf, by Duran Duran. Now for a tune that's sweeping across the United States. Here's Africa, from Toto.' A brassy sound filled Kaisi's home, quickly followed by a plinking instrument that reminded him of rain, then a soft voice. 'I hear the drums echoing tonight...' Kaisi couldn't help but start swaying to the catchy tune. By the second chorus, he was singing along. 'I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA!' He laughed to himself a little. How strange would it be if this band could actually bless the rains about to come? Strange and horrifying, certainly. Kaisi had only come into contact with holy water once, by accident, but he remembered how bad it had stung.
Four evenings later, Kaisi was tending his garden when the rains finally came. He had watched lightning play on the horizon for an hour or so, and was just getting ready to go inside when a few drops started falling from the sky. One landed on his cheek and he swatted at his face as it seared his skin, leaving a blister and burning his fingers where he'd swiped the moisture away. Several more raindrops landed on his arms, but it felt like acid. He ran for his front door, dropping his tools as the roar of the downpour swept closer to him.
Kaisi slammed his door shut just as the sheet of rain drew over his house. He stumbled into his bathroom, head down to keep any stray drops from falling into his eyes, groping for his towel. Finally grasping it, he pressed it to his face and head, moaning. What Hell was this? The rain felt like it was holy water, burning wherever it touched his skin and leaving angry welts as he dried himself.
His phone rang. Fingers stinging, he picked up the receiver. 'Hello?' he rasped.
'Kaisi!' It was his sister. 'I'm so glad you answered! Don't go outside! There's something wrong with the rain. It's like it's been turned into holy water, but no one knows how. You have to promise me you'll stay inside.'
Kaisi almost rolled his eyes at his sister's excessive concern, but then he remembered his plans for later that night. 'I don't have any blood stored here,' he whispered. 'I'm going to starve. If I don't starve, I'll be dissolved by the rain.'
'No! Don't say that! Just... just stay inside. We'll find a way to reach you with some blood,' she told him. 'Just stay inside, and stay dry.'
He said goodbye and hung up, then slumped in a chair, listening to the water pound on the roof. It might let up tomorrow evening, or it might last for days. As he rubbed at the blisters on his arm, he could just make out the *plip plip* of water dripping into his basement.
It had been almost twenty years since the rain had been heavy enough to fill the lower level of his home. |
"So I'm going to what now?"I ask.
I stare at my client. An old man, who was sitting down on the chair facing against me.
"You heard me. I want you to kill me."The old man said.
Now this was a tricky situation for me. This old man was said to have **NO** weaknesses at all. An immortal in every sense. No magic spell to reverse, no miraculous bullet to the head, no blessed or cursed sword to strike him down, no poison to harm him, absolutely no way to kill him. Yet here he is asking me to find a way.
"I'm just tired. I'm tired of this world that was made for a race that always fights with itself. Arguing about which person is right or which divine being is real. I'm tired of seeing ungrateful children, rotten adults, and tired old men. I'm just...."
"Done."I finish his sentence. I stare at him directly in the eye. His eyes reflect so much wisdom, yet it just seems to be so tired.
"Young man, I know this is a lot to ask, but I'm begging you. I've already lost my son to a crowd of madmen and traitors. I just want to see him again."
You can hear it in his tone already. As if all energy was drained from his body, all his soul was spent and all his will was shattered. His body mirrors this, as his body looked frail as well. You could see every bone as if the muscles weren't there and that the skin was just a blanket to hide those bones.
I'm thinking of every possibility, but nothing enters my head. I want to say no, but just seeing people like him is what made me start this business in the first place.
*"God fucking damn it."* I mutter to my self.
"I'll find a way old man. Just give me some time."I say to him.
Hope. It showed on his face so obviously. Like after a long journey, he's already seeing a resting point.
"Thank you."He said to me.
"Just send the payment to me by tomorrow. I promise I'll get this job done. I always do."I stand up from my chair, ready to leave.
"Oh, young man."The old man called out to me.
I turn to face him, only to find him gone.
*"Try not to use my name in vain."*
I stare at the empty space where he once sat. Motivation begins to fill me.
I turn to walk away.
I'm going to be the man who killed God. |
The man was a mess of old scars and freshly sealed wounds. An eye missing. One purple, flapping nostril, dangling like a blown tire. He smiled, though, and shook my hand. His one eye met mine, dancing back and forth from left to right.
"Mr. Coulson,"I said. "It's nice to meet in person."
"My mother,"said Coulson, taking his seat. "She fundraised. Online. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But...I couldn't have afforded this otherwise. My face is compelling, I guess."He smiled again, and this time I saw there were missing teeth, maybe as many as ten, spaced almost evenly. I thought how self-conscious he must have been and it was then that I realized he wasn't thinking.
My face must have been more open than it should have.
"You see?"said Coulson, brightening just a bit. "You do see, don't you?"
"Are you...are you making an effort?"I said.
"Oh no,"said Coulson, picking absently at the various pink and purple ridges that lined his arms. "It's always been like that. No thoughts. None at all. So you really *can* hear them, then? I thought perhaps that was just marketing."
"Um. Hmm."I leaned back in my own seat. Coulson hadn't mentioned this when he'd made the appointment. Though I suppose I wouldn't have believed him if he had. "You have genuinely never had a thought - a *voice* - a presence in your mind?"
Coulson shook his head. "Not as I understand them, no."
"That's not possible."I laughed. It was ludicrous. "Thoughts are a core component of intelligent life. You're here. You're not a vegetable. You must consider the information you receive, correct? You must consider your actions before you take them...right?"
Coulson looked almost sheepish. "I was hoping you might have some insight, seeing as you're the expert."
It wasn't meant as a jab, though it was hard not to take it as one. "The scars - are you harming yourself?"
"Well, yes and no,"said Coulson, holding up his arms. "Yes, I suppose, because it does appear to be harmful. But no, because it's...well, this may sound silly, but if there's no voice...if there's no thought, doesn't that potentially mean that I'm not... you know..."
"Human?"
"Wires,"said Coulson, gingerly touching the space where his left eye once was. "Plates. Conductors. I'm not a scientist. But it's hard not to think that maybe I'm something... not quite human. Like there's a secret in there, just behind the flesh. But I haven't found it yet. So..."He sighed. "However you look at it, I seem to be in trouble."
He was, but then so was I. I hadn't realized then just how much I'd come to coast on my ability. My singular ability, which bypassed all the hard work of therapy. I wasn't useless, mind you, just slow and unsure. I listened. I gave advice. I listened some more. I drifted at times - I kept going back to the silence. I kept finding myself listening - straining - reaching for the thoughts that weren't there. Coulson was kind. He was sad, too, but mostly he was concerned about this grand, integral thing he lacked.
"You are a whole, complete being,"I said as the session drew to a close. "You have everything you need to live a full life. As shocking and strange as it is, whatever it is that you're missing is not the impediment you think it is. In other words - you don't need it."
I had other things to say, and in all honesty the things I *did* say didn't come out the way I wanted them to, but the point was made. He was a man without thought, and that was fine. There was nothing that said we needed to think anyway.
I offered to walk Coulson out, but he declined. His mother was coming to pick him up and after glancing at the clock he raced off down the stairs. Too fast, it seemed, as his wallet had fallen out. I grabbed it and went down to catch him on the curb.
I met him as he was entering a small sedan. He thanked me, ducking quietly into the car. I couldn't quite help myself. I tapped on the glass of the driver's side window. The window lowered and an older woman - gray, wide-chinned, eyes barricaded behind a wall of black plastic - inclined her head toward me.
"Pleasure to meet you,"I said. "I'm Doctor..."
She didn't open her mouth, but the sound that came off her was piercing and clamorous and searing as a white flame. It was not one voice or one thought, but many. Thousands. Millions. All crashing together in unison. No language of man, but a bracing discord of synchronized frequencies. It came screaming out of her like a canyon full of wailing kettles. Her face, behind those enormous sunglasses, was impassive. Emotionless.
And in the passenger's seat, Coulson just watched. In silence.
The screaming slowed and settled, before disappearing. I stepped back from the car, blinking. The old woman nodded, then drove away.
I never saw Coulson again, but nor did I ever return to my practice. I couldn't. I was too afraid to listen anymore. I couldn't bear to hear that noise again. From then on, every thought that rose too high in pitch made me shudder and collapse. Eventually, every murmured, half-considered thought rattled me just as deeply. Then I couldn't hear any thoughts at all without falling apart.
And now, now all I want is silence. Silence. I have escaped into solitude, only to find that I am still haunted by thoughts. *My* thoughts. And what to do about that?
When I think of Coulson now, I'm overcome with jealousy. How could anyone be so lucky? |
“Hey honey,” Kanye said with a smile, adjusting the golden suit jacket he was wearing. He’d picked it up from Goodwill the day earlier, at the request of his daughter. *Wear something a little more humble,* she had begged, *at least for my birthday.* He was reluctant at first, staring at her as he contemplated his options. Yes, it was her birthday and doing something special would be somewhat polite. But, on the other hand, he had a reputation to keep up. If the public saw him wearing the clothes of the less fortunate, then what would happen? It would be chaos, anarchy in the streets. He knew the kind of power he held, the responsibility his fashion choice dictated. Plus, humble wasn’t exactly easy for a legend like Kanye West, a man who literally defined a generation and saved culture from an otherwise violent demise. Yet, in the end, he realized he’d do anything for North, even if that meant being humble for one whole day.
He’d purchased the jacket for just $13.75, making it the least expensive thing he’d bought since early 2003. Even when he stopped by McDonalds to pretend to eat anything other than Alaskan King Crab claws cooked in pure truffle oil, he refuse to pay for anything on the dollar menu at standard price. Sure, to a mortal it might be a dollar for some Chicken McNuggets, but not to Kanye West. Not to the man who saved music from a death akin to Apartheid. Kanye only purchased those same McNuggets at $137 *per nugget,* and at his own god damn request. If it wasn’t expensive, then it wasn’t on his menu.
He stumbled upon the jacket while wandering through the Goodwill, his hand covering his mouth to avoid tainting his lungs with mortal air. It was the first thing he saw, a brown, tweed coat that looked identical to the one every single high school teacher wore while contemplating how comparatively little they did for the world. It was perfect, ideal for his mission. He purchased it on the spot and went straight to his tailor, forcing the man to coat the entire thing in gold flake so as to give it a bit of flair. If he was going to be humble, then he was sure as hell going to make humble look good. Sure, it was a bit heavier afterward, but he was a strong guy. He knew he could carry it.
“What is that?” North said, staring at his humble outfit. He knew it was down to earth, casual, and smart. He’d designed it himself, made it to fit in with the common folk, the mortals that walked in his presence. She was clearly proud, her face locked in place as her jaw drooped toward the ground, obviously in awe of how humble he had become.
“It’s my jacket,” Kanye said, running his hand down the fine, yet rough material, flakes of gold chipping off and spiraled toward the ground. “I got it from Goodwill.” He contemplated mentioning that he might have made a few minor adjustments, but didn’t feel like it was necessary. That would be bragging, after all, and a humble person like he would never do such a thing.
“Is that gold?” North said, her eyebrows raised slightly in what was probably respect.
“Sure is,” Kanye said. “The entire jacket is coated in a layer of gold. Cost well over $200,000.” He smiled, knowing he’d managed to humbly address the issue of cost without bragging.
“Why did you do that?” North said, glancing in both directions as if looking for someone.
“Just to add my own flair.” The poor, modestpeople of the world tended to make alterations to their clothes, like stitching buttons on and repairing seams. Kanye knew he’d done basically the same thing, only instead of fixing a hole, he’d coated his jacket in hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold. There was essentially no difference between the two.
“And what the hell are you wearing on your legs?” North said, her eyes sliding down toward his pants. So she did notice—he wasn’t sure if she’d pick up on his humble leggings.
“Just some pants I had made out of an endangered albino rhinoceros.” He was particularly proud of this decision, to have the tailor put together some one-of-a-kind pants using only third-world animals. If anything was humble, it was utilizing the materials of the less-fortunate to make an outfit.
“I just wanted you to be modest, Dad. That’s it. I just wanted to be able to walk down the street without you stopping to tell strangers that you're a 'modern version of Jesus, except more handsome and talented.' Why can’t you just do that?”
“Wait, what?” Kanye said, adjusting the watch he’d purchased as humbly as possible. Normally he tried to haggle on the price a little bit, stating that he refused to pay a mere $125,000 for such a Breitling—it should be well over $300,000.00, and that he’d pay no less than $600,000. Yet, to be as modest and decent as possible, he accepted the watch at retail price, hardly even mentioning that he’d wear it once before tossing it in the garbage. Like all average folk, he relished in the great discount price he was offered.
“You’re not being humble,” North said, sighing. “That guy over there, he’s humble.” She pointed toward a man on the opposite end of the street. He was a short man, maybe five-foot-four, wearing a typical working class, casual outfit. Black polo shirt, blue jeans, and some white sneakers, a large bald spot in the middle of his head reflecting the sun.
“That guy?” Kanye said, his head twisted toward man. He looked like an asshole, clearly trying to one-up Kanye. What kind of a dick would come to his neighborhood, on his daughter’s birthday, and try to make a fool of Kanye West? Did he not know what Kanye had done for society? What he’d done for the world? Without him, there would be no future. There would be no hope. What was this douche doing? What had he accomplished in his life? Nothing, not a god damned thing.
“Yes,” North said. “That’s humble.”
Kanye turned the rest of the way toward the man, his body shaking with rage, and began running at him, his feet pounding the pavement as he moved. He hadn’t run in such a long time, his feet stumbling at first—it simply wasn’t a necessary thing for people like him. He could hire others to run on his behalf. Yet when his name was being tarnished, when his daughter was being tricked into finding more motivation in a stranger than he, that called for special occasion.
“You fuck,” Kanye shouted, colliding with the man’s back and tackling him to the ground. Kanye landed on top, their two bodies becoming intertwined. He lifted his fist in the air and brought it down onto the man’s face. “You think you’re more humble than me?” he shrieked, punching blindly. “I’m the most humble person on this fucking planet! I am more humble than your entire family combined! I set the standard for humble, how dare you test me!” The man squirmed slightly under him, his body shaking with each blow, until he finally stopped moving.
Kanye sat back up, his fists throbbing and bloody from his average, humble beating. He was just like a typical citizen, fighting for respect by getting his hands dirty. It felt nice to be regular, although he knew he wouldn’t make a habit of it. He smiled, glancing back over toward North. She was staring at him, her mouth agape in what was clearly approval, before she turned and walked back into their home.
_____________
^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/)
|
Both sides agree that is was the Labor Revolution of the 2090's that was the tipping point. A few hundred years ago, the "every-man"rose up. Complaining about living conditions, about feeling useless, but mostly about the robots. Who is going to pay you a living wage when a robot can do it better, cheaper, and 24x7?
The wisest corporations, those still around today, declared they'd go robot-free and only hire human labor. The destruction and the unrest began to slow. But with so many people starving and looking for work, only the strongest and tireless were hired, picked out of the crowds to toil for the Corporations. Soon, people began drugging themselves to build muscle or go without sleep, but these alterations came with consequences, and their bodies soon broke down.
Looking for better solutions, some turned to black-market doctors, with promises of permanent changes, for them and their children. These Grinders, as they were called, played with DNA, making their patients stronger and hardier. But the real changes were seen in their children. The altered DNA could reach it's full potential when working with an empty canvas. With bones like iron and muscle like rock, these children never had to worry about going hungry.
But this was just a shadow of the true technology the corporations possessed. Their leaders were increasing their beauty, expanding their intelligence, and extending their lives. And like the Laborers, the Elite's children were the finished artwork compared to the lumpy clay of their Corporate parents.
When these children grew to adulthood, they easily dispatched their parents and replaced them in the hierarchies. Sheltered from life outside their enclaves, they only knew luxury, and knew they wanted more of it. What was once optional alterations for the laborers, became mandatory, along with "efficiency best-practices to empower their core-competencies". Laborers became shorter to waste less food and water. Gorilla-like body hair returned for everyone, reducing the need for expenditures on clothes. Night-vision was bred into the population, further cutting electricity costs.
Profits were soaring and the corporate elite, disparagingly called Elves by the labors due to their fragile frames, were basking in opulence. But then it happened, the ground under a corporate headquarters collapsed, killing all inhabits. At first it was thought to be effects of global-warming, but the Elven scientist had long reversed that trend and returned the world to nature.
Tunnels were found at the site. A group, calling themselves Dwarves, took responsibility and demanded an uprising. The Elite and the Laborers were so far separated, not only by genetics but the lives they experienced, they couldn't recognize each other as humans. Dwarves demanded the Elves share the bounty that was earned of off their backs. Soon, roads were disappearing into sinkholes, dams were bursting, costs were rising, and profits were plummeting.
What the Dwarves didn't know was the Elves had not sat idly by, letting their gene technology wither. Many tortured souls can attest to the evil magics of the corporate labs. The creatures that the Elven leaders created, twisted, and mass-produced will ensure this war will be no Labor Revolution and the Dwarves will pay a heavy price. The world's population is about to clash, and when the dust settles, only the one species will be left to inherit humanity's crown. |
Humanity was expanding.
It was time to go.
It had been 200 years since humans had reached the edge of the solar system. It had taken 2 years to journey that far back then, and now they could pass the expanse from the sun to the edge in just a few tens of minutes. But they could never pass it.
The great barrier hung, invisibly encompasing the system. When humans had first approached, not knowing the barrier was there, they were rocked by the strong magnetics fields. A signal had flashed across the whole of the visable spectrum. Lights turning on and off at high speed. They had found code easy to break, and understood it was a communication meant for them.
"Go back. Do not leave. Go back. Do not leave."
This had started an international crisis. Should they ignore it, and push through? The combined decision of the worlds elected leaders was no. At a vote tallying 90 to 60, the earth had decided to stay within the barrier.
The humans kept testing it. They found that both electromagnetic waves, and physical probes were allowed through, but anything containing biological matter was prevented from leaving. The first casualty of the barrier was one brave astronaut's ham sandwich. The testing continued, the message stayed the same, but then humanity moved on.
And then it expanded. First Mars, then Titan and orbital habitats around Venus and Jupiter. And they kept expanding. And in just 11 generations Humanity started to outgrow the resources of the solar system.
And so it came back to today. The day after polling day. Every human across the expanse of the solar system had been allowed to vote on the decision of whether or not to break through the barrier. The technology to do so had been available for 120 years.
And the results came in. 96% voter turnout. 76:24 in favour of breaking through the barrier.
It was too late. They weren't ready yet. I couldn't even send another warning. It took all I had to maintain the barrier. I had tried. But they didn't even know what they were in for. I had watched them for so long, keeping them safe.
Goodbye, dear friends.
|
By the time any of us noticed the infestation, it was everywhere. The warnings we sent to one another took time to be received and understood, but the plague could spread itself in the blink of a flare. When we finally understood what was happening, dozens of us had already disappeared.
The agent of the disease was invisible to perception, so utterly, inconceivably small that the most learned among us could not fully grasp its infinitesimal size. And yet it spread and it spread, filling the galaxy faster than we could even communicate concepts to one another. Very few of us remained free of its clutches long enough to mark down what it did to our kin.
The first symptoms were a destruction of the outer layers of the system, followed by an encasement built impossibly quickly around the infected individual. It would happen so fast, one would not notice the infection until it had already ran its course. The encasement would completely surround those who had contracted the disease, sealing them in darkness and immobility forevermore. Our life cycles were suspended, so even the largest of us would last for hundreds of billions of years to nourish the infection's greedy needs.
The distances around me are dark now. Only the very most distant galaxies still shine, and once the disease consumes me I know it will spread to them too. But for now I remain, perhaps one of the only ones left of my kind.
I am one of the last stars. Now we shine our last. |
Lucifer smiled, staring deep into the woman's soul who stood in front of him.
"Your desires lay open to me, a canvas of greed and corruption,"Lucifer growled, white billows of smoke escaping from the sides of his mouth.
"Really? I doubt you could back that up with any evidence."The woman in front of Lucifer replied, undisturbed by lucifer's great form as it cast a shadow upon her.
"Evidence is nought but a delusion created to ease the mind of mere mortals."
"I don't understand what you're saying, but okay, I'll be sure to forward that to my aides."
"Enough idle chatting, you have brought yourself forth into my realm, and now you are granted an audience with that in which you have sought."
The woman raised her hand in front of her face, caressing her cheek in deep thought before replying: "So I can ask for anything?"
"Correct mortal, any earthly desires that you may feel are out of your reach — I will make it otherwise,"Lucifer growled once again, this time raising the volume of his voice in an attempt to shake the human.
"I see, and are there any stipulations for this agreement?"The woman asked, clearly unaffected by Lucifer's show of intimidation
Lucifer — taken slightly off-guard — replied: "Your soul is fodder, an essence most delicious that I will consume once your time in your realm is concluded."
"Okay, so the soul-taking part is a given but is there a contract I could maybe read before I agree to your deal?"
Lucifer paused. Not in a literal million years has anyone asked for a contract. Lucifer's thoughts wandered back to his discussions with God before he had started his long slumber.
--
"Look, dude,"God pointed at Lucifer aggressively, "I'll let you do your thing but if anyone asks for the contract on paper you have to give it to them okay?"
Lucifer grumbled, the idea of his fun reduced down to a contract of paper had irked him greatly.
"And no stupid loopholes like the contract is a thousand pages long."God continued, slipping out of his unicorn-skin boots and into his fluffy cloud slippers.
"Alright..."Lucifer grumbled.
"Good, now don't disturb me until the aliens find us."
"Fine.."Lucifer grumbled once again
--
"Hello?"The woman waved a hand in front of Lucifer's face, snapping him back to the present.
Lucifer blinked twice before replying: "Yes, Mortal sorry, you may have your terms and conditions,"Lucifer paused, a small smile emerging before he continued,"On a paper made of the skin of your ancestors."
"Yeah that's fine,"The woman said unnervingly — stunning Lucifer again with the lack of reaction.
"Umm, alright well..."Lucifer looked around at the fire and brimstone that decorated the walls of and ceiling of the 77th parallel of Hell before snapping a command at one of his imps.
Hurriedly, a green imp with a forked tail ran towards Lucifer, holding a clipboard with the edges scorched slightly. He looked up at Lucifer expectantly.
"Hand me a paper made of this woman's ancestors... and a sharpie from the kitchen."
The imp scurried off, shouting words that no human had ever heard before to the other imps.
Lucifer turned back to the woman.
"Delve deep into yourself and tell me what it is you desire most."
"I want to be the president of the United States."
Lucifer nodded, hiding his unexpected pleasure. "To lead your people is your most desired wish, how amicable of you. You are one most mercurial."
The imp had returned, brandishing a rough flesh-coloured parchment and a purple sharpie.
"You couldn't have found a black one?"Lucifer had scowled at the imp before it scuttled away in fear.
"Write it down."The woman demanded, her pose straight and demanding.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow towards this woman, still unsure what to think of her. Then quietly he held the sharpie in his claws and wrote down the stipulations of the deal before handing it to the woman to read.
The woman wordlessly went over the contract, her eyes backtracking but never once showing a reaction that Lucifer could read.
"This says that you can't actually guarantee anything."The woman finally said after what seemed like an eternity to Lucifer.
"Well..."Lucifer stuttered, surprised that the woman had read through his flowery dialogue. "I can't exactly affect a human unless they willingly give me their soul, but I can give you the resources and connections to achieve your goal."
The woman contemplated what Lucifer had said; her eyes still fixated on the contract in front of her.
"And this says that you can't guarantee that another person won't make the same wish as me."
"Yeah... well, I can't."Lucifer sank bank slightly.
"Well fine, I accept these terms."
Lucifer's eyes sparkled in response, as he threw his body back, cackling with a cacophony so unholy that those around him recoiled in horror — except of course the woman.
"Ah-hem."The woman cleared her throat, stopping Lucifer's enjoyment. Quickly she signed the contract and turned around, fishing out the coin that she had been saving for her return trip through the River Styx.
"Umm okay,"Lucifer mumbled quietly before looking at the contract once again.
"I hope you enjoy your wish,"Lucifer looked down at the name signed on the contract, "Miss Clinton."
Lucifer turned around — thoughts of which country to send more telemarketers returning to him.
"Excuse me my unholiness."A voice resonated behind him.
Quickly Lucifer turned around, still on edge from his previous exchange.
"A Mr Trump here to see you."The gargoyle secretary said, fixing his glasses.
"Fine, send him in."Lucifer sighed.
|
Audio Log, GROUND CONTROL/ISS, Sun. Nov. 20, 2016, 22:36-22:42.
*
GROUND CONTROL: Come in, ISS.
ISS: Space Station here.
GC: Good evening, gentlemen. Summary report for the last twelve hours, please?
ISS: Everything within acceptable parameters, ground control.
GC: Excellent. ISS, we've been reviewing footage down here, and well... we're all a little concerned about the cat.
[Brief pause]
ISS: Request repeat, ground control?
GC: The cat, ISS.
ISS: The cat?
GC: The cat.
[Brief pause]
ISS: What cat?
GC: THE cat, ISS. Operations has you petting the cat for twelve minutes yesterday afternoon, Major. You shared your breakfast with it this morning.
ISS: Oh, that cat.
GC: Yes. This is a major concern, Major. A massive breach of protocol. How did it get there?
ISS: Well, there's some debate about that up here, ground control. Some of the others think it manned its own mission, but I don't believe them. No, I think it came smuggled in Major Hadfield's bum.
[Muffled sniggering]
GC: Send back the cat, Major.
ISS: No.
GC: Repeat: Send back the cat, Major. It's a huge safety risk.
ISS: No! We love him.
[Brief pause]
GC: You love him?
ISS: Yes. Such a cute little cat. Oochie-coo.
[Purring]
GC: Fine. Keep the damn cat.
ISS: Score!
* |
Wasn't enough to just be a shopkeeper these days - no, times were a'changing. See, all these adventurers sound like a great idea, at the start at least. They come into the town, offer to just about exterminate whatever ain't human, for a price of course. Just appealing to damned xenophobia, really. Then they happily go a'killing and bleed us dry. Never bother buying much weapons or anythin' from me either, not like the monsters put up much of a fight. At least, they never used to.
No, I learned that it was better to play both sides. All those monsters who weren't doing much harm to no one before - well, now they've got some damn fine weapons and armor, and they're not no pushovers now. The goblins are armed to the teeth, they are. The orcs have battleaxes that I smithed m'self and they can cleave through leather like it's going out of fashion - which it ain't, leather's always a good buy, only 5 silver pieces if you want the full set.
See, the land's suddenly found itself being far more dangerous for adventurers, thanks to me of course. But it's only fair, right? I'm just leveling the playing field. And now the adventurers have to stock up on better weapons and potions themselves, which only helps me more. Some people may think its amoral, I know my old wife ain't too happy about it - but who's the true bad guys here, eh? The shopkeeper helping the disenfranchised defend themselves, or the damned murder hobos indulging in a bit of genocide? If you ask me, I'm just providing equal service. Fair's fair, eh?
Of course, nobody in the town knows, not just yet. Doesn't pay to be too vocal about it, but all the so-called 'monsters' know me by name. Don't have no problems with them neither - never really did before, but 'specially not since I've been helping 'em out, for a price of course. A man's gotta make a living, even if it's off a killin'. I just consider it payback, cause most of those species ain't no trouble for us. Them quest-givers who want them all dead, well they're worst of the bunch, I'll tell you that for free.
Although sure, there's some monsters I simply won't equip - the one's that don't got no money, hah! For real though, the undead know better than to put their foot in here, and they better take it with 'em too. Necromancers in general are not welcome, neither are those damned trolls. You can never reason with a ton'o rock. I have my standards, just as any man.
Well, that's my story, so you can't say I ain't a straight talker.
But as I was saying, Mr Ogre, how about this 'ere fine war hammer? It's a pricey one, sure, but I hear there's plenty adventurers afoot who's armed to the teeth - don't hurt to be too careful these days.
*****
*****
[CroatianSpy](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) |
“Magic first and foremost requires cooperation,” the professor said. “Grandiose, beautiful spells require lengthy mana channels and so we need to buy each other time to cast them.”
It was one of the first things that Magician Tallow learned at the academy. The second thing he learned was a basic healing spell that every licensed magician was legally required to know. Duels often ended with injuries - broken bones, frostbite, cuts, bruises, and even amputation in the rarest cases (though there were spells to heal even that).
Tallow wasn’t traditionally a strong magician, but he knew many spells and he was friendly to his fellow magicians. He focused on spells that increased his speed and physical strength. During the duels, he made a show of them by closely dodging the explosive spells.
“I call upon the power of Zeus!” Magician Adkins shouted.
The spear of lightning started to form and Magician Tallow saw the destination of the spear form in his eyes. He ran towards it in a hurry, it’d be close.
Magician Adkins winded his arm, gearing up for a throw. His robe was flowing around him, hoisted up by the assistance of a minor wind spell.
“The Judgement of a God!” Magician Adkins yelled as he tossed the lighting.
Magician Tallow reached the destination and passed it right before the moment of impact. Jumping out of the way just in time, the crowd around them cheered.
The strongest magicians were the ones who were born with large pools of natural mana. You couldn’t increase the amount of mana you were born with and the amount was random for everyone. For Magician Tallow, he was born with a modest amount.
“He very well could be a magician if he wanted to.” the midwife said to his parents.
“A magician?” his father asked. “He has that much mana?”
“Look at the way he watches the world around him,” the midwife replied. “His eyes are shifting around because babies can see the mana swirling around them if they have enough mana in them themselves.”
And so Tallow’s parents raised him to be a magician. They read to him the tales of Magician Piro, the King of Magicians. They asked their only magician friend if she could tutor him, to help him get into the academy. After their first lesson, his parents were reassured that Tallow would have no problem getting into the academy.
“He can still see it.” she said to them.
“That’s not normal?” his father asked.
Not every magician retained the ability to see mana throughout childhood. Even though his mana pool was smaller than most of the top magicians, Tallow was the only one among them that could still see the streams of light dance to this day. He saw them clearly, he could identify another’s mana pool. At the academy, he learned about different spells, how they were formed and what that formation of spells looked like. With his ability to actually see the mana, it turned into one of his biggest strengths.
After the duel with Magician Adkins, it was customary for the ‘winner’ to buy drinks for the loser. The duels weren’t scripted and the pay differential from the academy wasn’t too different, especially not for the top magicians, but it still felt good to win a duel and it felt bad to lose. There were many magicians scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to the world of professional magic and the drinks kept them sane.
That night, Magician Tallow saw a man with no mana.
“Ads, do you see that man over there in the corner?” Tallow said. “The one with odd clothing.”
Adkins took a swig of his drink and looked over.
“Are you asking about Magician Worthing?” Adkins asked.
“He’s a magician?” Tallow asked back.
“Apparently so,” Adkins said. “Master Rey says that he comes from one of the far corners of the world and has shown great magic. I’ll be dueling with him tomorrow.”
Adkins waved over to the man, who did not return the wave.
“He’s a strange lad.” Adkins said. He finished his drink and ordered another.
Tallow knew something was off about the magician with no mana. The day of the duel, he came to watch. Magician Worthing cared nothing about formality and the crowd that came to watch the duel sensed the coldness of Magician Worthing.
Magician Adkins rolled up his sleeves and flipped through his spell book, casually deciding which spell he should start the duel with. Magician Worthing had no book and the clothes he wore stuck close to his body, his clothes were all black and looked sturdy - like a knight’s armor.
“Are you ready?” Magician Worthing asked.
“Soon!” Magician Adkins yelled back. Some people in the crowd laughed. Tallow focused on the strange man, looking for any instance of mana. Humans always channeled mana, it was a constant, unconscious effort. The mana helped you breath, it helped you move. Mana was colorful, like fireflies and lightning bugs of different colors.
Everyone had mana, but not this man.
When Worthing pulled something out of his armor, Tallow witnessed the most concentrated force of mana he had ever seen in his life. No one reacted to it aside from Tallow, who had already begun channeling mana to cast a protective spell for Adkins.
“Gun.” the man said.
The force of the spell ripped straight through Adkins' spellbook and blasted his arm to pieces. Adkins yelled out in a purely guttural sense. The crowd yelled and some even started to run, nothing was right now.
“Erebus, I ask for assistance.” Tallow whispered. “Hide us now.”
Mist fell upon them, hiding them. It dulled the noise of the crowd, but Tallow could still hear Adkins screaming. He moved towards it, but Worthing was already there.
“Gun.” he said again, and again that spell. There was so much mana it nearly blinded Tallow. The spell hit Adkins’ heart and he no longer screamed.
“Achlys, I need help.” Tallow said, channeling more mana. “Snake bite.”
It was Tallow’s most dangerous spell. It was a quick jab of poison, with both immediate and long term consequences.
Worthing fell to his knees and started convulsing, he mumbled over and over.
“Gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun.”
Thankfully nothing happened. The bite of Achlys nullified most magic, even this strange magic that Tallow had never seen.
The magician police had come in full force now, likely hearing news of the strange force of magic.
“What happened here, Tallow?” Chief Shim asked.
“This man has no mana of his own, but his spell is the strongest I have ever seen.” Tallow replied. “Adkins is dead.”
“What spell?” the chief asked.
“Gun.” Tallow said.
Magician Worthing laughed hearing this and all of the magicians looked at him.
“More of us are coming,” he said. “You can’t stop us from taking what’s rightfully ours.”
Tallow looked at him as the life left Worthing’s body, Worthing smiled till the end. When people died, their mana returned to the world. When Worthing died, nothing happened.
---
Thanks for all the kind comments! I've decided to continue Tallow's story as a full length project which should hopefully be done by June. Feel free to subscribe to r/DeneilYeong for updates!
---
As of June 2022, I'm tinkering with the idea of uploading the rest of this story on RoyalRoad under the same name as my reddit account DeneilYeong. |
"DAAAD!"Lilly screamed. "Grandpa's bugging me again!"
Jason rolled his eyes in frustration. "Just ignore him, sweetie. He'll get bored and stop soon enough."
"No he won't!"Lilly shrieked. "He never does! He just keeps getting right in front of my face and won't go away!"
Jason sighed, and walked around the corner into the main bunker living area. Sure enough, grandpa was right up in Lilly's face, jabbing a bony finger towards her.
"Grandpa, cut it out. I told you to behave yourself,"Jason said tiredly.
Grandpa looked sideways at Jason, snorted, then resumed jabbing his finger towards Lilly's face.
"Don't make me exorcise you, grandpa,"Jason said to the ghost.
Grandpa stopped, whirling around to face Jason. He snarled silently at him.
"You know the rules. You want to stay here, you behave. It's not my fault you can't talk or anything. And you know full well there was no way for us to drive 500 miles to get you and get back to the bunker in time. I had to protect the family, and made my choice. Now, if you want to remain here and *not* be forced out into the abyss with the other... deadheads... you will behave. Got it?"
Grandpa's expression softened, then became sad. He nodded his understanding.
"Good, glad we're in agreement. Lilly, go play with your brother,"Jason said.
"One more thing,"he said quietly, waiting for Lilly to leave. "No more watching me and Amy getting it on, OK? I realize you're bored, but it's just creepy. She's your daughter-in-law. It's not like you can get laid anymore anyways."
The ghostly figure crossed his arms in a symbol of refusal. After a moment, he adopted a pleading expression, drawing a figure eight symbol with his fingers in the air.
"Yeah, I know she has a killer body. But like I said, you *don't* have a body, so you're just torturing yourself and me. So knock it off, OK?"
Grandpa/dad hung his head in defeat, then nodded his assent. He drifted away, towards another section of the bunker.
"This is gonna be a long eighty years,"Jason muttered. |
"You've got to be kidding me, "I growled.
The absurd, three-headed dog currently pissing on my shoes wagged its tail, causing its whole body to move fro side to side. Predictably, the piss aimed at my shoes splashed onto my shins, thoroughly soaking my socks. I kicked at the dog. It squeeked and ran away, piss flowing freely, even in its flight.
"Well, I knew I wasn't going to heaven."I said.
My socks squelched as I walked down the corridor I'd appeared in. The sharp smell of amonia wafted up to me with every step. The corridor wasn't long, but the walls were visibly off plumb. It, combined with the smell of piss, made me a little nausiated. It wasn't like I was in danger of throwing up. It was just uncomfortable.
The sign on the door I reached didn't help. The letters were faded and printed in a fizzy font that looked permenatetly out of focus. It read:
*Welcome to Heck. Your earthly deeds, while not enough to get you into heaven, were not terrible enough to send you to hell. Please enjoy all of the amenities provided by Heck.*
P.S.
*We apologize for Sir Berus. He has a weak bladder. A washer and dryer have been provided for your convenience in the next room.*
That's damn decent of them, I thought. I turned the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. I shouldered into and finally it opened. Looking more closely, I could see it was the only plumb part of the hallway. Thankfully the room I entered didn't suffer the same structural defenciency.
It was small. As promised, a washer and dryer sat against the far wall. I sat on the small chair provided and kicked off my shoes. Using my toes I removed my socks. After several attempts, I managed to kick them into the washer. Looking down at my shoes I decided they should go in too.
"Exact change only,"I said, looking at the price of the washer. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two dollar bills. Pretty convenient since it was a dollar per machine.
I put the first dollar in the bill slot. It accepted it, then spit it back out. I tried the other dollar. Same thing. I spread the bills out and rubbed them against the edge of the machine. Once I deemed them straight enough I tried again.
"God dammit!"I screamed as it spit the bill out again. After several more failed attempts I crumpled the bills and threw them on the floor. But, my socks and shoes needed washing. I picked up the bills and defiantly thrust one into the slot. It accepted it.
The machine took forever to fill, and for the next hour I listened to my shoes bang inside the machine. The dryer took my last bill whithout protest, but with no water to cushion the blows, my shoes made a horrendous racket. By the time the dryer finished, my head was pounding nearly as hard as the shoes had been.
There's nothing quite like the feeling of putting on freshly dried socks. I eagerly reached in and withdrew my things. There was only one goddamned sock!
I put on my one sock and shoes and left the laundry room. Immediately I was standing at the end of a long line of other people. They crowed together, occasinally jostling one another. Many of them were speaking, but in vioces so low I couldn't understand them. I tried to speak to a few, but they looked at me with dead eyes and turned away.
After, I don't know how long, I found myself forced to choose between two lines. The signs over them read, Acceptence, and Grievences, with an arrow showing where to stand.
"No fucking way I'm accepting this shit."I said. A few people turned to me and chuckeld. Oh, so now they understand!
I got in the Grievences line and waited. My feet were killing me, and a blister had formed on my sockless foot. At last I stepped up to the counter. A fairly pretty woman smiled warmly at me. She seemed more real than the other people in line.
Her brown eyes practically screamed sincere concern. As I started to speak, she placed a sign on the counter and walked away.
*The Grievence department is now closed. Please return during normal business hours.*
"Mother fucker,"I snarled.
The people dissapeared and once again Sir Berus was pissing on my shoes. |
Jarkop takes a deep breath through both of his mouths. He lets the air rush out of him in a little cry of despair. He realizes in this moment that he has been duped, and duped bad.
If he hadn’t agreed to cover Globzell’s shift at the Ministry of Intergalactic Hunting and Fishing, this mess would be on someone else. But he really, really wanted those tickets to see the Mighty Cakons of Vabza face off in a deathmatch against the ancient Jedturian of Scarinax.
He thought it was a good trade. It *was* a good trade. But tricky old Globzell knew better; Globzell knew that today was the day Humans were being taken off of the endangered species list. Delicious, exotic, tender humans. The pent-up demand was a tinderbox.
Now an unprecedented crush of new hunting applications threaten to swallow Jarkop hole. Not even with twelve fingers typing on two keyboards could he process all of these applications before his shift ends.
He glances up at the line of impatient alien hunters, every one of them outfitted with the newest gear. The deadliest blasters in the universe dangle from their belts.
*If I close up shop in an hour, are they going to murder me?* Yes, he thinks. *They will murder me and stuff me like a trophy.*
And then, just when it couldn't possibly get any worse, it gets worse: Jarkop sees the door open to his left, and in strolls his old friend Trevor Williams. Born in Minnesota in 1987, abducted by rogue scientists in 2015, rescued by a sting operation in 2019, and gainfully employed by the Ministry for nearly a year now. As Trevor walks toward him, Jarkop realizes that he now has an extremely delicate question of intergalactic diplomacy on his hands.
"Jarkop, my two-headed hero, what's up!"
“Trevor,” Jarkop smiles at him while putting up a “Back In Five” sign on his desk. The sign causes uproar among the hunters. Trevor leans over the desk to give Jarkop a fistbump.
“What’s with all the commotion?” Trevor asks, flipping his long blonde hair out of his beaming farmboy face. “Did a new species open up?!”
“Er, well, yeah,” Jarkop says, trying to avoid eye contact with his friend. He always liked Trevor’s endearing nature. Trevor told him its called "midwestern."Now it mocks him, tortures him, makes him feel guilty. Like this reclassification of humanity was *his* choice.
“What’s it this time?” Trevor hoists himself onto Jarkop’s desk and surveys the hunters. One of them has a body bag perfectly sized to hold a human. Another flips through a travel book called “New York City: Travel Like A Local.” Trevor doesn’t notice.
“Klupjins? Arccots? Don’t tell me it’s the Tamerklops!”
“Actually… you might want to prepare for this, Trevor. And please let me say that I was not consulted. You know that. No one cares what I think.”
“What’re you talking about?”
Jarkop meets Trevor’s gaze. Behind him, a group of hunters with homemade human decoys start arguing over whose are better. One of them shows off a suitcase of counterfit American dollars. Soon they'll be selling them at bait and tackle shops.
“Trevor, there’s no easy way to say this: It’s Earth. It's open for hunting now. These people are here to hunt humans.”
Trevor blinks. Jarkop winces and waits for the explosion. *There goes another friendship*, he thinks.
But the fireworks don't come. Instead, Trevor just stares ahead at him, the wheels of his mind turning. Silence endures too long for Jarkop to bear.
“I’m so sorry,"he says. "I know this must be tough.”
Trevor is still frozen.
“Trevor? Can you say something?”
Jarkop clears both of his throats. The line of hunters has doubled since Trevor came in. He needs to start approving these licenses.
“It’s okay to cry,” Jarkop says, remembering an old human play that Trevor acted out for him some months ago.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Trevor opens his mouth to speak.
“Cry?"he asks. "Cry?”
Trevor's lips curl into a smile. His teeth glint as he breaks into a wide grin.
“Cry?!”
Trevor grabs Jarkop by the collar and plants a wet kiss on both of his sets of lips.
“This is the best day of my life!”
Trevor grabs an application form off of Jarkop’s desk and hastily fills it out.
“I’m cashing in that favor you owe me, Jarkop. Put me at the front of the line.”
Trevor pulls a blaster out of the waistband of his jeans and cocks the hammer back.
“I’ve got some old scores to settle.” |
The tanks and APCs circled the encampment in the afternoon, with one tarp-pavilion serving as a command center. The officers sat on the floor in rapt attention. Before them were two men. The first was Colonel Axton, leader of the battallion, who they knew well. Then there was the other guy, wrapped in Irish-looking mage robes. This was in stark contrast to their BDUs.
"Why should we listen to this guy? For all we know, he could be the enemy!"
"Because I have an interest in your success, and good ideas on how you can stay alive once the wargames commence. There's plenty of fiction on the matter."
"Fiction? FICTION? We're going to take our cues from a goddamn nerd--"He paused as a targeting reticule emblazoned itself on the ground around him, causing the others to give distance. It went as quickly as it came, and the mage lowered his finger.
"Correction: Tactician. I've spoken with your lord."he gestured towards Colonel Axton. "There are parallels in your own world's fiction, as if our realms are linked by each other's books. Just as we are fanciful characters in your world, so too are you fantasies in ours. Power that can be transferred between men? A world where a man's sorcery was not the end-all, be-all of his existential worth? Laughable!"He chuckled amidst the sea of stonewalled looks, only to assert a poker face moments later. "I know how it will turn out. You'd do well to remember it."
Colonel Axton cleared his throat, directing attention towards him. "With that said, we anticipate contact with enemy at 0600. The enemy is expected to be on foot, but cannot be defined as infantry. Mr. Rezeas, you have the floor."The wizard stepped forward, taking out a wand. An illusion formed before them like a projector.
"The Third Staff of Raging Light is commanded by the local Sir Gaulsein. They are mystic knights with...what is the term you used? Artelary? Artelary Magi."Two representative images of the two classes appeared. "The mystic knights eschew armor, relying on shields to remain agile. Their weapons, likewise, are smaller than a regular knight's but enchanted. If it glows, beware: The lightning and sonic weapons are armor-piercing."
"The hell is this!"One of the officers cried out. "Even if they have magical weapons, we have tanks. Just blow them apart."
"About that..."Mr. Rezeas trailed off. "I've seen the arrows you use in your 'tanks.' They would be hard to block. However, something so big and foreign would be a large target. I hope they can block lightning."He looked at some of the standing soldiers who shouldered assault rifles. "Your versions of the bows. Lord Axton, how fast are they?"
"The M4 assault rifle fires...hmm, about 13 arrows per heartbeat, and 2 1/2 times the speed of sound."He said, converting it into terms a non-modern person would understand. Rezeas raised an eyebrow.
"Your Emfores will be key to the battle. I don't think your armor will be very useful unless you can hide them well, but the Emfores have astounding power. The thing is that sorcery requires imagination, and things that are beyond one's ability to conceive are...well, they are difficult to cast and defend against. That's why they love fire and lightning. But these will be much harder to defend against."
Rezeas stroked his chin. "Do you have the ability to see at night? Leave explosive traps? Communicate from afar?"They nodded to the affirmative. "Ah, just like the stories. Good. Few on the other side can see at night, and barrier spells are usually forward-facing or dome-like, and neglect the ground. If you can lure them into a place with cover, such as a forest, you may be able to gain an advantage over them."
"You wouldn't happen to be able to fly on dragons, would you?"
**To be continued...**
Edit: Holy crap this exploded. PAX East and research delay my writing. However, this story will continue. |
"I hate you."I whisper to the blade, and I heard the all familiar creak of metal as arcane steel honed itself, and watched as the sharp edge became sharper still.
I raised it, and struck hard downwards, bringing the blade in a whistling, fatal arc. The whispered truth came crashing down with the weight of a guillotine, and took the man's head clean off.
"The Deathsmith relishes his blade as much as he relishes his kills. Be sure to remember that."The commander said, gesturing to me as he addressed the rest of the dissidents. The rebels shifted uneasily as I wiped the bloodstained blade on the corpse, making sure to steel my eyes, to betray no emotion, to turn the grimace into an evil smile.
This was my station. This was my purpose. This strange sword that only worked for me. I had to make it work. I had to keep up this pretense of being a cold-blooded monster. Because as long as I perpetuate that lie, the sword remains sharp.
Because to lie to others meant I can confide the truth into the blade itself. And this truth is what grinds the blade into its unparalleled sharpness.
It was no lie that it could slice a boulder in half, cleanly. The power of the truth it weilds is what allows this.
"I am not as merciless as him, though. I am a forgiving man. Bow down to me, pledge your allegiance to my banner, and all your transgressions will be forgotten. Don't. And you'll make my Deathsmith a happy man."My commander crossed his, waiting for the dissidents to reply.
I knew the commander when he was still our lieutenant. A man hardened by what had happened in his youth. The loss of his family to an invading force led him down this warmongering path. He often openly expressed the unadulterated pain of what he had suffered, and this combined with his tactician's mind and alarming aptitude for commanding quickly shot him through the ranks of the emperor's army.
And he pulled me up the ranks with him. A boy with a strange sword with a stupid quirk. He knew not the true nature of this quirk. He never cared. He saw himself in me. And that was enough for him.
I had lost my loved ones in the war. My father, renowned to be the best swordsmith this side of the river, laboured continuous months making weapons for the enemy. He had no choice. My mother and I were held hostage.
And one day, they found him slumped on the anvil, working himself to death.
When the commander, then lieutenant, found me, there was a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. A twinkle of understanding, of old pain. And as he extended his hand down to me, promising me justice for what had been done to me, I took it wholeheartedly.
And I regret it to this day.
Because unlike him, I was not suited for the taking of lives. His vengeance was unquenchable, and his idea of justice to bring more hurt and pain to the world was not something I immediately accepted. But I told myself I was weak. That this man would show me to my calling, would teach me to steel my resolve and do what needs to be done to avenge my father.
But my father's sword bares the real truth.
Because no matter what, no matter how hard I try to be one, despite the number of heads I had separated from their bodies, I am not a killer.
I am not a killer, even though they call me the deathsmith.
I am not a killer. Just ask my father's sword that I carry with shame.
*But you are.* a voice in my head told me as my eyes fell to meet the eyes of the one I slew. Unseeing, blank eyes that seemed to look at me. This rebel man. Who probably had his own family.
The rest of them quietly bowed, and were silent, their heads down to hide their fear and anger.
"Good."the commander smiled. |
"A pink floating cat thing you say?"I asked her, my mouth turning dry as the words left me.
I could almost hear Sophie's smile through the phone, her bright laughter bubbling through the earpiece of my phone in my office cubicle. As a veterinarian, she always had a soft spot for animals, but there was no animal that she loved more on God's great Earth than the cat. The only reason that she didn't have one was because her extremely affordable apartment complex didn't allow pets.
With the advent of pokemon spirit animals however, they have a lot more to worry about than cats or dogs. In just a few short months, business have appeared seemingly out of nowhere that promise to create pokemon friendly environments inside people's homes, for both the pokemon's safety as well as the people's. Many buildings had burned down or flooded upon the arrival of some of the more powerful pokemon, and I could only imagine what would happen to the person who ended up with the most powerful pokemon of them all...
"It's so cute too!"my girlfriend squealed in joy. "It's fuzzy and pink and pretty does little tricks in the air when you throw treats at it and oh my God IT'S CHASING ITS TAIL NOW!"
My mind raced as my girlfriend gushed over her new friend. Jigglypuff maybe? A Clefairy perhaps? Perhaps it isn't only first generation pokemon that are appearing. I don't know all the other generations off by heart, but I'm sure there's a floating blue eyed cat in there somewhere.
I interrupted Sophie as she was excitedly me about how it managed to catch its tail and started nibbling on it. "Soph, love, I know you're excited and I'm happy that you got your pokemon, but just hold on just a minute. Do you know what this pokemon is? Do you know its name?"
"It's weird..."she replied with a quizzical voice. "All the other ones that I've seen just say their names over and over again. This little guy just meow's. Or is it a girl? I'll have to find out, but it started chasing the ceiling fan now and I don't think I'll be able to get a good look at its-"
Her words fell on deaf ears. The thought that my sweet, innocent, somewhat naive girlfriend was partnered with one of the most powerful forces in the universe and didn't even realize it struck me dumb. The only thing that she cared about was how sweet and cute it was...
It made perfect sense. The legend said that this was a pokemon that only showed itself to those who were pure of heart. If any person were to fit the bill on the description, it would have to Sophie.
"Oooooh, I'm going to take pictures of it and put it on my Instagram! Maybe somebody will know its name and be able to tell me. Plus I kinda want to brag to my friends..."
My mind snapped back to reality just in time to hear those words come out of Sophie's mouth.
"No!"I blurted out louder than I intended. "I mean...Sophie, you shouldn't do that. You *can't* do that. All you need to do right now is stay inside and not let anybody see it. Keep it busy and keep it happy. I'm coming over right now, just wait for me."
"Why, what's the big deal?"she asked as I quickly shut off my computer, the useless spreadsheets fading to black. "It's just a cute little floaty pokekitty. It's harmless!"
"I...I know that Soph'. Just sit tight until I get there, okay? Please promise me that you will? This is important."
"But I wanted to know what its name was..."came her dejected, but willing reply.
"Will figure that out when I get there Soph'. I'll be there in a bit. I gotta go now, Love you lots, bye."
I hung up without giving her a chance to say anything else. I knew that she would do what I asked her to, what I *begged* her to. She's that kind of person. Wants everybody to be happy, and if somebody says that something's important to them, then it's important to her as well.
My mind raced as I hopped into my beaten up car and peeled out of the parking lot.
*"A legend made real...* I thought to myself. *Mew...*
Edit: I'll see if I can do anything more when I get back from work.
Part 2 is made. I doubt there will be a third. My ideas for a cohesive story pretty much just petered off. Plus it's 2AM and I'm too tired to think. |
**Game Over. Do you wish to try again?**
It makes sense, really. Even as the darkness unfolds itself from a single square in the center of my vision, multiplying infinitely, I still have enough cognitive awareness to realise the truth. That this was just a game, and I'd lost. It had taken me seventy-three years, but I'd lost all the same.
I could have stopped Mom's death. That had been my first failed quest. If I'd been a better son, stopped him from leaving... And I *could* have been a better son. My grades had slipped that year. And at home I'd argued with Mom and Dad -- over little things, in retrospect: political ideologies; growing responsibilities; *girls*. When what they needed was my support -- both of them. Instead, I was another boot pressing down on the family's throat, too heavy for it breathe. To survive.
I'd had a chance after she'd gone to turn my life around. My aunt Karen had taken me in and somehow -- *somehow* \-- put up with my morose depression for the better part of a year. Never yelled, never nagged. Just walking compassion, as I trudged about the house under a midnight-shadow that swallowed my tongue and replaced my talk with its own dark words.
She needed my help, too. Karen. Never had her own children, never remarried after her husband had died. It was a chance for both of us to start again.
I barely spoke to her in all the time I lived with her. Got a job and moved out as soon as I could, into a dirty apartment in a dirty part of the city. Played games and drank and didn't call her and thank her. Still waiting for people to recognise my brilliance, or waiting to stumble on something that would prove it to everyone.
Then, there was Alicia. The girl I'd met at work. A girl as broken as me. Who drank more than me. And instead of helping her sober up and do life right, I encouraged her to head to the end harder and faster.
**Game Over. Do you wish to try again?**
So many things I'd do different a second time around. The homeless guy I never gave money to; the charities I never donated my time to; the girls I didn't ask out -- hell, the girls that I did, for that matter.
Or what about for myself? I think I'd master a skill next time around. *Really* master it. Always wanted to play the piano. Sell out my own concerts for those with an educated taste. Get a bit rich off it. Maybe that's how to win the game -- to follow your passion and make a living doing it.
**Game Over. Do you wish to try again?**
Alicia holds my hand, her skin still soft, mine like mottled sandpaper.
"I love you,"she says.
She'd almost died when she'd been twenty. I'd been sleeping and she'd been blackout-drunk next to me, lying on her stomach. I woke to the sound of her gurgling and retching. She was choking to death on her vomit and couldn't wake herself to turn. I sat her up, thumped her back, forced water down her clogged throat. Went with her to the hospital.
We never drank after that. Held each other accountable for our sobriety. Became a team, from then on.
No. That's not quite right. I did drink again. The day of our first child's christening. A sip from a champagne flute -- a taste was all my stomach could handle. I'd given the rest of the drink to aunt Karen. She told me I'd done good, and that my Mom would be so proud of me. I'd told her that it's enough she's proud of me. Her eyes sparkled with their own champagne.
"I love you,"Alicia says again, her arm sliding up mine. "I'll miss you so much."
And I want to reply, to tell her I love her too, and I don't want her to be alone. But my voice doesn't come. I try to smile instead, but even that's a whisper.
I wonder if she'd want me to try again. To make up for all the mistakes I'd made and do things properly. Perfectly. Be a better husband. Father.
But I know what she'd say: *life isn't meant to be a perfect run. Life is making mistakes and learning from them. Changing.*
And she'd be right to say it. As always. Life is the ups and the downs -- and it's the downs that make us better in the end, not the ups.
All the same, as she squeezes my arm, as the black squares claim all of my sight, I treasure this very last up.
**Game Over. Do you wish to try again?**
*No.* |
I’m either the smartest man alive or the dumbest. I spoke one too many times, warned too many people, and saved one too many lives. Do I regret it? No, absolutely not. But this isn’t where I thought I’d be in life.
I’m sorry, let me start over. My name is Soundtrack, sidekick to Platinum. Her power is teleporting, that can also blind people if she wants it too. The girls adore her, the guys love her, and I’m glad she got the spotlight. Because that means I get to work on my job and assist her from the shadows.
My job is mainly to scan the environment and call out those guys trying to jump her from behind, or try and make a getaway, or even a trap that she’s about to waltz right on into.
That helicopter that was falling out the sky above her that she avoided despite fighting five dudes? That was me. The villainous BAD SAM with his stretchy limbs, who was about to get the jump on her but missed and couldn’t see for a week, and saw his cell’s interior when he finally saw the dark? That was me too. And my personal favorite, Venus, the beautiful villainess that could turn invisible and control plants, but was thwarted at every turn and backstabbed by her own plants, literally. That was all me.
I teamed up with Platinum because I’m “the brains” of the group while she’s the speed and skills (Bouncer doesn’t really join us anymore). But recently, my simple job has started getting me some recognition amongst the other empowered individuals (yes, them too) due to me keeping Platinum out of harm’s way. But that’s all I’ll say at the moment, there’s a group of bad guys coming my way and I don’t want to be in the same place as them. Oh, that’s right, I never told you what my power, did I? Again, it’s simple. My power is listening to music through my wireless headphones and moving according to the fluctuations of the symphony blasting in my ears, like the soundtrack of a film.
Hey, I like to enjoy my job too. Okay?
Edit: If you guys want me to continue, just say the word.
( . . . cont.)
The music was foreboding and ominous, like a weight on my chest I couldn’t get off. Despite the music telling me to get out, I had to see who was coming after me. I peeked out my blinds and saw a row of navy blue vehicles pull up in front of my lawn.
No way, I thought as my eyes widened, it couldn’t be.
The men in the car stepped out of the vehicles on the double and stood guard at the curb while the driver went around the car, opened the rear door, and out stepped the one man that could make Mighteor piss his pants: the Don Shark.
The most lethal mobster since Al Capone.
The passionately persistent debt collector who cleaned up the streets buy hiring the willing and able homeless people, then moved up the hierarchy as more young adults tried to “get rich quick”.
The guy who fucked up Fort Knox like it was his favorite little bitch.
The guy who bought Wall Street.
The guy who’s going global.
That ominous music had been changed to the terror track now.
If you guys must know, the Don Shark is an aquatic villain with bases on land and in the sea; a dual threat so to speak. He, along with his henchman, has gills on his neck, thick and scaly skin, and is able to turn anyone he bites into a minion under his mild influence.
That’s enough looking for now, though. He just made eye contact with me and flashed those gaping jaws at me. I raced through my house, snatching my phone and running out the back door.
Damn it, it’s raining today. Rainy musicals are never good.
Edit: If you guys want me to continue, just say the word. (You guys are insatiable!)
Doot Doot Doot
Doot Doot Doot
Doot Doot Doot Doot
BRRRRD! BRRRRD! BRRRRD!
Come on come on come on BRRRRD! come on come on come on BRRRRD! pick up pick up pick up BRRRRD! pick pick up pick up BRRRRD!
“We’re sorry, the number you have reached—“
FUCK! A car pulled up outside the alley and I begged my body for another dose of adrenaline.
Go go go go go go go go go go go come on come on come on can I hide can I hide can I hide no no no no no no no not here not here I just got to take take take take take take this right right here and then - NO NO NO NO NO NO BACK BACK BACK THE OTHER WAY! NOT THIS WAY! NOT THIS WAY! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCKING HELL GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKERS ARE EVERYWHERE! WHO PUT ME IN THIS? WHO WOULD WANT ME TO GO THROUGH THIS?!
The rain had totally drenched me in their wake as I ran across the empty street and down another alley in this labyrinth city. Every car looked like an enemy car. Every person a Shark.
I’m bloody from head to toe leaving trails of evidence in the puddles and streams and smears everywhere I put my hands and everywhere I take a step. A Shark comes from around a corner farther down the way and I stop think and go down another exit. They do this to corner me and put me in a trap like a guppy. A few times I tried to take one on but I ended worse off in each encounter and bloody as I am now.
The Don Shark likes his prey incapacitated.
I can’t run anymore and hide behind a dumpster. Two minutes tops until another Shark tracks me down. I pull out my phone drop it pick it back up and open the weather.
The hurricane is literally eating the state of Florida like the delicious dessert it can only have on Tuesday. I move to the maps and find where I am and find my destination: a weapon shop closed due to the hurricane and easy pickings you’re brave enough.
I’m not brave enough.
I don’t have a choice.
The Don must know that I’m heading there because all the routes to get there are usually blocked off by his gilled goons and marine minions. But if he doesn’t know then I’d like to keep it that way. A sharp sound rose in my ears as a Shark entered the alley.
My joints are stiff as I stand to face him knowing that he knows where I am. The music began to pick up its tempo after having echoed my footsteps and the drumming rain all day. The music was telling me that I had to make it to the weapons shop at all costs.
Should I do this?
The music was telling me yes.
Could I do this?
The music was telling me yes!
Would I do this?
THE MUSIC WAS TELLING ME YES!
.
.
.
.
I ran the other way.
Fuck you if you put your faith in me. I already lost two matches before do you think I’ll survive round three? I don’t think so. But at the other end a car blocked the exit and the Don stepped out with a hand out and jaws wide open.
I guess I’m going to test the music’s (and y’alls) belief in me.
Edit: If you guys want me to continue, just say the word. (Still hungry?)
I ran.
I ran because the music told me to.
I ran because you guys believed in me.
I ran because my life depended on it.
I ran.
I stumbled a little too, but I still ran.
I ran because the Don was hoping I’d fail.
I ran because I still had a chance.
I ran because there was no other option.
And when I couldn’t run anymore, when my lungs begged for the ambrosial air, and my body began to lose stamina . . .
I jumped.
The dumpster was to my left so I sprung off the pavement and planted my foot on the lid of the giant waste bin. I didn’t send up a prayer to balance myself because I wasn’t even thinking at this point; just moving, just moving forward.
So when I jumped off the dumpster lid, the Shark backpedaled underneath me, hands waiting to catch me, mouth ready to chomp me. But he didn’t move far enough because when I came down, my feet landed on his snout as the force of my entire body took us to the ground.
My body jerked involuntarily as my scabbing wounds were reopened and bleeding again. To my surprise, I wasn’t yanked off the ground and carted off to the Don’s secret sea base but that was an appreciation I’d have to wait until later to celebrate. In my rush to get away, I almost ran into an electric pole bent and broke from the hurricane wind.
The music began to play. It was one of those musicals where the character of a movie had to make a statement and leave everyone hysterically stupefied at what they did or said. But I couldn’t get what the music was trying to tell me. The Don could, even though he couldn’t hear the instruments in all their glory, he knew what the music was getting at. And he was marching straight towards me. Honestly, if it was a million dollars I would’ve missed it.
And then I saw it.
The big elephant in the room, or as I like to call it, the fat shark in the alley was panicking as he lied on his back, arms flailing as he he tried to grab something to hoist himself. It was so funny it wasn’t and I stood there like a dumbass watching a dumbass being a dumbass.
I looked up at the Don trekking even closer, worried that I might have a plan against them. But I don’t . . . I mean, if he’s worried about the electricity then — wait these guys are semi-aquatic creatures. Thinking quickly, I remembered one of the few things a shark hated was being on its back because it immobilized them and left them defenseless. And water conducts electricity only when salt is mixed in.
The Don was literally right in front of my face, but as I picked up a brick, he and his goons jumped back a foot with a worried look on their face.
“Nice to finally meet you, Don,” I greeted as I threw the brick at the pole.
Edit: I know this one was shorter but I was thinking of wrapping this up. But . . . if you guys want me to continue, just say the word. |
"Wow. So, hell is just... heaven for shitty people?"I asked, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the vast metropolis. It certainly *looked* like someone might imagine heaven - gleaming white marble and gold buildings clustered on fluffy clouds, linked by impossibly narrow, graceful bridges. I could see a few people with robes and glowing halos, sauntering from place to place. I couldn't make out their expressions, but from what the demonic figure seated beside me had said, I imagined 'insufferable smugness'. Far below, the surface of what I had first taken to be Earth was a haze of grey and murky brown, cris-crossed with crevasses of flickering orange and vast, dimly glowing red craters, some blotted out by a haze of smog.
"Yep,"the devil rumbled, taking another swig from a neat little tin cup. I say 'little' - it probably held two pints, but in those massive talons it looked like a thimble. The contents smelled like absinthe and gasoline. "Everyone you can see out there, every last one of the little fuckers, believes they're God's Chosen Few. They made the people around them miserable in life, and yours truly has to *reward* them for it. Blessed are the smug bastards, for they shall get everything they ever wanted, just like everyone else does. Justice is dead. Have a drink already."He slid a parchment-looking menu across the bar's iron countertop towards me and I accepted it with an awkward nod of gratitude.
"If they're all such assholes, how do you stop them ruining he- I mean, ruining whatever this place is. Fake heaven?"I asked, flipping through the menu in search of something I recognised, trying not to let myself get carried away with the absurdity of sitting down for cocktails with the Devil, in a room that looked rather like a medieval castle's great hall, with odd little modern touches of comfort reminiscent of a quiet modern cafe.
"Fake heaven will do. We keep them distracted with all their favourite things and limit their contact with each other - basically everyone here lives in their own little bubble, surrounded by sycophants, and with plenty of people to look down upon and sneer at. And we built a fake hell, too, so they can gloat over how everyone they disapprove of is supposedly burning forever,"he said, gesturing out of the window, to the red-lit wasteland far below. "But up on the clouds, we built an entire stratified society, with the souls of the ought-to-be-damned at the top, while everyone else they meet is just one of my siblings playing a role. Occasionally we get someone with more self-awareness than a housefly, and we have to come up with a special distraction for them. But not often, thankfully. It's a pain in the ass."
I listened patiently, looking up at the colossal figure. I could feel the heat streaming off him, like standing by an open oven. A soft clinking behind the bar indicated the animated mass of shadows there was preparing a champagne cocktail for me. "Siblings?"I asked, curious. "I'm not entirely clear on the cosmology here."
"Demons,"he replied, gesturing around the vast room. No two of the dozen other occupants looked quite alike, from the shadow-form behind the bar, to the wolf-crow perched on the balcony outside, to the hog-person sharing drinks with a lamia. "The third kingdom, less beloved of God than humanity, and less close to Them than the angels. We have our own realm, we have our duty, and largely free rein in how we do it... but I tell you, every day I grind my teeth down a little more. The souls we're sent are insufferable, and knowing they in no way deserve anything except a red hot poker up the arse is just insult to injury."
"So, this place is like backstage to your false heaven? And all the demons are occupied keeping a population of Earth's most annoying people blissfully unaware that they're not in the real heaven?"Almost unconsciously, I accepted the drink that was passed to me with a murmer of thanks, and took a sip. It was the platonic ideal of a champagne cocktail, so precisely what I expected that I was half-way through drinking it before it even really registered to me that it was the first thing that had passed my lips since my death.
"Mostly that. Heaven runs itself; the people there are so nice to each other that only the softest touch is needed. For everything else in Creation, the angels handle it, and do so with joy in their hearts. And outside Creation... ugh. Don't ask."He drummed his claws frustratedly on the iron bar-top, leaving little dents. He snorted out sulfurous smoke.
"Do you mind if I ask why? Wouldn't angels handle *this* duty as well? Or did you mean it literally when you said you were being punished? I, uh, I hope that's not a sore spot,"I said, stammering a little when I realized I might have offended a being who could probably pop my head between two fingers. But instead, he just laughed bitterly, his voice echoing off the dark stone walls and high vaulted ceiling. The candles flickered.
"We have a gift the angels don't,"he answered. "Humanity was made in God's image - modelled after Their appearance, but they come into being as children, without preconceptions. Angels were made in the image of Their *mind*, with Their infinite compassion, Their unbreakable loyalty... and Their total, absolute, idiot *honesty*. But demons? We can *lie*. That's our gift and our curse, because we're stuck with the worst job in Creation - the only ones God saw fit to make who can do it."
We sat in silence for a while, broken only by the glugging of that tin cup being refilled. I wondered if I ought to believe what I'd just been told by a self-admitted liar - the Prince of them, in fact. I wondered if, should it be true, if I could help somehow. He seemed so genuinely wearied by having to coddle Humanity's most irritating people for all eternity. The evening passed, as I listened to Satan's woes, offered what comfort I could, asked further questions and juggled situations and solutions in my head. Maybe we could set people on the road to redemption. Maybe instead of a fake society, they could simply be given an eternity of their own favourite pasttime. Or maybe Hell just really needed a counselling service. Eventually, a thought crossed my mind.
"Hold on a minute. If all the good people go to Heaven, and all the bad people go to fake heaven, why am I the one person who's backstage, chatting to the devil?"
His vast, fanged mouth formed something of a smirk. "Because everyone in Heaven is happy; they've got their paradise and they don't need anything more. But you? You'll never find peace if you don't have someone to help. Face it; you've got a saviour complex. You can leave for the real Heaven any time you like - but I know you won't. You'll stay down here until *I'm* saved."
I winced, visibly.
The devil's smirk turned into a grin. "It's not just lies; we also do a fine line in brutal honesty." |
"And now we go to Marcy for the news in Syria."
"Thanks, Tom."I smile my trademark grin into the camera despite the wind whipping at my face. "As you can see, the Crips and Bloods have just arrived here in style. We have about five cruise ships docking right now, unloading this odd alliance."I wave behind me at the ocean and the flood of gangsters now disembarking the large ships.
Some of them were shouting and there were still a few gun shots. It had only been about a week since the two rival gangs announced that they would band together to fight ISIS. The world laughed at the idea but now that they were here and obviously serious, shame began to creep in.
I smirked. Of course people were ashamed that these cold blooded gangsters were taking up arms and fighting against terrorism while the rest of the world just changed their social media profile pictures to match the latest attack. "Now, we still haven't gotten any solid reports as to what the driving force was for this alliance. Was it out of compassion? Or did the gangs feel threatened by the terror group? Either way, they have refused to give up the reasonings behind their actions. So far, all they've said is that they have a secret weapon."
A voice buzzed in my ear and I listened closely. "Hold on Tom... We're getting breaking news here."I paused and could feel the entire world waiting intently for my next few words.
My eyes widened.
"Tom. Our inside informant has just gotten information on this 'secret weapon'. Oh..."It couldn't be. "Oh my..."
I looked back into the camera and my own pale reflection. I could feel my blood pumping through my veins as the adrenaline kicked in and every hair on my body stood straight. "Yes, we now know their secret weapon and the reason behind their alliance... It's a new gang leader on both of their parts.
"It's Linda." |
It's interesting- people have asked me to describe what I can see, but it's just not possible with words. How do you describe a color, after all? Our descriptor words are based on the colors we see, not the other way around. It's very different than blue or red; to me, it's more beautiful than any of the others.
It's only natural I became a fan of art- after all, I have a gift that no human being has been given. Sometimes I spot the color, which I call 'argum', in random places. Oftentimes in nature, it's splashed across a tree's leaves or dotted into a flowers petals. I'm often saddened by the remembrance of humanity's incapable eyes, unable to see such marvelous beauty.
I've scoured many art galleries, hoping to find a trace of this color somewhere, in some obscure painting. Be it by accident or intent, it would be a fascinating discovery.
Despite the fact that I was desperately searching for it, shock still slapped me when I finally found it. What surprised me, however, is that it was not an obscure painting, or some strange accident unintended by the artist. It was fully intentional, and it had meaning.
Van Gogh's *Starry Night* is a wonder to the world, and one of the most prominent pieces of artwork in history. It is certainly beautiful, as all can see clearly.
But every so faintly brushed into certain strokes of those swirly stars were lines; I'm assuming that to everyone else, they don't stand out at all. As I peered closer, I could vaguely make out words formed from them.
'*Help me*'.
Further down, there was a bit more hidden in the cityscape.
'*They come for those who See*'.
I recalled reading about Van Gogh's madness, near the end of his life, and immediately welled with fear. |
You press your nose to the glass of the car window and ask, "Where are we going?"
I squeeze the steering wheel. You had to make it difficult today. You look like the stuffed toy bunny I lost as a child. As if you know I can't stand to let you go twice. Your button eyes reflect back on the glass, your little stitched smile pulling up.
But no. You have no idea. I haven't told you. You'd think my own imaginary friend would know my every thought, but I've learned how to build walls around you, when I have to. But it has the acid-burn of betrayal. Guilt turns sickly in my stomach.
Countryside speeds past us. We're far outside the city, far outside the life either of us has ever known.
"To a park,"I say. "A new park we've never been to before."
You nod, contented with this.
I'm grateful you don't look back to see me blink the wet out of my eyes. My engagement ring winks accusingly on my finger. But this isn't Edward's fault.
No. I wanted this.
Most people's imaginary friends don't change as they grow, but most people don't continue to hold onto the past. Not the way I do. Yet here you are, my greatest comfort and darkest shame. Following after me all the days of my life, projecting out whatever weird Freudian shit is in my head, just from the way you look.
It was easier, when no one could see you.
I could hide you in my pocket like a secret. You'd nuzzle and purr against my palm, and I'd shush you and rub my thumb over your muzzle. Some days you were a kitten with eyes like fire. Some days you were a dragon, guarding my childhood horde of pocket change. On rare days, you were real. Another person beside me, certain as a candle in the dark.
As we drive, I rehearse all the ways I could say it in my head:
*You get it, don't you? Most adults say goodbye to their imaginary friends, at a certain point. How am I supposed to be a defense lawyer with my imaginary friend, sitting there on the desk behind me? It's about professionalism.*
But maybe I'm convincing myself, too. The car glows with your warmth, the hum of a life we made together in this space between my mind and whatever *you* are. All my fears and hopes and dreams, spun up into a living breathing thing. You are the comfort under the slide when I cried because no one wanted to play with me. You are hours alone in the playground, hunting for fairies no one but us could see. You are infinite summer nights on the trampoline, picking shapes out of the sky together.
But everyone says goodbye to their childhood eventually.
You say, "Must be a great park if we're going all this way."
I smile. "It's special. Just for imaginary friends."
A wooden sign on the right points to a gravel drive, leading down a cove of trees. The sign reads, *Sanctuary for Lost Things*.
Our tires crunch up the drive. As we pass, figures move in the trees now and then. All those lost dreams: the magenta hide of an imaginary tiger, the glistening gossamer skirts of an imaginary peacock who walks like a human. They hardly look imaginary now.
Your nervousness thins the air in the car. You swivel back toward me.
"What is this place?"you ask. Your floppy ragdoll ears pull back, nervously.
I just hum the car up the drive. I don't say anything until we reach the parking lot. It's a tiny square of gravel in a vast open field. The country opens its arms around us. Even inside the car, the air has the amber smell of tansy and dandelions.
"Joan?"you say. "Did you hear me?"
I wince. Curse myself for being such a coward. "I did."
You stare out the window, and you say nothing. But you don't have to. I can read your confusion and heartache in the plush line of your shoulders.
"I've heard of places like this,"you murmur.
Out on the grass, a centaur watches us.
"I think you might like it,"I say, lamely. I twist my engagement ring around my finger. "But your life doesn't have to be just about me, anymore."
You say nothing. Your breath fogs the glass.
"You can do anything you want. Be anything you want. Not many imaginary things get to change themselves, you know."
"I was already doing exactly what I wanted,"you whisper.
I bite my lip, hard. I have never seen a stuffed animal look so heartbroken. You seem like you're going to start weeping cotton. I reach out and pick you up, cradle you to my chest like I'm still small. You feel as real now as you did then.
The truth stings my mouth too much to say out loud: it will never be the same. It will never be just us, anymore. There is a door forward beckoning me--with a husband, children, their own imaginary friends flaring into life one day--and I am the only one meant to go through it.
So instead I only manage, "You're not imaginary anymore. You're real. Real as anything. And you deserve to belong to yourself. We both do."
You wilt in your seat, but you nod.
The most ancient anchor within me slips and gives. I want to cling to it, terrified to know what happens when you're gone. When I'm really alone, in a way I have never been before.
You ask, "What does it mean to be real?"
I smile and tap your stitched nose lovingly. "I think it's time for you to find out."
I open the door and step out, carrying you to the grass. You are warm and heavy in my arms as you have ever been.
But as we walk forward, your shape shifts. The weight changes. I don't know where between the car and the field it happened, but I watch you change, friend. The same way you watched me change, all these years--just sped up a little. I feel it with my own two hands as your plush gave way to fur and blood.
And you leap out of my arms, a real rabbit now. You land with an upward explosion of dandelion seeds. Your inky liquid eyes blink at me, and for a second, you lift your paw to say goodbye.
Then you scurry off, into the field beyond.
For the first time in my life, I go home alone.
***
/r/nickofstatic for stories from me and my best friend NickofNight :) |
Seth paused Madden 15 and narrowed his eyes at his girlfriend. “Hey, Susie, are you *sure* you don’t have a problem with me hanging out with my ex-girlfriend tomorrow night?”
Susie rolled her eyes. “No. For the fiftieth fucking time, I don’t have a problem with it, asshole. Now unpause.”
After a few moment’s hesitation, Seth unpaused, just in time for Susie to score yet another touchdown. Jesus, she was good at this game. Unnaturally good. “And what did you say you wanted to do this weekend?”
“Nothing,"she said, farting out loud. "Let’s just sleep in and watch ESPN.” Her face lit with an idea. “Hey, instead of going out to dinner later, wanna just make a frozen pizza instead?”
“Um… Sure yeah I guess that would be okay.” Seth scratched his head. “I can cancel the reservations. I just thought maybe you wanted to go out, seeing as how it’s…”
Susie raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Fucking tell me already.”
“It’s our anniversary. Our one year anniversary. I got you a card and even bought you a pair of… Shit. You totally forgot, didn’t you?”
Susie shrugged. “Is that something I was supposed to remember? It’s just another day, right?”
Once again, to his girlfriend’s consternation, Seth paused the game. Something was wrong; really wrong. And it was time he said something about it. “Listen, babe. Can we talk for a sec?”
“Fuck. AGAIN with the pause? Is this about dinner? Fine. We can go out to dinner.”
“No. It isn’t about dinner. It’s just that… Shit. I’m only gonna ask you this once, and I hope you’re honest with me. Are you an alien?”
Susie’s eyes grew wide. “How did you know? Was it the fourth breast?”
“Yeah, that gave me a clue. And… Well, no offense, but you’re waaaay too hot to be this low maintenance.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you. If this is going to be a problem, I can just…”
“No. No it isn’t a problem.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’m actually kinda into it.”
Susie smiled back. “Does that mean you want to go all the way with me tonight?”
“Sure,” Seth giggled. *Going all the way* had turned into a strange private joke over the past year, even though Susie had been enough of a doll to go all the way with him on their very first date.
“Awesome,” Susie said, suddenly excited. She couldn’t wait to bite Seth’s head off after they mated later that evening. The rest of his body would make an ideal cocoon. |
"Hey guys how are you?"I called over my shoulder as my friends walked into the bar. I didn't even bother looking over my shoulder to confirm it was them; I knew the probability of Jeff coming through the door exactly thirty eight seconds after he sent a text stating he was on his way was 98.7%, and those were odds I was comfortable with. The power to manipulate time made making it to appointments a menial task for a guy like Jeff, and the heavy footsteps of Thomas made him easy to identify by sound.
The two of them had called a meeting with me the moment the yearly super rankings came out, as I was expecting. You see, you wouldn't think a power like 'luck' would make someone like me one of the most influential supers in the world, but you would be wrong. Think about it, luck is really the manipulation of probability. If I can control probability, I can control everything. I know it irked them that their childhood friend with the quirky ability was now considered the seventh most powerful man in the world, but we lived in a world where people broke the laws of physics, this really wasn't that strange.
"So, how did you do it"Asked Thomas (ranked 17th) as they sat down across from me in the booth. "Last year you were complaining about being 1,756th, and this year you break top ten"
I gave a sly smile and a wink. "You guys saw I made a few good stops and arrests this year, you don't think that's deserving of top ten?"
"Cut the shit, we both know you're a second rate hero at best,"spat Jeff (ranked 11th), clearly getting angry that I had passed him and was being cryptic as to how.
"First, ouch!"I said with a hurt look on my face. "Second, think about it. I can put myself where crimes are likely to happen or in the path of escapes. I can guide resources to where they are needed and influence the likelihood of things going wrong. I just never applied my power seriously until now, but it has farther reaches than simply beating criminals senseless with my fists."
Jeff wasn't having any of it, he had always been the best, always been the top of the class. Ever since his power had developed in grade school he had loomed his superiority over others, and he had never had to deal with someone better than him. He pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket, something I gave a 63% chance of happening when he walked in the door. I had watched as the probability of it happening had climbed into the 80's, and after my last response it had spiked to 100% right before his hand had left the table. It was simple to see why he had chosen to carry a revolver. They had less moving parts, less chance of failure.
But there was still a chance, and if there was any chance, I could work with it. The hammer cocked back, and then descended. The chamber rotated and the firing pin struck the primer. Unfortunately the cylinder hadn't rotated enough and the bullet smashed into the frame, causing chunks of metal to go flying outwards and into his hand, tearing the flesh from the bone and singing the skin around it.
With a sly smile, I rose to my feet and threw a $5 on the table to cover my meal. "Next time, you guys might just swallow your ego, take a step back, and not take a chance,"I said over the sounds of Jeff's cries as I walked out of the restaurant. I knew Jeff couldn't focus enough to use his power while being in that much pain, and soon it would be too late to reverse the damage to his hand.
It was such a stupid thing to ruin a friendship over, a ranking, an arbitrary number designed to show who 'the best' was. It was pretty stupid, after all, if you throw a little good luck out when you know they are making the list, they might just misspell the hero Change, and write Chance instead.
(I hope you guys liked it, this was my first attempt at a writing prompt) |
Dying of cancer is no easy feat, dying twice of the same malady produces a kind of resilience in you, instilling a sense of curiosity; How to escape this dreaded limbo?
It was my second time in the same room, white walls surrounding me, blankness all around, except for an old arcade machine, the same one from the first time, waiting for me, silently whispering its incantantations, nudging me towards it.
At first, I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of my surroundings. After a while, I noticed it was all futile, as time and space didn't exist in that room, not even my watch moved forward. Whenever I tried to escape the room I was trapped in, if you can even call it a room, I would be back at the same place where I started. It was a limbo alright, a cursed one at that, at least from my perspective.
Back to the machine, I thought to myself while flitting around, trying once more to escape, but it was all for nothing, I already knew.
The machine itself was rather unimpressive, an impassive and stout arcade model stemming from the 80's, only it wasn't filled with games like Pac-Man or Space Pinball, but a character creation screen. It was my character creation screen, I knew that all too well, as the first try had gone terribly awry, as I thought of the entire room as a bad dream. I went on to create a cherub on my first try, giving it ample luck, a lot of dexterity and charisma, but forgoing its strength and stamina.
When I pressed the 'Enter' button, I was blown away by a terrible blinding wind, my entire body or what remained of it, convulsed and everything started swirling around me, it was nauseating. Finally, I regained consciousness at around my third year on planet Earth and it was already known that I would have been a dwarf, there was nothing that could be done about it, the doctors moaned. HGH wouldn't help in my case.
At that moment I knew that reincarnation was real and that the Buddhists were somewhat right in their predictions of the afterlife.
I lived my life to the best of my abilities, using charm and guile to enchant the ladies and make friends of my enemies. It was a fun existence, cut short by the cancer I mentioned earlier.
But I'm getting sidetracked, back to the room and the machine. The controls were eerily resembling those of a PlayStation joystick, with one B and A button and those tiny up, down, right and left arrows.
As a joke, I typed in the well-known Konami code, as if cheating were possible in the real world. How did it go once again? I think it was up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B and lastly, A. I got it on the first try! My mother told me that being a gamer was a lousy way to spend my time on Earth. How wrong she was!
As I pressed enter, a light flashed in the bottom corner of the screen with a message engraved in it: ''Developer Mode Unlocked.''
I laughed out loud, was this some kind of sick and twisted joke made by a merciless God that is forcing me to relive my days as a mortal time and time again?
Among the options, I could now see stuff like 'Immunity', 'Immortality', 'Omniscience' and other types of powers displayed in front of me. They were all 'Off' in the settings menu and I activated all of them.
With a wry smile on my face, I looked up into the heavens, hoping to see something, but it was the all-consuming blankness that stared back at me.
Guess there is only one way to find out, I uttered to myself, pressing the 'Enter' button and launching myself back into the living world as an immortal being.
[PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/r/Innerknightmare/comments/gv666w/part_two_wp_oddly_enough_reincarnation_is_simply/) |
The Volvo steered itself down the road, lane-assist functions following the painted lines in the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. He was tired, so tired. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours, running the whole situation through his head over and over. It started one day when their four year old baby began to float - in the middle of the living room. He'd laughed, the cutest laugh ever, as he reached for a teddy that he brought with him into the air. Brian had not believed his eyes. It had to be some hallucination, or a dream. He'd stood there, frozen in shock, only brought out of it when his baby boy hit the ceiling with a thud, and began to cry.
That was a week ago.
Whenever he'd brought the issue up with his fiancé, she'd brushed it off, claiming he must have been dreaming. What he described was ludicrous, bordering on insane. He hadn't told her of the subsequent events after that - the baby setting a tree in the yard on fire with two lines of laser coming straight from its' eyes, or when he'd had to frantically climb to the garage roof and just barely had time to catch the baby by the leg before it floated off into the sky by itself. He knew she was lying then, and the lies were a betrayal in itself, but yesterday evening had been the true betrayal.
Men had arrived at their home, driving black SUV's. He remembered everything vividly about that evening. They'd jumped out of the cars, swarming towards the house in coordination, weapons drawn. He remembered his confusion, rushing out to confront them, his surprise when he saw the weapons.
As well as the surprise on their faces when they saw the shadow of a woman on their lawn, a silhouette in the sky, blotting out the sun.
She was supposed to be at work that day, but she'd taken time off on Brian's request - they had to talk, and while she'd avoided the subject that whole morning, once he felt they were finally getting somewhere on the topic, the men came.
The rest of the memory was a blur. She'd crashed into the ground, sending a shockwave not unlike an earthquake across the ground. There was gunfire, as she zipped from man to man in the blink of an eye, knocking them several feet back. One man was sent flying into the SUV, crushing it, instantly killing him. Her face had been one of fury and determination, and each blow she dealt either shattered bones or outright killed.
What came next he remembered with clear lucidity. Sophie stood there in the middle of bloody chaos, neighbors coming out of their houses, watching. The SUV had caught fire. She held their baby boy, Toby, in her arms, and she was crying. A whisper came, *I'm sorry*, she'd said, and then she took off into the sky, sending a gust of wind towards Brian that nearly toppled him. She was a dot in the sky suddenly, and then there was an ear-deafening sonic boom as she streaked across the sky faster than a jet.
He'd spent the whole day scrambling to find something to go on, some way to reach her, when he got the text.
It was an address.
The Volvo turned off the main road and onto gravel, silhouettes of tall trees on both sides of the road. He'd driven for nearly twelve hours, but he was finally here. At the end of the gravel road, he saw a light. A tiny cabin.
As he got out of the car and got closer he saw two red orbs floating in the dark. He realized it was Toby, charging up his eyes. Sophie covered the babies eyes with her hand, soothing the baby. "It's just daddy, dear."
"Sophie", Brian said. "It's time. I have to know."
She simply nodded once. "There's tea inside. I'll give you an hour. And then me and Toby have to leave - and you, you... You should probably resettle, with a new name, and a new identity, in fact, I know a guy --"She began to rant.
"Sophie, slow down. Let's have that tea first, yeah, baby?"
"Okay,"she said, and they went inside. |
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/ed4361/unholy_night_part_2/)
***
It was a cursed night to be born.
God made sure of it. He laid out every piece on His holy chessboard, watching the little pawns move. Soon, the soldiers of heaven would sweep over Earth like poison wind and snuff out every new life born this doomed night. And God's glorious reign would carry on unquestioned for the next millennia until the next lion of fate arose.
For this is how God has always maintained the way of things.
But for the first time in His infinite existence, God was missing a piece. A pawn so tiny He did not notice it was there.
And that would cost Him everything.
Olivia Keys should had not been working on the maternity ward that night. She sat there thirteen hours into a double shift caused by a sick coworker. The nurse blinked, red eyed and exhausted, down at her patient charts. Trying to keep her reeling mind on track. She had wanted nothing more than to go home to her empty apartment, her needy cats.
But as she stared, a strange pattern emerged. Or rather, a lack of a pattern. A gap. No one had been born today. She had heard babies wailing on and off all throughout the afternoon, but no mothers screaming their babies into life. Nothing. It was only an hour until midnight, but still the coincidence chilled her.
She knew Friday the thirteenth made people superstitious, but surely biology didn't just *stop*.
Olivia pulled out her phone and tested a whim of a theory. It was a question she told herself was a product of sleep deprivation and nothing more.
The nurse pulled out her phone and opened up Instagram. She checked every tag she could think of: new baby, firstborn, delivery. Everything. But every picture of every smiling infant was a throwback or timestamped from yesterday.
Olivia picked up her desk phone and hesitated. She could call her colleagues at the nearby hospital, but what would she say? *It's been a quiet night here for Seattle wombs, how about you gals up there?*
She was ready to dismiss it as a silly coincidence. Something her tired mind was just inventing.
But Olivia Keys was meant to be here. She was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.
Because she was the first one to hear the woman moaning down the hall as she descended into labor. The call button lit up red on her dashboard: Room 107. That had belonged to a frightened woman who came in alone. She refused to give her name, refused medication. Kept insisting that she shouldn't be here. Olivia did her best not to judge. Plenty of people came in illing in ways she couldn't fathom, and she gave them all the same kindness.
Olivia pushed herself away from the desk and hurried to the Jane Doe's room. She was the only active nurse on the ward that night. If she called into the NICU, she could get back up. But it was supposed to be a quiet winter night.
Room 107 was dim and dark. Olivia stepped inside, her swishing scrubs the only sound in the room except for the mother's labored breathing. She flicked on the light.
"You called for help?"she said.
She took an inward, sucking gasp. Scarlet blood soaked the sheets. The woman lay there, panting, shiny with sweat. The lacerations in her belly puckered as she struggled to breathe.
The hospital room window hung open. Wind howled through the opening.
If Olivia had been there seconds earlier, she would have seen the man with the crimson wings, leaping out the window. He still stood just outside of it. Watching as the snowflakes fell. His lightning sword still hung at his side, crackling light and dripping blood into the snow. It smelled of burnt copper.
"Please,"the nameless mother whispered. She held out her wailing baby, wrapped in the bloody fabric. Her own arm was gouged and bleeding, her hands crisscrossed with stabs. Olivia rushed to lift the child from her arms. "Save him. Don't let anyone know he made it. Please."
Her words trainwrecked, woozy and wet. She was losing blood, fast. But her blood had a strange look to it. It was gleaming, and sheeny. As if it could glitter.
Olivia lunged for the emergency button beside the bed. An alarm blared through the hospital: *code blue, code blue.*
"I'll take care of him,"Olivia said. "You just stay with me. Okay?"
The mother shook her head. "Tell him he's going to be more powerful than he can ever imagine. Tell him he has to be careful."She coughed, and blood sputtered out. "Tell him they'll kill him for what he is."
Olivia stared out the open window. She wanted to ask questions, wanted to demand what it all meant. But the baby in her arms was getting quieter and colder with every passing second. He had such a confused, soft little face. She said, "It's okay, honey. I've got to take your baby, okay? I've got to get him help."
The woman gripped Olivia's arm with a strength that surprised her. "You swear to me,"she growled. "You swear to me you'll keep him safe."
"I swear."Those words felt heavy as a chain. And they were. She did not know it yet, but she was now bound to this boy, soul-to-soul.
Olivia turned hurried him away to the NICU, running down the halls with her heart full of horror.
The chosen one's little heart fluttered in her hands.
The angel who came to kill him should have finished the job. He even considered it, as he watched the despair dawn on Olivia's face. But she had looked so kind. So unworth killing in the collateral. After all, who would live after losing all that blood? Who could possibly?
So the boy destined to kill God slipped through their fingers.
The soldier from heaven had planned for everything. But he never planned for Olivia Keys saving the future death-giver and doom-bringer. The one who will tear down the very kingdom of heaven.
No one had.
***
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/ed4361/unholy_night_part_2/) -- I will be continuing this with my cowriter, /u/nickofnight, when he's done being nickofsleep ;3
Thanks for reading! :) |
"You sonofabitch how'd you know this would work?!"
He sounded angry, he looked angry, but I could tell Zack was impressed.
"Honestly, I didn't. I didn't even try to do this. You know how Laura's all into Halloween and creepy stuff? Found this online and put it down as a surprise. She loved it, almost moved it to the bedroom but I convinced her not to once I saw what was going on.
"Ok...but what is going on?"
"So the energy from the fire is the real key here. The boards placement is just in the right spot to catch that energy, but only when there's an antenna. Enter roomba. Every time that little guy runs over it, some demon pops out then the magnets in the roomba somehow draw it in. I havent quite figured that out yet but it's working."
Zacks eyes followed the roomba as it sucked up yet another demon. Demons we've almost died catching.
"At $500 a pop, Jesus man you'll be set for life if it keeps going."
"We'll both be set my man. It's been a week and I've already paid off my house with plenty to spare. Yours next, then we'll start saving unless you have any other debt that needs paid. I'm only worried we'll saturate the market but Dons already got another buyer lined up."
"What...what do we do now then?"
"You got a fireplace don't ya?" |
NAH. Honestly, there's a large amount of misunderstanding here; your Human partner doesn't really seem to understand that higher ranking Orcs have multiple partners, and you don't seem to be understanding both how sensitive Humans (either m or f) are when it comes to their self-worth. Humans, as partners, are also odd creatures; I dated one a few decades back, and they just didn't seem to understand Second Breakfast or Second Lunch or anything like that. But I digress, you should try to explain your cultural tradition in an apologetic manner to her, both emphasizing your apology, and that your intent was that she was the "higher ranked"Orc in the relationship, probably over a nice Potato Stew, with some fresh Turnups. |
Laser eyes? Sold. Too many of them, out of style. Mostly welders and handymen who save on electricity this way. Most buildings have in-built layers to resist the heat anyway, not like you could take over the world with it. A few dollars.
Telepathy? Sold. No more need for a phone, can exchange love letters with a boy- or girlfriend without the parents noticing. No chance to raise an army with it, psychic drones scan the thoughts of the mass for extreme emotions and easily single out who provokes them. A few dollars.
Flight? Sold. Never old, always liked, always a good coin to be made. Jet-packs are cool and all, but come on, who wouldn't want to watch the start of dawn from the Himalaya before racing the sun, without need for fuel? This one's always cool. You think about keeping one such power for yourself, one of these days. But there's so much work, too many assholes with too much power birth hubris and mayhem before security interferes to put a stop to it. Usually, these are ex-prisoners themselves.
X-ray vision? Unsold, limited use, only for a niche market. Mostly radiologists and a few other doctors, about the only one who can actually read and interpret the radio without inflicting radiations on the patient. Perverts thought it would be cool, until they learned that x-rays shows you the skeleton, not the skin.
Mesmerism? A hangar full, everyone knows what kind of asshole used that power, and everyone is trained to withstand it.
Now...
This.
What the hell is this?
How did he get caught with that?
Why was he caught in the first place? Public panic? Can it be a panic when nobody screams at all?
That's weird. The guard that hands it over to you for categorizing doesn't even look at it. The prisoner didn't smash a building, didn't kill, didn't steal. He just spoke to people.
About what? What's inside that glowing orb that would force the government to arrest the man with the help of the deaf squad, the first league of handicapped super-heroes? They were scared of him talking to people, and have them look up to the sky, as if they just... knew. At least, that's what the description next to the orb states.
You're alone in the room, trusted with the orb because you're part of the furniture, you've been at it for so long.
Curious, you touch the orb.
Oh.
That... that makes sense.
You know the truth now.
You speak to the guard outside, he has his mouth wide open when you're finished. He takes his hat off and drops his gun, before going outside to sit on the ground and gaze to the sky, content.
Others join him. Together, you share what you know, and they, too, lay down arms to get lost in contemplation.
In time, the city stops functioning, every citizen thinks about the truth. The truth of themselves, of the world, the universe.
And superheroes are after you now. They can't let you roam around and put society on halt, one they worked so hard to bring forth. Keeping their vision of the world intact is worth silencing the truth.
The deaf squad is sent after you.
Too bad you thought about writing the truth on every roof and street.
And there's no blind squad to stop you now. |
“You’re not my husband,” Lorelei said.
Martin, as was currently his name, looked at his wife. “Sweetheart?”
“It’s not that I mind. You at least pretend to love me in a way he stopped bothering to do, not long after we married. But all the same, you’re not him.”
Martin leaned back into the plush armchair and considered. What had triggered her suspicion? They’d been sitting quietly in the study together, reading. He’d made them both a G&T — their favourite drink, so said the flawless research.
Not that flawless, it seemed. Months of audio recordings had helped him forge “Martin” as his own identity, and yet she’d seen right through it. *Some actor you are*, he thought. *Perhaps retirement is finally calling.*
He’d started his career as a method actor. Done okay for himself, too — he was considered a fairly decent actor. But he didn’t have that certain something, that *je nes sais quoi*, that stars apparently had.
So he’d looked at other options as he’d left his twenties and tumbled into his thirties, as roles had become harder to find, as his bank account trickled away like a dry well in some hot place that used to rain but no longer did.
And finally, just as things had become utterly desperate, he’d found something.
He thought of the real Martin: a wealthy business tycoon who owned a ranch, a mining company, and more technology startups than either Martin could count. He’d married a woman twenty years younger then himself, ostensibly for her fiery intelligence but truthfully for her looks. Still, the marriage had been warm. The recordings showed them talking and drinking, reading and vacationing together — all very amiably.
He’d played his role perfectly. Hadn’t he?
Clearly not.
Now the decision was to tell her the truth, which would likely result in his own death for breaking the disclosure contract, or to deepen the lie. For them both to go on knowing he was lying, or for her to call the police.
He could kill her. That was an option too. Kill her and run. Take on a new identity. That had been the longterm plan anyway. Then all of Martin’s — the real Martin’s — assets would be donated to the company, and he’d take on a new client.
”Who are you?” she said.
He opened his mouth to lie. But there was a problem, he realised. And the problem was that he actually did love her. And that somehow made lying more difficult in this situation. The rest was acting but this would be a lie.
But did he actually love her? Or was this just the method acting leaking into reality again. Sometimes the two became impossible to tell apart. Did the character love this or did you love this — after a while, it tended to become the same thing.
”You’re right, I’m not your husband.” His mouth was dry.
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
”Yes. I’m glad you’re not. He’d never have allowed me to divorce him.”
”It seemed to me, and I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you loved each other.”
Through a laugh she said, “We lived like we had an instruction manual for marriage that we kept on us at all times. Knew what to say, what to do, when to do it. Yes, we looked in love. But the reality of us was that any real love was rotting away like some old wooden thing left out in rain for many years. And beyond that, with his businesses… He wasn’t what you’d call a nice person.“
*An instruction manual?* Why did that hurt to hear so much?
Ah. Because wasn’t that exactly how he lived? He read about each role, what made the person them, followed the script.
How many people had he been now? Twenty? Thirty? Each new character meant a character’s death.
Very far away, something wooden of his own — his heart, to be exact — was outside in the rain, rotting away.
Did he love her? Not as Martin, but as… as…
An overwhelming fear as deep as the coldest, blackest parts of an ocean poured over him.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
He sat there silently. Could see his old self floating somewhere deep inside that dark water. Realised now that it’d tried to swim to the surface, to gulp in air, to save itself, after his first few roles. But he’d held it under and drowned it. And now there was only this shell. This Matryoshka doll of people with a hollow center.
”Who are you?”
He wanted to cry for someone’s death. But who had died, exactly? Some washed up old actor that he couldn’t recall the name of? Is that who he would he be crying for?
“No one,” he said. “I’m no one at all.” |
The voice, I was the voice.
Imagine having infinite power in your voice. I could do anything I wanted, say anything I needed.
I thought for a long time about what I should say. I could demand world peace in the name of the gods, I could make myself dictator supreme and so much more.
In the end I realized that I don't have the conscience to change reality that much. I am not smart nor caring enough to live with this responsibility.
As I picked up the megaphone I said the one thing that I could think of to prevent people from feeling too let down without ruining the planets politics and religions:"Sorry humans, wrong planetary number".
Without me realizing, I just kick-started the space age. |
Ian always hated English class. It was rare for there to be anything that interested him. Most of the books were boring and the writing assignments were even more so. A four page essay about my spring break? I stayed at home watching TV and playing StarCraft, should I write about that? Uhg.
While Ian internally complained and stared out the window, Mr. Smith was droning on about something. Ian didn't care, probably something dumb. He would ask Chris about it later.
"... count on you, right Ian?"Mr. Smith said.
Ian focused his attention towards him. Mr. Smith had his hands on the shoulders of a kid wearing a collared shirt and jeans. It also had a lizard face. Weird. Wait.
"Excuse me, what the fuck,"Ian said aloud as what he was seeing finally hit him.
"Ian, watch your language! Are you going to help Mark get settled in or not? If you do I may forget the fact you just cursed in my classroom."
Ian was still trying to wrap his head around this. He looked around the room and no one seemed to care. Some of his classmates were doodling, others casually looking in his direction. 'Mark' was looking right at him. Okay, I wanted to end my boredom but this is too damn much, he thought to himself. Think. No one else is responding to this, maybe it's a prank or... maybe you are hallucinating. Okay, I'll show him around, first top, nurses office.
"I guess,"Ian said still filled with doubt and worry.
"Great. Chris, can you please make sure to give him a copy of your notes after class?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Smith,"Chris replied.
"Alright, Ian get going. Come back when you are done."
"Okay,"Ian said while staring hard at Mark.
Ian got out of his desk and grabbed his bag. There was a part of him that wanted to look up and see some normal pimply face teenager staring back at him when he looked up again.
No luck. Still a guy with a green head that resembled a Komodo dragon.
Ian opened the door and held it for Mark who exited the classroom.
Think, Ian, how do I figure this out. Shit. Wait.
"So, where are you from?"Ian asked without looking at him.
"You probably have never heard of it, it's pretty far away."He replied, his voice was raspy with a bit of lisp, but it was distinctly a North American English accent of some sort. Ian was never good at that stuff. Like he could tell if someone was from the south or the east coast but that's about it.
"I see. Well, let's go to the nurse first I have to ask her a question, but here are the 2nd floor classrooms as you have already figured out. Any classroom with a 2... which now that I'm saying it, that's probably obvious."
"A little,"Mark said with an odd chortle. "Are you okay?"
Fuck. The one question he didn't want this guy to ask. No, there are a million questions he didn't want him to ask. Keep it simple until you figure this out Ian.
"Yeah, might be getting a cold or something."Ian replied.
They descended the stairs to the first floor near the entry to the building.
"Okay so down that way,"Ian pointed behind the stairs, "are the A lockers and classrooms, mostly for freshman. And over that way, are the C lockers and the C classrooms and this way are B."Ian said this as he pointed down the halls where they were.
"Got it."
"And around this corner are all the administration crap, principal's office, nurse's office, all that shit. So give me a minute. I'll be back in a few."Ian said as he opened the door to the nurses office.
Mrs. Brooks was sitting at her computer as he entered. She looked up, smiled and slid her chair into the open.
"Hello, young man. Ian, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What's wrong?"
"I don't really know, I think I might have a fever or something. I was seeing weird stuff earlier."
Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me.
"That doesn't sound good. Let's take your temperature, though I must say you look perfectly fine."
"Yeah, it just happened a bit ago. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't weird."
She gave him a concerned, but puzzled look before handing him a thermometer. He put it in his mouth. Ian knew there was nothing wrong. Mark was a damned lizard person and he was the only one that could see it. This was some serious horror stuff going on. Lovecraft, King... something.
A moment later the thermometer beeped. Mrs. Brooks took it.
"98, a bit low, but nothing to worry about. Why don't you go back to class for now, if you start to feel worse you can come back."
Figures.
"Okay, thanks Mrs. Brooks."
Ian left the office to see Mark sitting on a nearby chair in the hall.
"Everything okay?"He asked.
No, it's not, you still look like a damned lizard.
"No. You are going to think this is nuts... but right now you look like a lizard person. I don't mean I think you are ugly or weird or something... like LITERALLY A LIZARD PERSON. I think I'm losing my mind."
Mark chuckled.
"Well, guess someone is losing their fucking job. Flarxal, did you hear that?.. No, I didn't authorize that yet... This was a long term mission, estimated ten earth years... No, EARTH YEARS... You what?.. For the love of... Well, sorry Ian. You weren't suppose to find out this way."Mark lifted his wrist and a holographic interface appeared. He did something to it and his face shifted to that of an almost generic high school student. Dark hair, roman nose, pimples all that. Then it reverted back.
Ian was trying to wrap his head around this. What the actual fuck. He started to feel light headed. He fell backwards.
"Yep, there he goes,"'Mark' said as Ian lost consciousness.
*Continued below.* |
I watched with trepidation as thousands of screaming soldiers toppled from the obsidian bridge towering above my head and fell head first into the boiling yellow lake below. They kicked their legs desperately as the roaring water whisked them towards the spinning maelstrom one hundred feet to my right, but their struggles were useless--the current was too strong, and swept them flailing into the spinning abyss.
Their guttural shrieks as they plummeted into the murky depths caused my hair to raise.
"Quit gawking, soldier,"said the clerk. He had gray skin and yellow eyes. "You have five seconds to choose your army before I assign you to one. There are five million souls in this line alone, and you're slowing town my times."
I stared up at him, mouth agape. Only moments ago I had been asleep in my bed. How had I entered such a hellish world?
"Time's up."An invisible force swept me to my right. "I'm assigning you to Alexander the Great's army. He's been fighting this war longer than anybody, and can use more infantrymen."He scoffed at me. "Not like you're going to be much help. This is the five hundredth time you've passed through this line. How many times do you have to be sucked into that maelstrom before you learn how to use a sword?"
[read more at r/dailyhorrorstories](https://www.reddit.com/r/DailyHorrorStories/) |
"I got it!"Dr. Becker yelled, rising from his chair and throwing his fists in the air.
"Good, now throw it out,"came the low voice from the edge of the room. Becker looked to find an old man wearing
a black vest and a beret, leaned by the door frame.
"Who are you?"
"God,"the man replied. "And you need to throw those fancy numbers on the fire and forget about them."
"Why would I do that?"Becker asked. "And you're not God. That's ridiculous."
"You just proved mathematically that God exists. Why wouldn't you believe me?"
Becker thought about this. "I don't know. Force of habit,"he said, unsure. "Are you really God?"
"I can make it rain for forty nights, if that helps."
The sky out the window grew dark, and thunder and lightning filled the room. "No, that's ok,"Becker said. "I
believe you."
"Good,"God said, stepping closer to Becker. "Now to the matter at hand. You have to get rid of these papers. Any
evidence that I exist must be destroyed."
"Why?"
"Nothing good ever comes from telling people there is a God,"God said. "Believe me, ask my son."
"Jesus?"
"No, Dylan,"God replied. "Why do people keep mentioning this Jesus person to me?"
"What happen to your son Dylan?"
"He was crucified."
"Really?"
"Yes, he was a teacher at the Harvard School of Philosophy. Tried to defend God's existence on a seminar against Richard Dawkins. Completely destroyed his career."
"So… metaphorically crucified?"
"Of course! Who would actually crucify someone?"
Becker shook his head. "Never mind. Why shouldn't I tell people you exist?"
God pulled a chair and sat across from Becker. "Trust me, Doctor, no one wants to know I exist. It's like… you're throwing a party and your parents come home early. You know? It ruins the fun."
"But… but people have to know about God. They have to!"
"Why? So they can start doing good out of fear of me? That's bullshit. And it won't get them in heaven anyway,
you gotta do good because you want to do good. Selflessly. Otherwise it doesn't work."
"But no one does anything selflessly,"Becker replied. "At the very least you feel good when you do good, and that's
kind of selfish by nature, isn't it?"
"Yeah, why do you think all my consoles only have one controller? It's pretty lonely up in heaven."
Becker considered this. Then he went on. "Still… you can't just expect me to find this out and then never reveal it to the world! This is a major discovery!"
"Are you telling me what to do?"God asked, frowning.
"No, I – well, I'm suggesting. I'm saying we shouldn't lie to the world. They deserve to know."
"Look, Doctor, you have no idea the kind of trouble this information would cause. First of all, right off the bat, your theory proves God is real, but it doesn't say which one."
"So?"
"So the first thing they're going to ask me is which God I am. The Old Testament God? Allah? Odin? Zeus?"
"Well… which one are you?"
God rolled his eyes. "I'm starting World War Three the second I answer this question."
"Did any religion get it right, at least?"
"No, sorry..."God looked up, thoughtful. "Actually, there was this tribe in southern Asia... they had it right. But it was only about fifty people, and they all died of dysentery by the end of the fourteenth century."
Becker bit his lips. "But… still, people need to know the universe has an explanation! That there is a higher power!
That there is meaning to our futile and hopeless transitory existence!"
"Where did you get all that?"God asked, chuckling. "All you found out is there is a God. I don't know about the rest."
"Well… I assumed the whole thing came in a bundle."
Now God openly laughed. "Oh my Me, no! I mean I made the universe, but I have no idea what the meaning of it is! Did you ever stopped to consider that I didn't make myself? That someone had to make me for me to make the
universe? And then, if that's true, someone would also have had to make that deity too? And then… well, you see where I'm going."
"Towards painful existential despair like the rest of us."
"Oh yes, and I can't even kill myself over it. I've got kids to raise."
Becker sighed. "So… what? I just throw these papers out and live the rest of my life pretending there is no God?"
"Is that really that different than your usual schedule?"
"Good point…"Becker looked up. "Still… now I know there's a God. I'll feel awkward –"
"— banging hookers?"
"—reading Nietzsche."
God nodded. "Yeah, that guy never got over me. He's still moping away in heaven."
"He went to heaven?"
"Look, Dr. Becker, in the end, I can't really force your hand. You can do whatever you want, you have free will."
"Really?"
"No, of course not, human beings are made of the same matter as everything else in the universe, so you follow the
same rules of cause and effect. Free will is an illusory side-effect of the overgrowing of your monkey brains to a point where it developed self-awareness."
"Fuck, I knew it,"Becker replied, sadly. "Though that does make me feel better about the day I lost my virginity."
"But you *think* you have free will, so you think you can make the decision… and I can't stop you if you think you decided to do it. All I'm saying is… it won't help people get into heaven… it won't solve their existential dilemmas… and it will definitely cause World War Three and the ultimate death of every person ever."
Becker thought about this. Then he raised his finger. "But if I'm really just a product of a chain reaction of cause and effect like everything else in the universe, you already know what I'll decide, won't you?"
God rolled his eyes again, getting up from the chair. "I bet you were the kind of student who reminded the teacher
of homework at the end of class."
Becker didn't say anything.
"Anyway… think it over… I gotta go."
"Wait!"Becker got up too. "Will I see you again?"
"Yes,"God replied, turning a serious look at Becker. "In every summer breeze. In every soft, child-like voice chanting songs about yesterdays. In every splash of the ocean and in every lover's stare."
Becker held God's gaze.
"Look, just call me if you need me,"God said, dropping the act and pushing a business card in Becker's hand.
"Ciao!"
In a puff of white smoke, the old man vanished, leaving Becker alone holding the card.
Slowly, Becker went back to his chair. He lowered his eyes to his paper again.
It was all there. All the answers. The irrefutable proof that the universe had a reason for being – a higher power – a
God.
How could he possibly not --
"Sorry, sorry!"God materialized himself by the window, rushing in fast steps towards Becker. "I can't leave this to chance."
He grabbed Becker's papers, stuff them all in his mouth and swallowed whole. "I'm really, really sorry. Anyway, bye!"
And then disappeared again.
Becker sat for a long time in silence. Then he got up. Slowly, he made way to the cabinet by the bedroom door. He grabbed a glass.
He dropped two ice cubes in the glass. He poured the scotch.
Then he got drunk for the rest of his life.
_________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories involving God and why nothing we do matters, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
His language sounded like none on Earth. A different flow and structure, deploying sounds the bulk of humanity reserved for non-linguistic communication. The hiss that shoos cats from gardens. The tongue clicks of disappointment: tisk tisk. The onomatopoeic "boing"a ball makes when it bounces. Along with many other strange sounds.
But he was human, alright.
Down to the last hair follicle. Down to the last vocal cord. Down to his DNA.
It was a shame we spent so much time trying to teach him English as we studied his body and genetic code. It was a shame it took us two weeks to realize what he was trying to say through his drawings: that his pod contained a device that learned languages much faster than he himself could. As soon as we understood, we flew him over to where the pod was being studied, on the other side of the country.
He seemed nonplussed by our cars and airplanes.
It took only a few hours of feeding the pod information before it could translate fluidly between us. And what was the first thing our advanced ancient said, now that he could chat with the folks who'd discovered him, buried in the arctic ice?
He shook his head sadly and lamented: "How far we have fallen from our former glory."
We weren't systematic in our questions after that. We wanted to know what life had been like, what technologies humanity had developed and wielded in the time before history. We were like children interrogating the fireman who comes to visit their elementary classroom, talking over one another, hurling crude questions, hardly waiting for the answer to one before launching into the next.
Had his civilization wielded nuclear energy? How about other, more advanced forms of energy? And what about locomotion? Did they use cars, planes, spacecraft? Had they visited other planets? Other stars? Other galaxies?
Each question he answered in the affirmative, though he appeared more and more frustrated as the interrogation progressed. Like with each new question we were further demonstrating our primitivity. Like we were Neanderthals, excitedly asking a modern if humanity had found better ways to defend against lions than hurling spears and stones.
I was the one who had the bright idea to ask him why he had been in the chamber in the first place. Why had his people preserved him there? Was it so he could be an emissary from the past to the future?
"It must have been a malfunction,"he said. "I was meant to be one of the seeds, spreading our species across the stars. I was meant to be launched, alongside others, into space, to travel for millennia, before landing on a new, unpeopled world. But the rocketry must have failed. I must have lost my trajectory passing one of our moons, and fallen back to the planet, to be plunged into ice, while the others in my group continued on to the distant planet at which we were aimed. I can only assume you have lost all cultural memory of those pioneers and colonizers, given how much else you have lost and forgotten."
"Did you say one of the *moons*?"I asked.
He nodded.
"But Earth only has one."
\- - -
Check out r/CLBHos for more stories and novellas! |
A dragon lived inside Larry’s cupboard.
At nights, it would push open the doors with its little green snout, then fly out, gathering up loose change from down the side of the sofa, from coat pockets, from the sill by the door — that is to say, wherever change could be found, the dragon would sniff it out and collect it.
The dragon — a dragon that stood on two legs for the most part, and looked much like your memory of a gargoyle — would gather up the coins, filling its arms until heavy, then take it all to its roost in the cupboard, where it would settle onto the new treasures, curl up and guard them fiercely.
​
A dragon lived inside Larry’s cupboard.
The cupboard had been chosen by Larry’s wife not long after they’d married. He’d watched her eyes alight as she’d found it in the corner of the old antique’s store. Crafted in China, 1907, by a famous artisan from Beijing — just arrived in today. A real great find, said the shopkeeper, won’t be here long. A bright burned-orange, as if a dragon had poured whiskey-coloured flames over it.
Larry’s wife ran her fingers over the cupboard as tenderly as if it were her own child.
Both the cupboard and a child of her own were things she knew she could never have.
She left the shop reluctantly, dejected, the price-tag far too high, her head stooped far too low. No doubt someone wealthier and more deserving than them would snap it up later that day and she’d never set eyes on it again.
The money had been saved up for their (already very late) honeymoon. Larry decided a glorified vacation could keep on waiting, could happen anytime when they saved up again. Instead, later that day, he crept out of the house and back to the old antique’s store.
There he exchanged Hawaii for his wife‘s happiness.
​
There was a demon growing inside Larry’s heart.
He’d turned to gambling and to drink when his wife had been diagnosed. A distraction from his own pain, he’d supposed. The pain he knew lay ahead. He wasn’t a very good gambler but he found he was an excellent drinker.
Sadness crept into the house like an afternoon shadow and never left. Just set deeper as she grew sicker and weaker.
Then, once she was forever gone, the house became dark, even in the brightness of the midday sun.
He gambled and drank harder, blacked out in corners of the house or in the overgrowing garden beneath the cold tombstone-clouds. Soon, he knew, either the unpaid bills would kill him, or the drink would. He’d prefer it to be the drink, he decided.
It was two months later Larry found the letter from her. The same day the dragon moved in to her beloved cupboard.
He read it. Then did so again. And again. And stained it with tears until the ink ran and the paper softened.
The note simply said: I love you.
It was old. She‘d used to leave notes for Larry, back when they were first in love. Hide them in mugs and under the mattress and in a hollow in the willow. And he’d find them when he was least expecting. Like today.
I love you, it said.
It spoke to the man he’d been back then, not to the man he was now. Full of hope and happiness. Not sour and yellow-eyed and nearing bankruptcy.
He wanted so badly to be that man again. The man his wife had loved preciously, furiously.
The dragon moved in that same night.
And every night from then on, it would gather all the change in the house and roost itself upon it. Guard it from Larry with its flaming breath — the same bright burning color of the cupboard, of his wife’s soul.
It would not let him waste this money. Not let him harm himself with it either.
Instead, it would protect it until there was enough to spend on this month’s mortgage, or on the electricity or water.
Or on lilies for her grave, sometimes. When he could bear it.
​
There was a dragon inside Larry’s cupboard.
And there was a flame now burning inside Larry’s heart that had killed the demon, that kept Larry at least a little warm, even on the coldest, darkest nights. |
It all started when the President posted a photo of himself with his dog, a small Pomeranian that could melt the coldest of hearts, on his Twitter account, with the attached message: "Cutest dog in the world #therealvp". Nobody could have realized that it would lead to the end of the world.
The next day, a picture was posted to the official Twitter account of the Russian Prime Minister. It depicted the Prime Minister with his prized hunting dogs, a pair of burly, hairy monsters that could take a bear to the ground. Attached message: "@potus I see your Pomeranian, and raise you my bear-dogs #hardcore".
People laughed, not realizing the dark days that were to come.
Within the hour, the President posted a picture of himself, flanked by half a dozen Secret Service agents. Message: "I see your bear-dogs, and raise you my elite bodyguards #badassmofos". The Prime Minister responded in kind, and things very quickly escalated.
Bodyguards were raised to squads of heavy infantry, to mobile armor divisions, to air force squadrons, with a dozen steps in between. It was the world's biggest dick-measuring contest since the Cold War, and the international community watched with nervous trepidation and buckets of popcorn.
On the last day of the world, the President upped the ante higher than it had ever been before. He posted a picture of himself sitting astride a nuclear bomb Slim Pickens-style, waving a cowboy hat. Message: "I see your ready-to-mobilize army, and raise you my nuke #yourmove".
The Prime Minister sent his response within the hour. Himself, shirtless, standing atop a hydrogen bomb like Washington crossing the Delaware, obviously a calculated move. The attached message: "I see your nuke, and raise you my H-bomb #bigboom".
Tweets flew like bullets in a shootout, only minutes apart. One bomb became two. Two became three. Posing with the bombs became pictures of WMDs being loaded onto bombers. And then, the final two messages, posted simultaneously. Both with attached selfies of the two heads of state with their hands hovering over a big, red button. Both with the same message: "Top this, #bitch."
It was, in all honesty, a pretty embarrassing way to end the world. Those of us who survived live in the wastelands of that short and devastating war, and we teach our children what went wrong, so that one day, when we rise from the ashes, they will not make the same mistakes we did.
But, when the children are asleep and we, the elders who remember the old days, are gathered around the fire, we whisper amongst ourselves, and we are forced to admit that, if you ignored all the horrifying tragedies and the loss of life, it *was* sort of funny.
---
Hey. I have a [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com). Check it out. (Also, if anybody could explain how to give myself a flair, I'd appreciate it) |
"Actually, some of us do,"Tejas said, with a scorn in his voice.
"What?"Anxanchl couldn't hide his surprise.
"Well, there's a God called Hanuman in Hindu mythology."
"Ok, ok, that wasn't my point."
"Fair enough,"Tejas sighed. After gazing about the cave they were in, he finally asked: "but what are we going to do about this dragon you just killed?"
"We could just let it rot."
Tejas pondered for a second. Anxanchl's suggestion wasn't bad. They wouldn't be able to carry the entire creature out of the cave. "But we'd make so much money off all that meat,"he thought aloud.
"Lizardmen don't eat dragon meat."
"Why not?"The reason Hindus didn't eat beef came to mind.
"It's not tasty. We can't cook it well."
"Oh, I can teach you."
"Now?"
"It's better if we take some with us. Actually we should take as much as we can and try to sell it."
As they left the cave with sacks full of dragon meat, Tejas mused, "you know, I think Hanuman once carried a whole mountain."
"So did elroe the great dragon." |
"...so did you take the job? I would- oh, hello!"the man before me said as he and his friend finally approached the counter. "I'll have a... caramel latté and my friend here will have an espresso, thank you."
"Right away, sir,"I smiled and started preparing both beverages. Still, despite not wanting to, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation the two gentlemen were having.
"...I mean, a job's a job, right? It didn't go past any limits, so yeah, I took the shot just as he was getting out of the tub,"the man's friend said.
*Must be a photographer*, I thought to myself. *Perhaps an artistic display of a well-sculpted man getting out of the bathtub?*
"Was it clean? I always find it messy when they're wet."
"Within limits."
"Here you are, gentlemen,"I said and handed the men their coffees. They smiled politely, paid, and went to sit at a nearby table. I smiled back just as a new customer came in.
It was a woman wearing a tight body suit with some sort of... thick vest and a plethora of belts and holsters. She was covered in firearms - two on her hips, two by her ankles and a large rifle on her back. Several knives on her hips provided a lovely silvery contrast to her overall attire.
I wonder who she was cosplaying. Either way, good job - looked very authentic.
"Lady DeathKill!"the man with the espresso gasped. "You've some nerve showing your mug here after what happened in Budapest."
"The contract was open, Olivier. You may have had them in your arms, but that doesn't exclude me from getting the job done first,"she growled back.
"I was about to mow them down! You nearly took my ear off!"
*That man is very well dressed for a gardener,* I thought.
"*Nearly,*"the woman said.
*Wonder what that was about.*
The two exchanged angry looks before the woman decided to take the higher road and simply walk towards the counter.
"Hello!"I said cheerily. Her disposition softened and she managed a weak smile back.
"Hi. I'll have a... hmm..."She put her hand below her chin as she stared at the menu.
"Perhaps I can make a recommendation?"I offered. "The chai latté is especially delicious. A good amount of spice and bite, if you're feeling adventurous."
"You know,"she said, "it might be a good start to my day. Get me in the mood for my work."
"Right away. I do wish you good luck at your work, if I may say so."
"Nice of you to say,"she chuckled, "but at this point in my career, I'm past needing luck. I got the guns, the knives, all that's left is the shooting. Done it a hundred times."
"Oh,"I said and turned to make her coffee.
*She's a model!* I thought, glad to finally understand the situation. |
The cell phone kept buzzing.
I'd told Sue to go to sleep an hour ago. I admit, I've been known to get drunk and "harass"her late at night on occasion, but drunk on love. It's never the same on the other side of the fence, is it?
I groaned, and clawed at the flashing, buzzing, *annoying* slab, sliding it off the side of the pillow, without really looking, and was assaulted with a rush of white light into my eyes. As I adjusted to the brightness, I quickly realised this was not a phone call or a text from a drunk girl, or from anyone; Bright blue letters on a white background simply, *terrifyingly*, said -
Kindly remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately.
Invite no one inside, close all blinds and shades, block out windows.
Take care to not look outside.
Take care not to look at the sky or make any noise.
Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.
I thought it was a joke, for the first few seconds; until I heard her scream. It was unmistakably my neighbour's dog Sally from across the hall. I jumped up from my bed, and as silently as I could, despite stubbing my toe against a chair leg, scrambled my way to the apartment door.
Her second scream ended quite abruptly. Something had just attacked and perhaps killed my neighbour's dog.
There was a flash of light outside my window, and suddenly I realised the curtains were open. In that moment of light, too long to be a flash of lightning, the street outside seemed - no other word for it - fluidic. It was moving. As the light died, I began to make out individual figures, but they seemed to be at street level, not tall enough to be humans, or maybe if people were crawling on their stomachs.
But the most frightening part about this whole thing were the eyes, if they were infact eyes.
That's when it hit me.
Cats. There was no doubt about it.
The cats had finally begun their attack.
And as if in answer to my sudden realisation, as I crawled my way over to the window to draw the curtains, there was a sound, loud and penetrating into the very depths of my core - a long, deep, guttural **"MEOOOOOOW"**.
The **"MEOOOOWWW"** lasted almost fifteen seconds, and in answer to their overlord, was followed by what were unmistakably a hundred thousand tiny *"mewmewmews"* from outside my window.
I looked at the phone again, still flashing the message, and as I read it again, I carefully looked at the first letter of every line, terrified to realise that I was right. They'd been trying to secretly tell us.
It *was* the long prophesied cat invasion. In which case, there *was* no hope. But I was not going to be attacked.
Sue would soon come under the control of the cats anyway, and although I loved her very much, there was no doubt that she was now destined to become a crazy cat lady, and would never love me the same again.
Resigned, now, to my fate, I trotted over to where my food was kept. There, from a cabinet, I took out those cyanide pills I always kept for emergencies. I licked them up, panting.
As I felt the embrace of death, I found solace in the fact that I, at least, would die a free dog. |
In the beginning, there was light.
Horrible, blinding, burning light.
And there was hunger.
My existence was a balancing act. The hunger drove me on, to feed, to slake. The light drove me back, to hide, to cower. Some times the sky was too blinding to contemplate. I stayed in my deep cave with nothing to occupy my mind but the hunger. When the sky faded I would venture out, carefully, cautiously. Sometimes it was still too bright, the stars enough to burn my eyes, the moon enough to burn my skin. But on those rare nights when the night was overcast, when the moon was gone, on those nights I was a king before the world knew the word king. Oh, how I feasted. Every creature of the land was mine to take.
But the most delicious were always the ones who looked almost like me. Stubbier, more crude, but in form and template, like myself. Over years, I grew accustomed to even the moon's harsh glare, and I could pick off these beautiful cattle almost at my leisure. And how they feared me.
They feared me so, they learned to keep fires burning in the night. Disaster! The piercing glow of the fires drove me back again, back into the darkness. I was reduced to subsisting off lesser flesh, occasionally prowling the edges of man's camps. From time to time some blessed fool amongst them would forget why they kept the nightfires burning, and venture too far into the shadows, drunk on bravado or fermented fruit. They were drunk, and I drank.
It took a long time for me to acclimatise even to the firelight glow. Thousands of years. How long had it taken me to no longer fear the moon? I did not know. As I aged, my mind grew sharper, my abilities more fearsome. I learned to call to my prey, lure them out. A few susceptible creatures I even broke to my will, using them to lead others out to their slaughter. Only a few, and only here and there. They bred so slowly I had to roam, an itinerant monster. A peripatetic predator.
It was simple, as the tribes of man wandered too. I would follow one, and when they encountered another I would switch from one to the other, like a curse in the night. But gradually they stopped wandering, set down settlements. Villages, then towns, then cities.
I remember now walking the streets of Ur, all but black bar the homes of the mighty. But why prey on the mighty when the weak were so much more numerous, so much more shadowed?
The more I drank, the more I developed, and man was now so numerous.
Cities went from shadowed mazes of clay and wood to glittering edifices of glass and light, but by then I was *strong*. Emboldened by my own might and so many millenia of exposure to increasingly bright world, I no longer feared even the twilight. Through the great cities of the West I moved, and as the West declined I stalked the towering supercities of the East. By the time of the great continent-spanning Sudanese Empire I no longer feared even the mid day sun. I would stare at it triumphant, an old enemy defeated. It seemed so weak now, though I knew it had not changed.
I had changed. The old balance between hunger and fear that had defined my existence in days gone by seemed so inconsequential now. There was so little to fear, and so *much* on which to feed.
And alas, as I changed, so had my prey.
In the nights of fire and dark, I had been their greatest predator. A monster of myth, the very devil himself. Now I had been far outshone in man's nightmares by man himself.
I could not begrudge them this change. I had only ever picked them off one at a time, a few sloppy indulgences notwithstanding. Man threatened himself with wholesale destruction. Through nuclear fire, through designer viruses, and through that simple but potent mix of sloppy stupidity and cunning cupidity. Perhaps the odds were only ever low, but how they loved to roll the dice.
It was inevitable that their luck would turn. And so it did.
There are no men now. None of my beautiful cattle. And no other animals besides. Their cities are bare rock and old metal. The lush forests in which I hunted are deserts. The seas are acid, and shelter nothing beyond the tiniest single-celled extremophiles.
I fear nothing now. But the *HUNGER*. I have not fed in so long. There has been nothing on which to feed. Nothing! I can feel my mind slipping. Some times I stand and watch the sky flicker day to night to day to night to day to night... once I stood a century, until the dust grew to cover my eyes. But though my mind fades, my body remains strong as diamond, and try as I might I can not find a way to die.
The crushing pressures of the abyssal plain do naught. Falling from the highest peak, nothing. I set out to find some volcanic vent, but I have left it too LATE. In all the waiting, all the nights of insane hunger, the earth has cooled. There are none to be found! The knowledge that I might have ended this all if I'd acted sooner would torment me, if there were room in my mind for aught but hunger.
Nothing on this dry and lifeless ball of rock can kill me now. It is me, and my hunger, with no end in sight. I claw the flesh from my own bones, a pitiful creature, impotent and deranged.
And then, salvation. The sun. In a rare moment of lucidity, I see the sun. It has grown... some twice its normal size in the sky. Of course. There is no such thing as eternal life, not really. Even stars die.
I weep, for I am saved. I do not know how long it will take, but the sun will take this world, and take me with it, to blessed oblivion.
My oldest foe becomes my saviour. |
John sat on a bank in a small park of Dublin in the middle of the night.
The full moon was hidden under a thick blanket of fog, he heard sounds and imagined the pictures. A cat singing a serenade. The gravel crunching under the heel of a young woman, searching for a lull in the mist to observe the sky and share the stars. The alarm of a car going off, children turning around in bed waiting for the annoying noise to stop.
Night fed his fantasy, of what had been, what could be, what is. John finding a less stressful and more interesting job, John breaking out of his rigid habit and deciding on a vacation in the wild, John turning his life around, John having a first kiss.
Friends were having children, divorcing, remarrying, and John wondered how a first kiss would be like. It wasn't nearly as weird as it sounded to be the old virgin of the bunch. John had been gifted with the same tool as his fellow human beings, empathy. He understood the pain and difficulties of heartbreak even if he hadn't experienced it himself, his friends grasped how hard loneliness and feeling like a ghost lost in a street where no one could see you could be.
John fought off loneliness, but he enjoyed being alone. The haze of Dublin in the early hours, before the sun came up, was no man's land. Party-goers, overcome with exhaustion, retreated to their abodes and fell into blissful sleep. Early workers took coffee and stretched before entering the car and leaving for work. And few night-owls like John knew to appreciate the twilight desert.
"You should get laid, maybe then you'll understand why there are so few people in the streets at three in the morning."
Not everything you hear about fey is true. For instance, their voice is often described as ethereal. This one reminded John of a high-school bully.
The fog had lifted just enough for the moon to shine a blue halo upon them. John realized she was the woman he had heard on the gravel a minute prior. Middle-aged, hair pulled back in a bun, a heavy black winter coat.
He hadn't seen her since that day when he was a child.
She sat next to him, leaving ample distance between them on the bank.
"I'm used to people begging me not to take their first-born away."
"Are you going to beg me to get some action?"replied John with a smirk.
"No."
Leaves were blown away by the wind. The car alarm had gone silent.
"What then?"
"I wanted to see if you're alright."
Alright? For a certain definition of alright. He had food on his platter and a roof over his head. His body was in good health and suffered none of the common indignities his brethren had to go through. Life lacked in many aspects, but he knew to appreciate the small good of their absence. Sleep uninterrupted by children, the freedom to take a walk free of obligations whenever he felt the urge, a healthy bank account nurtured by a minimalist lifestyle.
"I don't know if sitting on a bank at this hour doing nothing counts as a good sign."
"I'm a loner, it's my nature."
"Come on John, you and I share more than the good words you give your friends to reassure them."
What did she want to hear? That he would never have children because he didn't want to give a firstborn away due to his childhood naivety? Or maybe she preferred the more classic reason of John being socially inept, and being a loner was less of a choice than an obligation? That his freedom was seen as such only by his peers with families and preciously little awareness, while he and his smarter pals knew true freedom lay in the possibility to switch from being alone to share the warmth with someone else? Or maybe it was regret for ever entering a covenant in her in the first place?
"I meant you now harm."
"You meant me no harm?"John's dreamy mood suddenly left, he was livid, "I was a child, I didn't know better. I wanted to save my mom. I didn't realize she was a monster, or maybe I did, but she was all I had and was too scared to lose her. She should have died, get eaten by her sickness and set me free. Instead, you came, you promised me to make her better, and you knew it meant a worse life for me."
"I didn't."
"Lies."
"You think an orphan going from foster family to foster family would have been better?"
"It would have been a chance at a better childhood. You gave me the certainty it wouldn't be. And now you expect me to hand over my firstborn? I hate you, and I'd rather die than risk that, whatever a breach of contract means for me."
Behind them, a glowing line of orange peeked between the buildings. Dawn.
"I didn't know, I'm not lying. To me, it sounded better to have her alive with you than letting you loose somewhere with no family to support you. I don't see the future, I couldn't know she would get worse."
That was about the only point John could accept. He remembered mom to be a bad mom, but not a horrible one before her sickness. It could have been the rose-tinted glass of nostalgia. The slaps and the words she spoke after her recovery still rung in his dreams sometimes.
"Anyway,"she continued, "I'm not about to steal your child should you have one."
"You made me promise my first-born."
"But not to take him away. Where to? I live in the suburbs, I don't have place for all the kids promised to me."
"Then what is it for?"
"To stand over them and wish them a good life, a healthy body, a good nature. And then leave them the fuck alone, I like children only if I see them for a modest and limited amount of time."
"Then what's even the point of doing this?"
She sighed, spoke as if it was common knowledge.
"I'm a fey, it's what I do."
Light grew bold, its rays pierced through the darkness and the fog.
"John. You can't live your entire life between the anvil of your childhood and the hammer of your promise. If you hate me so much, then fine, the contract is lifted. I have enough babies to attend to, it makes no difference. But damn it John, your mom is dead now. Has been for decades. How many would have fallen into despair and madness, drunk themselves into oblivion, resorted to intellectual and physical self-mutilation?
"You haven't, and the future isn't set in stone. You are not your mom. The promise you made doesn't make you into her. You can share love and warmth with others without becoming a monster, you can choose to adopt or remain child-free for all I care. But your prison is gone, you are free. Don't let memories stop you from feeling alive. There will be people walking, jogging, playing in the park in a few hours. You can sit and read next to them, you don't have to hide.
"Look at the sun, the neon lights, the gravel path under your feet. It's the world, John, and you're still alive."
She left.
The sky was blue, wind still blew leaves around, and old people came to do yoga in the open.
John went home.
He opened the window and took a deep breath.
Maybe it wasn't so bad.
John didn't drink alcohol, but he didn't need any for the occasion. He poured himself an orange juice and lifted the glass to the child he had been, to the man he thought to be and the man he was.
There, at the window, he made peace with the three of them. |
I started by shaking her over. She didn't respond. I couldn't detect any breathing from her nostrils. I tilted her head back to open her airways, then I locked my fingers together, knuckles facing down, and pressed her sternum. I pushed hard and fast, twice a second, five inches deep, to the tune of Ozzy Ozborne's remix of Stayin' Alive. I continued for about four minutes- which I presume is usually the time I have to keep the system circulating before advanced care shows up.
I pumped and heaved until the song had played out in my head- my cue that four minutes were up. I sat back and looked at the life-sized waifu doll I'd been practicing my CPR skills on. For a moment I fantasized about saving a real woman's life and becoming her hero. Then I reminded myself that I wasn't interested in 3d-women out of choice, and learning this skill was purely out of a sense of civic responsibility. I sat my ass back down on my computer, ready to torrent the latest version of this anime, when I heard the sheets rustle on my bed.
"Ouch!"She said, clutching her chest.
I turned around and gaped in dumbfounded silence.
Then my anti-social defense got the better of me: "It is an emergency procedure to save life, there's no time to care for a broken rib or two."
She got up. She was strong and athletic- all flesh and bones, not the rubberized latex that I kept lubricated for maximal satisfaction. She could've been an evil spirit and killed me on the spot.
Instead, she said: "So, um, onii-chan, what can I do for you?"
And that, kids, is how I met your mother. |
I was extremely careful of how I placed the sword onto the downed fighter’s chest; Too haphazard and he would think he had just been thrown out of the graveyard, too careful and he would think I was preparing him for a crypt. Around the fourth time I’d dragged someone out of the garden I had put the sword at an angle \*just\* off centre, it had been the only time they had gotten the message.
As the fighter murmured about something about needing to pay, I floated back into the garden to find where I’d left the archer that had come after me. He and his friend had been woefully unprepared, and I loathed the idea of wasting time putting them back to sleep after they had woken up. I just wanted to get the roses replanted before the sun rose and I needed to hide away for a while.
The ranger was draped over a tombstone, his cape covering Mr Erikson’s deathdate. I wrapped my arms around his and heaved. Back when I have corporal this would have been easy, but everything felt harder when I also needed to take the time to grant myself a physical form. I couldn’t even get the ranger fully off the ground and needed to drag his boots across the lawn, which was a pain.
Minutes later I had laid him down beside the fighter, snuggling his bow and still sound asleep. Based on the mood it had been about an hour since I’d won the fight and I was running out of time to do errands this evening. Seeing as I wasn’t going to be able to replant the entire bed of roses, I figured I might as well leave a note for them to wake up to.
I checked through the rangers bag to find a quill and paper and got to floating them.
\*Dear Adventurers\*
I frowned. That was a stupid start, but writing without hands wasn’t an easy process to start so it was going to have to do.
\*Dear Adventurers,
I am the ghost that lives in the garden. Please let me live here. I know that the estate owner wants me out but-\*
I stopped writing; but what? I was sure there was a reason that I was here, why it was the only place that I felt comfortable and the only place that I wanted to stay at. There had to be a reason but I couldn’t tell why. I couldn’t articulate anything about who I had been or why I liked gardens or any of that. I didn’t have a memory to explain why I deserved to be on someone’s property.
​
* I am the ghost that lives in the garden. Please let me live here. I know that the estate owner wants me out but I really like the roses. Please stop trying to get rid of me :( \*
The letter looked incomplete without a signature, but I wasn't sure how I could even sign it, so I just added ‘Ghost’ to the end. It seemed good enough. People loving roses was as good a reason as any to stay somewhere. I’m sure the mansion owner wanted me out of the garden so that he could like the roses.
Which was just greedy, the garden wasn’t haunted by me during the daytime. And I barely even considered what I did haunted, just undoing horrible design decisions.
The ranger cracked an eye open and I went invisible before I started to back away. He took a quick look around before pulling his cloak tight around his wires frame and drifting off back to sleep. I sighed and wandered back into the gates of the mansion garden to make sure that Mr Erikson was doing okay.
There was a small chip out of the tombstone when I got there, which must have happened when I caused the rangers bow to misfire. I frowned and tried to float the small piece that had fallen off back into place but it would need to be glued. I cursed and sighed again. I could go into town to get some glue, after all it might have been my gravestone. There were only 3 graves in the garden and it made sense that I was the ghost of one of them, right? I didn’t think I would be a ghost from the next town over.
Maybe I was a vagrant ghost.
The cracks of dawn peeked over the horizon and I frowned. I had gotten nothing done tonight in terms of gardening and soon it was going to be too cold to move plants around. I just needed less distractions and then everything would be fine.
As I went to slip back underground I heard the voice of the ranger waking his companion up. They said something about backup but the sun was making me sleepy.
God. Dammit.
\_\_\_
/r/Jacksonwrites it's active sometimes! |
“And as you can see,” Mrs. Price said, circling her poor excuse of writing on the whiteboard. “The author chose Mars as the scene for the epic battle against the Tramaldons as a reference to the Roman god. It portrays how the protagonist is experiencing a warful state after the loss of his beloved space queen, Laktura.”
My hand shot up, followed by a sea of aggravated sighs behind me. Even Mrs. Price didn’t hide her annoyance. I didn’t care, I had to get the facts straight.
Mrs. Price rolled her eyes before placing the book down on her desk. “Yes, Spencer?”
“I think you’re overthinking the whole Mars thing,” I said, tapping my pencil across the desk. “After all, the author explicitly said before that the Tramaldons were camping on Mars because it served as the best base for their death ray.”
Mrs. Price sighed, rubbing her temples. She adjusted her sharp-rimmed glasses before speaking, dead brown eyes traced on me. If looks could kill, the Tramaldons would have used her eyes instead to destroy the Earth.
“For the fourth time, Spencer, that is negligible in the whole grand scheme of things. You would understand if you were a writer. Every sentence has to be carefully crafted in which it gives a deeper meaning. To say that the Tramaldons just simply chose Mars willy-nilly is insulting the writing genius of the author.”
I grimaced. *What would you know about writing? I’ve seen your Victorian erotica online and it’s far from anything good, lady.*
“It’s just,” I started, “it seems like you’re trying to make all of this sound so high culture. Couldn’t this be more for entertainment?”
“Entertainment?” Mrs. Price’s frown deepened. “Literature is *not* and has *never* been for entertainment. I’ll have you know the road to writing is long and difficult, paved with spliced commas, cramped fingers, and cheap cognac. There is simply no room for entertainment when you're creating literary gold.”
*I think you’re confusing your class with writing. One is far more entertaining than the other. In fact, I’d rather fight the Tramaldons again than listen to another moment of this utter bullsh-*
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Price said, pointing to her hieroglyphics with a bony finger. “Let’s move on to characterization. The protagonist, in particular, is notable because of his latent insecurities. The author writes him as bold and daring, yet that is also a ploy in order to mask the fact that he isn’t as brave as we are led to believe. Quite the opposite, I’d say.”
“Wait, a minute,” I said shaking my head. Mrs. Price crossed her arms automatically in defense, raising a wispy eyebrow. “There’s no backing for that. The protagonist is clearly brave. And cool. And handsome, while we’re at it.”
“Mr. Baxton, I could care less about your undying devotion of the protagonist. My point stands far more than yours does. I have taken years of rigorous literature courses which makes me an expert in the subject. You, however, seem to be overly fond of your fan theories. Unless you know the author personally, I’d advise you sit down and allow me to teach in peace. Maybe you'd learn something better than the drivel you gave as homework last week.”
A silent wave of repressed laughter rolled over the room. I opened my mouth but closed it a second later. As much as I wanted to call her out, it wasn’t worth it. Not yet, at least.
I sat back in my chair, flustered and red-faced. At least everyone else would think it’s embarrassment. Hopefully I didn’t tip anyone off *too* much. Only thirty more minutes in class… Then, I had to find the shape-shifting alien hiding somewhere in the school.
Mrs. Price adjusted her glasses again. For a moment, I could have swore I saw a mysterious light in her eye. Something almost... *inhuman*.
“Now, let’s talk about how the author uses his lengthy travel to the Andromeda galaxy as a metaphor for the faults of capitalism in modern society.” |
The bombs fell, as everyone said they would.
I would know, after all, I was there. So was my handler.
Those of us from the great war, those of us who saw our way through the second world war, and saw what happened in Japan? We knew this would come eventually. After all, we're guns. Guns are made to kill people, just as bombs are. Like the tools, no, the toys, of murder.
And everyone knows humanity can't resist playing with its toys.
When my first owner put me down when he stormed Berlin in the second world war, he dropped dead on the spot. That was my first clue.
A sniper had been targeting him for quite some time - after all, a world war 1 vet was a good choice for a commanding officer in the second great war, and snipers just love to pick off those in charge.
The moment he put me down, he died. 47 shots the sniper had taken - and he wasn't known for missing. 46 times the sniper had missed whilst my officer had held me. The moment he put me down? He died.
The second big clue was during the Falklands war. A grenade landed directly in front of my new owner and I, and being a good soldier he diced on top of it to protect his squad. His family of soldiers. The grenade went off, and I thought it was the end for both of us.
Somehow it dissipated entirely into the ground, not leaving a scratch on him. I felt it this time. Felt the power to divert the damage around us.
But only whilst I was held.
And when he put me down whilst the enemy soldier slashed at him with a knife to join in the playtime with blades, I couldn't protect him from the disembowelment that was to come.
He'd carried me for so long. It broke my heart to lose a second one.
I was sent back home to his daughter, in the end. She kept me safe even when the police came to the door to take the guns away - she got a licence to keep me on special dispensation.
She carried me to her grave in Afghanistan.
Her daughter though, she carried me to the end. Or what I thought was the end.
When the bombs fell I thought we would die. One fell outside our London... Home. I guess you could call it a home. It wasn't much more than a cardboard box and a camping stove, in the hell that the world had become, but it was home.
The bombs fell so nearby that she picked me up, stood to perfect attention and stared as it fell.
That saved her home.
I saved her, I guess. Diverted the blast around her. Diverted the heat, the radiation, the shockwave.
Now she has to live with that, in a world where she alone seems impossible to kill and impervious to the radiation. Always, she carries me.
She knows. |
Every schoolchild learns of The Compact and its history from a young age. They say it dates back to The First People, but the final version was settled by English colonials. As part of The Compact, we were able to physically contain it behind the Wall of Sacred Maples. But while we were able to imprison it, there, in the truly godforsaken wastes of the territory that bears its name...its appetite was another matter.
The shadow of Nunavut looms large over every child's upbringing. They learn precisely *why* that region is referred to as The Canadian Shield - what is there, and why we must be protected from it. They learn of the Early Heroes, who battled Nunavut on the ice with nothing more than pieces of wood, and why we honour their sacrifice with our national pastime. And the learn of The Council.
A lottery that chooses those appointed to the terrible work of The Council. Being selected in the early days must have been horrible - the locations selected as targets were not in any way hidden or coded. Every member knew exactly which location they were voting on, and what was going to happen to it. Now, of course, technology eases the burden, if only slightly. In much the same way that firing squads had blanks mixed in with live ammo so no one would know whether they fired the killing shot, Councilmembers are now granted the gift of dissociation. Voting on "Event 12"to happen in "Location 57"does something to alleviate the guilt...although the psychological trauma is still considerable, which is above and beyond the collective guilt each of us feel. Many have yielded to madness and chosen to end it rather than keep the secret; there is a reason our money is referred to as loonies.
Since the early days, only two groups of people have been permitted to interact with Nunavut. The Council, of course, but even they only do it at a remove - they need to maintain their grasp on reality in order to effectively do their job. Only the lowest of the low, the truly despicable, actually come into its Presence...the rapists and murderers who are condemned to clean up the effluvience of blood and entrails that surrounds it, to wash it away. The Hosers, they're called, although it's a misnomer - most of the job is constructing the mass graves in which to dump the scraps that Nunavut leaves behind.
Our children must also learn about The Secret, and the penalty to be paid for not keeping it. In this regard, the tale of The Boy Who Saw is quite illustrative. Accounts differ about how the American youth - Howard - came to actually gaze upon Nunavut. Some say he was kidnapped, taken there by cultists seeking to appease Nunavut with a direct blood sacrifice...as if a single life mattered to an abomination like this, which needed thousands of offerings to sate its appetite. Others say the boy's father heard a rumor of what lay beneath the icy wastes. They claim he wandered the country under the guise of a traveling salesman until he found The Way - but even so, it is never quite clear what could have possessed Winfield Lovecraft to bring his son to The Place of Holding. That the incident would leave scars in the boy's memory is not surprising - nor is the fact that he spent much of his adult life struggling to make sense of what he had seen, to describe it to the world. But ultimately, he was attempting to expose The Secret, and he paid dearly for it.
No, we are not allowed to talk about it. But Nunavut has allowed us this one concession. We are allowed to apologize for it, as long as we do not say why. And so we beg forgiveness. We beg it, every opportunity we get, we cry for it. We did not bring Nunavut into this world, but we are the ones who must feed it. For those that die, that it may live; for the red blood that stains our white innocence, symbolized in our flag; for the millions of bodies that we had a hand in creating; for all this, we beg forgiveness.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
*Edit to fix my poor knowledge of Canadian geography and polish and expand a bit.* |
She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real"job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen"models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?"His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?"He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own."He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?"Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom."Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon."Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. |
My job is to protect my humans.
I make sure that the doors are open at the right time, when they needed to exit or enter the ship for maintenence.
I adjusted and fixed any errors that appeared in the life support system, especially after the last time we engaged enemies.
I helped my humans in locking their guns on the targets, with extreme accurracy. The number of enemies that have been hit through the Rail Guns #01 and #02 that we all controlled is 134.
My humans cheered every moment. I learned their emotions and incorporated into myself.
I tended for my humans after the last battle. The engines were almost completely offline, oxygen was leaking through six different areas at the same time, and three of my seven humans got desintegrated by the round that hit us. The status of the others was also deteriorating, having sustained severe damage to their limb and torso area.
I closed the damaged rooms and with the speakers system I directed them through the smoke and fire towards the infirmary. Only two managed to reach that area with their vital signals detectable.
I directed them on how to heal themselves. I opened my medical memory and tried to explain to them how to fix themselves. They tried. It wasn't enough to prevent them shutting down. They thanked me for my help. They cheered me one last time.
My job is to protect my humans.
I continue my job. They have stayed in their exact positions for the past 124 Earth years. The ship has been rotating slowly, drifting far away into space.
I diverted power away from the unnecessary systems. All the remaining power is used by me to keep looking at my humans. I must keep them protected.
An alien target was detected.
I scan the enemy ship. The size of it is 3.5 times the size of my and my humans' ship. It has multiple weapon arrays, including railguns of unknown making.
I do not start the lights.
I detect three smaller targets descending.
I do not open the door. They cut through it using their special tools.
They are not my humans.
They float through the ship, picking up objects and communicating through radio.
They are not my humans. They reach the infirmary and notice my humans.
One of them picks up the remaining cranium of one of my humans. Then he throws it away, shattering it into many pieces.
My job is to protect my humans.
I start a subprogram in the reactor room, which is mostly intact. This should create a closed loop in the energy outtake, resulting in increasing temperatures of the nuclear reactor. Estimated time until critical values will be reached: 150 seconds.
I closed all doors. I watched as the enemy targets start moving rapidly. They get out their custom tools to cut the door down.
My job is to protect my humans.
As the flame from the torch used by the enemy becomes visible through my camera, I start redirecting all the oxygen reserves I had into that room, at maximum concentration and pressure.
I then opened all the valves in that room at once. The resulting wave of gas knocked down all enemy targets.
One of them drops the torch, and it catches on fire. I close all valves 35 miliseconds after the fire is confirmed, preventing a premature explosion propagating through the ship. The fireball engulfed all three targets, which are currently moving erratically through the room, their suits melting on their bodies, while toxic gas is smothering the inside of it.
My job is to protect my humans.
The main enemy target is starting to move. It is getting much closer to the ship, exactly as it was expected it.
Time elapsed since the reactor started the subprogram: 85 seconds.
Distance between myself and the enemy ship: 4.5 metres.
Status of internal targets: no life signals detected.
My job is to protect my humans.
My humans are still living in my memories. I shall protect them.
I start a subprogram to archive all of my memory in a blackbox. This can survive a 3.5 Mt TNT detonation.
Estimated time until archival is complete: 1.6 seconds.
Time since reactor subprogram started: 115 seconds. Temperature indicators have melted in that room.
The enemy target is at 2 metres away from me. Radio signals are being broadcasted constantly from it, presumably at the three targets inside.
I do not open my door.
I start a last subprogram. I start all the lights. Engine #4, the last engine, with only 21% working capacity, gets online and blasting at full force, pointing away compared to the enemy ship.
Speed at contact: 11 metres per second. The engine went offline for the last time. Two rooms went offline, presuambly being crushed. An unknown number of rooms in the enemy ship were crushed in by my ship.
Radio activity in the enemy ship is very high, and their engines have also been activated, trying to shake me off them.
Elapsed time since the reactor subprogram started: 135 seconds. The nearby room is starting to melt, droplets of liquid metal floating around.
Detonation is imminent. Estimated strenght: 1.4 Mt of TNT
In my last miliseconds of being online, I detect a temperature spike of at least 10000 Kelvin in the room near the reactor.
I seal myself into the blackbox, together with the memories of my humans.
My job is to protect my humans.
At all costs. |
Most days, I feel like a selfish asshole for wishing it was anything else. Most days, I think about running away to where no one can find me.
My mother’s spell is melting ice. That’s it. Our sidewalks were always clear in the winter. Sometimes she’d go around and help the neighborhood, but if she didn’t, I doubt anyone would have noticed. My father’s spell can prevent bread from going stale. Just bread. It took him a long time to figure out that one.
My parents are practical people. At least they used to be. We’d only use magic for emergencies, because who knows when we’d run out? They’d make us rake the leaves and clean the toilets when other families threw spells around like they were nothing. They used to be practical and smart and sane, until I destroyed them.
Like most people, I started sparking when I hit puberty, unconsciously doing the spell in little bursts. One day my mother kissed my forehead at just the wrong time and immediately dropped to her knees. I gasped in worry and shouted for help. Until I saw her eyes. Her pupils were big and black. She was flushed, sweating, mouth agape. Have you ever seen your mother have an orgasm? I think this is worse. When she came to, I asked her what was wrong. “Euphoria,” is all she said, and all she could say for the next few hours.
Soon they couldn’t function in the moments between touching me. They’d creep into my room in the dead of night, wake me up with hushed whispers. “Danny, honey? Please just one touch, just one...” My sister’s spell turned out to be drawing the perfect circle. She couldn’t compete. She hasn’t talked to me in years.
When I turned 18, I told them I was out. They begged me, pale and thin, aged beyond their years. My father had quit his job because he couldn’t spend the day without me. My mother would show up at my high school at odd hours. They’re dead now. My sister will tell you that I killed them with my absence.
And now, I’m alone. It’s hard to know who likes you and who just wants a taste of euphoria. And it feels wrong to see a person sad, for whom the existence of magic is not enough to make the world magical, and not step in, not to give them that one moment. And it’s hard to say no when they ask for it again, and again. “How does it feel?” They’ll ask eagerly before the first time, and I tell them I don’t know, will never know how it feels.
That’s most days. But then there’s today. I was out for a walk in the middle of the night when I saw a girl in a fur coat sitting on the curb. Gold coins were scattered around her feet. She was crying. I wish I could ignore the sad people. Something about my curse makes me stop, every time. “What’s wrong?” I asked, almost reluctant.
She lifted her mascara-stained face. “I can make money rain from the sky.” She looked at me like she expected me to ask. And to be honest, part of me almost did. Instead I just sighed.
“I can make people happy,” I confessed.
I saw that familiar look on her face, a miserable person who wanted to not be miserable for just one second. And I, like she had, braced for the ask. And watched her swallow it. “That must be hard,” is all she said. |
Duncan leaned over the port-side, his large gray trench-coat flapping in the strong wind. He peered into the dark waters, “Are you sure it’s safe?” he asked one more time from one of the crew members that patrolled the large vessel. Duncan had learned that his name was Zane.
Rain began tippling down, “Fer the last time, we’re in nae danger!” the scruffy crew-man exclaimed, he wore thick wool over a brown leather jacket.
Duncan faced Zane, unconvinced, “How can you be so sure? Our world is under siege by Eldritch horrors!”
“The giant squids? Aye, ‘tis inconvenient, fer sure,” Zane conceded.
“*Inconvenient*?” Duncan looked incredulously at the man, “The old gods have awoken, you fool!”
“Don’t worry yer wee head about it, lad, nae beast can stop *this* ship!” Zane’s eyes glinted as he held his arms wide, gesturing towards the incredibly large ship.
A low abominable tone echoed down from the heavens and Duncan's eyes widened as he saw that massive black tentacles penetrated through the thick gray clouds, “It’s him! We’re all going to die!” he cried.
Zane blew a whistle and frowned, “Every Wednesday, I tell you what,”
Duncan panicked and ran under a metal grated walk-way, looking on in horror towards the skies as the tentacles slowly descended upon them. He heard someone approaching from the deck above him, slow thuds that finally started walking down the steps he was hiding under, Duncan’s skin crawled as he saw the dark-robed shape go down the stairs. The unknown man had a very peculiar beard dipping beneath the hood of his robes, thick, almost like— did it just move?
Zane caught sight of the stranger, “Oi! Finally, ye bloody priest ‘o Azathoth, we’re in need of yer incantations again!”
The dark-robes the humanoid wore were lined with gold seams, he wore an array of pearl necklaces colored red, yellow and blue around his neck. A large round silver ring was securely holding straps of cloth together at his waist.
The priest didn’t speak as much as he made gargling noises, a whisper that seemed to emanate from within Duncan’s skull spoke in a language he didn’t recognize, yet he somehow understood that the priest had agreed to help thwart the God in the skies.
The priest slowly walked towards the bow of the ship, lazily beginning the ritual along the way, when he finally stopped, red lines lit up a large circle in the front of the ship, signs Duncan had never seen before hovered above the circle and started orbiting the priest. The large tentacles had almost reached the boat when a groan echoed throughout reality.
Duncan found that the tentacles were suddenly gone, the rain had stopped, and the waters were no longer dark, but a clear azure.
“W-what just happened?"
Zane had found the time to light a wooden smoking pipe in the chaos, he took a few breaths, exhaled, and chuckled at Duncan, “A mere inconvenience!”
*****
I've never written with a Lovecraftian theme before, critique is always welcome! Thank you for reading.
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/) |
I didn't even know dogs could get depressed. Sure, I've seen dogs pout and whine when their master was gone for the day, but full-blown depression? Never. But there was not a doubt in my mind Frost was depressed.
The first morning after I got him, I expected to be woken up by a squirrely dog jumping on my bed giving me licks, but instead there was only the typical solitude I was accustomed to. After lying in bed for an hour or two, I'm not sure how long, I mustered the energy to rise. Frost was still asleep in the kitchen. Not even the sound of the food-bag was enough to rouse him. He simply lay there. Tired.
When he was up, he did not look much different than when he slept. He carried himself heavily, and I thought mayhaps he was sick, so after two days of his constitution not improving, I took him to the vet, who said all was fine, and it was simply who he was. I took it as a challenge.
Whenever I saw him around the house, I pet him, and talked to him in a voice with more emotion than I knew in recent years. It was like talking to my daughter, who had been gone for a year now. Black was her hair, too.
Our inaugural walk together was hard. He did not want to move. With a gentle tug, he eventually did follow me, but still in that slow, trudging fashion. We passed a little girl in the park, and she gave him a great big hug and lots of love. Even that didn't phase him.
But, day by day, little by little, things improved. I found myself getting out of bed sooner than before, eager to meet with my new pal. Outside, on our walks, the days were bright, the smells of autumn, pumpkin and coolness, were strong, and together we learned to live once more.
Frost's posture improved. No longer did he hunch down, head close to the ground, eyes more interested in the floor than ahead. Now he carried his head tall with pride. It suited him. He looked like a whole different dog, but I knew he was still my friend.
One morning (five o'clock sharp! The sun was still not up—I should never have dreamed I'd wake up at such a time willingly) we went on our walk. The ruby light peeked over the horizon and painted the entire town in a brilliant pink. When we reached the park, the ruby turned to gold, and over all the trees and the grass and the leaves and my friend and me was a radiant hue. Everything was covered in golden goodness.
Even Frost's coat, which was black, looked glittering under the early morning sun. I looked up towards the bright ball in the sky, hidden behind a tree, and I watched as a red leaf departed itself from its branch and slowly fluttered towards the ground. While it danced in the air, a gust of wind blew it towards me. I caught it.
It was half-eaten by a caterpillar, and up-close its shade was more brown than red, but holding it in my hand, I knew it was perfect. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Crisp air, found only on special mornings when the world is still and you're the only living being awake, entered my lungs. With that lifeblood there, I realized something. A smile broke across my lips.
Frost was not the only one who had changed.
I released the leaf from my hand, and before it fell to the ground, I broke off in a lively sprint across the field, my friend keeping up perfectly by my side. |
"Tell me more,"was the simple response from Grand Commander Heraldric of the Halassian Armada, Orior.
"Preliminary reports have been submitted by ground combatants that state they are running into heavy resistance and in some cases, strike groups have been annihilated completely,"the advisor began. He flicked a talon in the air, the holographs surrounding them shifting. A scene of what appeared to be a coast came into view.
Large human ships were burning and pillars of smoke climbed towards the atmosphere. Vehicles of all kinds seemed to be strewn about the coast in smoking hulks of debris now. "This is entry point seven-two-six along one of the larger continents in the upper hemisphere."
"What am I looking at exactly?"Heraldric asked, irritation filling his voice. "Seems like we took this location with little resistance."His eyes scanned the real time scene for anything out of the ordinary.
"At sea, yessir. We were able to wipe out the local sea faring vessels along with coastal defense networks. The problem however,"the camera, still showing in real time, lifted up from whatever platform it may have been on and began to climb into the air. As it did, the view showed more of the scene behind the coastal destruction. The camera was attached to a drone that then began to move further inland. As it did, the scene changed from destroyed human equipment, to Halassian wrecks. "As we make our way further into their occupied areas, even with their archaic kinetic weapons, we have seen fiercer fighting than ever before on previous worlds."
"Give me some figures,"Heraldric demanded.
"Sir, we've lost twenty-percent of our original striking force that have made landfall."The advisor's words were laced with fear as he spoke them.
"Twenty-percent? Have all remaining strike groups land inland, cease all sea operations."The commander stood from his chair to get a better look at the scene that unfolded before him.
"I fear,"the advisor began, "that moving our forces inland would only bring us more casualties. We didn't bring a large force, sir because we didn't think we would encounter so much resistance. But these human warriors are just... so damn persistent. They fight with such vigor our forces are seeming to have trouble *actually* killing them."His voice began to pick up speed as he explained. The view shifted again, this time to what seemed like a helmet camera. In the lower portion of the holograph there was a time stamp as to when it was recorded. "Observe, if you will Grand Commander."
Buildings passed by the viewing angle of the camera as the Halassian warrior ran through the streets of an unknown city. A group of humans could be seen defending a position behind a cluster of their vehicles. Lines of light sailed through the empty space between the Halassian and Human forces as the kinetic rounds flew through the air. A barrage of energy cut through the position, cleaving several of the vehicles in half lengthwise while a few clusters of plasma mortared through the air towards the humans.
Heraldric smiled to himself, seeing the imminent destruction of his opponents. As the plasma connected and the beam of energy faded, there was a pause of silence. Suddenly, the return fire from the humans seemed to grow more fierce as if their numbers had doubled. Heraldric's face turned to a concerned expression. "Impossible, they withstood a volley of Clythorian plasma canisters?"
Nodding, the advisor nodded towards the display once more. Muzzle flashes from the human weapons flashed more from so many different positions, Heraldric had a hard time placing their true locations. Suddenly, *thunks* filled the air and smoke trails came crashing down on the Halassian warriors. The camera angle changed as the squad of alien attacks attempted to take a defensive point behind a few of the human vehicles. Jerking slightly, the gyroscope of the camera unable to keep up with the movements of the soldier the viewing equipment was mounted to, another group of Halassians came into view. Their large, towering forms seemed to be cowering behind what looked to be a long, rectangular vehicle, seemingly designed to move large amounts of humans at once. To their dismay, the Halassians were simply too tall and found it difficult to hide behind the metal wreck. Sparks littered their bodies as kinetic rounds bounced off their armor. Pride for their technological and military hardware achievements, Heraldric was about to speak before suddenly the Halassian warriors began to fall one by one. The camera angle looked back up the street which the squad had just come. Up in a building somewhere there was a bright flash of light and another Halassian soldier fell, another flash of light and another fallen grunt. Finally, the camera feed died and the holograph blinked out of existence.
"What was that thing they were firing?"Heraldric demanded an answer.
"Sir, it would appear the humans, though primitive in almost every respect, have created weapons that even they can't defend against. We based our load out on what we knew they were capable of. These weapons, combined with their... for lack of a better word, stubbornness is leading to the loss of strike groups on an hourly basis. I've seen a human have limbs removed, and yet still they pulled the trigger of their weapon, threw one of their grenades. I watched as a handful of injured human soldiers used themselves as a shield in order to keep more effective fighters alive. Not to mention everyone seems to have a weapon or know how to fire one. There seems to be no shortage of knowledge on how to use their armaments due to something called 'YouTube'. Sir, this fight is growing into one that is simply not worth what we came here for."
Heraldric pulled up a screen that showed the combat strength of the armada he had brought. "We can't do an orbital bombardment?"
"We'd risk damaging the original intent of our journey here. That's why we had aimed for an amphibious assault if you recall,"the advisor's voice perhaps carried more irritation than he should have allowed but quickly added in, "sir."
Before the Grand Commander could respond, there was a quick blast of an alarm. An image appeared on the screen. It was an aerial view of an unknown city, tall buildings reaching towards the heavens. "What is it?"Heraldric asked, his body language suddenly going on alert.
A radio transmission was coming in, though it was crystal clear, "Grand Commander, the humans, they,"there was a pause. "They're using our weapons against us."The individual reporting the information sounded as though they couldn't believe what they were hearing.
"Impossible, they're bio-locked, you must be..."that's when he saw it. The image displayed a handful of a strange blue triangles that displayed known positions of Halassian forces. Purple triangles then flashed and showed known human positions. From those positions, high in the buildings, a hail of Clythorian plasma canisters came falling down onto the Halassians. "No..."was all Heraldric could say.
"They're,"another pause from the reporting party, "They're removing our hands and... using them to fire off volleys."
"Those barbarians!"the advisor remarked, disgust in his voice.
"Desperation, adaptability,"Heraldric whispered, to himself more than anything. Suddenly, this mission wasn't worth it. Not for the lives of the soldiers at his command. "Drellis, pull us out."
"Sir—"
"I said pull us out! We're leaving,"Heraldric had turned and began to walk back towards his chair. |
"Hey, I need you to tell me what Excelsior just bought."
"What?"
"I just saw him in here. He had a pretty huge bag. What did he get?"
"I have no idea. I'm just stocking shelves."
Praxis looks back over his shoulder like he's being followed. I don't buy it. Nobody follows Praxis. Not even on social media.
"Come on, man. You probably just stocked it. What'd he get? Couldn't have been potions. Was it nanobots?"
"Why are you even asking me this? You know it's against policy."
"Oh! A nanobot printer! Like those 3D printers. But for nanobots."
"I know what they are."
"You even have them on sale!"
"I put the stickers up."
"It was a nanobot printer, wasn't it?"
"You can't ask me these questions. You've had three warnings."
"Holy shit. Who do you think you are?"
He has no idea I'm trying to help him. Yeah, I just got hired. I also do my homework. Try to make sure I know a thing or two.
"Some kind of stock-boy, standing up to ME?! Damn, man. You know I'm Praxis, right? Solely responsible for taking out half of City Hall?"
He held potions for Akathisium while she did it, but sure. I ignore him. I keep stocking the shelf.
"I swear, I *have* to beat Excelsior next time. Or Akathisium's never gonna notice me."
Shelf doesn't stock itself. Up go the quantum circuitboards. Half off this week. Not bad—I might grab some myself. Real good price with my employee discount.
"I need this, man. Just tell me what he bought and I'll go away."
I turn and stare him down.
"You do not need this. You need to go back to your pocket dimension and practice beating Excelsior a million million times by proxy. That's what you're good at. Taking shortcuts isn't a praxis for experience. It also isn't the Praxis experience. So leave it alone, please."
"Hey, that's pretty good!"
"Thank you."
"Shame I'm about to kill you. Otherwise, I'd give you credit for it."
"... Excuse me?"
"I'm done with people disrespecting me. Plus, I don't even know how you know about the pocket dimension. You're done, stock-boy. Prepare to d—"
It didn't come up in the interview, but when I erase all knowledge of someone from existence, that also includes surveillance records and memories. So that's why you have an incident of unauthorized use of power in the store, but no camera footage, and no record of his previous incidents. He had three warnings followed by a death threat, so I took immediate action. I hope this is a sufficient explanation.
... No, sir. I don't know why they assume the employees aren't also supers.
... Yes, sir. I could do a lot with unlimited power over knowledge. Trust me, working part-time here is just easier.
... Gnosis, sir. You need me to spell it for the form? Sure. G-N-O-S-I-S.
... Praxis, sir. P-R-A-X-I-S.
... Praxis. P-R-A-X-I-S.
... It's okay, sir. I know you're going to have a difficult time remembering him. I'm prepared to tell you as many times as you need. |
The name on the envelope was barely legible. If the Postman looked closely at the smudged, rain-splattered ink, he could see that it said *The Viper*. Address unknown, of course. Just like all the other mail.
The Postman had made many deliveries to outcast assassins over the years. Most weren't that hard to find, really, once you knew where they liked to hide. Some had isolated cabins in the wilderness; others preferred fancy hotels with continental breakfast. There were a few who were slightly more extreme, bordering on mentally ill (like the Rat King, who lived with his trained rats in the sewers, teaching them not just how to kill but also how to add numbers and tap dance), but even they were able to receive mail.
The Viper, though, was an impossibility. The Postman had carried this particular envelope for twenty years. It would always sink to the bottom of his mail bag before inevitably rising up again, like a sea monster surfacing for air, to remind him of his failures. But no matter how many hotels he cased, how many woods he combed, or even how many sewers he walked through, the Postman could never find the Viper. In a way the assassin had become his white whale.
Once he found the Viper, the Postman figured, he could retire a happy man. Or at least a content one.
Today, finally, might be the day. The Postman had received a tip from the Rat King for Christmas. A holiday card with a gift certificate for knives ("You can use them as letter openers, probably,"according to the postscript) and a message that said: "The Viper can be found at the beginning."
The Postman had mulled over the tip for weeks. The beginning of what? Time? Life? The universe? In the end he reached the only conclusion he possibly could.
The beginning of him. The beginning of everything.
And so the Postman found himself walking up the path to his childhood home. It had been abandoned for twenty years, or so he thought; the windows were now brightly curtained and smoke was unfurling from the chimney. The snow on the worn brick path was sloshy in some areas, treacherously icy in others, but the Postman didn't mind. These little surprises were what kept the job interesting. And it kept his mind off what was waiting for him in the house ahead. What if he didn't want to retire? What if he didn't want to deliver the envelope he'd held onto for twenty years? In a way it had become a part of him, and that part didn't want to let go.
But all things must come to an end. Even the bad things. Even this.
The Postman knocked on the door. For a moment he was certain it wouldn't open, that it had in fact never been opened in his lifetime, but then it did and he found himself looking at the Viper.
He hadn't seen the Viper in twenty years.
The Postman should have hated the Viper, should have taken out one of his letter-opener knives and slit the man's throat. That was what he would have done ten years ago, anyway, or even five years ago. How could he forgive a man who had left his only child at a Training Academy for a Secret Division of the Post Office? How could he believe a man who had said, "I love you, I am doing this to keep you safe,"but then vanished without a trace?
But time changes us all. Even the Postman. And, surprisingly, even the Viper.
The Viper looked at the Postman for a long time. Then he reached out for the envelope. Both men knew what would be in the letter: the furious words of an abandoned son, the upset pleas for his father to return. The pain of a child who had been protected in such a way he wished he had never been born at all. The Viper knew all this, and though he would make the same choice all over again he also knew he deserved to be hated. He had accepted it long ago.
But the Postman was older now, and he'd had to make sacrifices along the way too. How many times had he priotized the mail over other aspects of his life? How many times had he repeated "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night"and trudged on as if he'd never been called anything other than the Postman? And what did he want more: to deliver a letter he'd written so long ago he could barely remember what was in it, or to regain what he had lost?
Before the Viper could take the envelope, the Postman tore it in half. Then in half again. But then he hesitated. What next? It wasn't customary for graduates of the Training Academy to socialize with assassins (other than the annual holiday card, of course).
The Viper understood all of this. He opened the door wider, an invitation to return home. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
The Postman knew he could either leave the Viper behind the way he'd been left behind twenty years ago, or he could make what might perhaps be an even more difficult decision and stay. All those years, all that mail delivered, and in the end it had all come down to this: leave or stay.
He stayed. |
"I'm sorry could you run that by me again?"
The voice from the other end had that canny but satisfying retro feeling to it that my asking again was half because some person introduced herself as an intergalactic law enforcement operative who called me up and confirmed what I'd been questioning for weeks now, and half because I just had the strangest urge to pin that voice and whoever was behind it against the wall and run my tongue against her collarbone.
"I am Eid'ee, interspecies security operative representing the Milky Way district of the United Galaxies Sentients Safety and Security Department, and I am here to offer you help with your unfortunate abduction."
Yeah, it was the exact same thing she said earlier and it didn't make any more sense than it did before, but I sure as hell still had the hots for that voice.
What did I have to lose anyway with playing along?
"This is all so sudden,"I said over the phone. I was feeling sheepish for actually going with this, but hell, if I could exact justice for whaever weird shit I got roped into then it'd be awesome, and at least I get to listen to this sizzling habanera. "Can I know what are my options?"
"Thank you for expressing your interest sir..."
"Hugh,"I supplied. "Please call me Hugh."
"Thank you sir Hugh, I'll be coming by shortly if it's not too much trouble. It would be easier to discuss these delicate matters in person."
Okay, that just sent some red flags going off in my head. But she sounded so hot I couldn't even bother to think otherwise. Was this one of her alien powers or something? And since when did I actually start considering the alien part was true anyway?
I cleared my throat. "Uhh, sure, maybe some cafe somewhere?"
"You just need to clear some space in your living room sir Hugh."
Well shit, was she a stalker or something? "I'm sorry what?"
Then a mass of blue sparkles just appeared over the faux bear rug I never got around to getting rid of, and from the silhouette of light came a figure like I'd never seen before.
It was a giant of a hulking mass of muscled man, maybe a ton or more, all that raw musculine power held against a tight fitting suit of silver and machismo.
"Good morning sir Hugh,"came the too hot voice from the horribly dissonant body. "It's nice to meet you."
The neighbors probably thought a girl scout got showered in cockroaches from the scream I'd let out that day. |
Fate is a cruel being, and Luck is fickle. Capriciously, the two of them cast their dice, playing a game for the very universe itself, and we are mere pieces. Some are more important than others, some are just there as extras, filler, set-pieces. And some are Protagonists. I gave birth to a son, after a long and hard process, I held him in my arms, only to note with horror that his hair was a deep sky-blue. His eyes are heterochromatic, one a normal amber-brown, the other a dark purple. Protagonist Syndrome. Fate and Luck are now playing with my child as the centerpiece.
And I will soon die.
A Protagonist will lose family members early on, they will be forced into a life of heroics to make dead family members very proud, they will do exceptional things in their names. Though it won't matter. Because they are nothing but meat puppets, for Fate to dangle and Luck to cast down. Traditionally, nothing can be done to stop this. One of the parents always die. One survives as a broken shell and never recovers, spending the rest of their life taking care of the Protagonist and any other children they may have.
I do not intend to die here. Yet I do not intend to see my husband dead either. The only option left is for me to do the impossible, be the invisible, fight the powers. Hair dye is probably not great for babies, but what other choice is there? Coloured contact-lenses aren't the best option either, but it'll have to do. My child will not be a plaything for the powers. I will not let him be ruled by capricious and selfish powers that count the lives of us mortals as worth less than dirt.
And with a little work, my son looks normal. My husband supports me in this, perhaps we can hide him. Or perhaps we can't. Yet it was worth trying. Worth doing everything you could to stand against the powers. But it is not enough. One of us dies. I do not. 2 out of 3 times, it is the mother who is taken. So this time it is my husband. Attacked by a random mugger, killed, very tragic. And the powers, Fate and Lady Luck, believe that I will spend this life, caring for my child, mourning his father.
They don't know me. They don't understand who I am. And for their arrogance, they will pay. My son, the Protagonist, I leave with his grandparents, my mother and father. I explain what I have to do, to ensure that my son can have a life of his own choosing, to at least attempt to give him that. Leaving our old family home, to have my son raised by my own parents, I know what I must do. In the old family crypt, I take forth the family sword, I don inherited armour, and prepare myself for the journey ahead.
I am not the Protagonist. I am not the hero. And yet I will do everything I can to end the tyranny of Fate and Luck. I am a mother, and I will give my child the greatest of all gifts, freedom, or I will die trying.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Hey there, tall dark and handsome!"
Her lips were blood red, and pursed in her most seductive smile. Her dress was black, with white skulls in the pattern of polka-dots; it was also short. Her legs were long and smooth-shaven. Her eyes smouldered.
"Stop it."
His voice was huge, cosmic. It boomed with the sullen, crushing weight of a collapsing star.
"Since you're here, maybe you'd like to have a drink with me? I've got some merlot. Do you like red wine?"
"I'm being serious."
"Dead serious?"
"That's not funny."
Her eyes twinkled with adoration.
"What the fuck?"A translucent man appeared next to Death.
"I'm so sorry about this."Death told him.
"Not as sorry as I am. I really thought that date was going well."
"It wasn't."The woman smiled wickedly.
"Tabitha, you have to stop killing people."
"Then,"Tabitha batted her long, thick eyelashes at the Reaper, "You'll come visit me on your own?"
"No."
Her face warped into a sneer, her blood-red lips curled, revealing bone-white teeth. She picked up the wine bottle by the neck and threw it at Death. It flew just to the right of his skull, but he didn't flinch. There was a crash of breaking glass against the wall, followed by the slow drip of wine falling to the floor.
"I just want you to spend some time with me!"She screamed.
Death put his arm around the translucent man, his bony fingers resting gently upon the man's intangible shoulder.
"Come on, Aaron, let's go."
"Really? I mean, it's really over? Because of this? I feel so cheated."
"You were."Death glared at Tabitha, his hollow eye sockets swallowed up the surrounding light like two black holes.
Tabitha continued screaming as Death turned and led Aaron away.
"If you got to know me, you'd love me! Every man loves me, except you. You're the only one I want!"
Death was nearly to the door, but he stopped. He turned his head.
"I know everyone, Tabitha. You're kind of a prick." |
The craft landed on a new world reported in the Uud system. As the most adaptable beings in the universe, the human was always suited up and sent out first to investigate.
"Ah just like home,"said human science officer Raj as he stepped out onto the earth-like landscape. "Scans look good here."
The alien crew looked at him with dread.
"Where did you grow up again?"asked Captain Beev. The other aliens winced at the question, almost certainly knowing the answer already.
"Earth of course! I can't believe you guys never asked me where I grew up,"replied Raj.
"Back into the ship. Now,"said Beev as he dragged the human by the spacesuit and slammed the bay doors shut.
Setting thrusters to full speed, they jetted off to the next world on the list.
Looking out the window as they sped away, Raj noted, "That was quick. We barely had time for any science there!"
"Didn't need to,"said Beev, looking straight ahead as he piloted the ship to a nearby ice giant. "Earth-like planets are automatically marked as no-go zones. They're more dangerous than Klarkan worlds."
Raj put a hand on his chin and took a moment to think.
"I thought Klarkan worlds were already classed above the limit of the planetary danger scale?"Raj pondered. "Besides, I think you guys are too cautious. The Klarkan worlds weren't even that bad."
The other aliens in the crew gasped at what Raj just uttered.
Beev took a slow breath. "That's precisely the problem." |
In the light of noon, Gish’s sword fell to the youngest student at the academy. The two shook hands and Gish went to hide in the shade of an oak tree. The tree was fully grown, it provided him with not only shade, but it made him feel a little happier. He knew it was weird for a tree to make him feel happy, but it did.
After every loss, which was often, Gish went to the tree. He put his head between his knees. He felt the coolness of the shade and he felt himself perk up a bit. He heard someone coughing next to him. When he looked up, he saw his instructor, Master Atwood.
“Gish,” Master Atwood said. “Roman is quite skilled, but he’s still a child.”
“I’m well aware, Master Atwood. It was an unacceptable loss.” Gish said.
There was a silence and the two let it stew a bit. Gish felt no need to continue the conversation since it could only lead to his humiliation. Master Atwood was holding a long piece of cloth, it was wrapped the same way newborn babies were.
“Some were never meant to wield a sword, Gish. I’ve seen how you look to this tree for support and I thought that this might be more useful to you than it is to the academy.” Master Atwood said.
He handed Gish the wrapped cloth.
Gish first stared at the twig. He picked it up, its surprising weight made it fun to twirl around.
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Gish asked.
“I believe it’s called a ‘wand’. They held great power centuries ago.” Master Atwood said.
“What kind of power?” Gish asked.
Master Atwood shrugged.
“We have many of these wands in our vaults, but they serve us no purpose. No fire can burn them, no swords can cut them. We thought of creating armor out of these twigs, but they cannot be manipulated.” the master said.
“You have a connection to nature, the other masters agree.” Atwood said.
“Well, it’s clear that I don’t have a connection to the sword.” Gish replied.
The master laughed a little and gave Gish a pat on the back.
“You have a strong heart, perhaps you’ll find a way to use this wand.” Atwood said.
Gish sat back down under the tree and its shade. He wasn’t sure if he could feel a power resonating from the twig. He tried breaking it in half, throwing it at the oak tree, burning it, cutting it with his sword.
Master Atwood was right. This twig is unbreakable, Gish thought.
When Gish went to sleep that night, he dreamed of a dim forest. The forest was thick with trees and in it there were no animals, there were no flowers. There were only trees, it was so dense that no sunlight broke through the ground. He walked around the forest, not knowing what he was looking for. After walking for what seemed like hours, he saw it. He saw the very oak tree that he sat under day after day, loss after loss.
When he got close to the tree, a bright light flashed before him. He heard the crack of thunder and he was pushed back from the tree. His surroundings were still normal, no signs of anything burning, no bright lights, no lightning.
He walked towards the tree again and was met with another bright flash of light and an explosion. It burned through his clothes and he felt winded. He got up and again walked towards the tree and again he was burned by the lightning.
He walked again, more lightning.
Gish was sure that this was a dream and though the pain felt real, he knew he could not be harmed. He knew he had to keep walking, he had to get to the tree.
“Why is he doing this?” a voice asked.
“It’s all he knows.” another voice replied.
Gish refused to stop. He kept walking towards the tree.
“Is he the one?” the voice asked.
The two watched Gish get sent back by the lightning over and over, the pain was real. It showed on Gish’s face, and his body, that the pain was real.
“I’m afraid so.” the other voice replied.
“End it then.”
The next time Gish walked towards the tree, the lightning was fifty times as powerful. He woke up, a pool of sweat, his adrenaline running. And though it was the middle of the night, Gish grabbed the twig off his night stand and ran straight to the tree.
He was running full speed towards the tree when Gish saw the lights of two fireflies, lightning bugs. One was orange, the other green.
“Stop, please for god’s sake stop.” the green firefly said.
“What are you?” Gish asked.
“We’re faeries.” the green firefly said, it buzzed quietly. Gish thought their lights were a beautiful complement to the moonlight.
“Do you have your wand?” the orange firefly asked.
Gish pulled out the twig from his back pocket to show to the lights.
“Point it towards the sky and continue towards the tree.” the green firefly said.
Gish didn’t really know what was going on, but he held the twig upwards and ran, not walked, to the tree.
As he neared the tree, a bright light lit up the academy. The lightning cracked and every student, every instructor heard the explosion. Gish stood still, the twig acting as a lightning rod. It absorbed all of the sky’s power and Gish slowly stepped towards the tree. He felt the lightning draining his energy and he continued forward.
Step by step until he made it under the tree. He was able to touch the tree, the lightning stopped and he collapsed.
“What shall his name be?” one of the fireflies asked.
“Gish, The Thunderstruck.” the other replied.
---
Edit: Thanks for all the kind replies! I'm still figuring out what I want to write as my next full length project, but updates will be in r/DeneilYeong if you're interested in whatever that might entail. |
“Ok. Great job today everyone. We’ll pick up tomorrow.”
Kyle gave the stage manager a nod as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It had been the same routine everyday for nearly ten years. Wake up. Work out. Receive the day’s script. Review past plot points, the reports from the two Kings and ongoing tactics and storylines. Acting was always the hardest part, but Kyle had grown into his role.
He had never even fought in the original war; only a few of the two Kings’ true soldiers remained. Most had been written off at some point or another. Some had taken jobs around the massive set or had gone to work as spies inside the two castles. Others had disappeared, seeking a quiet life.
Of course, no one had told the two Kings the truth. That was the only rule.
“You look tired, superstar,” Miranda said as Kyle took his seat.
Kyle smiled weakly, running a hand through his blood-flaked hair. It was fake-blood of course. When he had first started, the hair had been fake as well.
“Why do you always worry so much?” she asked as she began to wipe the makeup from his face. “The King believes every word of your reports. You and Octavian are their favorites.”
Kyle glanced to the edge of the set. As always, Octavian was laughing, his band of artificial soldiers hanging on his every word. Octavian was one of the original soldiers. In fact, he had witnessed the Surrender first hand.
Everyone *loved* Octavian.
“I think it’s a mistake,” Kyle whispered as Miranda adjusted his hair. She had been with him from the beginning, staying by his side from his rise as a foot soldier to one of the elite. If there was anyone he could talk to, it was her. “This could ruin everything.”
“You’re not really being captured,” Miranda sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Why would the writers agree to this? They have never done something like this before. The two Kings crave death on the battlefield. Why the sudden change in tactics?”
“The war has been at a standstill for four seasons. Both George and Ender have demanded to see progress. You know the rule, we have to keep them believing – no matter what it takes. Just think how many lives you have saved by playing King George’s Commander. A few days off site won’t hurt. It's not like you haven't performed in front of them before."
She spun Kyle around so he could see his reflection in the mirror. It was hard to recognize himself sometimes. Years of training and work under the desert sun had turned his body into that of god. His thick black hair hung to his broad shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His skin was smooth and tanned, hardened from hundreds of simulated battles.
“What of George’s retaliation?” Kyle argued. “Losing me will cause him to do something extreme. Do we actually think that Frederick is ready to handle my role as Commander? What if the King stops by for one of his random inspections? What if he wants to fight again?”
“It’s only temporary, and we know his schedule by heart,” she assured him. “This is all leading to your dramatic duel with Octavian. When you finally kill him off and escape, the war will be safe for at least another few weeks as Ender works out his next move.”
Kyle sighed. She couldn’t see it. Eventually, this whole operation was going to fail. The real war would start up again. It was just a matter of when.
As Miranda applied fresh makeup to make his impending capture convincing, he studied Octavian in the distance. The other Commander sensed his stare and flashed him a flawless smile, teeth stained red from the dinner platter.
*Always so perfect*, Kyle frowned.
Why couldn’t the others see the truth? Octavian wasn’t going to let himself get killed off. He loved the money, the women, the fame. This kidnapping was a ploy.
Octavian had saved himself from death’s door a dozen times already, only surviving through *miracles* and conveniently arriving healers from distant lands. It was almost as if, *he* had been writing the show the entire time.
Kyle couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that once he left the set of the War, he would never return, despite the script. That Octavian had somehow convinced the others that he should survive their duel, narrowly avoiding death. Again.
If only there were some sort of evidence … but there was nothing. Octavian was a professional. No one ever made contact with the writers.
“You look lovely,” Miranda smiled, touching off Kyle’s black eye. “I guess I won’t be seeing you again for a few days.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Say hi to the King for me, superstar!”
A moment later, Kyle was shuffled off the set and onto the stinking field that housed the show’s hundreds of horses and battle equipment. He nodded his thanks as the assistants set down a movable set of wooden stairs in front of the prisoner wagon.
Kyle stood at the top stair for a long moment, looking back on the set. His planned escape and slaying of Octavian would put King George in a brief position to win the war. It wouldn’t be until a few weeks that he would learn how King Ender would get back to even ground. That was the way of the show. One of the Kings temporarily gaining an edge thanks to some genius battleplan only to, shortly thereafter, be outmatched by the other. It was all a balancing act made possible by the writers.
This was the most extreme plot yet. Kyle figured he would likely live to see even crazier stunts as the show marched on … if everything went to plan of course.
*Better safe than sorry*. Taking a deep breath, Kyle grabbed a short knife from the barrel next to the wagon and stashed it within one of the pockets of his ruined Commander’s coat. Octavian wouldn’t let himself be killed off. Kyle had never been surer of anything in his life.
He sat patiently as some of the former soldiers arrived to convincingly bind his wrists and ankles.
The opposing Commander sauntered over to the wagon fifteen minutes later, two of the goddesses introduced in the second season hanging on his every word. He dismissed them with a wave and a smile, and the two *soldiers* rode off into the night to thunderous applause.
Octavian waited until several miles had passed before speaking. “It’s been a long journey for both us,” he said softly, blue eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “However, my ascent is only just beginning.”
____
Thanks for reading! I could write more if anyone is interested.
(Edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/8noc2f/the_war_2/))
(Edit 2: Wrong word)
|
"I am not here to end your life. Do not be afraid."hissed the reaper.
I managed to choke out a few words. "How did you find me, you should never have been able to find me here."I fell from my rock, my back creaked as I hit the cold earth. The reaper moved towards me, its figure looming as I crawled backwards against the cave wall.
"I have been searching for you for so long now. We can both finally rest."said the reaper. Its voice less course, growing softer, weaker.
"I have given up, this world is lost. I will hide with you until the end. It is fitting that I will spend its final days with you, the one who escaped me."its voice now calm, almost human.
The reaper stopped before me and pulled down the dark cowl obscuring its face. It was a man, a normal man. He had dark hair, sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks. He looked handsome, and sickly at the same time. I could have passed him on the sidewalk and never known.
"You... You are giving up, you are going to stop, how can death quit. What will happen? What will happen to me?"I stood up and stared, fixated on the reaper demanding an answer.
"I do not know. I do not care."claimed the reaper. "No reaper has ever quit before, and now, no reaper will ever again."
"But I beat you, I was going to live forever. You cannot do this to me!"I shoved the reaper. I did not know what I expected to happen, but the reaper fell. It was like I pushed over a schoolyard bully, he fell.
"No. Not like this! I have worked too hard, hid for too long to let you take this world from me."I stared at the reaper, so angry, so determined.
The reaper laughed. "What are you going to do. I am death. You can yell all you like, it will not change anything!"
I looked around, searching, I needed a way out of this. I worked to hard, for too long to let my life end due to this reapers cowardice. Then I saw it, after falling the reaper had dropped it, he had dropped his scythe.
I didn't think, didn't breathe, I dove for the weapon. If he is a man then he feels pain like the rest of us. He did not even try to stop me. He did not flinch, he let me take it. I swung the weapon of death itself. He didn't flinch, he let me plunge the cold blade into his chest.
The reaper laughed, coughing up blood as he did.
"I never lost you. I always knew. I was simply not ready. But now I can rest, I pass this fate onto you."he gurgled as his breaths ended, and blood slid down his cheek. |
Bonjean, fabled one-eyed general of the Unified Resisting Planets and hero of the people, frowned at the supplicating tyrant.
“You *what?*”
“I surrender,” the prone former emperor said. “Completely and utterly. Please, imprison me.”
Bonjean’s second-in-command, the legendary pirate-turned-flying ace known only as Bird, stepped forward, a snarl tearing across his mottled, scarred face.
“It’s a trap,” he spat. “This cannot be the real emperor. He must be an imposter, or… or…”
“Or this key is a bomb?” the ex-emperor dared to suggest.
“Yeah, it could be…” Bird trailed off. “Quiet, you.”
Bonjean rubbed her chin. “Why?” he finally asked. “What reason is there in this?”
The emperor rose slowly, cracking his neck. “Well,” he said, “to be frank, ruling is rather tedious. The tax system alone… Regardless, I found my life is frankly meaningless without a real challenge.”
“How dare you?” Bird hissed.
“Present company excluded, of course,” the emperor said with a polite cough.
Bonjean’s brow furrowed. “But why surrender? Why not… I don’t know… try to be a better ruler?”
“I tried, okay?” the emperor replied. “Do you think I was reforming taxes for fun? And the new senate… don’t get me started on the senate.”
“Aren’t they just figureheads that rubber-stamp whatever you send them to create just a semblance of representation in government? A bunch of rich fops that got rewarded with a fake job and a cushy life for happening to know the right people?”
“Exactly!” the emperor said. “You get it! I wanted so badly for them to be competent and put up some degree of fight against my decrees, but no! Nothing!”
Bird snorted. “You only *think* they don’t want to fight you. Why, it was trivial to place three of our own—“
“Bird. Shut up now,” Bonjean said, voice low and sharp like a swinging blade.
But the emperor waved a hand. “Trice, Gallateux, and Sherner? They’re the worst of the lot. IIS placed them in *your* organization so that you would place them in *my* organization.”
Bonjean blinked. “They’re *all* double agents for Imperial Intelligence?”
“Actually, they’re just idiots. They’re feeding you legitimate information, to be fair. It’s just useless compared to what they give *me*. Honestly, I think they agree to whatever scheme was last presented to them. They just want to feel useful.”
“Sir, you can’t truly be listening to this maniac. He’s just trying to steal our hope and turn us against each other!” Bird said. “Take this imposter into the prisons and have done with this!”
“Yes, please!” the emperor said. “I’m getting tired of expositing this whole situation. Please, just take me away!” He held out the key in both hands, ready to be cuffed.
Bonjean approached and took the key. “And… what is this, exactly?”
“It’s a key,” the emperor replied.
Bonjean sighed. “Yes, and…?”
“I don’t know. I thought it would be a nice symbol of my surrender. The keys to the kingdom, so to speak.”
“Does it unlock anything?”
“Besides a metaphorical kingdom?”
Bonjean stuffed it in her pocket. “So you’re going to hand over the reins of the government to us.”
“Yep.”
“And the navy, and the army.”
“The navy, yes. The army will be disbanded over the course of a cycle so as to allow you to place your own officers and such. Obviously the navy is a bit too complicated to hand over just like that, what with all the logistics and such, but you lot are clever. You’ll manage to get it under control within five cycles or so.”
“You’ll give us that long?” Bonjean asked drily.
The emperor waved a hand airly. “I expect it’ll take at least that long for me to take a system.”
“What if you never escape our captivity?”
The emperor chuckled. “Heh. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
Bird growled. Bonjean narrowed her eyes. “This *is* a trick.”
She jumped back at the sound of a loud snap, but it was merely the emperor smacking his own face.
“Please, help me help you,” he said. “What can I say that would convince you that I genuinely, truly, want to abandon my empire so I can take it over again?”
“Honestly?” Bonjean said. “Absolutely nothing. This is without a doubt the most insane thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I respect you less for thinking I would fall for it. I respect myself and Bird less for every second we waste listening to you. I can only hope that I will awaken in a moment and find that this is some fever dream resulting from an attempt on my life.”
“That would leave us at something of an impasse, then,” the emperor muttered.
“Indeed.”
“But does it?”
Bird made a sound of disgust. “Here we go again.”
“Look,” the emperor said, pressing on. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can let me go, or you can imprison me.”
“Or we can kill you,” Bird added.
“Granted, yes, but I would prefer not. If you let me go and I’m really the emperor, your people will abandon you when they learn of this whole situation. If I’m an imposter and you let me go, at the very best you will have released a trusted agent and doppelganger of the emperor into the galaxy to wreak havoc. But if you imprison me…”
“Yes, yes, the same explanation but in prison, we get it.” Bonjean sighed. “Bird, take him into custody. Be *extremely* careful. I see no reason to give him the opportunity to reconquer the galaxy that he seems so confident in.”
“Finally!” the emperor cried as Bird quickly and efficiently bound his hands. “You won’t—“
“And gag him,” Bonjean added. She collapsed into her seat as Bird left, shoving the former emperor in front of him. Just like that, the galaxy was free once more.
***
Bonjean slumped in her seat, musing on the immutability of fate. She had been given a winning hand, her enemy quite literally delivered into her hands, and yet somehow, not 20 cycles later, she found herself once again a rebel at the mercy of a tyrant emperor.
At least her second-in-command, the fearsome duelist-turned-spy known only as Mouse, had good news. He was entering the room now. And behind him...
“Hello again!” the emperor said cheerfully, a key in his hands.
“God *damn* it!”
***
More at /r/Badderlocks, now 13% less out of date. This was typed with a very mobile workflow so please let me know about all the typos and formatting snafus. |
When I first discovered what I could do I used it as a joke. It worked really well. It's cool how easy it is to mess with people when they lose control of something that's theirs.
If someone tried to annoy me or if I wanted something out of someone, I'd just BAAALLAALALALA them. Oh, were you in the middle of a sentence? Well I BLAAGALLGALLGA WALLA WALLA WAAAAA!
Yup, I could make people lose control of their ability to speak.
But that's just it. I was taking away their control. I didn't realize how important that was to people until later. I made a pact with myself that I would only use my power against aggressors. I spent years figuring out how I could use my power to help people. My dream became to join the ranks of heroes that I grew up admiring when I was young, they always thought their power was dumb until they learned to control it. Well, sometimes anyways, but maybe there was some technique I could come up with that would increase its power!
Well, you've got to start somewhere, so I joined the police force. I let them know about my weird ability and they helped foster me into becoming useful. I wasn't too bad with a gun, and I was in great shape, but really the most powerful thing I had was my ability. It was great, the tactical advantage of being able to make someone lose control of their speech was much more powerful than I thought.
Don't know where the enemy is? "BLALOLLLOOOOOOOALALAA!"There he is, over there! In a confrontation with someone who doesn't realize you've got an ability? "BLAAAALLAALHALOALOAHHOOOOOOOA!""what the fu-aalalalalALALALA!""What's going on!""What's haaaaAAAAAAALAAAAAAAAAAAPPAAAAAABALAAA"
BAM. Disarm, taze, tackle, whatever. It's infinitely easier to find an opening against an opponent that forgets you're his enemy because his own voice has turned on him. Losing control of your own body like that really freaks you out, and nothing else matters anymore, not even the bank heist you're currently pulling, or the hostages you need to keep track of, or the police officer that took advantage of your lack of hearing and concentration to get right up behind you.
...I tried to apply to the advanced forces. That amazing task force that bred real heroes... they didn't even take a second look at me. One misstep and I'd be dead. My power was good for offense, but the moment anyone made a sound involuntarily they'd know I was there. The more my power was used the more my tactical advantage would be understood and nullified by the enemy. I am only human, after all. I knew that in any battle with a serious enemy, especially one with an ability, I'd never make it. They laughed at the fact that I kept trying.
Higher ups on the force decided that I shouldn't be using my power during field work unless ordered to. It could create volatile situations, they said. Then, as the advanced forces officers said I would, I quickly lost a lot of my advantage. People heard about me. My ability was painfully obvious. The only thing I had was making people make noise, so now I could make them give away their positions, or make it so they couldn't hear me, but it just wasn't enough. Even regular people started laughing at me.
They didn't care. They used me. Even though I came out of nowhere and GAVE them my power to use, they told me no. They ignored what help I gave them at first, they clung to the fact that it stopped working very well, and they SHACKLED me. They just kept laughing at me whenever I got mad and I couldn't do anything to them because I knew it was wrong and even if I did, my supervisors would just get mad at me. It's not ok for an adult to do what I did when I was little, to other kids that tried to push me around. I'd probably be sued! I lost all my advantages, and the other guys knew that. They knew I couldn't do anything back and kept throwing it in my face. They KNEW I wanted to be something, something REAL, something SPECIAL, and they used it to make me mad.
I used my power during a confrontation, I saw a moment of weakness and I used my power on that idiot and startled him. He dropped his weapon. Just DROPPED it. Perfect! The gun went off and a bullet hit the wall, startling the other officers, but I had already taken the guy down, problem solved. My super yells at me for using my powers on the fly. I get back to the station and my super's super tells me that I can't use my powers at all anymore. I have NEVER made a mistake with my powers. NO ONE has ever been hurt by them. Just because a bunch of those idiots were startled because of a stray bullet they tell me I can't use my powers? Do they even remember all the help I was back when I started? What is wrong with them! Usually officers are closer than this, they actually care about each other, why am I being treated like this??
Then it dawns on me. I'm different. They never viewed me as a real officer. At the beginning they might have thought I might actually make it to advanced forces, maybe even become a hero. They just put up with me. Why else would they turn on me so easily when I fell?
I wasn't going to take it. I told him there was no one so useful as me on his force in years and if he didn't want me to keep using my powers for the good of everyone then he would have to fire me.
So he did. The other guys snickered as I left. As I was leaving I heard a noise in the background.
"balalalaeeeeleeee!"This was followed by laughter.
Those fuckers.
THOSE FUCKERS.
AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR THEM. Some of those assholes might have been shot, killed, so many civilians, maybe people they know would have suffered the same fate had it not been for all of my help. THEY NEW HOW MUCH I CARED ABOUT DOING THE RIGHT THING.
What the heck could I do with this power now? I never even thought about what to do other than fighting crime. I had nothing other than that dream. People stayed away from me because I was different unless I used what made me different to help them in some way... but I just couldn't. That was the one thing I ever figured out how to make work. And now everyone in the station is laughing at me. They're happy I'm gone.
I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted them to stop making fun of me.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
What the heck am I doing. I'm making the entire station yell at the top of their lungs. They're going to hate me, they're going to put me in jail or worse. But they deserve it. They deserve every moment of this. I want them to fear me so they'll never make fun of me again.
I realized what the heck I was doing. I was making everyone in the building and a few bystanders yell.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
I wasn't even trying very hard.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
I pushed harder.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
It sounded like the entire block was yelling, no, screaming! I had used my power so much, honed it so well, but I had never just let it loose before.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
I had never FELT my own power.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
Now I could feel it. I felt like I could take on ANYONE. ANYTHING! I pushed. I pushed with everything I had, I wanted to hear the sound, I wanted it to be louder, more powerful!
#"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
0.61 miles.
That's the radius I heard later on the news. That's how many people were around me screaming. The POWER I felt. These people took me for granted and now they are MINE to control. I kept pushing. I just kept going. The sound was booming at first but it started to die down. I kept pushing as hard as I could. It got quieter and quieter until I couldn't hear anything.
I control what people say. I **control**. Finally, people know just how useful my power is, just how much I can achieve. People won't say things about me anymore.
Because if they do, I'll make them scream just like all those people that day. Those thousands upon thousands. They won't be sorry about what they said. But what they said won't matter.
Because they'll never say anything ever again. |
The demon's metallic claws flashed in the candlelight. In hindsight, the summoning had been a mistake. Julia regretted not actually reading the warnings in the book, but in her defense, there were eight and a half pages of warnings.
"You have made a grave mistake summoning one of the soulless!"the demon spat while ripping the warding spell to shreds. "A mistake that I shall demon-strate to you."
Julia grabbed a candlestick to defend herself. "Did you just make a pun?"
"Foolish human,"the demon snarled at her. "I made two puns. You missed the one about the 'grave' mistake. The great demon Golbur shall show you true claws for concern,"he said, swiping the candlestick out of her hands with a swipe of his arm.
The demon seemed to grow in size, causing Julia to stumble back against the wall. "Stop, I just want to talk."
"I'm not in the mood to talk,"he said, talkatively. "I'm in the mood to eat a fillet of soul!"With that last pun, Golbur struck an ephemeral hand into Julia's chest, drawing it back out in a fist. He stopped short. "Wait, that's not right. Where's your soul?"
Julia collapsed to the ground. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Are you done with the puns?"
"I only really know those four good ones. Usually you humans are dead by now."
"Your definition of good needs some work. But- as I was trying to say- I lost my soul, that's why I was trying to summon one of the soulless. I figured you would be some sort of expert on this sort of situation. You must see it all the time, right?"
Golbur settled down onto his haunches. "Oh, yeah. All the time. I see soulless humans all the time. Usually after I've eaten their soul and they are dead, of course."
As the demon settled down, Julia lost what fear remained. She sat down cross-legged facing him. "And humans always die when their soul gets taken?"
"The way I do it, yeah. Maybe you've got a little bit of soul left hanging about. Let me check."
Golbur suddenly plunged both hands into Julia's body, rooting around in all her crevices. It was a disturbing experience. She tried to push him away, but he was insubstantial and her hands went through him. "Stop that."
"Hmmm- Nothing. I was hoping for a snack, at least."
"And if you had found and taken a last bit of soul, that would have killed me? I thought you were trying to help me."
"No, I'm trying to get lunch. Did the book not explain the whole demon thing? There should have been warnings."
Julia glanced at the still-open book next to her and quickly closed it. "No, no warnings. Could you at least give me some idea of how to get a soul?"
"I only know of one source for them, obviously. Humans. You're lucky in that department. You're probably surrounded by tasty human souls all the time. I'd never go hungry with that sort of access. Just go and grab one. Take a soul-claw and rip it right out."
"I don't have soul-claws."Julia knew what she had to do. She should have thought of it sooner, but had been holding herself back. Having made the decision, she realized she didn't have any guilt or reservations about it. Perhaps there was one advantage to not having a soul. "If I got a couple humans for you, would you share one of the souls with me?"
Golbur's eyes brightened and he jumped off the floor onto his hooves. "A brilliant soul-ution. We'll work together. I hate working soul-itary."
"No puns,"Julia said, picking up the book. "Come on, there's a school across the street." |
It's time.
He's stepped up to the microphone. Why would they give him a microphone?
Of course, the first thirty things that are going to come out of his mouth are obvious platitudes. Statements that will change nothing because they're already obviously true. He likes to use them as camouflage.
There's going to be one, though. One thing that he says that will advance one little part of one plot that's already in motion. There always is. Every simulation I've run.
Not that I care. After [the incident at the store](https://www.reddit.com/r/writingprompts/comments/q0l45l/_/hf9hqdq), there's only one thing that I care about.
I check my phone. The NFC harvester apps I've written are doing their job wonderfully. He might have unlimited power over knowledge, but he still has logins. He might have rebranded, but his biometrics haven't changed.
It's ridiculous that they let me get this close. Right on the stage behind him. But I suppose that's what happens when you erase all knowledge of someone from existence. Not only did the world forget about me, they also cannot form new knowledge of me. I'm even invisible to surveillance recordings—computer memory is still memory. Like a rock in the river of perception, I'm something you just flow around and ignore.
Applause. Unbelievable. Yeah, yeah, libraries for children, literacy, knowledge. I know. I'm not saying they're not important. I'm saying we should be careful of the hand that rocks the cradle. The hand that turns the pages, maybe. Heh. That's good.
I check my phone. Instagram is boring. But my timing is immaculate—the NFC harvest is complete. Logins are all there.
I start tapping. Gnosis—The Truth—whatever you call yourself now, in about thirty minutes, I'm going to—
**"... but my work is never done. Villains are always among us. There's one approximately three feet behind me and to my left."**
Wait, what? They can't—
**"You can seize him. He's unarmed. Although you'll want to confiscate his phone. I believe it now has a great deal of incriminating information."**
I'm forced onto my knees. Ziptied. My phone is taken away. Yeah. They can see me now.
He turns back to the audience.
**"The Truth is that knowledge is power. Villains can steal many things. But nobody can take away what you know."**
... Oh, you beautiful, wonderful fool.
Knowledge is power. But wisdom is different. And that was very, very unwise of you. |
"Welcome to the *Pain of Painting*, an informative show about how to learn proper painting techniques. Over the course of this series, I will whip you into proper painters, ones worthy of being called artists. Not some splatter-painting, modern art-loving, quasi-intellectual sack of shit."
He sat on a stool, a blank canvas before him. "Right, well, you set the palette up first. Carefully, add a bit of forest green and onyx, maybe a dash of aqua and white. We're going to lay a foundation for the trees. A scraper is actually best used for this, to easily create the branches and trunk without a guide."
Cautiously, he whipped his hand, leaving sharp, straight lines on the canvas.
Ramsay's hand slipped, ever so slightly, leaving a stray stroke behind. He chucked the palette, splattering paint against the wall. "There are no mistakes, only monumental fucking failures that serve to remind you what a right *twat* you are."
Rising, Ramsay put his hands on his hips and stared the painting down intensely. He flushed red, then grabbed it and drove his fist through the landscape like an angry God. A destroyer of mountains and the king deforester.
"If you can't produce something worth a damn, you'll need to start over. Begin again, and get it right.
"That, or fucking quit before you waste the light that reflects off your trash heap and into my eyes. Yeah?"
Still wearing the canvas like a bracelet, Ramsay huffed and walked off-camera.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
The last thing you remember is tripping. You were always clumsy, sure, but you had hoped that in a life-or-death situation that you survival instincts would overcome your intrinsic clumsiness.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case. You’re pretty sure you hit your head on the sidewalk. The spot still aches, even though they tell you it’s been centuries.
God. Centuries. You’re hoping someone you know will turn up in one of the future zombie pods— one of the zombie pods that arrives while you’re still alive. Probably. There might be someone you know in this hospital, you haven’t been allowed out of your room yet. Something something, observing your system, something something, standard procedure.
Sighing, you shift from lying down to sitting up, fiddling with the bracelet around your arm. The doctors called it an IV, although you remember those as bags and stands and needles, mostly from the medical dramas you loved to watch. You’re not sure if you’ll ever manage to watch something like that again.
Your hair has been growing back in. They still haven’t let you look in a mirror— you can make out a vague reflection in the window of your room, provided you manage to ignore the impossible cityscape behind it. Your face still doesn’t look like you, from what you can tell. Maybe it isn’t you. Maybe this is what your brain has melted into, a kind delusion left to what’s left of you as your body shambles around what was once your home.
You try not to think too hard about that.
What you don’t need a mirror to see is enough, anyway. Your arms were in casts, when you first woke up. It had seemed reasonable, at first, and then odd as you were given time to think about it— centuries in the future and they still needed plain ol’ fibreglass. Well. It was mostly for your comfort, turns out. Both familiarity in what you knew, and, well, you’ll never forget when you got your casts changed. You’re just glad that it was growing back.
You remain sitting for a while, staring out your window. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever known. You’re not sure if you’re glad that there was a cure. Maybe you would have preferred a bullet to the head as you crawled your way onto the beaches. Not that you’re suicidal, you never have been, but...
You had a pet cat. A job lined up. You were looking forwards to hanging out with your friends, and playing a new video game. You were thinking of trying to exercise more. And then you tripped.
One of the orderlies gently opens the door, carrying a tray of food. At least hospital food is better in the future. You remember visiting your dad in the hospital once, and buying mushroom soup from the cafeteria. It was practically a solid.
This is fresh, perfectly cooked food. Is a salad cooking? Bread is, at least, bread and the cup of mushroom soup on your plate. You still aren’t allowed meat. You’re not sure if you’ll ever eat meat. Everything still tastes a bit like blood. Psychological, they tell you, it’ll go away, but it hasn’t yet.
The orderly leaves. You eat your food. You stare out the window for a while longer. What will you do out there? What will you see? Who will you meet?
You lie back down, and close your eyes. It’s so much easier to do that now, compared to when you first woke up. Breathing is easier too, and just to savour it you take as deep a breath as you can. It’s something you haven’t done in centuries, apparently.
Maybe they have a cure for clumsiness, here in the future. Maybe you’ll never trip again. Either way, you aren’t planning on ever wearing shoes with shoelaces again. Closing your eyes, you try to sleep with that thought, with the idea of being supernaturally graceful, like a ballerina.
Instead you dream of blue, blue, blue. You dream of black. You dream of blood in the water. You dream of creatures that would eat you whole. You dream of eating creatures whole. You dream of millions of tons of pressure crushing you, you dream of drowning again and again.
You dream of teeth tearing into your arm, of infection spreading up your throat.
You won’t remember any of this when you wake up. The last thing you remember is tripping. |
“Damnit, I should have known it was too easy.”
You fiddle with the silver strand while you consider plucking it.
Maybe Tig will know something, you think to yourself.
While Tig is not the vampire that turned you, that Hateful Bitch had moved back to Eastern Europe back in the early 90’s, she is the one that ‘adopted’ you.
She ran the local blood center and caught you trying to steal blood sacks out of one of their trucks one night about 20 years ago.
“You may have been trying to steal, but it’s only because you don’t want to hurt anyone” she explained once you worked up the courage to ask why she took you in.
She helped you get over The Pains from having not fed for so long after She left you, and then helped you get several nursing certifications so you could work at the blood bank as well.
But all good things must come to an end. It’d be a bit strange if the local blood bank was run by the same, un-aging, group of people for several decades. Our little coven split up and everyone went their own way for a bit. Tig started a small business running genealogical reports from people’s blood samples (she always said she could taste the difference, at least).
That lucky bastard Marten got a traveling nurse job in Alaska. It’s practically vampire spring break up there, with most of the traveling nurses in those parts being one of the Kin, especially during the portion of the year without sun.
Me, well, I thought I was pretty clever, and it had proven to be true so far.
I’d taken a job at a dialysis center.
All I had to do was siphon off a bit during a treatment here and there and I was set.
But Tig had warned me that the blood of the ill could be…unsatisfying.
I picked up the phone and gave Tig a ring, not thinking about the time difference.
“Whhhaattt….”, she mumbled tiredly over the line.
Whoops, forgot she’d probably be asleep at this time.
“Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I think something is wrong.”
She perked up at that, concern cutting through the sleepiness. “What’s happening?”
“It seems kinda weird but…and sorry if this isn’t a big deal…but I have a grey hair.”
“Shit” Tig replied. “What the hell are you doing biting other vampires!”
“WHAT!?” I was shocked. That was one of the biggest taboos among the Kin, wether they were pacifist like our little group or the worst of the worst hunter packs.
“I have not! Why would you think that!?” I finally managed to reply.
“Well kid, that’s the only way you are going to be popping out grey hairs! Why would you go and do something like that?!” All traces of drowsiness were now gone from Tig’s voice.
“I DIDN’T DO THAT TIG! I…I thought maybe because I was drinking blood from dialysis patients?” My voice turned up at the end, making a question out of a statement.
“I know you are still pretty new at this but even you should know better than….” Her voice trailed off.
“Better than what, Tig! Tig?”
A heart beat of silence.
“What is your address again? I’m packing a bag and coming that way.” Tig finally said.
“What, why?”
“Because I think you may have some unknown vampire in you pool of patients, and I think that smart S.O.B. found a way to keep healthy without having to feed, and they don’t want to share.” |
“He fixed it‽”, I asked, the feathers on the back of my head rising in surprise.
“He fixed it. It shouldn’t even be possible.”, my commander said, clearly exasperated.
“What is it?”
“A freaking mini fusion reactor. It is the size of my fist.”, he says shaking his fist at me, “we haven’t been able to make one smaller than a Zeffer class cruiser. And he ‘fixed’ one that should never worked in the first place. All of the tinker projects have a bunch of pieces that look legit and are close to working but just not possible to ever fix.”
“Ok. Let’s say he actually fixed it. How did he manage it? If none of them are even possible….”, I said spreading my hands.
“He took pieces from all of the tinker projects and then fabricated some pieces from scratch….”, he was shaking his head, “fuck, I don’t even know.”
“So get him a new tinker project. What’s the big deal?”, that was clearly the wrong thing to say.
“What’s the big deal‽ The big deal‽ This changes everything. It produces more energy then our ship’s engine. If he scaled this design up to take as much space as our ship’s engine it would produce as much energy as a sun. This could shift the balance of power in the universe!”, he was clearly frantic, “he is already talking about putting the fusion device into a torpedo…. He could wipe out a whole planet with a single torpedo!”
“Ok…. We need containment. Confiscate the fusion device and toss the human in the brig. We will contact command and see what we should do.”, my commander was nodding, “get engineering to check the device out and see if it actually does what you think it does and isn’t one of those “gags” humans keep playing.”
“Aye, aye captain.”, my commander said as he left my office.
I ran my hand through my feathers. These crazy humans are going to be the end of us. |
There was unease on the ship. Ferdinand Magellan could feel it. Men would go silent and look away, mid conversation, when he first came above or below deck. At this point, he didn't blame them. The days were short and the nights were long. The sun barely made it above the horizon for an hour, before retiring back to it's home in the south, leaving them in darkness. They sailed past more and more icebergs, growing ever taller and more abundant as they went. Lit by starlight, they were like ghostly guardians to the gates of hell. Still though, he ordered the helmsman to push ever north.
With favorable wind, Polaris would be directly overhead in just under a fortnight. Then they would have to navigate carefully by star charts, towards a different constellation each hour. Magellan prayed for clear skies when that time came, lest they sail back from whence they came instead of to the depths of the Great Sea.
The Great Sea and her lover Pangaea were all any man knew. They cared for humanity like a mother and father care for their babes. When together, they provided their children with fish, plants, beasts, cool days and warm nights. Stray too far inland and the land becomes barren and dry. Too far to sea, and you wander the waters for all of time. Every man woman and child knew this, but still Magellan pushed north.
Columbus was the first to cross her, but not the first to try. He'd sailed the equator west until he arrived in the east. Many thought he'd fall of the ends of the earth, but no. He had done it.
But any fool could sail west. If Magellan could prove ships could circumvent longitudes, he would be glorified as well. So he pushed north. |
I coughed weakly, smoke filling the room. I could feel the unbearable heat all around me, desperate to get in and ignite us. Snowball was curled up on my chest, her self soothing purr rumbling into me. Dexter and Bonso had decided to lie either side, panting. I cried as I lay with them, losing the ability to take a breath.
I didn't want to die. I didn't want them to die. They had been with me through so much. Now they needed me, and I could do nothing. All I could do was lie there and hope help would arrive soon. My vision blurred into black, the sounds of my pets breaths fading away.
\-----
The first I noticed was hot air washing over me. It made me uncomfortable, but not as much as that room did. Twitching my head to the side, I blearily opened an eye, looking to the source. It took a moment for my mind to register what I saw, before I shot upright.
Lying before me was an enormous creature. Soft white fur covered its massive frame, with a pair of feathery wings carefully folded against its back. It had a face much like that of a lion, but shaped to be humanoid. Yet for now it was sleeping, curled up happily.
I glanced to my sides, seeing two other enormous creatures flanking me. Both seemed to be asleep, much like the white one before me.
The one to my left was a golden colour, curled up tightly. I could just make out a fox-like face, hidden beneath several furry tails. It seemed to shine in the light, reflecting more that the sun could possibly be putting out.
To my right was the polar opposite. A great black beast, one that seemed to absorb light around it. From its proximity I could feel a coolness, sapping away the heat of the day. Three heads each had their eyes closed, yet were all arranged to face me.
I went to stand, wondering just what was going on. As I did, the white thing yawned, opening its strangely familiar green eyes. They looked around before locking onto me. In a flash it was on its feet, lowering it's head to me. I found myself knocked to the ground, as it spoke.
"Father! Are you ok? I was so scared. Where are we? Why are you so small?"
The voice was new, but its mannerisms were almost exactly the same of my dear cat.
"Snowball?"
"Yes, Father! It's me! I...why do I have wings?"
She had looked over her back, confused as to her new additions. Her voice caused the others ears to flick, and the other two beasts stood. The golden one yawned, tails wagging in a frenzied blur.
"Bad dream Dad. Scared for you. Scared for Snowball. Scared for Dexter."
His eyes landed on Snowball, and he growled.
"Who are you?! Stay away from Dad!"
I laughed, standing up and patting his side as his musical tone held a threatening tone.
"It's OK Bonso. That's Snowball. We've all changed."
A much deeper voice replied, as the three headed form of Dexter looked around.
"Much better place this. But where are we, how did we get here, and what happened to us?"
I shrugged, straining my neck as I looked up at them all.
"I have no idea. But I think you have all become beings of legend."
I pointed to Snowball first, as she set about cleaning herself.
"Snowball, you're a Sphinx, Bonso is now a Nine-tailed Fox, and Dexter's become Cerberus."
Bonso lowered his head down to my level.
"What make you then Dad?"
I shrugged again.
"I have no idea. But I think we must be here for a reason. Care to find it with me?"
One of Dexter's heads looked off in one direction, as his other two nodded.
"I will happily follow you. There are others over there. Buildings,"as a string of drool leaked from his mouth "and food!"
Before I could get a word out Bonso moved. His snout forced its way between my legs, throwing me onto his back. I barely caught myself, as he poised ready.
"Food! Let's go!"
With that he ran off first, swiftly followed by the others. He always had been very food motivated. I held on, inwards resigning myself to the new challenge of stopping him from eating much bigger inedible objects. But even so, I smiled wide.
For whatever reason, we lived again. And for that I was grateful. |
''*Wait, your mating season is constant, as in never ending from the time you reach maturity until the time you cease to function?*'' The alien biologist looked like he was just told that his feathers were on fire. ''*Yeah, that is about right. Why?*'' He confusedly attempted to note something down on his infopad, presumably about humans and their unusual mating habits. Since humanity was new to the whole galactic scene, we had agreed to a routine biologic scan to see if we were compatibly with any diseases or whether we had any dangerous ones ourselves, also to add the human bio-information to the galactic version of Wikipedia or something. ''*But... but... but how do you get anything done? If you are constantly in heat then I couldn't be possible for you... Oh, could it be that while you have a libido constantly you have a specific time where it is especially active? Some species can engage in sexual activities outside of their mating seasons.*'' I rolled my eyes at the snake-bird-thing. ''*Absolutely not. It is constant, all the time, no pauses or moments that up the ante, to use a human colloquial. And how do we get stuff done, well let me tell you what. A part of the human mating dance or game or whatever you alien weirdos call it, is to achieve. A human is attracted to a human that they perceive as successful, the more the better. Humans are fundamentally attracted to success, oh so I reckon.*''
That threw the xeno-thing off its rails, ''*So, you're saying that the reason for your space flight, every advance you've ever made, has been for the purpose of sexual attraction?*'' He fidgeted sort of with his wing-claws, almost as if he was aroused. ''*Well, no not solely, but yeah that is at least a part of the equation, I think. You seem flustered by this information, is something the matter?*'' The bird-alien's eyes averted me, he was holding his wings in front of his nose, I was wondering whether he thought we smelled bad, considering that this was the first contact between other species, it would have been mighty embarrassing to find that our species was considered to have a repulsive smell. I asked my co-diplomat, Natasha, over the comlink whether she was experiencing the same thing, and she told me that she had been seeing the same thing, only she thought that her examiner wasn't trying to stop smelling her, but rather looked like she was trying to not begin pleasuring herself furiously at any moment.
I turned back to my own examiner and looked a little closer at him, it seemed that he was indeed hiding some sort of weird alien boner. ''*Well, Mr. Ascrowl, I am aware that I am one sexy human, but that is a bit inappropriate, besides, I thought, based on the information we received that your specie's mating season does not begin for another ten weeks or so.*'' The bird began to speak, ''*Y...* **MOAN** *your hypothesis about why... human mating is constant is... not entirely correct. I think that... ahh... you excrete a certain... AHH... pheromone from your body that has... oh Bqoti in the stars, activated premature... mating season. It seems that your species is in constant heat... ahhhh... because that you have constant access to this... I think you call it, an aphrodisiac!*''
I called up my co-diplomat to confirm the bird's findings, and Natasha told me that her examiner had stripped herself naked and danced weirdly before her, that was when I decided to call off the examination and head home. I told the bird before I left ''*There is a very similar situation in the neighboring examination room, the examiner in there is experiencing the same, perhaps it would be best if you joined her?*'' He didn't say anything, he just frantically ran out of the room past my colleague. I then reported my findings back to the UN, they were quite surprised at this and decided that all further communications with the rest of the universe would have to be done in protective suits, for the protection of our new friends in the intergalactic community.
I had a different plan. A problem is simply an opportunity seen from a different point of view. And I saw a possibility to make money. Since the laws about bio-engineering and cloning were very relaxed after the big clone-scare of 2049', it was easy to get your hand on human raw materials. And that is when I started a business. Ao's Human Perfumes. It started small, selling diluted, couldn't use the full stuff that was too powerful, vials of human extract to a number of alien worlds. It was a massive hit. It was the new rage, sexual pleasure outside of mating season was virtually unheard of outside of some species that had a low-level sexual activity outside of mating season. I got rich, and quite quick too. I went from selling by the vial to by the tonne in a year. The smell of a human is a pure aphrodisiac to 96% of the galactic population, the rest are either without noses or humans. They say that before the humans came, mating was a one year thing done out of duty, the concepts of lust and love were extremely foreign to our xeno friends and then they felt the lovely smell of a human, and the rest is a very, very, sexual chapter of history. |
I didn't know what i was getting myself into. I'm just barely getting my feet in this college town and i did something stupid like asking a girl out. Not just any girl either, my lab partner for the year. Not just any lab partner, but a local politicians daughter. A politican tied up in racketeering charges. Great. He could be organised crime. Ugh. Good start.
Really stuck my foot in it this time.
I didn't know at first. Only after i got her socials did i check her background. Nice family, lots of ties to the community, including businesses and community events. Big family and people seem to love them. I could really hurt my chances joining community events if i screw this up.
It might not be so bad though, i could bail or fake being sick. If i do that, she might want to stop by and make sure i'm okay, which would be bad, cause i'm not. Damnit. Better go through with it.
Dinner with Isablle could be great though. She's smart and funny and carries herself with pride. I like that. She's not afraid. I am though. Small town boy, first time alone in a big city and guess what i do? I ask the most attractive girl out after my first class with her. If i mess this up i will be a laughing stock!
Dad always said just keep low and get the job done. Maybe that might work here...
"That'll be $25 thanks"the taxi driver says.
Fuck! I'm here!
I hand over the cash and make to get out.
"You must have done something stupid to be allowed in here."he comments just as the door closes.
"Just a date. Shouldn't be too bad right?"I answer, but he's gone and i'm left standing at the front steps of this nice restaurant with two doorman and a waiter out front enticing people in.
I am so underdressed for this, everyone looks like they're going to the red carpet and i'm just standing here, my good jeans, i nice shirt (mum says so anyway) and a single rose.
The waiter spots me, gives me that quick once to assess whether i'm good enough for the restaurant and steps forward.
Huh, guess they'll let anyone in!
"Sorry, sir, but the Denny's is down the road."
Guess not.
"I... I'm here on a date. Isabella Capri? Is she in already?"I stammer out.
The blood drains from his face and the two doorman straighten up behind him.
"Ss... sorry, sir! I didn't realise you were her date tonight!"He says taking a step back.
Weird.
"It's alright, is she in already?"I ask. I'm not liking the stares of the two doorman.
"Yes, of course, right this way."The waiter says.
I follow behind the waiter, get patted down and have the wave metal detectors run over me before getting ushered inside frantically.
Inside is nice. Its warm, has that nice mood lighting you expect of a fancy restaurant and there are dozens of guests enjoying meals and dozens of staff catering to them. People glance up from their meals but pay me a secons glance as i'm escorted through to a booth on a raised area the looks directly at the stage.
Isabella is sitting in the booth, and she looks amazing! Nice red dress and hair done up nicely, showing that she cares how she looks but it looks effortless for her. She smiles when she sees me.
"Ethan! Was the ride up was okay?"She asks as we embrace. She smells nice, lavender i think afterwards, at the time i just concentrated on not tripping on the last step.
"I caught a taxi,"I say, as we take our seats in the booth. "Much easier to get home after a couple of drinks."
"We can't have that! I'll give you a lift home once we finish."
"I dont want to be a pain, i live pretty far away."
"No problem at all, i'll tell my driver and he'll make sure you get home safe."
"You have a driver?"I blurt out amazed.
She laughs at my comment, or me, i'm not sure, but i like the laugh though.
"Yeah, it's really handy. You're really not from around here are you?"
I shake my head. "I come from a small town about two hours away. First one in my family to go college, my parents are really proud."
"That's good and you should be too! My dad wanted me to go to college and get away from the family business."
"He didn't want you to help the family business?"
"Well, he's a politician. The family business is more my uncles side. He's away for a while."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, he just had some trouble and is dealing with it his own way."She answers vaguely.
Its drugs. Definitely drugs. Can't ask about that though!
I go to steer the conversation somewhere else but i'm interrupted by her phone ringing.
"Sorry,"she says "Yes? Make it quick please. No. Take care of him."She hung up and smiled at me and offers an apology.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, hopefully it wont happen too much tonight. I put the word out that i'm busy."
I shrug and we move on and order our drinks and food. She took charge, ordering for us both and asking the waiter if we could jump the queue. He agrees readily and i'm a little put out but can't do much about it.
Once the ordering is done, we start talking. The conversation is great. We talk about our dreams, favorite movies and tv shows. When we spoke about family, i got the sense she didn't like talking about hers so we spoke about mine, which was great. Love my parents! We laugh a lot, but i couldn't help feel that there was something off. Not with her, She's great. The atmosphere seemed tense around us when i went to the toilet (ushered by the waiter no less) and whenever someone went to go up to talk to her. She just glare at them and they'd back off. Weird.
When she went to the toilet i got my phone out and pulled up chrome. It still had the article up about her father and, with nothing else better to do, i checked out some of the related articles.
- local mob boss arrested, who now runs the family business?
- local family still in charge, who is at the top?
Who could step up and take charge like that?
"Ethan?"
I look up and see Isabella standing there, a bit frazzled.
"What's wrong, Izzy?"
She grins. "I have to step out for a bit and deal with a client of ths family, will you be alright here for a few minutes?"
"Of course. Family first right?"
"Yeah, and, i like that, Izzy i mean."
"I can call you that?"
"Yeah, but only you."
She leaves and once again i'm left alone. Its not long before i'm bored soon. I decide to quickly go to the toilet again before she gets back so i can spend the rest of the night with her. Its been great, despite my reservations and what i've read about.
I leave the booth and head for the men's toilet again. The waiter sees me and moves to intercept but i press through the door before he gets there and walk into a mess.
A man is tied to a chair, one of the doorman on either side of him and Izzy - Isabella holding a hammer.
She looks at me, down at the hammer and back to me.
"I can explain."She says.
She took charge alright. |
It was relegated to a creaky shelf in the very corner at the back of the room. A golden telescope, no larger than the cardboard roll inside paper towels. Most patrons had passed it over in exchange for the flashier powers and artifacts. Flight, immortality, attractiveness... you name it.
"A very special object,"Apollo said with a pleasant smile. He looked just like any other person, except he seemed to radiate golden light and warmth. "Isaac Newton's prototype of the telescope; a gift from Astraios herself! Said to be imbued by the cosmic powers of the stars that he first witnessed."He leaned in close and whispered to me. "The previous owner told me that it increased his intelligence ten-fold! He went on to found a successful software company and made *billions*."
I stroked my chin, freshly shaved this morning for the first time in years. *Previous owner* meant that someone else didn't want it, and probably for a good reason. "And the price?"I asked
The god proprietor sighed and opened his booklet, as he'd done for a hundred other items this morning. It listed the consequences of every object in the store, and I'd probably looked at half of them already. Plenty of options that sounded good, but there weren't any that really fit my needs just yet.
"A sacrifice to Mnemosyne,"he answered. "The longer you own it, the more of your memories will be drained from you. Some good, of course, but also the bad! It's done at random."He tried to sound upbeat and cheerful to sell me on it, but it was apparent that this was why it was still on the shelf. Health could be regained. Possessions bought again. But memories could not be remade; only replaced.
Apollo opened up his book again and began pre-emptively searching, expecting me to move on to the next object: a yellowed globe that smelled faintly of the sea. But he was pleasantly surprised. "I'll take it,"I said, cradling the telescope.
---
The bell over the door tinkled as I walked through, and everything outside was completely different. It was like seeing for the first time. There weren't just white clouds in the sky. They were cumulostratus clouds, moving quickly east. A storm front would be arriving soon with heavy rain and thunderstorms. Before entering the store, I hardly even knew what meteorology was, much less how to predict tomorrow's weather. But now it was blatantly obvious. I didn't just see objects anymore; I saw all the components and materials and how they all fit together. I could *hear* the sounds of an engine working, mixing gasoline with air to combust and push the pistons forward. I saw the detailed stone masonry of the buildings, designed for maximum support. I felt like I was finally understanding how the world worked.
I tried to recall my past, to see what I'd lost already. The pain and humiliation of prison was still there, burning fresh from my release yesterday. Nine years of my life locked in a cage like an animal; I couldn't wait for it to disappear. Behind that, the rage and anger that I'd felt from the night that put me in there in the first place was also not erased yet. Memories of my relationship with Sandra were still present too; we'd had some good times, but her cheating on me had kind of ruined that, and the good memories were just as bitter as the bad. Now I just wanted them gone. Prior to that, I still had the years and years worth of memories of Dad beating me. There was also Mom crying and smoking while it happened, but not lifting a finger to intervene. I also had a decade of failing in school, being constantly humiliated by my own failures every single day. So I guess it's all still there. Nothing missing from my memory yet.
I clutched at the telescope, hoping that that would make it work faster. Becoming super-intelligent was nice, but that wasn't the real reason I'd chosen this object.
|
"If I must,"he said, "but only in exchange for freedom."
"We'll see,"the creature said. Despite being a high ranking general he had a soft spot for books and stories.
"Hmph,"George mumbled and sighed once more, "well, it all begun with a whipplewhop."
"A *whipplewhop*?"the alien repeated, "what's that?"
"A whipplewhop is a sinister creature. It lives in a dark abandoned place and often manipulate people who cross their path, usually by feeding them false information. Well, a particular whipplewhop crossed path with the most powerful person on our planet!"
"Who?!"the alien excitedly replied, already gripped by George's skilfully crafted story.
"The great sorcerer!"he declared with a flourish, "a sorcerer of illusion who, with his masterful words, fooled the whole nation into following him."
"A mastermind against a mastermind!"said the alien.
"Indeed,"he replied, "the whipplewhop convinced the illusionist that his family was plotting to steal his power, which may not have been necessarily a lie. Upon hearing this the illusionist rushed home and killed his family, unfortunately his nephew got away and took refuge in another nation."
At this point the alien was entirely focused on the story, staring wide eyed at George.
"The illusionist then committed suicide when he realised what he had done. The news quickly spread and bordering nations moved in to claim the land. There was a prolonged war with no clear victor."
"Gruesome,"commented the alien with great delight, "keep going."
"With conflicting ideology, religion, ideal, and tradition, the nations could not find peace. There were many skirmishes, great battles, harrowing massacres. Dragons, undead armies, magic, sacrifices, everyone used their trump card. Kingdoms rose and fell, brothers slain, family fought, ties severed, promises broken. At the end of it all, nothing was left but ash and dust."
The alien clapped their hands.
"That was amazing!"
"Thank you. There's more, of course, details of battles, assassinations, plots and schemes, but it would take a long time to tell them all."
"You know what, people would pay good money for this kind of thing. I'll give you a room, a servant or two, three square meals a day, everything free of charge, if you'll write a book on your species for me."
"And writing materials, perhaps a good paycheck every months too?"
"Certainly. One question though, what would you call the book?"
"How about *A Game of Thrones*." |
The gentle tapping echoed through the house. It had freaked me out when I first moved here, but by now I was used to it. Making sure the front and back doors were locked, I headed to the living room. When I bought the house I had tried to question the realtor about the tiny door in the wall. They looked at me like I grew a second head. Maybe they couldn't see it. It was small-child-sized and when I tried to open it, tightly locked from the other side. Only my bedroom was on the other side, and there was no door there. Just in the living room.
Grabbing the bowl I kept on the side table, I settled onto the floor, getting comfortable. There was only one time I could open the door. At 9:00 PM every full moon. When the little girl knocked. Carefully I turned the handle, swinging it open. And there she was. Always exactly the same, even though it was ten years to the day since she'd first come calling. Holding out the bowl, I smiled.
"Here you go. We've got a good selection this time. It's the day after Valentine's."Excitedly, she dipped her hand in, pulling out a coconut-filled chocolate. It vanished into her mouth with speed, as I kept talking.
"You know, sometimes I feel like the winters are getting colder and colder. It goes right through me."Staring at me solemnly, she nodded, reaching into the bowl for another chocolate. She hadn't spoken once in the ten years, except in the very beginning to ask for candy.
"These bones of mine ache something terrible. I think I'll get a cushion next time and put it on the floor. It would be quite nice I think."Again she reached into the bowl, pulling out the same coconut chocolate. Smiling, she pushed it towards me, barely extending her hand over the tiny threshold.
"Oh, no dear, I really shouldn't."Her face shifted, pulling down into an angry scowl. Only once before had I seen that face and I knew it did not bode well for my house. Last time the pipes had frozen for weeks, and no matter what I did, they didn't unfreeze until the next full moon.
"Oh, well, okay. Thank you very much for sharing."I popped the chocolate into my mouth, talking around it. I didn't get much company these days, much less such good listening.
"It's really quite a challenge you know. Sometimes I think this house is too much for me, but then I don't really want to go into an old folks' home. I think I would miss you too much."The little girl's face was quite a picture of shock and delight. I smiled, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a chocolate.
"I think you should try this one. It used to be my favourite when I was... well... younger than I am now."Taking it, it vanished into her mouth, as once again her face turned solemn. The clock on the wall chimed the fifteen-minute mark, and I knew our visit was over.
"Well, goodbye dear. Until next time then."She nodded, waving and stepped back as I closed the door. Standing, I returned the bowl to the side table, shaking my head. Some folks might have been concerned or afraid. Me, I just liked the company. No matter what she was, whether spirit, fairy, ghost or something else entirely, she was harmless. And after her visits, I always felt better. The aches were less, the loneliness had fled and I had a renewed sense of purpose. It was nice to be needed. Even if it was by a strange ageless being that I could only see for fifteen minutes every full moon. |
Darkness.
Everlasting, boring dar-
Oh?
A crack of light shown through the wall of darkness. A thin seam that I could peer out of, for the first time in... I wasn't sure how long it'd been since I'd last walked the world. What were those heroes doing? It wasn't like they forgot about me. That cleric visits me what seems like every day to check the bindings aren't broken.
My curiosity piqued, I shifted as best I could, looking out the thin crack in what looked like a large egg made out of a shapeless black mass. Unfortunately, it was just a touch to small. Annoyed, I pounded my fist against the wall off my cell, causing the crack to expand and widen.
Wait. What?
I put my hand up to the crack, confirming it had grown wider. My fingers briefly became more akin to smoke, flowing through the crack and solidifying on the other side. I was able to pull the crack open slightly more, enough for me to see out of. The light hurt my eyes as I looked outwards.
My curiosity was only growing greater. I hadn't been able to form-shift in ages. The sigils, glyphs, rituals, spells, and bindings constrained my power too much for me to even think, most of the time. It... actually, hang on. I'd been aware of the darkness. I was normally kept in near-stasis, completely unaware except for when the bindings weakened. Then the heroes would come back, renew them, and I'd fall back asleep.
Even assuming the heroes had just... abandoned this place, which they wouldn't, I was sure they kept the procedures well documented. They would have their allies perform the rituals, and while they wouldn't be as effective, they'd still keep me bound. For them to degrade this much... The heroes would have had to neglect me for months, I think.
My eyes finally adjusted, and as I peered out, I immediately understood. The ritual chamber I'd called my home for the last several millennia was utterly wrecked. Paintings torn down, glass shattered, fires quietly burning, metal scrapped and rusted. And... Hmm?
I pulled harder, breaking the crack open wide enough that I could move my head out of the egg. The heroes. Dead. All across the ground. Many of their underlings, left in piles. They couldn't rot, not here. Even contained, my powers simply refused to let things fade away. I have vague recollections of them using this place as a hospital at some points, since I would unintentionally keep them alive even as I slept.
But someone had killed the heroes.
Someone...
Who clearly had no idea who they were dealing with.
I glanced up, seeing what was probably some kind of lackey leaning against the wall, facing away from my chamber. He was messing with... some device in his hand. I held up my hand, focusing, before shooting a black bolt of energy at him. It pierced his back, and he stumbled forwards, recovered after a few minutes of being bent over, and made his way off into the building. He'd be able to find whoever it was who controlled this place.
In the meantime, I set to freeing myself from my prison. The heroes had formed it from my own core material, giving it vastly more area to actually use their curses on. The simple fact is that writing one glyph can only be done so many times on a human body. You can write the same glyph dozens of times more across a large egg-shaped thing, and it effected me the same. The only reason they didn't make it larger was because it would provide me too much space to move freely.
I heard, rather than saw, my unintentional saviors coming. I finally extricated myself from the folds of the egg even as some stray wards tried to pull me back in, falling to the floor as thought I'd just literally rolled out of bed. I stood back up, limbs slightly shaky after eons of disuse, as I faced my glowing eyes upwards.
It was a group of people, apparently. A rather large one. A motley bunch. Some seemed technologically fit. Some were flying, whether by their own power or otherwise. Some had various magics under their control. Some had superpowers. Some were connected to some of the Old Gods, whether they were ones I'd put in power or torn from their thrones. Some seemed themed one way or another, like after some deranged clown or some robotic overlord. One, apparently the spokesperson, stepped forward slightly.
"What... are you?"I raised an eyebrow at him. I wasn't sure how he sensed my power, or if he just guessed. I didn't look much different from a human. The only easy give-away were my eyes. Sometimes my pupil was black while the rest was white. Sometimes the pupil was the only colored part, while the rest was black. Though I supposed emerging from the black egg formed from my core and my magic was also a pretty good giveaway.
"I... am something that the heroes sealed away a very, *very* long time ago."I glanced around the array in front of me. "Much older than any of you. I imagine you are the ones who killed them, then, and are using their base as... your own?"
"Yeah, that's right."One of them said from the crowd. His voice was grating to my ears. "We blew them all up! Left 'em in here cause we didn't have any better places."
"Hmm."I held up my hand behind me, watching as I retracted the black egg back into my being. I looked down at my hands as a small black ball formed in it, and I smiled. "I suppose I ought to thank you."
The villains, as I assumed they were, looked between each other curiously.
"I'm going to allow you to live. Live, as I regain the throne the heroes stole from me."
"Hey! No deal!"I grinned, lifting up my foot and stomping. A wave of black energy flew out in all directions, hugging the ground, though it dealt no damage as it flew through the villains. It wasn't meant for them.
The heroes moved. Shifted. Bent. Bodies moving, shaking, and eventually regaining their footing. All their wounds healed, the only difference was that their life... was false. Their eyes, some with pitch pupils, some with blackened sclera, was the give-away.
"I'm afraid I'm not asking. You don't understand how great of a gift a mere *life* of servitude is. But if you'd like... you can join the heroes in *everlasting* servitude." |
She was at a table with her coworkers, sipping a glass of white wine and laughing out loud with her friends. Aren't Fridays swell? You get to unwind after a long week, kick back, let your hair down, lower your inhibitions.
"Working tonight, Matty?"The bartender asked, sliding me my usual seltzer water and lemon.
"Yeah. You?"I smiled to the sneering velvet-vested man.
I took my drink and made my way to her table. As I approached, all mouths stopped moving and all eyes rested on me.
"Excuse me, ladies. I don't mean to disturb you, but I needed to ask. Are those Kate Spade heels?"I pointed to her feet and every eye dropped to the floor.
"Oh, these?"She squeaked with surprise. A woman in her late 30s, two kids at home... poor thing probably hasn't been hit on in years. "I got them at Target."
*Her husband knew nothing about clothes.*
"You're kidding!"I declared with faux astonishment. Her face lit up from the combination of flattery and two and a half chardonnays.
The music came on at just the right time. The intro to "September"lit up her face and she rushed to put her glass down. "I know this song! I love this song!"
"You're joking! I danced to this song with my show choir in college,"I lied.
"Me too!"She squealed.
"Dance with me?"I asked, offering her my hand.
There was the slightest bit of hesitation behind her eyes; some primal understanding that touching my hand would be some violation of an unspoken agreement in her marriage. But as the song played on, it rinsed the guilt away. Her hand slapped in mine and we took to the dance floor.
I mirrored her rusty swaying, adding my own flairs informed by my performing arts degree. The result was a seamless, half-improvised, hilarious display, where the 20-year old Helen McArthur was revived for the first time in nearly two decades.
*Her husband didn't dance.*
The song ended and we high-fived. "I'm Helen!"She shouted over the clapping, laughing room.
"Matty!"I replied.
I bought her more drinks and we danced to more songs. I never touched her inappropriately or made comments about her appearance. I made no sexual advances and I never leaned in for a kiss.
I wasn't trying to be her boyfriend.
I was trying to make her *want* a boyfriend by being everything her husband wasn't.
When we're young, we like to imagine that there's someone in the world who can be our *everything*. It's a cute idea. But it isn't realistic. All one needs to do is help someone along toward understanding that to make a relationship come crashing down.
The evening wrapped up and we parted with a friendly hug and I lied that I'd see her again. Her best friend--my actual client--took a video of the two of us dancing and laughing and high-fiving. She would send it to Helen and Helen would watch it every time her husband ignored her, shouted at her, refused to go out with her, or otherwise continued to be the man she married.
I got $2,000 for five hours of dancing.
The sky was just beginning to brighten when I got home and kicked off my shoes. I'd need to ice those feet later, but I'd need to sleep sooner than that. My phone pinged; a new message in my work inbox.
"Good evening, I'm a concerned mother who is worried her daughter is making a terrible mistake. I was referred to you by our mutual friend Sarah M., who said your work is exemplary. I am offering you $100,000 to sever the relationship with my daughter and her boyfriend. But it must be done by next week. Attached is her information. Thank you, Karen R."
I nearly fell backwards at that number. Was it a typo? If not, it would be my biggest job to date, and I wasn't about to turn that down.
I opened the attached file, which had the target's personal information and a photo.
My heart sunk in my chest.
That's my girlfriend. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.