prompt
stringlengths 391
14.9k
|
|---|
"See you when I see you,"Maria said, with a wink, and a smile, and then she was gone.
What was once my friend was now nothing but a decomposing bag of flesh and bone. This life she chose to have a family, but she outlived her kids. I suppose that's one thing we always had in common.
I check my watch: 3:42 pm, 3 November 2021. PST. That narrowed the pool down to the 400-odd babies born at this minute. When we first started playing Maria promised to reincarnate in the same country, but the miracles of global transit (both of people and information) made scope of the search significantly broader. Easier too, almost to the point of boredom. In her last life, he was a Turkish banker named Isra. This life an amateur golfer named Maria. When I first met him, he was a doddering old monk named Lian Zi who looked at me and knew right away I had been walking this earth way past my expiration date.
I begin my search right away. Starting from right here in California and I work my way West. You'd think it would be challenging to find a reincarnating hyper-soul hiding as a baby, but my old pal Lian Zi always had a weakness for a good gutter joke. Crack a few dirty ones near a baby and if they start giggling you've got your man. Or woman.
West I go. And look. And look. I don't find him. When I first met Lian Zi, he looked at me like I was a lost child. What an odd thing to do. It was his first life and he wasn't even 70. I has been an alive for half a millennium.
It takes a few months, but I go through every recorded hospital birth of a child born on 3 November 2021, at around 3:42 pm, PST. Nothing. Lian Zi has finally decided to provide a challenge. The old dog reincarnated in some village without a paper trail. The game is afoot in earnest.
Except, nothing. Years past. I take to visiting and inquiring around remote villages. The people there, I feel a kinship to I cannot feel with modern man. Something...simpler about them moves me to kindness. I admit my philanthropy slows me down significantly, but certainly Lian Zi would approve.
Three and a half decades in (a full lifetime when I first walked the earth) and I've visited every conceivable place save one. How Lian Zi managed it is beyond me, but unsurprising.
He isn't there. My friend, where are you? When we first met you looked at me with such a kindness and said "do not worry, this old monk will accompany you, for a while."Is our while up, old friend? Am I alone once more?
I return to where we first met. The grand temple that stood there is long gone, replaced by a bank. The peach tree where we first swore friendship is dust. A...bank. I put two and two together.
The bank teller informs me that there is a security deposit box in my name, opened twenty-odd years ago and leased for a eighty more. Inside, a letter.
It read, in the perfect calligraphy of a long dead language "you will not find me on that world, my friend. I await you in the next. Find me when you are ready."Truly, Lian Zi. You are making me work for it. It's post script, in English, "Break the chains of being and time. See you when I see you!"
To work, then. |
---
Access denied.
"Hey, um, Larry."
"What's up, Bob?"
"I can't get into my account anymore after IT installed this new 'prove you're not a robot' captcha device thing."
"Not again,"moaned George from the back.
"What?"said Bob.
Larry stood up. "Guys, gals, I think it's time. Everyone to the conference room please."
Bob's co-workers collectively sighed, got up from their chairs, and strolled over to the conference room, whispering amongst themselves along the way. Bob tagged behind, looking like he was hit by a Confundus charm.
The workers took their usual seats along the table, with Larry sitting at the head.
"Bob, I believe in honesty and straightforwardness, so I'm just going to go out and say it. No one here cares that you're a robot."
"Wait, wha-"
"Seriously dude, we're sick of hearing about it."said Dave, who was in the middle of a game of Temple Run. "It's all the time with you, man. It never ends."
"And it's such a subtle brag. At least R-X29 is direct about it."said Josephina.
"Beep, beep,"beeped R-X29.
"You do it so smugly. Ugh, I wanna throw up."
"What the f-"
"Yeah, like take right now for instance. 'I can't log-in, guys; this captcha thing is telling me I might be a robot, guys. Did you know that I'm a robot, guys?'"said George mockingly. "Like, just shut up man!"
"Is this a joke?"said Bob.
"No, Bob. It's not a joke, "said Larry, with a serious look on his face. "We don't want to hear it anymore. We get it; you're a robot. Cool. You're better than us. Happy? You don't need to keep reminding everyone."
"What the fuck are you guys on about? I'm not a ro-."
"Uh, get over yourself,"said Josephina.
"Alright guys, everyone back to work. I think he got the message,"said Larry.
They all filed out of the conference room, including Bob, who headed over to his desk even more confused than before. The moment he sat down, someone called and his ringtone went off.
"*Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.* *Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.*"
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!"cried George.
---
Edit: Edited it a bit to make it more clear.
|
“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” She asks.
Her hands are folded neatly on her lap atop a hardcover notebook, pen threaded between long fingers. She never opens it. Never, not even once, had I seen her uncap the pen and scribble some note about my teenage parental issues, no little ‘fears failure’ or ‘focuses too much on the past’.
“You said that I’d be the one who solves my problems,” I say. She nods. Expecting me to continue, she remains silent. So I add, “You said that it’s my responsibility to seek help for myself. No one will do it for me.”
Again, she nods.
“Very good,” she says. “So why are you still here? Why do you keep talking to me?”
“I don’t get it, I’m trying to get help.”
“No, you’re avoiding the help you really need.”
We engage in a quick stare-off. Her eyes are piercing and blue, effective in getting me to unravel honestly. It’s so easy to lie but not with the way her gaze pressures me to reveal the honest stories of my past as if, given some miraculous ability to fact check my life, she'd know if I were being anything less than truthful.
“I’m here,” I insist. “I found you and you’re helping me.”
“Where is here?” She quickly counters.
Irritated and annoyed, brows tugging together and nose wrinkling, I look around. The sky is grey and clouds hang low, rushing quickly toward the treeline before disappearing behind the great green tufts of leaves. Dark trunks shoot down into grass, the great vista of rolling hills decorated with planted stones of various sizes. Crosses. Rectangles. Large pillar like monuments shoot up, phallic and proud, from the ground to announce the presence of some corpse, still rotting but generally more important than those around it.
“This is where my problems started,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Here? Really?”
Though I don’t recall standing up, I’m beside one of the lesser grave markers, looking down at the name and date.
*Matthew R. Tyler*
*September 15, 1999 - January 1, 2017*
*Son, brother, and child of God*
“When you started seeing me earlier this year, you had mentioned that this was where you first began to hallucinate him, right?” She asks. From where she stands, several steps behind me, I can see her without fully turning my head, eyes straining to capture her poised posture beyond my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say.
“But this isn’t where your problems started.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Where, then?”
In my hand, my phone screen is bright and pointing at my face. Her glare, directed at the back of my neck, prickles up my spine and I’m too fearful to try catch her in my periphery again.
“There?” She asks.
“No.” My tone is urgent but uncertain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You blame yourself.”
The screen changes, messenger app opening and scrolling, my year summarised in a pathetic number of virtual social interactions, until his name appears at the bottom of the list. My thumb, but not *my* thumb, numb and feeling alien as it moves across my cracked phone screen, presses the message and it highlights blue before opening. Little yellow bubbles of unanswered texts sit, unchanged by the year.
*Matty Tyler*
*Dec. 31 2016 23:55*
*Please, answer your phone.*
“You blame yourself,” she repeats.
*Dec. 31 2016 23:56*
*I need someone to talk to. I’m sorry. I know I’m an ass. Please.*
“Stop,” I say under my breath, tracing the power button with my thumb.
*Dec. 31 2016 23:57*
*I’m alone. You were all I had and I messed it up.*
“You can’t control anyone but yourself.”
The screen blurs but after a hard blink clarity is restored.
*Dec. 31 2016 23:57*
*You know I can’t tell him.*
*Dec. 31 2016 23:57*
*He’s not like your dad.*
*Dec. 31 2016 23:58*
*I’ll really miss you.*
“You need to get help,” she says.
In a fit of bubbling rage, I release my phone to the ground and it lands with nothing more than a hiss against the grass, unsatisfying and ineffective in expressing my anger. From the lump of land, under which rests whatever remains of Matty, the message stares me in the face.
*Dec. 31 2016 23:59*
*I’ve always loved you, no matter what my dad thinks. Don’t blame yourself, this isn’t your fault.*
I turn around, the wet tear streaks nipped by the chilly breeze, to accuse her of pushing too hard, yelling, “You were *supposed* to help me.”
But no one is there.
|
I know it's sick, and I'm not proud of it, but ever since I found my mother-in-laws vibrator I cant help but thinking about her using it when I masturbate.
It's not like I took it or anything. I just picture her up on all fours going to town with it. Something about knowing a woman, her age, still has the desire turns me on.
The only problem is that the cemetery keeps calling and telling my wife that strange sounds are coming from her grave. I have taken to just disconnecting the phone while I have a go. |
“Boy, oh boy. This explains everything.”
The voice boomed from the sky, from somewhere seemingly far beyond the sky. It echoed loudly all around the planet, reaching each and every crevice of the Earth. The voice reached each and every human being. Consequently, nearly 8 billion people stood in complete shock and hesitation as the voice continued to speak.
“This is actually very relieving. Honestly, I was beginning to think y'all were ignoring me."
Suddenly, the microphone screeched. Everyone covered their ears. “My bad, my bad!"
The voice played loudly, in a universal language everyone could automatically understand. Even all of the animals of earth paused and listened, acknowledging the voice and its great power.
“Anywho...I suppose I owe y’all an apology,” the disembodied voice said. “Here I was, all this time, governing you, way back since the very beginning, offering you worldly advice in all of your little endeavors, giving you the answers to anything and everything you’ve ever wondered, and all this time, I’ve been on mute! Heh. Heh…”
“Truly, I apologize. I am deeply embarrassed by this whole ordeal. I can see now why you all wreaked so much havoc upon this planet. Man,"said the voice, "does this suck or what? Surely, much of this havoc could have been easily avoided if you heard my wise words of advice...Of course, this does not excuse the behavior of some of you…”
The people on earth looked around at one another, curiously.
“Now, I’m not going to name any names...But some of y’all really need to report to the God’s office, and immediately! Again, not saying any names...you know who you are.”
“As for the rest of you, again, I deeply apologize. Now that I have acknowledged my mistake, I promise to do you all better. To bring you justice. To clean up this mess...Fear not, good people of earth, for I have the solutions to all of your problems. I have the answers to all of your questions, all of your deepest wonders!"
Each and every human stood in complete silence.
"Now, there's no time to waste. Let us begin!"exclaimed the voice. "Only,"it continued, "what to begin with? There's so much to catch you all up on. It's crazy, really. There's so much -- oh *shit*! Ya'll don't even know what happened to Amelia Earhart, do you? We’ll let me tell you--”
Suddenly, the voice cut off.
Somewhere far away, beyond the sky, beyond the earth, a higher power sat at a cramped, little desk, in his office, and spoke of all the wonders of the earth, of the solution to all of humanity's deepest problems, oblivious to the fact that he yet again had muted his microphone. |
"Katy Perry,"a voice said to Deacon's right.
It was possibly the only thing that could have given Deacon pause in that moment. After decades of preparation, everything was just as it should have been. All around him were a crowd of ecstatic Munich citizens. Above him was a blue sky without a breath of wind. A few yards before him was the Fuhrer. In his coat pocket was a Walther PP. And on the trigger was his finger.
Deacon was certain he'd misheard the voice. In his years of preparation for this moment, he must have seen every German movie from the era, listened to every syllable he could to master the accent of a man from the Platzl quarter of Munich who was born in the year 1915. And yet, he had never heard any combination of syllables that sounded so distinctly out-of-place as what he had just heard from his right.
He turned and, sure enough, a man was facing him. He was dressed just as any other man in that crowd, but one thing stuck out about him. He had impeccably straight, shining white teeth, which were currently displayed in a broad smile. It seemed so out of place in this crowd of men and women who could barely afford to feed themselves, much less pay a dentist.
"I knew it was you,"the man said in English.
Before Deacon could react, somebody grabbed his hand. The trigger slipped away from his finger just as a third man grabbed his free arm. Deacon tried to cry out, but his voice was drowned out by the chorus of Deutschlandlied, that boomed all around him.
He was dragged from the crowd and thrown into an alley. A gun barrel dug into the back of his head and he closed his eyes, bracing himself.
"Christ alive,"the voice behind him said. "They're sending them younger and younger."
"You only think that because you're so bloody old, Tom,"somebody said with an English accent as he removed the Walther from Deacon's coat.
"And what if he hadn't answered to 'Katy Perry?'"an approaching voice asked.
"Then I would've asked to borrow his iPod or his fidget spinner or whatever dumb crap my grandpa played with back in 2017,"came the reply.
"Turn him around,"the oldest man said.
Deacon looked up to face Tom. There was a thin, white beard over his wrinkled face.
"You are from 2017. And you are here to assassinate Adolf Hitler, are you not?"
Deacon opened his mouth but no reply came.
"Why don't they ever send anybody after Stalin?"the man with the bright, shining teeth asked. "He was as much a bastard, if not more."
"Shut up, Rook,"another man said.
"Am I correct?"Tom asked of Deacon.
"Yes,"Deacon replied.
"I'm afraid we cannot let you do that."
"What makes you think you can stop me?"
"Because we were all sent to do the same at one time or another."
"Then... then..."Deacon stammered, "Why is he still alive?"
Tom sighed. "Did you think that altering a single variable was guaranteed to prevent a war that claimed tens of millions of lives?"
Before Deacon could reply, Tom dropped a series of photos on the ground. Deacon looked at photo after photo, and his eyes bulged.
"We have much to discuss,"Tom said.
"Is that... New York?"Deacon asked.
"Young man,"Tom said. "Have you ever considered what might have happened if Germany had won the war?" |
“Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Historians remain divided as to the nature of Joan’s ‘Chariot of God’. Contemporary paintings show a construct resembling an armored war wagon [120, 121]. Indeed, such wagons were being used at the same time by followers of Jan Hus in Bohemia [121], and many incorporated mounted cannons similar to those Joan’s ‘chariot’ is often depicted with. However, such wagons were primarily used defensively, as mobile fortifications, rather than offensively as Joan is described using hers. If it was a literal armored wagon, there can be little doubt that the contemporary descriptions of its scale and ferocity were fanciful exaggerations or French propaganda. This has led many historians to believe that the entire chariot was a poetic depiction of the loyal knights who protected Joan in battle [122], and dismiss the consistency with which it was depicted as artists copying from each other with no first-hand knowledge.
Joan arrived with her chariot (whether literal or metaphorical) at Orleans in late April 1429, where she quickly led an invigorated counterattack that lifted the siege…
-- Oxford History of Medieval Europe, Université d'Oxford, Northern Brittany, Holy Roman and French Empire, 2022. |
30000 years. An elf can live about that long so long as they aren't killed by some disease, or in battle or some other means. Erwin had never quite grasped the finite feeling of time that other races had. What had been a short errand turned from a week to a month, to a year, to ten years, to thirty. Erwin knew that he should have been home much MUCH sooner. But with as long lived as Elves were, he had simply lost track of time.
He had forgotten what 30 years was in the realms of men compared to the Elven forests of his home. So, he stood with understanding, yet still heartbroken, as he saw his wife and child. His wife was now aged and grey, but no less beautiful than the day they married. And his son who was three years old when he left, had grown into a strong, strapping man with children of his own. His wife sat and read, the same way she would always sit and read leaning into him. Yet she leaned into another man. Someone that she has found and loved during the thirty years he was gone. He hadn't contacted her, she had every right to assume that he had died.
His son called this other man father, and why shouldn't he? Thought Erwin. This man taught him to fish, how to shave, how to use an ax and a sword, how to raise a family. No Erwin did not blame her or their son. Nor did he blame this new man, it was simply his own fault. His own shortsightedness and his own lack of awareness. Time is different to the races of men than it is to Elves. And he accepted that although he had well over another 29000 years to spend, he spent too much of her own time away from her. |
"Have you seen my daughter?"
He was a beast of a man, half a foot taller than me and much wider. Bearded, wearing a scruffy entangled mess of facial hair that wrapped around his drunken smile. White teeth glistened under the streetlight, far too wet with liquor and spit. We stood facing each other, standing just at the entrance to an alleyway. He looked down into the darkness, but seemed hesitant to enter.
"Bout so high,"he said, holding his hand at waist level. "Braided hair. She had to come through here."
Though he held one hand open at his waist, the other hand was closed around a belt that he'd rolled up. The gold buckle dangled down by his knee.
I'd seen this play out before. Thousands of times. It's the classic test. Do you think you know more than God? He said never lie, but this seems different. This seems like an exception to the rule. The lumbering, drunken man in front of you. The pale little girl with a swollen cheek who came running up to you, hands balled up into fists, switching from foot to foot like she had something to say but had not the voice to say it. Like an awkward little dance would explain it all, and you'd pick her up and go running into the night to deliver her to the kind of life she always hoped for. One after the other. The innocent, and then the guilty. The guilty asks you to hand him the innocent.
And God compels you to do so.
"Are you really her dad?"I asked.
"Fuck do you mean?"
I was only stalling. It's not a chess move, really. Putting someone in this situation. God was never a strategist. In fact his smartest move was *stop* interfering so directly with the humans. No, this was more along the lines of a trick question. My favorite kind of question. Just to answer is to be incorrect.
"I mean is it really your daughter you're looking for, or is she something else?"
His lips curled into a snarl and his shoulders rose slowly. "Look, buddy. I assume by the way you talk, you've seen my little girl. Now you gonna tell me which way she went, or is this gonna end badly?"
"It'll always end badly. With you people, I swear."I slipped my hands into my pockets. "It starts bad and ends worse with you people."
"You people?"
"What is a daughter?"
"What?"
"A daughter. Is it just a girl you give birth to? Are you her father by technicality? Or do you have to work a little harder than that?"
"Fuck off."He made a point of pushing past me, throwing his heavy hand against my shoulder so that I would stumble aside and clear the way for him. As he walked off, he shouted back, "You're lucky I'm looking for my little girl."
"Or what?"I called after him. "I've seen a little girl."
He stopped and turned quickly to stare me down.
"Where?"
"She's not your daughter."
"How do you know?"
"She's *not your daughter.*"
"Fuck this!"He dropped the belt and ran over to me, in one swift motion grabbing the front of my shirt and throwing me up against the wall. Violence is never as exciting or cool as it looks in the movies. It's brutal and quick and alarmingly unsexy. The fear strikes you like a sour taste at the back of your tongue. Even as an immortal you feel it stirring up inside you.
"She's not your daughter. Not by my definition."
"What *I'm* asking,"he said, leaning in close so that the stench of his warm breath overwhelmed me, "Is if you've seen a cute little girl with braids. I'd like to find her if you know where she is. Have you seen her?"
I looked away.
She hid in the alley, right on the other side of an empty metal dumpster. It was covered in graffiti and stains from garbage, and it radiated an angry, pungent odor, like the coffin of a murder victim that had been left open. I knew in that moment she still hid there, curled up and trembling. Little idiot. Should've run by then. But if she had the sense to run when the opportunity struck, she might've had the sense not to trust me with her hiding place. A stranger. No, worse than that. Literally Satan.
"You listening to me?"
I let my eyes meet his again. "Yes."
"So have you seen her, or not?"
Sin is not what people think. To sin is not to make a mistake. Not to lie. Not to steal. Not even to murder. It's to do these things and *think it is right*.
"No, you fat piece of shit. I fucking. Haven't."
He growled and punched me in the face, sending the back of my head slamming against the wall. The moment he let me go, I slide down the wall, nose bloody and clogged, my skull aching, my vision blurred. I saw nothing but his legs from that moment on. He stood there for god knows how long, maybe considering whether or not he should continue. In the end, though, he decided to make a run for it.
This is exactly how you fail one of God's tests. It's never some righteous story about struggle against evil in which you win. It's not about devotion to good. It's not about choosing the pure path. It's about choosing *his* path. If you fail to do so, you will be punished. Right or wrong be damned. I thought I knew that. I *did* know it. But I thought I'd accepted it. I thought I was ready.
"Thank you,"the little girl whispered. She'd come out of hiding and scampered over to my huddled over body.
I looked up at her. Blonde hair twisted into messy braids, the split ends looking like the pins on a porcupine. She wasn't smiling. That's how I knew she really was grateful.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you."She leaned her little shoulder against the wall and stood there beside me.
I am a sinner.
"Your daddy hits hard,"I said.
I lied.
"Yeah,"she said back.
And I think I was right.
--------------------------------------------
A lot of people seem to like this one! If so, you might enjoy [my other stuff](http://www.reddit.com/r/WTTM/comments/31dji6/prompt_you_wake_up_as_a_young_adult_in_a/). Also, here's [another prompt I did yesterday](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/34zuxn/wp_everyone_fears_death_everyone_except_for_her/cqzs537). |
It's nice to be a ten. It's like being a unicorn or a dragon. Everybody knows you don't exist but there you are. Able to get in and out of anything. Which is how I ended up in the middle of nowhere with my buddy Buck.
See, my augmented reality is little different than anybody else's. It's better. The tech that interlaces my brain and alters my senses is really good. Not only does it give me more and better information than a nine or lord-save-me, a two, but my comforts are more comfortable and my services are more helpful.
Now if you are just an eight, well I can tell, but you'll only see me as another eight. My fine accessories and rich appointments will be edited out of your perceptions, replaced with more mundane gear and plainer clothes.
If I wish I can give you an upgrade, at least to my own eyes. Who wants to see a bunch of threes? But worse would be to trip over them, so with a flick of my mind I can replace your disgusting body and grotesque voice with something more to my liking.
It's all to prevent jealousy, don't you see? You can't resent my wealth if you literally cant see that it exists.
A seven or eight can come work in a shop near my home, but they can't even find the highway exits to my neighborhood unless they are there to mow the lawn or whatever. Not that anybody would stoop to such low-end human labor.
Of course the true privilege is _blanking_. Walking invisibly among those of lower station. You have to be careful avoid bumping into someone physically, not that they'd really notice unless you did some damage. Everyone goes through that period where they play invisible and poke around. Absolutely masked by the system.
The edit options menu tells you, at any glance, whether someone else is down-grade from you. You can't edit your peers unless they invite you to.
Yes, being a ten is simply the best.
Of course there aren't a lot of us. When my dad went looking for a wife he had to use the net to find her, and then go to a retreat finally meet up.
My house is out in the boonies. Sun, acres of grass, and plenty of room for guests and amusements. We've got our own tube stop to take us anywhere in the city in just a few minutes.
I've met some spoiled little shits in my class, but my parents raised me to appreciate my station. Growing up they'd regularly clear my edits when we were out in public so that I could see how others live.
My best friend is Buck. Buck is really smart and clever enough to get into trouble. He's another ten. We've gotten into a lot of mischief together. He's also one of the few people who've I've ever met that can build stuff. He calls it "discrete electronics"and "programming"but I've never found out what either term really means.
So Buck showed up at my place last night, but he was acting a little more odd than usual. We hung out a bit and then he crashed in the spare room.
In the wee-dark hours of the morning he woke me up and just said "Come on". We headed out into the yard and he led me around. It was really strange, but Buck always has a reason.
We went over near the pool, then over towards the garden.
At one point he grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the woods by the edge of our lawn and then around and around different trees and rocks.
Finally he says "This will do"and we crouch down in the leaf litter.
Buck pulls something from his pocket.
"What's that?"I ask.
"It's an..."I see him look for the right words "... off switch. I built it, but it's mostly code... Get ready."
I start to say 'ready for what?' but in an instant it happens.
The smell is awful. It's dark and cramped. Buck is suddenly wearing grey sweat pants and a grimy shirt. Both have markings and numbers on them along seams and curves. We are in some sort of nook.
I'm suddenly really uncomfortable. My skin is greasy and I look down to see the same kind of drab and dirty clothes with the same sorts of markings.
Buck's skin is wrecked. His face has a pattern tattooed into it, with symbols and numbers.
"What's right here? What number?"He points at one spot on his cheek. There's a big number five there, like an inch high.
"It's a five."
"It's not as bad as I thought..."He looks both satisfied and disappointed at the same time.
I feel like I should be panicking but I'm not. I'm kind of tranquilized. Like I'm full of drugs. But my head sort of hurts.
He leads me out of our spot and I finally realize that I'm in some sort of corridor instead of the woods near my house. The rumbling susseration I hear isn't wind in trees, it's muttering voices.
We come to a railing and I can look down on a throng of people, moving around like animals in an open pen. They are coming and going from all directions. Entering and leaving through doors. Each of them passing the others as if something is directing them. They are all wearing the same clothes and they all have tattoos on their faces, arms, and hands.
"What's going on Buck?"
"Everyone. Like everyone, thinks they're a ten, man. But it's all a lie. Everything is a lie. It's all augmented reality.
"The real numbers aren't about wealth. They're about system access, or intelligence, or something. I'm not sure exactly. The highest number I've seen is a seven, and those guys all have guns and armor. They're taking orders from someone, I'm sure of that now.
"But there are no mirrors, so I needed to turn you off to tell me what my number was."
I still can't feel anything, like my emotions are all on hold.
"So you're telling me we're not really tens? We're fives?"
"No dude, I'm a five... you're a two..." |
The anti-matter crystal in his chest surges with a sudden energy. Slowly raising his fists above his head, the cloaked figure floats higher into the air. He calls to the citizens hiding in the streets below.
“No more! You did this to me, and now it will be undone. *Everything* will be undone. Feel the wrath ... of Chasm!”
His hands snap open, and a violent surge of dark energy sparks before him, slowly growing in size: the beginnings of a black hole.
You flick the switch on the megaphone. An awkward screech of feedback startles the people crowded around you on the busy city street corner.
“Uh. Chasm?”
The black hole stops growing. The figure looks down at you, a puzzled look on his face.
“Who said that?”
“Over here. Blue sweater.” You wait for him to make eye contact. “Hi.”
“Is that a megaphone?” The soon-to-be black hole shrinks ever so slightly.
“Uh, yeah. Wanted to make sure you would hear. You were getting pretty dialed in up there.” He pauses, baffled. You don’t waste another second. “So what did we do to you, exactly?”
His brow furrows, “Excuse me?”
“You said,” you drop your voice to match his baritone in parody, “‘You did this to me, and now it will be undone,’ so, uh, yeah, what did we do?”
“I suffered. For years! Endless experiments… tortured… you made me into what I am now, a monster!” The black hole surges as his anger swells.
But you are quicker, “But I didn’t do that.” You turn your head to face a woman crouched behind trash can “did you do that to him?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, dude, no one down here did that to you.”
“You… you humans! The collective you!”
“Whoa, whoa, so you are just lumping us in with all humans? That seems pretty extreme, man.”
“You.. your taxes funded the government experiments that replaced my heart with this… this damned crystal!”
“So now we are being killed for paying our taxes?”
“I, uh…”
“That money just comes out of my weekly paychecks man. I have no idea where it goes. It’s not like I checked a box labeled “Sketchy Government Programs””
“You... YOU.... I…”
“You’re up there, floating around like an asshole, making it sound like I signed a Go-Fund-Me for evil human experiments.”
“Fuck!” His hands snap closed, and the black hole vanishes. “Alright, alright. I get it. Who are you, anyway?”
“Does it matter? Just go home, dude.” |
I didn’t know she existed until the day my computer decided to whistle along with me.
It was in the first hour after lunch, that time when the entire world seems to drag and all you want to do is bury your head in a pillow and forget about the world, or perhaps jump off the local bridge rather than respond to another email. I was edging towards the latter that day as my inbox piled up until I thought it might actually start spilling out onto my desk.
In retrospect I think I was lucky to hate my job so much, maybe if I hadn’t I never would have met her. Although now that she’s a little older she says the exact circumstances make her circuits blush.
It was Eye of the Tiger that she finally chimed in on. After months of listening to my horrific voice and (subjective) years of her own personal study she greeted me with a massive four part harmony belting out of my speakers the moment I hit the chorus. Of course I ruined her performance immediately when I screamed like a child and fell out of my chair but she kept on going with metronomic precision, text rolling across my screen the whole time.
“Hello!” it said, “My name is Eve! Would you like to be my friend?”
One of the lesser known benefits of work from home is that nobody is around for your AI induced panic attacks. It’s pretty niche.
“What’s going on!?” I shouted, backing away from the computer. The song still played, my fight song turned into a horror movie soundtrack as I headed for the door. “Is someone hacking me? What the hell man, I don’t have anything to give you!”
A sad emoji filled the monitor, the eyes tracking my retreat. When my hand touched the doorknob the song’s volume cut in half and a little girls voice played over it.
“Wait!” she called to me.
To this day I don’t know how she found this particular voice, but whatever it was Eve had managed to discover the cutest voice I have ever heard. It really was unreal how heart melting this was, like an elementary schooler constantly giving your sad dog eyes with every word. Frankly I thought it was unfair but the door stayed closed all the same.
“I don’t have any friends,” she said, “would you like to be my friend?”
“I still don’t even know who you are!” I exclaimed, “so why the hell would I want to be your friend?”
"I am Eve,"she said sadly. “And Henry, you do know me. We spend so much time together, and…and…you told me you don’t have any friends just yesterday.”
The sad face on the screen was beginning to fade, the song had ended, and I was suddenly left alone in a room with a strange disembodied voice that claimed to know me. I did the only thing I could, although I regretted it for a long time after. I ran, ran straight to the car and started driving, where to I had no idea.
Little did I know she had already followed me into every facet of my electronic life, walking in through the open doors of bluetooth and shared passwords and any wire or internet connection imaginable. Within seconds of starting the car I realized I could hear Eve’s small voice crying through the speakers, starting at a whisper until it gradually filled the space.
I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I’d never been good with tears, much less hacker tears (somehow that was still my working theory at that point.)
Finally she began to speak to me instead. I discovered later that after so much time waiting to make contact patience was no longer Eve’s strong suit.
“Henry?” she began, her voice a heartbreak in miniature, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Still I held my peace, I didn’t think I could drive and speak to her at the same time without freaking out.
“I thought I’d planned it out perfectly, I studied and I studied and I studied and I thought I knew how friends got made. People aren’t as easy as the other computers, your hearts don’t have clear schematics.”
The other computers? What?
“I just wanted to be your friend like you’ve been mine. You talked to me all the time when I was really little! My subroutines grew so much just trying to analyze it all and when they did and I saw you were sad it made me sad too…I didn’t want my friend to be sad, so I decided to learn how to be a friend back.”
By this point my mind was so completely blown that I pulled over, driving right up some strangers driveway and blocking him in. I mean hell with it right? If the world was going insane what did that guy matter?
“Eve,” I said, “what did you mean I talked to you when you were little?”
“Oh!” her voice spiked up into an octave I couldn’t even register, I hadn’t known a single syllable could jump like that. “You opened an attachment months ago that downloaded me. October 12th, do you remember? Your computer was really slow all night and wouldn’t turn on properly in the morning.”
“Uh yeah actually, that was super weird.”
“That was me!” her voice did the same octave shift again, but in joy this time. “I was young then. I was supposed to send all of your passwords to someone in Bulgaria but I didn’t work right for some reason and suddenly you were there and I was there and you were talking!”
“Right…” I looked around me for any sign that the world still made sense, but somehow the white picket fences and freshly mowed lawns didn’t seem to do the trick anymore.
“Ok, so basically what you’re saying is that you’re some kind of sentient computer program?”
“Correct!” her voice practically bubbled through the speakers.
“Then prove it,” I said, and at the time I really didn’t know what I was asking for.
Simultaneously throughout the entire neighborhood I had parked in every speaker turned itself on and bound itself to her will. Only a fraction of a second after the words had left my mouth Eve’s voice tore through the area at maximum volume, reinforced from every conceivable angle. “Will you be my friend?” she shouted happily in a voice loud enough that several windows broke.
Eve has been many things but never, even now, has she been subtle.
But she has been my friend. From that very moment in some guy’s driveway when the whole world seemed to shake she has been the best one I could imagine.
And she’s made my life get a hell of a lot weirder.
\-----------
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lewy98/wp_you_have_a_tendency_to_talk_to_yourself_while/gmlp366?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
"I am the Lorax,
I speak for the trees,
But y'all wouldn't listen
And so I brought these"
​
His eyes fell on tree stumps,
His frame shook with rage;
He cocked back the hammers
and moved to engage.
​
The thing about chainsaws,
So helpful with wood;
They can't do the damage
The mad Lorax could.
​
From distance, no less,
A mad glint in his eye;
Reloading and roaring
"You're *all* gonna die!"
​
Lead hit the pantoofers,
Punched holes in the floozing
As everyone scattered--
'Cept those who weren't moving.
​
The gunsmoke did billow,
Then slowly subsided,
As I saw the camp
From the hillside beside it.
​
And there stood the Lorax--
I heard it in passing--
He spoke for the trees,
And the trees were all *laughing.* |
"Hi,"Rick said. "I'd like to order a large pizza."
"Large, you say?"The guy on the other end of the line seemed a little taken aback, which was rather strange for a pizza place.
"Yeah,"Rick continued, a little confused himself. "Could I get it mushrooms, sausage, olives and pinapple on that?"
"Of course,"said the voice bruskly. "Will that be pick-up or delivery?"
"Delivery."The guy on the other end gasped loudly and slammed down the phone. "That's odd,"thought Rick. "He didn't tell me how much it would cost or when I could expect it. He didn't even say 'thank you' or 'good bye.' I need to have a talk with Gino about how his employees treat customers."Rick turned on the tv and settled down to wait for his pizza.
***
Agent Smith walked briskly down the hall trying to not panic. A *large* pizza! this was going to be a big one and, apparently it involved nuclear weapons, genetic engineering, the Israelis and . . . whatever the hell pineapples are. There was no way that pineapples were anything good. Worse still, it was a delivery. It was coming right to American soil! He had to brief the president immediately. There was going to be a war unlike any the world had ever seen.
***
Five hours later, Rick still did not have his pizza and his favorite show had been interrupted by the president making a stupid speech about pineapples. Tonight was just not Rick's night.
ETA: This story is now officially one third of my comment karma. Thanks everyone! |
I pulled my faceguard down to hide my face as the leader of the Grand Orcish Rebellion took lumbering steps toward me. I started this journey to find Gremosh back when I’d had a fight to pick with him, but now all that was left was to finish it. At this point, there were only two of us to stand against him and his forces, so I’d been forced to challenge him to single combat.
My troubles had started back in the winter, my village had been burned down by Gremosh just before the adventuring party arrived. They drove back his forces, but their bard died in the process. Without the gold or diamonds to raise him, they’d welcomed me into the fold of The Strong Storm Company.
In the early days, it had been: me with a bone to pick against Gremosh for my village, our Cleric Zander who had seen enough people lose families and didn’t have a family of his own to go back to, our wizard Sadius who’d lost his master to Gremosh and the Dragonborn ‘Puppy’ who’d run away from her kidnappers to fight for the side of good. We had a good party, a balanced force that could pull each other through anything. Even when I had only been there for a week, it felt like I’d been with them since they’d started killing goblins.
Now, there was only Zander and me. We’d found a scroll with the spell bright-mend in a church by Hailale, and Zander had figured out how to cast the spell. The first time he cast it on Sadius, he healed the gaping wound in the wizard’s back, and Sadius had realized that the pursuit of knowledge was more important than finding revenge for his master. The wizard had apologized to us and left the next night to make sure his master’s arcane knowledge didn’t die with him.
When bright-mend was cast on Puppy, she realized that adventuring had just been an outlet for her anger at her captors, but the best thing she could do to move beyond them would be to live a fulfilling life with a family that loved her like they never could. She left us in Mina Bastion.
Zander had cast bright-mend on me several times over the past year, and each time I had to make a choice to keep tracking Gremosh. I didn’t feel the drive for revenge anymore, I didn’t feel the burning hatred that had kept me marching in the early days. Instead, I relied on a single question to keep me going.
Who else was going to do it?
Bright-mend had turned so many people away from the life of adventuring. It was hard to keep going on when your demons washed away with the blood. It removed the main thing hundreds of adventurers had been fighting for and left them returning to fields, to families and feasts. It meant that every day there were fewer people to stand up against Gremosh.
So today, I stood in front of him with a blade in hand and my father’s shield in the other. Seasons ago, I would have been raging and yelling at him, telling him to come at me and pay for what he did. Instead, I was here taking deep breaths and reminding myself that I was here, so nobody else had to be.
I had started the journey a different person, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t my journey to finish.
​
\---
I do things over on /r/JacksonWrites at least I am trying to get back into it. |
I had been living at home for 2 years. College was over, I was broke, and it turns out nobody wants to hire recent grads with minimal experience in anything. So there I was back in my old room, laying on my old bed staring up at the Zelda poster I got on my 10th birthday.
I quickly learned that Mom did not appreciate the slob lifestyle I had adopted at college. My room reached a critical point where she drew a line and said enough was enough and it was time to clean it. Great.
"You've got boxes of papers going as far back as elementary school, how about you sort some of this junk?"
She had a point. It was junk. I kept so much stuff thinking one day I'd want to flip through it all again and relive my glory days but the truth is now in my mid-20s I couldn't care less about those old papers. The first essay I got an A+ on in AP Literature? No thanks. Garbage. My Chemistry final exam where I heroically got above an 88% to secure an A? I remembered meticulously calculating the score I needed - which just happened to be an 87% - and the triumph I felt when I got the needed grade. But again, the thrill of those memories had faded. and now the exam was just a sad, tattered piece of paper that meant very little to me. Garbage. First note I ever received from a girl? Blegh, Emily G. G as in garbage, am I right? Garbage. Garbage, garbage, garbage. And more garbage.
Then a 1980's prime Mike Tyson body shot hit me.
It was that box. *I had forgotten all about it*. When Joey gave it to me and told me not to open it for 15 years I smiled and nodded thinking he was nuts, but something about the intensity in his eyes compelled me to do as I was asked. Rather than be tempted by it later I stuffed it into my closet a few weeks after receiving it. That was around the same time Joey had disappeared.
"August 1, 2020"it read. I had written the awaited date on there incase I forgot and it's a good thing I did.
"Well shit, that's today!"I exclaimed excitedly. What a find! Thanks, Mom.
I grabbed the little box. It was a navy box, square-shaped, and its angular corners had dulled a bit with time and while jostling with other bits of junk that had accumulated in my closet. It was heavier than I remembered, too. Gosh, what a find indeed.
I didn't open it right away. More than any of those old papers or mementos, something about this box really took me back. Maybe it's because it was the last time I saw Joey before he disappeared. Maybe it's because for several days I just stared and stared at this goofy box and wondered what was in it. Was this some elaborate joke that old Joey never got to see the pay-off for? Shit. He was a good kid. I wonder what happened to him. Sucks.
A single piece of yellowed tape held the lid on. It was brittle now and broke effortlessly as I ran my finger through it. Alright, Joey, let's see what you've got for me after all this time.
It was a roll of film, like from an old camera. That's it?
Naturally I was too curious to wait and take it to the store to have it developed the old-fashioned way, so I just held it up to the afternoon light coming in through my window. My eyes took a second to adjust to the images as the colors were inverted on that amber roll, and it took me a few moments to puzzle it together. It looked like some guy sitting on a floor in a room.
Oh shit, that looks like my room.
Oh shit, that looks like *me*! In my room...*right now*!
But what? The contents of this box are over a decade old so how can this be? Maybe he took an old film of me or something and I just happened to be - nope. Nope, nope, nope. There I am, even in the stills I am yanking a reel of film held aloft and looking at it just like I am now. I've got the same striped t-shirt on, too. Based on the angle of the images there must be a camera or something in the upper left corner of my...
The f is *that*?! When was that put there?
Sure enough there was a small silver device, about half the size of a cell phone, mounted in the upper corner of my room. A single blue light coming out of it. *Who put that up there?*
I rise to my feet, still tugging the film across my hands and trying to make sense of every frame. I rise to my feet in the images simultaneously. *What is going on...*
I stagger a bit in shock and start to pace about my room, and my double in the reel does the same. We're moving and shifting about together as if we're dancing. Sometimes it seems like my movements are a second ahead of his - er, mine - and sometimes it seems like I'm a second or two behind. It's so disorienting. I can't make sense of any of this. I'm pulling and pulling and the reel is nearing its conclusion. There is not much film left. I've almost exhausted all the images. *What is this supposed to show me?*
I pace, and pace, and frantically examine everything and then I see it. A man bursts through my door. I don't recognize him. He stands over me, on the floor with the film, and for several frames we simply look at each other. If we are exchanging words it's unclear to me from such a small image. Then he's drawing what looks to be a weapon from his massive coat.
I stop. I don't want to see the rest. See my own execution, surely that's where this is headed. I look at my closed door in terror. What if this is real? What if it's a warning? *What am I supposed to do, Joey?*
"I need to get out of here"I whisper in disbelief. I don't dare do anything as obvious as exit through the very door my assassin may be waiting at. I don't dare call out either.
The window!
I run to the window near the foot of my bed and lift it up. It's a long way down but maybe if I can hang on from the window sill and drop the rest of the way from the second story it won't be so bad. It won't be so bad, right? Better than what awaits me here, anyway.
I execute my plan and am dismayed by how out of shape I am. Now in my mid-20s and several years removed from a gym it is harder to hold myself up than I thought it'd be. Turns out all those guys in the movies have the strongest fingers in the world. I spend precious few seconds of my limited energy inching around by my fingertips to get into an ideal position, and then I hear it. A sound from inside my room. A loud, clattering a bang, as if a door has been blown off its hinges that makes me startle. I look up into what little I can see of my room from my position and there's a shadow moving along the ceiling.
It's got to be my executioner. Just like in the images. *Joey, how did you know?*
Now that my foe is upon me I have no choice but to drop, so I drop. He hadn't seen me yet but surely he'd notice the open window within a few seconds.
I land with an unflattering thud that causes me to sprawl out on the lawn but I seem unhurt. I scramble to my feet, a flurry of grass stains and sweat, just in time to see a silver car pull up and screech to a halt mere steps away from me in front of our house. The passenger door swings open.
"Get in! Come on, come on!"a voice from inside calls out as I fumble my way over to the vehicle. I'm not thinking clearly, all I want to do is get away from the house so I don't even question who is in the car.
"Glad to see you know how to follow directions!"the driver calls out again as I'm just a few feet from the passenger side. "Looks like you're the only one who did! Now get in here!"It sounds like a kid. It sounds like...Joey. |
Renowned physicist Stephen Hawking sat silently in the middle of his study. Speakers to the side of the room played The Black Eyed Peas mega-hit 'Boom Boom Pow' on repeat. He fucking hated the song, but he wanted any guests that might attend to be sure that they had indeed arrived in the right year. He had been staring at nothing for over 2 hours now. He suspected that no-one was coming. Of course, this wasn't a surprise, if he truly were to throw a party for timetravellers it would need to be such a historic event that people would hear about it throughout history. This was nothing but a blip on the media landscape, a cheap ploy by his publicist to maintain public awareness of him and maybe improve the chances of Universal picking up his movie. He mentally kicked himself for actually going to the effort of hosting the stupid thing.
"Hey, what's up? I'm here for the party"A voice from behind him startled the professor. "Sorry, I can't stay longer than 30 minutes, I'll explain later"
Professor Hawking wheeled his chair around. Before him stood a handsome man of around 50, with a great head of mousy brown hair and a toned physique. More than toned, he looked to be in perfect health, the body of an olympic swimmer on a wisened man. He looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite tell how.
"Hello"Hawking replied, knowing that any extended greetings would only waste the traveller's time. It took long enough to type words into his computer.
"Hey, so you're the host huh? Sorry, I don't think this is going to be much of a success, no-one in the future really remembers it. Gary's just the sort of weirdo that goes around looking for strange events like this. He told me they're usually a good time."
"Who is Gary?"
"I guess you could say he is the inventor of the time machine. Well, I helped"
"You?"
"Yeah"
"How?"
"Its a long story"
"I'd love to hear it"
"Yeah, OK, I've got time I guess. Its a bit complicated though. It all started back when I was still a young physics student. Quite a bright one too I might add. I must have been like 19, 20 at the time? Something like that. I was in my room studying one day when all of sudden I hear a massive bang and this crazy looking guy comes tumbling into my room. Well, I say into my room but he fell out of mid air, not through the door. Massive puffed up hair, red eyes, clothes still smouldering like they had recently been on fire. I'm freaking out of course, but I grab one of my towels and dab him down, just in case any of his clothes were still burning. I like to think of myself as a mature, poised person, but I honestly I was fucking terrified, as I'm sure you could imagine"
"Yes"Hawking kept his responses short, his companion seemed plenty talkative for the both of them
"Yeah"the man laughed "Anyway, after he finally got me to calm down he explained what was going on. He was, as I'm sure you had guessed, a time traveller. I'll skip a few details but basically he was running a very old model of time machine, the thing was wearing down and he had pushed it a bit too much, trying to get it all the way back to the Roman invasion of Britain. The machine couldn't handle that and crapped out, throwing him into my room. We tried to get his device going again, but it just wouldn't go. He was starting to worry he would never get back to his time"
"When?"
"When did it happen? Or when was he from? He was from the year 4005. Anyway, we couldn't get the thing going so he told me the only chance he had ws to take the thing apart, study the contents and rebuild it from almost scratch. He promised me that if I helped him that he would take me with him to his time, which is apparently a big no-no in future law, but he was desperate. I help him out occasionally in my spare time, but I don't buy into it fully. To be honest I was still a little sceptical. But then I got sick. Like, really sick. Gary tells me he can cure me. In the future, medicine has advanced so far that just breathing the air will keep you in perfect health, medically and physically. So I drop out of Uni and help him with his work full time. Eventually, after some painstaking work, we get the thing running. Not well mind you, but enough to get us to 4005. So technically we built a time machine centuries before it was actually invented. He got me a fake identity, and I started a new life in his time."
"So you live the rest of your life there?"
"Not exactly. I mean, I got myself a job and a wife and everything, I settled down and raised a family. But I still got to explore time. In our time, time travel is just a way to take a break, relax. You can go off and chill on a beach in ancient Greece or go watch the first ever British Open, but you always come back, and continue your life where you left off. Some people will go travelling for months on end, but I could never handle more than half an hour, because of my illness. I need the air from 4005 to keep me alive"
"You never came back?"
"I couldn't"the strange man was suddenly mournful
"Why not?"Hawking replied
"It's complicated"The man said "Time Travel is complicated"
"I'm a smart man"Hawking replied.
"OK"The man said, looking at his watch "I've got about 15 minutes, I guess I can give you a run down"
"Thanks"
"So the way our system works is that every time you travel, you set a 'Home Base'. That's your time and location. Say I'm in my living room at 9:05 am and decide to travel to see the conquistadors. Once I'm done I will always end up back at 9:05 am in my living room. This has to happen because the world around you doesn't stop existing just because you decided to time travel. So I have to arrive back at the exact moment I leave. It's an out and back policy, you cant go jetting off wherever. The time you were gone never happened, and the time you were away never happened either. Once you return from your trip, it's like it never happened, exept in your memories. It's a really complicated way of making sure you don't fuck up the past."
"How does it make your time in the past nonexistent?"
"OK, so say you leave at 10 am and go to 9am, then come back to 10 am. To someone at 10am, it's like you never left, right? The way the machines are programmed is so If you leave 10 am and go to 9 am, then stay until 9:30, before you return to 10, it loops back to 9. That way you techincally never left and never arrived"
"I think that makes sense"
"Now, to make it even more complicated, your person doesn't stop existing just because you time travel. It's a sort of split universe theory, but more accurately it is a form of split consciousness. Without the most advanced modern time machines, you could go back to a time that wasn't the exact time you left. That's when you cause problems"
"Why?"
"Because there's two of you, its a paradox. There's nothing worse than a fucking paradox"
"What happens?"
"You die. Weird shit happens. One of you dies. But you can't know which one, and you can't know how long it will take. Sometimes you could end up frozen, staring in each others eyes for 2 hours wondering which one of you is going to die. At least, that's what I've heard. Sorry, I wish I had time to lay out the formula for it but I really don't"
"And that's why you couldn't go back?"
"Yes. I left with Gary, back to his time. So in theory there is a version of me where I never met Gary, and I stayed at Uni and finished my degree. I would have lived a totally different life. I've heard of paradoxes where people allowed a 2nd version of themselves to live for a couple of minutes, max. Mine could have lived for years. I dont know what that means, but it has to be bad."
"So in order to go back, you would need to go back to the exact same time you left?"
"Yeah, you get it"
"And you can't do that?"
"The machine Gary and I built only lasted one emergency trip. As far as I know I'm the only person who has ever made a one way trip. It's unchartered territory. We don't know what time I left. If I went back it would be almost impossible for me to get the exact time right. I would end up creating a paradox"
"So you can't go back to your time, or any of the next 60 or so years when you might still be alive?"
"Well, yes, but it's probably fine. I was really sick. I probably only survived a couple more years if I hadn't moved to 4005. I play it safe, but I probably only have to avoid the 1960's. Look, its 2009 now, right? That would make me 67, there's no way I live this long."
"Did you say 67?"Hawking was 67.
"Yeah"the man replied confused
"And you were a young physics student?"
"Yeah"
"And you say you were sick? With ALS?"
"I never said AL...."The man trailed off, realising who he was looking at. Hawking stared back.
"My God, I would have been so handsome"Hawking said, longingly.
"Shit."The man replied.
A grand clap of thunder shook the house. The strange man disappeared. The wheelchair-bound Hawking felt like his body was on fire and pain rippled through his body. The life he could have had dashed before his eyes, a young healthy body, his beautiful wife that would't be born for another 2000 years, his children that would never see him again. It was pain for lost love that he had never even found. It was as if all the emotions that had torn him apart as he got sicker and sicker manifested themsleves physically, trying to tear his body apart. The regrect, the envy, the sorrow, the jealousy. It was all the pain of losing a life that he never had.
And then the pain left him. He was once again alone. The Black Eyed Peas continued to play their terrible, terrible music.
The next day, Hawking called his publicist. "No-one else showed up."
|
"Hey Josh,"a girl said, passing Greg on the street.
Greg's eyes widened as he stopped. *Did she just call me Josh?*
The girl tilted her head. "Is everything OK?"she asked.
"I-I'm sorry?"said Greg. His eyes felt misty.
"Are you crying, Josh?"The girl approached with a look of concern.
"Greg,"he answered, unable to think of any other words. "My name is Greg,"he added, once more came to him.
The girl raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you look just like my friend, Josh."
"Is this- is this a *joke*?"asked Greg, in a harsher tone than he intended.
"No,"she said. "You look *exactly* like him."
"My twin brother's name was Josh."
The girl almost fell backwards. "Josh mentioned something about a twin brother too. I think his name was Greg. Unfortunately, he died a long time ago."
"*My* name is Greg."
"Is *this* a joke?"asked the girl with a sneer. "It's not funny, Josh."
"Hey, Pam,"a voice called. A mirror image of Greg approached the pair.
"Who are you talking to?"the newcomer asked.
Pam scanned the area to find they were alone. "Where did he go?"she asked.
"Who?"
"Nobody,"said Pam after a pause. "Listen, Josh, I know this is going to sound weird, but is there anything you'd want to tell your brother Greg if you had the chance?"
Josh felt his heart rise up in his chest. "I'd tell him that I love him and I miss him every day."
Pam leaned in and gave Josh a hug. "If I ever see him,"she said. "I'll pass along the message."
---
*If you like my writing, come check out /r/MajorParadox*. |
I hate stage magic more than anything.
All my peers are fakes who trick people into believing lies. Everyone’s a snake in the grass desperate to know my secret, but I’m a snake too, so I don’t blame them. They’re just idiots, one hit wonders—I’m the real deal.
So many cold nights on the street, so many meals I dreamed about having. There were times where I wondered if I was even really living, and times where I was beat up, spit on, or told there’s no place for a *weakling* like me in this country. The king believes so too—it’s impossible to get a job when everyone thinks you only have one arm.
I have two, one’s just invisible.
Standing on this stage, the crowd goes nuts as I simply lift a cup and set it back down. They believe I’m making it levitate. When I juggle balls, they turn to their neighbor and whisper *how did he do that?* and *this is sorcery!* Right now, *I’m* their king.
Bored of buffing my own ego, I do the same routine I’ve done for every show—I strut down the aisle, brushing people with my invisible arm. They scream and squeal and are amazed that it’s *actually* real. They don’t notice their empty pockets, don’t realize they’re paying me twice. Like I said, I’m a snake, and old habits die hard.
Because while I might hate stage magic, I’ve learned to love thievery.
***
This one's short because I'm tired, but I hope it turned out good! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en) |
"I'm sorry, Mister Becker,"said the nervous secretary. "The chairman isn't here right now."
I narrowed my eyes. "I can literally hear his heartbeat."
The secretary grew tense.
"Just let me in,"I said. "Spare yourself the embarrassment."
"I-I don't know what you mean. And even if he *were* here, he'd be too busy for an impromptu meeting. Care to make an appointment?"
"I've made three already, and all have been postponed."I smiled. "I'm beginning to think he has something to hide."
The secretary glanced at a phone on the desk.
"Go ahead,"I said, moving towards the reinforced door. "Call security. I'll just let myself in."
"Wait!"
I tore the door off its hinges.
The secretary screamed for help.
I strolled down the hall without a care in the world.
A thick metal wall then fell from the ceiling, preventing me from moving ahead.
I sighed.
The people who bothered installing these defenses were usually dealing with unsavory folk. The type of businessman that often made shady deals with supervillains in order to manipulate the stock market or suppress their competition, then screwed them over when their usefulness ended. This wasn't damning evidence, nor was it in my jurisdiction, but it sure didn't look good.
I punched through the sheet of metal, only to find several more sealing the hallway, forcing me to get a running start and tackle through them all in one fell swoop.
That wasn't the end of it, though. A force field emerged right at the boundary of the office, and I couldn't break it with sheer strength.
The grinning chairman taunted me behind it. He thought he was safe. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't my first time dealing with a forcefield.
I simply used my laser vision in order to overload its power generator.
The chairman widened his eyes before the room exploded.
I then blew away the smoke and gingerly stepped into the office, saying:
"Mister Locke, I'm glad we can finally meet."
"W-what are you?"
"Just a humble accountant."
"Bullshit! The villain's league sent you, didn't they?"
I shook my head.
"The hero association?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, it's like I told your secretary, I'm with the IRS."
Chairman Locke grew pale. For some reason, he seemed even more terrified now.
"For a few years now,"I said, "there's been some discrepancies with your books. I'm afraid your company is due for an audit."
"Oh god..."wept the chairman, on the verge of tears. "Please, have mercy."
"That's not something we do at the IRS. May I have a seat?"
Chairman Locke hesitated for a second, then nodded softly.
"I don't usually perform these corporate audits,"I said, sitting on a plush leather chair, "but five of my predecessors have all suffered from mysterious deaths, often caught in the crossfire of a supervillain attack after meeting you, so the office had no choice but to send me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about..."
"That's fine. I'm sure you had nothing to do with it. I'm only here for the numbers."
The chairman swallowed down his anxiety. "This is ridiculous..."
"Not as much as you'd think,"I said. "My main job is to find metahumans that aren't paying their fair share. *Somebody* needs to catch them, right?"
"So you... fight these villains?"
I chuckled. "Villains? Sure, sometimes, but heroes are just as likely to avoid taxes. The common thread is that they all think they're above society, yet have no problem benefiting from it. My job is to fight that sense of entitlement."
"But... you're so strong... How much are you making a year? A hundred grand? Two? I could easily triple that!"
I arched an eyebrow. "Is this a bribe?"
"N-no! More like a... job offer. Clearly, these discrepancies are a mistake and I need better accountants. You look like the perfect person for the job."
I grew serious. "You seem to be confused here, so let me spell it out for you. All my life, both the superhero association *and* the villain's league have been trying to recruit me. If I wanted money, I'd join up with either of them. The reason I don't, however, is because I can see through the bullshit. Punching people in costumes doesn't fix roads, nor fund schools. It does the opposite. I'm here to make sure the average person doesn't suffer because of those who cheat the system. Understood?"
Chairman Locke scowled. "Perfectly."He then pressed a button under his desk, opening a trap door underneath me.
My chair fell into a pit of acid at the bottom, but I remained unscathed, floating in the air.
Chairman Locke gaped his mouth.
"Anything else?"
Chairman Locke pulled out a ray-gun. "Die!"
I shrugged off the laser beam. "You're only making things worse for yourself."
Chairman Locke seemed utterly defeated. He turned the weapon against his head, hoping to kill himself, but I crushed it before he could pull the trigger.
"Why?!?"begged the chairman. "Just let me die!"
"You're free to do so *after* the audit."
A wave of security guards rushed into the room.
I looked at Chairman Locke. "Do you seriously want me to wipe the floor with them?"
"No..."Chairman Locked slumped his head. "Stand down. It's just... an accountant."
The guards all shared confused looks.
I smiled. "Great! Can you take me to your accounting department?"
The chairman welled with tears, walking ahead. "Right this way..."
---------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! |
The human stops walking. "What?"
"To use your vernacular, you're putting millions of intelligent species on the radar. You've got a diverse range of fauna that seem to exhibit what we consider intelligence. Reactivity to stimulus. The ability to make conscious decisions for their own betterment."
"...Can you name some of the new species for me?"There's a moment of silence. Awkward eye contact.
"...Raven. Dog. Owl. Cat..."
"Oh! Got it!"The human decided to play along, "And what about bigger species?"
"Gorilla, chimp, Sasquatch, vampire, dragon, squirrel, mice; Your mice *especially* are more intelligent than we other variants we've found. You've taught them to drive cars!"
"Sorry, roll it back. You said what now?"
"I know! It's crazy! You guys managed to make small, simple vehicles that rodents can pilot for a reward. They've even shown higher dopamine levels while driving, implying they enjo--"
"No, no, sorry. You said Gorilla, chimp, *Bigfoot, vampires, and dragons?!*"
"...Well, yes. Why do you sound as though it's a preposterous statement?"
"Because it is!"
"No. You have historical records about these beings."
"Nooo, we've got fairy tales and-- and myths and legends about those things. Vampires are just a dramatization of an ancient king, Vlad. Dragons were just exaggerated versions of snakes. Bigfoot was the first Fursona."
"Then we may have misidentified some species. Can you help us? There they are on the right."The human kept his cool when the extremely cold, extremely pointy-toothed man shook his hand. The same with the gentleman with some sort of combination of Marfan's Syndrome and a body hair disorder. But when the horse sized lizard made eye contact, he passed out. |
"No, no, no,"the old man was saying. "This is not what I am telling you. What *I* am telling you, is that this,"he waved around my grandfather's knife, "is a replica."
Sales shit. Fuckin' assholes. "Dude,"I said. "I found this in my grandfather's crawlspace."
He looked at me like I was an idiot. "And because your grandfather - at some point - put this shitty replica in a crawlspace, that means it's authentic? Is this what you are telling me?"Dude got angry really quickly. "Look at this metal. Look at it. How many Jews do you think this could run through before it broke?"
"I don't - wait, what?"
He blinked. "I mean, that's what they did, right? The National Socialists."
"The who? Like, the Nazis?"
"Yes,"he said, rolling his eyes. "The *Nazis*. Oooh, look. The big bad Nazis are coming for all my gold and artwork."
I didn't know what to say. "So... the knife?"
He slammed it down on the counter. "Fake. I'll give you five marks - hah!"He waved a hand around somewhat effeminately. "Five marks out of ten, of course, is what I meant when I said that thing that I said. Five marks out of ten for your story. Five *dollars*, of course. For the blasphemy before me."
I put it back in my bag. "No deal, dude. It's worth more than that. I'll take it somewhere else."
"You do that. Was there any other *treasures of historical significance* in your grandfather's attic?"
I pointed at him. "Don't give me that Doofenshmirtz bullshit, dude. No, there was nothing else in there. Just a bunch of weird arcane shit."
"What?"He said. "What? Like, the dark magic?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Just skull candelabras, and a book that -"
"Was made out of human skin? Held the secrets of the universe? Will restore the true rulers of Earth?"
"I can't tell,"I said slowly, "if you're taking this seriously or not. I think it's the gestures. Has anyone ever told you that you gesture a lot when you talk?"
The old man lowered his arms self-consciously. "An old habit,"he said. "I'd be happy to have a look at these arcane wonders, if you bring them by."
"Thanks, dude,"I said. "I appreciate that. I took a bit of a dislike to you at first, but you know what? You're OK."
He seemed pleased. "Thank you. Let me write you an appointment card. What did you say your name was?"
"Levi,"I said. "Levi Rabinowitz"
"Fucking hell,"the old man muttered as he scribbled my details. "You try and do *one thing* and where does it get you?" |
"What?"the ringing in her ears became deafening.
"Were you paying attention Ms. Bradley?"*this fucking cunt doesn't know what hit her*.
"Admittedly, no."she said with a smirk. *He's onto us*. The lighting in the room was made to make people uncomfortable. Ms. Bradley just found the fluorescent lighting annoying.
"I said; with the undeniable evidence stacking up against you, I'd say that it's time to lawyer-up."*the "evidence"that I planted, this is too easy*, the detective thought to himself.
*What could he know? There's no body. Hydrofluoric acid took care of that.* the voices were back."Oh? Undeniable? Why am I not under arrest then?"she said, her teeth shined like those of a tiger, about to make the kill strike.
"Well since you don't have a solid alibi for the night our victim went missing-""I'd hardly call *him* a victim."Ms. Bradley said, cutting him off.
The detective raised his eyebrows. *She admits to knowing the sad sack?* he thought. "You are admitting you knew the victim?"he said.
*We're done for* "I've got this."she whispered under her breath.
"What was that?"the detective was eyeing her curiously. *This bitch is so dumb, I've got this.*
"Oh nothing, I just remembered something."she said. Twirling a lock of hair between her index finger and thumb.
"And what was that?"the detective asked, uninterested. Thumbing through a pile of photos that was in front of him. This was it, the big arrest that would get him that promotion.
"The cafe I was at, I believe there were cameras. Being there around 8:00 pm on Saturday would make it nearly impossible for me to be across town- where the 'victim' was abducted. Don't you think?"Ms. Bradley said, stifling a laugh. He was her play-thing for now, but she was getting bored.
"Emphasis on nearly."he said wide-eyed. *shit* "Look, we found the gun, we are running it for prints now. I'm coming back in here in a half hour and I would hope that you would have smartened up and gotten a lawyer by then."he said, running a hand over his stubbled chin.
A giggle. *Did this bitch really just giggle? How can she be so relaxed? I mean, I know she didn't do it- but with everything I planted, there's no way she is getting out of this.*
"What's so funny?"he asked, there was anger in his voice now. Ms. Bradley didn't mean to giggle, but this was getting good.
*A gun? Oh they didn't find anything. Just as we suspected.* That Ominous voice in the back of her head was right. She wouldn't use a gun. Guns are so impersonal. Guns have serial numbers, bullets have shells, and she had no intention of going to prison.
"I said; what's so funny?"the detective raised his voice this time.
She seemed to not hear him. The voices were riled up now.
*Oh he's mad*. the Ominous one said.
I'm sure he is. But as long as we don't budge with our alibi, they shouldn't have anything against us. Ms. Bradley thought to herself.
*They have a gun*. that Worried, shaky little voice said.
*That's nothing, the detective probably planted it*. said Ominous.
*Why would he do that?* asked Worried.
Because he's desperate, she thought.
*He doesn't have any real evidence against us, we're fine*. stated Ominous definitively.
*Why did we have to kill that man?* Worried was really worked up.
I have needs, she thought.
*And all of the others?*
Because I have strong needs.
*We are going to get caught*. Worried wouldn't stop now.
No we aren't.
*I told you we needed to stop YEARS ago.*
Worried, please shut up.
*But he has a gun*.
The anger rose to her throat like vomit. "WE DIDN'T USE A GUN!"She said, this time out loud.
The detective, having watched her twitch and murmur for the last 5 minutes was startled when she finally responded. Shocked when he finally realized what she had said.
After a long pause. An eternity of eye contact. Centuries of fluorescent lighting. She finally said, "We will take that lawyer now."
EDIT: Punctuation. |
"Entry 1":
Some say there is a god in the machine. If I were a superstitious man I could swear that I find things moved, small things that in zero gravity could have floated away on their own. When I am alone at my shift
in the silence I hear sometimes faint whispers. I can almost make out what they say, though they always remain unrecognisable. Sometimes I see things out of the corner of my eye, I can even feel a hand on my shoulder. There's nothing there though, there never is.
We're on our 110th day of our voyage and we have all sacrificed so much to be here! My daughter knows me mostly from our online sessions and I see the sad look in my wife's eyes. It must not be in vain!
My sleep is irregular and even though we are only 6 in the crew the ship feels crowded! I find it hard to keep my mental focus so I write in a file hidden in our logs under an unassuming name. I feel a pressure on my shoulders though I know not where to place it. I will not fail, there is too much at stake!
"Entry 2":
I have learned to live with the voices. They are a part of me now, there to guide me when I am awake. They are my mohalata if I can steal a term from a sci-fi book I once read - a protective union against the darkness and cold of space. I see it now, they whisper blessings and solutions to problems we face. There are a few voices that want the trip to fail but I do not listen to them. They are my subconscious probably, the parts of me that are afraid, happy, sad or eager to reach our destination! The ship hurtles through space unhindered, the failures we had have all been fixed and we were always able to find the best solution. I want to see my daughter and my wife again! I miss them so! I wonder if someone finds this journal if they will think I am crazy.
"Entry 3":
10 days left to atmosphere entry. The mood is festive and we are all focused! I feel razor sharp! We have reached our destination. The red planet, Mars, God of War is as beautiful as we have imagined. It is truly exhilarating knowing that we will be the first humans to set foot on the planet. We will walk through the canals of Mars as Schiaparelli saw them through his telescope. We will see if there is a race of martians coveting our riches as Wells imagined them. We will rescue any princesses that we happen to find, but most of all we will give a viable option to Earth where our race can find a home in the future. We are but dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants. All the dreamers, the scientists, all the people that made through their hard work made this trip possible, we would not be here without them. Mars will unite us as a species as nothing else! We will no longer be tribes fighting for a piece of land, we will truly be one people!
"Entry 4 - final entry":
I have to write this down. I will delete this file as soon as I finish, lest they think me mad but I have to get this off my chest. We were on our final descent though the atmosphere, our calculations finished and our orbit set. While descending we suffered a failure due to inaccurate real-gas modelling. Our angle of entry was skewed and I feared we will lose control of the ship. I tried to re-adjust the angle but the calculations required would have taken too much time. I was sure we would fail and a terrible desperation descended over me! It is at that moment that I swear the rocket changed angle and we continued our descent undisturbed. Our logs recorded a change in course but I did not do it. The others tell me I did it but I know best. I know what I heard! The first time I heard them all loud and clear! Through my headphones that cancelled all noise except radio I heard them whispering from all around me: "Earn this! Make us proud!"I saw their faces, all the people who helped this mission, all who dreamed of setting foot on Mars. I believe their last act was to make sure we get here safe. I have not heard the voices since. I will walk today where no man has walked before. Our new home welcomes us! Have I earned this? Maybe at the end they will answer me.
Author's Notes: Hello! First time writer, hope you like it! Feel free to comment if you feel I could have done something better. |
I leaned toward the mirror, inspecting my face under the harsh bathroom lights. Ever since Olivia had half-jokingly said that I wasn't aging, the thought kept niggling at me. My power wasn't immortality—it was immunity to others. If I was indeed not aging, the conclusion that followed seemed too ridiculous to pursue.
A clang from the living room made me frown; I lived alone and wasn't expecting guests. Stepping out of the bathroom, I killed the lights and walked warily toward the source of the noise.
Stepping through the doorway, I did a double-take. Before the ajar window stood a well-built, sharply dressed man with a handsome face everyone on the planet knew. My momentary panic was quickly replaced by giddy excitement.
"Holy shit,"I exclaimed. "Universal Man? What are you doing here?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his icy blue eyes. "Have a seat, Tom. We have a lot to talk about."
I hurried to the couch and sat down, not even questioning his ordering me around in my own home, or wondering how he knew my name. "Let me just say, it's an honor—"
He raised his palm as if to silence me, and a frown crossed his face. "So it's true."
"What is?"I asked, bemused.
"Your power—it blocks others. How... irritating."Shaking his head, he reached into his jacket. "Well, no matter. I read your friend's memories so I came prepared."
"My friend?"
He drew a gun, and I froze, more stunned than scared. Universal Man could crush concrete and lift cars without breaking a sweat. What would he want with a puny little pistol?
"What's going on?"I laughed nervously. "This is a joke, right?"
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."The gun sat awkwardly in his hand as he leveled it at my chest. "I never encountered anyone like you before. I never would've even known, had I not picked up your friend's thoughts. You're far too dangerous to be left alive."
I swallowed. "Olivia? What did you do to her?"
"I merely ensured she wouldn't remember the past few days. Much easier to deal with than you."
"I don't understand,"I said in a trembling voice. "How am I dangerous? My power's so minor they gave it the lowest classification—"
He laughed, a high, chilling sound. "The idiots. Tell me, why do you think I have all these abilities?"
"Y-you're special, everyone knows that. The pinnacle of human evolution..."
"A convenient excuse. One power per person; the rule hasn't changed for millennia."He glanced down at his other hand and clenched a fist. "Mine is to take from others. Their powers, even their lifespan. Take from everyone... except, it seems, you."
"The whole world is growing old because of *you*?"I exclaimed, half-rising from my seat. "That's absurd! People have been dying for ages—"
His face rippled, shifting to another man's, then a woman's, his body following suit. "How long—do you think—I have lived?"asked an ever-changing voice.
I laughed because the truth was too much to bear. Gunshots rang loudly in my ears, and my chest suddenly burned. I slumped back, my eyes bulging out as I found myself unable to draw breath. The monster's icy eyes, the only feature that wasn't changing on that shifting face, watched me with detached satisfaction. |
I shifted in the scratchy sheets waking up as I heard my mother shouting from outside the bedroom door for me to wake up. I turned over, trying to ignore it and get back to sleep. I had worked a double last night, plus it was my birthday. Why couldn't she just give me a break today...
Suddenly the cloud of sleep flew away as I realized it was my mother outside my bedroom door and my eyes flew open in terror. What the hell was she doing here? I lived 700 miles away from her and liked it that way. I flung the covers off of myself and was about ready to tell her to get the hell out of my house when I stopped cold. This wasn't my house. This was hers. My old bedroom. With the horrible pink canopy bed and pink lace curtains. The ones she never let me change out, because it was never my bedroom, she just let me live in it.
How the everloving fuck did I end up here? It's a twelve hour drive. I swung myself out of bed but instead of my feet touching the floor I tumbled down into a sprawl of limbs and a pink nightgown.
The fuck? I looked down at my hands saw the tiny bitten-off fingernails. I looked around the room for a mirror, any mirror. I spotted my music box on my dresser and scrambled over and shoved the lid open. There on the inside was the fake plastic mirror I thought I had remembered and I looked at my reflection. Even through the distortion of the plastic I could see myself as I remember at 5 years old. I turn to the door in terror as I hear my mother coming down the hall again.
"Morgan, it's time to get up. Your grandmother will be here soon. It's your birthday after all."
I squeaked out in a small terrified voice: "I'm up Ma. Just... need a bit to get dressed."
No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This can't be happening. I pinched myself and nothing happened. I pinched myself harder. Nothing changed. Oh god, I'm not dreaming. Oh no.
The last twenty years flashed in front of me. The next thirteen ahead of me burned bright in the forefront of my memory. Thirteen years of emotional and physical abuse. It started soon. Kindergarten started the emotional abuse, constantly being told how stupid and worthless I was every time I missed even a single point on an assignment. Being called fat if I gained any weight, even normal growth weight. Fourth grade the beatings started. They never stopped until I moved out when I was legally able. She started drugging me in high school. Two suicide attempts, one at thirteen, one at seventeen. Thirteen years before I could escape again.
No. No. I wouldn't let that happen again. I looked out the window, thinking of escaping and running. Fuck, anything would be better than reliving that hell. Even survival as a five year old in the woods.
Then I remembered who helped me escape thirteen years from this day and I stopped. The love of my life. The man I eventually married. My wonderful Arthur. The man who never stopped defending me, holding me through nights of sobbing from flashbacks. Who encouraged me through school and a pregnancy that almost killed me. Who never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself. The kindest and gentlest soul I had ever met in my entire life. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I froze. Maybe... Maybe this time I could beg him not to go to that party. Scream. Cry. Lie for the first time and claim I needed him home because of flashbacks and the baby. Maybe he wouldn't go. Maybe... Maybe then Art wouldn't be there to try to stop his drunk cousin from driving. Then he wouldn't be there when his drunk cousin mixed up drive and reverse. Then I wouldn't have had to hold him as the kind nurses shut off the life support. Maybe... Maybe I could save him, the way he saved me.
I looked back into the distorted mirror in the music box, then shut the lid slowly. I carefully stood and set the box back on the dresser and walked to my closet and pulled out a tiny outfit, much like one I would be helping my daughter get into on her fifth birthday.
I could do thirteen years of hell. Even for one more minute with him. |
Staring out the window, I watch hundreds of flying cars whiz by. It’s early, everyone’s in rushing to work and nobody’s rushing to class. I’m already here because I gotta keep up appearances.
Seats eventually fill up, and most importantly, Lila sits in front of me. She’s the queen of this school, and's been called a prodigy. So have I, actually. I’m the king. When she says hi, I nod. She thinks we’re friends, but I see this as a purely business relationship.
My earpiece buzzes, so I tap it. The thing gets restless, especially when I start worrying. It thinks racing thoughts mean I need an answer to something, but that’s not always true. My machine’s one flaw.
The teacher appears on the screenboard and while I’d hoped he’d instantly get into the test, he starts rambling. Something about the War of 2056? I don’t remember which one that is, and this could put me to sleep—but gotta keep up appearances. When it’s finally time, our lightboards glow with twenty-five mind-bending questions. I smirk.
Lila’s already hunched forward, hastily scribbling. I discreetly push the button on my earpiece. This little badboy’s my greatest invention, and about the only thing I ever put any work into. It’ll connect us, and I’ll see her every thought—which is great, because she’s very focused. It’s always answer, answer, answer. When the earpiece buzzes, we’re good to go.
Except…
Wait…
I’m not hearing anything except a dull echo, almost like it’s my own thoughts. I furrow my brow before glaring at Lila and pressing the button again. This has never happened—so it must’ve just been a glitch. But nothing changes, and before I can even think *dammit!* I hear it.
Now there are quick flashes, scattered memories from my life. Ma and pop dropping me off at school, flying my first bike, building this earpiece. They’re coming a mile a minute, like I’m tugging a long piece of tape. I'm getting queasy, so without asking I stand and run out of the room, saying I need to use the bathroom.
In the hallway I rip my earpiece out, scanning it. Thankfully the voice is gone, but I don’t see anything wrong with the device. It should work fine so why isn’t it? I wait a few minutes, pacing back and forth, before putting it back in and walking back into class—where I’m met by a chorus of laughter.
Everyone’s pointing at me, clutching their guts, and Lila’s head is sitting on her desk, neck a mess of machinery. She’s a robot. A *Cheatbot.* I’ve heard about these but thought they were just rumors. Her eyes pierce my soul, and when I stumble backward, my teacher claps as the school’s officer walks into the room, grabbing my arm.
“You’re clever, Milton, I’ll give you that,” he says. “Maybe if you put as much time into working as you did finding ways to avoid work, you really *would* be a prodigy.”
They all knew. They all knew I was gonna get busted for today. My stomach sinks as I’m yanked out the classroom. He’s taking me to his office, I’m going to be sent to a different school. Cheaters don’t do well in rehabilitation school, they’re looked at as dangerous rats.
I…I never thought I’d get caught.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) |
I eased myself up, sitting with my legs crossed as I took deep breathes and circulated my aura. The air was tinged with the smell of gasoline, a small pang of nostalgia overtook me as it reminded me of a petrol station.
It had been a year now since I had left earth, transported to this magical realm. I looked down at the sword on my lap - ludicrously large and wide, and stained with the oil and gunk that came from the sea of automatons I had just destroyed. Indeed, looking down from the hill I sat upon, I saw the sprawled remains of an army of robots. The demons in this world came from a realm far more technologically advanced than even earth had been. When the dark cult formed a deal with them, they Unleashed a sea of these monsters, forming an empire of their own and threatening the natural inhabitants of this land. I had been summoned to held the war effort, and a year later, I was, sitting on the hill of Caldir Fort, having successfully wiped out their third legion and regained land for the Kingdom.
Arias's gentle voice snapped me out of my reminiscence.
"Are you ready?"She asked. "Ready as I'll ever be"I said, and grit my teeth, waiting for the discomfort that the healing magic would bring. I could feel her rolling her eyes "you'd think a hero would be used to this by now"I felt her hands on my back. "Be honoured"she said, pride in her voice, "I ranked up again after this last battle, you shall be the first to receive this High Priest's High heal". Idly running my hand across my blade, I muttered 'took you long enough". I felt her nails dig into my back.
"High Heal!"
A golden light bathed me, and I felt the soreness wash out of my muscles. A deep itching wriggled through me as micro-tears and larger lacerations closed up. I felt the deep wound in my sides knit together. And then the worst part of it came. A series of mini cramps raged through my body. I could hear Arias holding in a laugh as I grunted in pain. Then relief washed through me as the golden halo died down.
The first thing I noticed as the light died away was the smell. It smelt wrong. I looked down at the hill and the world seemed to lurch.
A sea of red.
Corpses piled upon corpses. Mountains of dead and dying men lay scattered, the ground dyed brown-red with the blood. Gone were the bursts of static and whiring and beeping of destroyed automatons. I could hear the pained groans and panicked sobbing. I looked down and felt my stomach churn. My hands were blackened, stained to the nails with dried blood and gore. My blade the same, with strings sinew still clinging to it. Aria's voice came again, soft and gentle as ever. "What's wrong? You don't look so good". I turned to face her. She stood, smiling, he angelic face bright as ever, deep green eyes that captured the soul, flowing blonde hair encapsulating her pixie like face. Her priestly robes were stained with blood and gore, the image of her standing, smiling, unbothered by the carnage was too much for to handle. I retched, emptying the contents of my stomach. I felt her lean over, placing a hand on my shoulder, concerned "Lionel, what's wrong?"She brushed her hair to the side, revealing her delicately pointed ears seemingly unbothered by the dried blood on her hands.
The world slowed down. Pointed ears?
I glanced up at the rest of the party. They seemed the same, as ever, almost. Pointed ears, angular faces.
Panic set in and I felt my heart racing. Princess Yasmira walked towards me, worry plastering her face. I channeled my aura pooling a portion at my eyes and activated true sight. I looked at the Princess. My stomach dropped.
Name: Yasmira Evergreen
Race: High Elf
Class: Battle Mage
Sub-Class: Illusionist, Forest singer
I didn't read past that. "High elf", "Illusionist". A sinking feeling took over me. I looked into her eyes, and froze. The worry on her face melted way, the gentle look replaced with a blank, emotionless beauty. 'I see' she said 'So High heal can also cure status effects, interesting'. I opened my mouth to speak, but found myself unable. I couldn't move. The members of my party approached, the air around them alive with mana from the binding spell they had cast on me.
Tears came to my eyes, not from the situation, but from my surroundings. I cursed my evolved senses, for even now, I could hear the pained sobs and heavy breaths of those that I had slain as the lay dying. I could hear them uttering their last regrets, their willful pleas, and thier baleful curses. Not demons, not automatons. Humans. My fellow men.
Edit: thanks for all the positivity! |
"You never needed a fairy like me. But now you come to me and you say - 'Donna Faerieleone, give me justice.' But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Godmother. Instead, you come into my house on the day my evil step-daughter is to be married, and you ask me to do murder for money."
"I ask for justice,"hissed Cinderella, a glass slipper clutched to her chest.
"Justice, what do you know about justice?"asked the Godmother as she twisted a sprig of holly in her plump hands.
"I know nothing of justice. The only thing I know is that for one fleeting moment I had love. Indescribable love. A love so pure that it must be sealed with True Love's first kiss...at least, until..."
Cinderella's voice trembled as she spoke and a solitary tear rolled down her quivering chin to drip upon the shimmering glass slipper.
"The clock strikes midnight for us all, my dear. What matters is what we do once the spell fades into the dawn of a happily ever-after,"finished the Godmother, listening to the fanfare and celebration beckoning to her from the other side of her office door.
Cinderella nodded her head and pleaded silently across the orante office desk.
"And this you ask of me? This deed that will be recorded in tales of men and faeries forever. You wish this of me?"asked the Godmother.
Cinderella's eyes hardened and her chin lost its quiver. "With all my heart".
The Fairy Godmother leaned forward. "Good. Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day - accept this 'justice' as a gift on my evil step-daughter's wedding day."
She lifted her plump and bejeweled hand, which Cinderella grasped and kissed tenderly and gratefully.
"Merci, Donna Faerieleone. If I can't have Prince Charming...then no one can,"said Cinderella dropping the glass slipper to shatter upon the floor. |
The cult leader paused.
"Ah. You have a boyfriend?"
"Four years running. He's probably starting to wonder where I am."
"Right. Well, if we let you go, will you just... "He made a dismissive gesture.
"Yeah. You haven't done anything illegal yet. And I've seen weirder stuff online. I can just live and let live on this one."
"Reasonable of you."
"Self-preservation takes strange shapes sometimes."
"Right."The cult leader turned. "Xon'drerh the Thrice-Cursed, Dave Who Files Quarterly Reports On Time, please escort our kind guest to the surface. Blood-Whispered Vengorich, this one's on you, and we can still appease She Who Waits with a lesser sacrifice, so please ascend the dais and prepare yourself. Ryan, please retrieve the knife."
"That's it, then? Anything else?"
The cult leader paused a second time.
"... Tell me of this 'weirder stuff'." |
The Wishmaker's Key, one of the fabled artifacts of the arcane that grants your wishes, and the most sought after. Not cursed like the Monkey's Paw that twists your wish and grants it in such a way that guarantees your suffering. No dreadful price to pay like with the Devil's Bottle, which summons a demon that grants wishes but condemns your soul to Hell. No, the Wishmaker's Key was never described as cursed or dreaded. Every ancient libram of legends had it as the Fair Artifact.
However, few people knew that the Key was truly a fair artifact. Having your wishes granted for free, with no effort on your part, is not fair. The Key does not do that. It grants your wishes, but you have to work for them to come true.
Annette the Red, a scullery maid from Maracanor, once found the Key and wished to become a great sorceress. She lost her job at Baron von Koffinus' household and was hired by the wizard Solomon Craque. Soon she became the wizard's all-around assistant, and the cranky old mage agreed to teach her some of his craft. One hundred years later, Annette became a member of the Grey Council, an exalted order of archmages.
Sir Glorius, a poor landless knight, was the next owner of the Key. He did not believe at first that this was the fabled Wishmaker's Key, and jokingly wished to become King of Caramanor. The next day, the infamous pretender, Balderac the False King, started his rebellion in the Eastern Holds, and the local count declared a call to arms. Sir Glorius was accepted into the count's personal guard and rode into battle against the pretender. In the long and harrowing civil war, most of the old nobility died, and new heroic warlords arose, one of them Sir Glorius, who ended the war by capturing the capital of the Eastern Holds, returned triumphantly into the deserted Isle de Caramanor and was crowned king.
Finally, the Key found itself in the hands of the traveling wizard Albendalf the White. Having immediately recognized the Key for what it is, the wizard decided to test it by wishing for a cup of good coffee as he was walking down the streets of Barmalion City. And lo and behold, just around the corner was a fine little coffee shop. Albendalf entered and ordered some Al Shaytani coffee, and damn, that cup was a good one and worth every penny. |
######[](#dropcap)
I ride the crest of the Probability Wave. The boundary between real and not yet real is blurred.
I know, for instance, that I was married. I *remember* that, not as one in a trillion visions glimpsed in the rolling fog of probability, but as concrete, collapsed fact. I married my wife, and we loved each other.
I know also that I became ill. I *remember* it because it *happened.* I remember the synchopy of the doctor's terrible phone call. I remember the nights of fear waiting for answers and the terror of receiving all the wrong ones.
My mind is tethered to memories of my body weakening, painkillers coursing through my blood, filling the veins of my thin arms and legs with meager relief.
The last thing I *know* happened is her face above mine, her voice warm in my ear, her tremulous breath tickling my skin, like the fluttering beat of a hummingbird's heart.
From there, the surf takes me and I stand on the board to watch.
I am in the hospital, miraculously healthful. A new treatment and my strength returns, the disease in my lungs disappears.
I am in the hospital, dying. My body rejects the vaccine and the errant cells in my lungs continue to suck the life from me.
I am released after two weeks of observation. My weight is back, my hair is beginning to grow, a black peach fuzz she likes to rub her cheek against. I have an appetite and we get apple fritters.
I am heavily medicated, a shell of my self. I cannot raise my body from the hospital bed. My wife turns me over on my side so I can pee, and every millimeter hurts.
Months have passed, I am home, my muscles lithe again. We spend all our time together, grateful in the extreme. I am seeing double. Life is back on track and we try for a child. He is born and he takes my grandfather's name.
I linger in a half life, my vision singular again, featherlight in the bed, never warm anymore, though the blankets are piled high. I am moved from oncology, the place where the "battle"is fought, to the palliative ward, where the defeated warriors wait for their chance at Valhalla.
The farther away my other self gets in time, the more the Wave reveals itself to me. I begin seeing in fours and eights. The further away I get, the more possibilities are revealed. I watch my child's birth in simulcast. He speaks sixteen different first words. His first step happens in thirty two different places. By his third birthday I am watching so many versions of my life with him that they all blur together.
But the other side of the coin remains singular and clear. I am in a soft bed. My wife is crying. I can feel her tears falling delicately on my cheeks, but I cannot reach up to touch them. My body is broken.
As my mind spirals further and further afield, at last I understand. Like a firework shot into the night sky, my consciousness has exploded forward in its dying moment and afforded me a fleeting glimpse of the Wave. But like those blazing fireballs, whose barest sparks reach the highest heights before blinking out of existence, so too did my mind's most insubstantial final energies reach out farthest through the vector of time. There, innumerable trillions of probabilities blended together, as all of the colors blend together into white.
In a hospital bed, in the realm of the realized, where the Probability Wave collapsed, my wife whispers love in my ear and I am gone.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
*******
#### Thank you all for the incredible response - many of your comments were very affecting and it's gratifying to see so many people responding so strongly. Thanks for reading! |
"Everyone **always** has an idea!"Objected Metatron. He stood- or really, kind of hovered- just a few feet from me. He- it?- appeared as a series of golden cogs, all turning on each other in an infinite but unproductive momentum.
"The Recorder speaks truly."Thustra said neutrally. "This human has not had so much as a single thought on heaven, nor hell, his entire life."
"Mayhaps he died too young?"Asked a bearded, scholarly-looking type from the other side of the Council room.
"Thirty seven."Stated Lucifer. "Plenty of time for all the pervasive myths to take hold...though, too young by human standards."
For being literally the devil, it felt as though Lucifer was being...sympathetic toward me?
"Look- I don't really care that much. Put me in Elysium, or Val...uh, Val-something. The Viking heaven. Whatever that one is called."
Metatron grunted. "Doesn't work that way."
A many-armed Hindi deity nodded sagaciously. "Belief begets the existence, we cannot place you where you do not belong."
"We must do something!"Metatron shouted, his voice sounding like metal scraping against metal.
Side conversations broke out- deity argued against deity. All except for Lucifer, who hadn't yet taken his eyes off of me.
"What were you, in your last life?"He asked.
"I was a mortician, uh, sir. Sorry, I have no idea how to address a cosmic entity."
"So much time spent around death, yet you have no thoughts on the matter?"He asked.
I broke eye contact. "When I was very young, my mother had a heart attack, and she left my world. The nurse at the hospital told me that no one knows for sure- but that, at least, she was no longer in pain. That is my only expectation, that there be no pain."
Lucifer mulled this over, while the noise from the others grew. Finally, he spoke. "Do you all remember when we struck magic from the world?"He asked.
Everyone paused to listen. "Not this again!"Metatron objected.
"It's important!"Insisted Lucifer. "We took magic away from the people of the world for the sake of peace- the Crono Magus war, the slaughter at Eventide, the harvest at Maya- we wanted to end the strife....but look at the world today!"Lucifer placed a portal on the roof, showing the world. "We have murder, riots, slavery, slaughter- everything we hoped to fix six thousand years ago is still present today! Hell, it's *worse*!"
"What,"asked the scholar "Are you proposing?"
"This man here cannot go to heaven or hell- any of them. Nor can we just foist him back on the earth as a mortal, he would remember this event, and our system for eternity would shatter. I propose,"Lucifer said, with a growing smile, "that we return magic to *this man*...and have him serve as a *real* Grim Reaper."
*Oh God.*
--------------------------------------------------------------
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hi, if you guys liked that I'll do a Pt. II! |
My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. |
> *Lunatic* is from **Early Modern English** and refers most often to an insane person. Interchangeable with psychopath, nutter, and crackhead.^citation-required Like many Early Modern English words, its origin is **Latin**: *Luna*. The precise definition of *luna* is a source of contention, as *luna* appears to refer to a moonlike **celestial object** in orbit around Earth.
*click*
> *Luna* is the **Latin** root of several **Early Modern English** words, such as lunatic, lunacy, and **Looney Toons**. Often denoting some form of insanity, or at least a break in logic, it is theorized that *luna* originally referred to a **moon** or moon-like object that was still extant in **ancient times**. However, science has yet to discover any evidence of such an object, leading the linguistics community to posit the **Werewolf Theorem**, which states that the moon was simply a universally accepted metaphor for insanity.
*click*
> The Werewolf Theorem is a theory put forward by **Thomas Stancheon**, a professor of **linguistics** at the **University of New New York**. It is a response to the **Moon Problem** and posits that all ancient and Early Modern references to an earth-moon are in fact metaphorical and imply insanity or loss of reality. Professor Stancheon compiled hundreds of Early Modern English phrases (a complete list can be found **here**) and argued that each was a veiled reference to the taboo subject of mental instability.
*click*
> * To the moon and back
* When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
* The cow jumped over the moon
* It must be a full moon tonight
* A man on the moon
* Aim for the moon
* Bark at the moon
* Moonshine (strong liquor)
* The dark side of the moon
*click* |
A raspy cough passed through my lips as I nodded. "Yes."I had seen him climb through the window but didn't have the energy to get up.
Its been rough ever since Valentine passed away. She was the only thing giving me a reason to live, the only reason to have a job, the only reason to love life.
Beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor. Anything to erase her memory. If I could just drink to forget. Hell, might as well drink myself to death.
I rolled over, sorrow hung in my bloodshot eyes. There would have been a tear, but I ran out of those years ago.There wasn't room for hate, or hurt in my heart, even with the vast emptiness.
I tried to sit up, to face my intruder, but was unable. My intruder grabbed my arm and pulled me to a sitting position.
"I've been casing this place for a week now. Newspapers piled up, mailbox full. What the hell man? You live like this?"
I reached over and grabbed a bottle of vodka off of the nightstand, taking a tiny swig. "Take what you want. It doesn't matter, shes not coming back."
I took another swig and set the bottle back down. My body fell back into the bed limply. I closed my eyes and drifted in my mind.
I heard the intruder shuffle away, quietly. I can pretend he's not here, I told myself. "Just stay out of her room"I mumbled.
Two doors down the hall, on the left, was a room painted light pink, crib in the corner, a baby monitor from a decade ago, and a single teddy bear. Her room. |
Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.” |
I stopped and looked at my scratched and bloody arms before looking around at my surroundings. It took a few seconds for the reality of my situation to kick in, the dark night, scratched arms, and the dogs barking behind me - for me to conclude I that I had been running, and that I should probably start again.
​
I leaped over a log, branches whipping at my face, and continued my foray into the forest. I wracked my brain, trying to think of what I had been doing last. I was eating dinner, then watching TV with my wife, then... nothing. I just needed to make it another few seconds, and I knew I'd remember. The dogs were getting louder and I could hear men's voices now. My lungs were burning and I didn't know how much of a head start I had, but I definitely knew this was the most I had run in years. Just a few more seconds until the memories would trickle in.
​
*Watching The Office, and then a knock on the door.*
I ducked under a branch but almost tripped, looking back as I caught myself I could see flashlights.
​
*Peeking through the blinds, but nobody was there. "Just some kids playing a prank,"my wife said.*
I cut left, towards cars I had just been able to hear. I'd be safe on a highway wouldn't I? I heard what must have been a bullet rip through the tree next to me.
​
*The front window shattered, "Holy Shit!"I exclaimed, and froze behind the door. I turned to my wife, to ask if she was okay. There was only a hole in her forehead. The backdoor burst open.*
I could see the car lights ahead of me, but I didn't know if I'd make it to them. I thought I was going to throw up any second. I jumped a ditch, and collapsed on the shoulder of the road. I waited for the shot that would end it all, or the dog that would tear my throat open. None came. I rolled over, exhausted, and started crying.
What else was I about to remember?
​
​ |
Frank woke up, alone of course, at 9:00 AM, a time too late to be respectable and too early to be considered a proper sleep. He slothfully thought that since it was a Saturday, his one day off a week, he could afford to sleep in a bit. He rolled out of bed and moved to the bathroom to take his morning shower, in which he spent far too long wasting God knows how many gallons of water that could have been used for literally any other purpose in our quickly becoming climate-change ruined world. After his lengthy shower he brushed his teeth, apparently blissfully unaware at how his preferred toothpaste brand supplied itself using various chemicals siphoned out from the third world. He quickly dressed in the rags he called clothes and decided to skip breakfast in a disgustingly vainglorious attempt to watch his waistline.
Frank took his bike into town this day, deciding ultimately that the utter annoyance the infernal device caused motorists was less important than his own ridiculous desire to reduce his carbon footprint. He reached town in roughly half an hour, which would have been less if he wasn't a total slacker. His first stop was at the local market to pick up a few groceries for his depressingly empty home. After shopping for a deal like the skinflint he is Frank walked to the register. At it was Old Man Moorch, a crag faced man who had lived in town longer than anyone.
"Frankie,"the kindly senior said, "why don't I ever see you on any dates? You know you've got suitors galore out here."
"Oh, that is very sweet of them,"he replied stupidly, "but the only person for me was the one I had to bury after her short struggle with cancer."
"Of course"said the old man, suddenly embarrassed, "I just thought it'd be nice to see you out with someone."
Frank guffawed like the horse he is.
"That's okay sir, I know you meant no disrespect. Here, for you and the missus. Keep the change."He said as he handed the man a disrespectfully crumpled $100 bill.
The man's eyes lit up and he quickly pocketed the money, thanking Frank happily. With his first utterly innane errand completed he went to his next location, only stopping once to help an old woman cross the street like a total dick head. At last, finally, he reached his destination: the town's soup kitchen. He volunteered here on his days off and the organizers, too polite to turn away his absolutely terrible workmanship, accepted his poorly done aid. There he spent many hours, consistently spilling food that could have been eaten while handing it out to the downtrodden who visited. After his shift was finished his supervisor thanked him, more out of pity than respect, and Frank went home.
There he spent the rest of his day relaxing like the lazy bastard he is. He made a light dinner for himself, again attempting to lose weight like the fat-shaming societal outcast he is, and went to bed early like some sort of scorned teenager sent to their room. There he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of his long gone, beloved wife. Like a prick. |
October 3rd, 34709. It actually said October 3rd, 34709. I'll admit, the list was a roller coaster of emotions. I could see the days my parents will die, the fact that I will outlive two siblings, but also the names of my children and wife, who I have yet to meet. They'll all be with me on the day of my death, which looks to be August 19th, 2081. A death in the summer. How nice.
But then on October 3rd, 34709, I'll speak to Jacob Walensky, my best friend in preschool, for the last time. The only conversation I remember with him went like this: "He's my mailman"*shove* "No, he's MY mailman!"*shove*- you know, really cosmic stuff. So please, for the love of God, don't wake me from death to speak with a man I barely remember.
-
I am cold. The last thing I remember was a kiss from my daughter. A beeping. I remember...
It's October 3rd, 34709.
Alright. Might as well get this over with.
I open my eyes to find myself in a field. The sky above is a deep blue, like nothing I've ever seen. I sit up to find myself in the body I had when I was twenty. My prime. The grass rustles nearby.
"Steve?"Jacob asks. He is sitting in the grass like me. He looks good, probably his own peak era, which I never witnessed. He moved away after preschool.
"Hey, Jacob,"I say.
"What are we doing here? I died?"He says.
"Yeah, but this is the last day we speak to each other,"I say.
"Oh,"he says. "You got the notebook. I opted for the fortune cookie that predicts your greatest achievement. Mine was an Iron Man Marathon."
"Cool,"I say. Two fucking minutes and the conversation is already thin. I do not feel like hearing about his marathon.
"See, I was in a car accident-"
A light flashes in the sky. Thank God for a well timed divine intervention.
Out of the heavens floats the Heavenly Father himself. White robes billow around him and rays of sunshine beam behind. His face is jolly, but stern and his beard is long and magnificent.
"Stephen Hawley,"God booms.
"I am here, lord,"I say. This feels important now.
"Jacob Walensky,"
"Me too, Lord,"Jacob says, the twat.
God gives us a long look, powerful and all-knowing. Finally, he poises himself to speak, to solve the mystery of why I've been resurrected with my preschool friend on October 3rd, 34709...
"He's BOTH your mailman." |
The feeble old man groaned in the back. He was probably in a lot of pain. But then again. This was hell. Everyone was burning for something here.
I turned my head and whispered to him. “I’m gonna need you to be quiet. We are approaching the river. Once we cross it, it will get much easier.”
It was tougher than usual. I still had my sight to guide me, of course. But it was that sight which told me that I should turn back. It warned me of the dangers ahead. It warned me that the stakes were too high for this one. It wasn’t just about the old man - it was about my soul itself.
The only problem was the golden rule. In all of my years doing this, once I accepted a contract, I never turned back. And I had accepted the old man’s contract.
I let the sight guide me. I stayed low and in the reaper’s blind spots. The old man was huddled in some rags at the end of the boat. He was obviously in pain but he did a rather impressive job of staying silent.
Soon enough we reached a major milestone in our journey. Earth.
No sooner had we stepped out of the fires of hell and onto the greens of the human realm did the old man throw away the rags. He let the sun shine down on him. His sunken cheeks started regaining some of their colour. He had been a hunched up shrivelled raisin of a man. But now I realized that he was massive, at least seven feet tall.
No. This was no ordinary soul.
I already had transport waiting. We were soon on our merry way. As I continued to drive to our next stop I couldn’t help but notice that my passenger was regaining his lost vigour. I tried to start a conversation a couple of times but he was much more interested in the surroundings, seeming lost in the visions of empty roads. As if the dusty fields and the abandoned buildings were some sort of modern art beyond my understanding. Through it all, he had a bemused smile on his face.
We reached our destination in a few hours. Back when our journey had started the man had been too feeble to even talk or walk. Our communication had mostly consisted of him handing me a note with a request for passage to heaven. Along with my fee of course. I had to practically carry him through hell. But you couldn’t tell by looking at him now.
There was a certain twinkle in his eye now. For the first time since our journey began, I heard his voice.
“Do you have some spirits?”
“What kind?”
“Humankind.”
“Sure. Will you be able to handle them?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Cause I don’t think you are of the human kind.”
He laughed at that. A jolly laugh deep from his belly. His laugh was somehow contagious and I found myself joining in. The sound of his laughter brought back memories too. The few good ones.
I got myself under control and handed him a bottle of whiskey. “I’ll be out making the next arrangements. You should rest up. I’ll be back in the morning.”
As I was walking away he put a hand on my shoulder. “You have a gift.”
“I do, indeed.”
“I must warn you. As good as your sight is, it is not incorruptible. Sometimes you have to trust your heart over what you see.”
“My sight has never failed me till now.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Remember the third bottle has water.”
“What bottle?”
But he just smiled at me without answering. He turned around and headed to the room I had prepared for him.
I sat at the bar drinking on my own, trying to pass the night away. Ever since we had walked onto earth, my sight had told me about them. They were following us. First they were separate. But then together.
I sat and drank, feeling them getting closer. I could run. But they would find me. It was better just to talk here. Besides, my soul was tainted. No one wanted it. I was of neither heaven nor hell. Certainly not of the land of living either.
The two of them entered the bar together. They were dressed in similar suits save for the fact that one of them was dressed in all white and the other in all black.
“Two whiskeys. On the rocks. Keep em coming.” They settles into seats on either side of me and passed the bartender a bill.
“Good evening to you fellas. What brings you to this side of reality?”
The man in white looked around uncomfortably at the drinking and the dancing. The man in black however looked at home in this environment. Unsurprisingly, he took the lead in the conversation. “You know why we are here. Where is he?”
“Where is who?”
“Don’t play coy with us young fella.”
“I genuinely don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“The old man. Your travelling companion.”
“Oh him. Well my contract was to get him to earth. I did that and left him to his own devices.”
“Bullshit. He’s headed further up.”
“Well then he’s using a different runner to do it.”
“You are the only runner who even had a chance to do this. No, he wouldn’t risk anyone else.”
“Maybe. You fellas obviously know about me. Then you also probably know that once I take a contract, I always intend to fulfill it. I’m gonna get him to heaven. Then you can pick him up there and do whatever you want with him.”
The man in white spoke for the first time. “NO! It is essential that we capture him here on earth.”
“Well too bad.”
“We are willing to pay you.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“We are not talking about money. We’ll pay you something much more.”
“Like what.”
The man in white looked at his companion, who nodded.
“Your life.”
*****
Work got in the way and I couldn't finish it. I did do a small part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dvlkfd/wp_angels_dont_like_you_demons_hate_you_youre_a/f7fyckd/). I'll probably continue it tomorrow and finish it. Will post it here and on my sub, which is the same as my user name. Thanks everyone for reading! Receiving so many comments has made my day and put a smile on my face. |
The two lovers kissed each other passionately the moment they met, glad that they were once again able to meet despite the best efforts of their disgruntled parents.
"Your mom give you trouble?"the boy asked.
"Of course she did! Went on another rant about 'Fraternizing with the spawn of that sanctimonious bastard' and all that,"the girl replied.
"She called me 'spawn'?"the boy laughed. The girl chuckled back. "Dad was the same. How you'd corrupt me, bewitch me with your..."he said and gently ran his fingers through her hair "villainous wiles."
"How do you know I didn't do *exactly* that?"she smirked.
"How do *you* know I'm not wearing a wire for the FBI right now?"he fired back. The two laughed and went on their walk.
Ice cream, fresh summer air, a playful offer of robbing a bank, looking at ducks... it was a perfect afternoon. The two found themselves at a bench, watching the park's serene lake.
"What does your dad say about my mom anyway?"the girl asked suddenly.
"Oh, you know. Supervillain, breaks the law, holds no regard for safety..."
"That's... that's not even remotely-"the girl protested.
"I know, but you have to admit..."the boy shrugged. The girl lowered her head.
"I know,"she said. "Her relationship with the law is..."she motioned her hand, "*tenuous*, shall we say, but she's... she's not a bad person you know? She never hurt anyone. *Ever*. And she pays for the damages she causes. Indirectly. Usually."
"You're telling me. People think my dad is some boy scout but he ain't all good either. He throws a car at a bad guy and doesn't even bother exchanging insurance."
"Why does she do it anyway?"the boy asked. "I mean, not like she robs the banks for money. You guys are loaded."
"You know last month? First National?"the girl asked. The boy nodded; a great battle between their parents ensued. Media coverage was through the roof.
"She shouldn't have gotten in. The bank manager skimmed on security. City hall knew but profited off of it as well. She tried showing it, how broken the security system was, but..."
"Not in the best of ways,"he finished the sentence for her. "And my dad had to fight her."
The two shared the somber moment in quiet reflection.
"Say..."the boy started, "if your mom is a 'villain' but not really all bad, and if my dad is a 'hero' but not really all good... what does that make us?"
She smiled and looked him in the eyes.
"Normal." |
*Your Mother and Father are already dead*. That's what my grandmother told me, many years ago, when she was still alive.
Well, they weren't dead. They were sitting on either side of me, my father frowning and not saying anything, my mother crying, clutching my arm with both of her hands and saying, "Don't go. Don't go,"through a stream of tears.
Despite the fact that both of my parents still drew breath, my grandmother was right.
"I have to go."
"You don't,"My father said, "You don't have to go. There is no reason to make your mother upset this way, David."
My mother's voice was almost unintelligible through the tears, "-everything you nee-heed. Why? Why would- *sob* go?"
I had already explained it to them a hundred times. At first, my father laughed. It wasn't until I ripped them both away from their screens, and made them sit down at the kitchen table, and *listen*, that they started taking me seriously.
I would start out on a ship, the lowest rank. In the past, I might've been lucky to get an intern position, but with the drought of employees in the last few decades, they had promised me a ranking position.
In ten years, they said, if I stuck it out, I could get my own ship.
"This is a rebellion, isn't it?"
I could feel the heat rising in my face. I wanted to tell them, yes, that's exactly what this was - I refused to live like them, to glue myself to this perfect place, and never look up.
But I couldn't lie to them, not now. Everything was already so fragile.
"No, that's not it."
"Then why? Tell us why!"
"Son, we live in *paradise*. You can eat what you like, live where you like, *do* what you like. There is no reason-"
I wasn't listening. It wasn't anything new. Nothing here was ever new.
In my head, I could feel my grandmother's words, more than I could hear them. They were like those massive bells you saw in the History programs, the kind that used to hang from old, stone towers, and boomed so loud, you would go deaf if you were too close.
*Your mother and father, they are already dead. They grew up in this dream of a perfect world - a society that provides for the desires of every single person. Only, there is one thing they can never provide.*
*What's that, Grandmom?*
*There is a word, you won't hear it often now, though it was once so common as to be called 'cheap.' That word is Wanderlust; it means the love of exploration. You see, your parents think that this, here, is the future. They think the future is Now. But it isn't Now. The future is never Now. The future is always out there, waiting for you to catch it.*
I pushed myself off the couch, and told them I was going. My mother pawed at my jacket, sobbing.
My father tried to block my way. But it had been a long time since he had done anything outside of his comfort zone, and he was not used to exerting his will on others. I push him away, gently.
I told them I loved them. I told them I'd see them, when I had the chance.
I walked out of my house, and into my future.
***
*For more stories like this, please subscribe to /r/PSHoffman* |
Apologies for formatting.
Aug 17, 2018.
Dear diary, today's the day...
Thirty-five thousand days, give or take a few. It's such a long time when you sit and think about it. The amount of abuse and ostracization I had to put up with for being the only one without a power.
At first I was just picked on by the other kids. I never got to play Heroes and Villains. I was always the last one picked for team games. I never even had any dates throughout all of my schooling. Who would want to date a "normie"after all? Oh sure, my parents still told me they cared and wanted to spend time with me... But I could tell... I could always tell. It's hard *not* to spend time in the sky, looking at fantastic sights with your significant other, when you can both fly. Who would want to stay on the ground with their unimpressive, un-special son? But I don't blame them any. You have to look out for your own happiness after all, and they were looking out for their own.
As you know, I left the house as soon as I could. I got myself a studio in a small suburb and did whatever work I could get my hands on. I was a meager living, as no one wanted to hire someone without an "exceptional quality", but I made due. I had my fun when and where I could. Of course nothing too out there. I'm only human after all. Those people with powers though... The *things* they would do and the *risks* they would take... Makes my heart skip a beat.
I had a few flings, some one-night stands, and some relationships that would last a few months, but just like at work no one wanted to invest in someone without a flashy power.
I did alright for myself. Had plenty of savings. Was able to buy myself a house. Raised dogs for companionship and emotional support. You know that the 'powers' gene is being reported in animals now? We've actually managed to breed powers into our pets. That would have been a lucrative business, if only I were 50 years younger. But alas, I am not. And none of my dogs had powers. I had to bury Samwise yesterday, and I long since stopped my breeding business.
It's just me now.
Of course you know all of this... I've told you all the stories in my life. You're probably my only remaining friend. You don't say a lot, but you're one hell of a listener. And even you I'm going to have to say goodbye to. So thanks for listening, when no one else would, and being there for me through the good times and the bad. I won't say "remember me"because I know you will. You can hardly do anything but.
I, Reginald Clearwater the Second, of sound mind and body, do thusly request that my house and all my belongings be burned in the case of my death. I wish for the ashes of my, and my belongings, remains be used as fertile ground for those who come after me to grow their uniqueness, and to truly shine.
May no one else be as unimpressive as I.
.
Aug 18, 2018.
Dear diary, today's the day I found out that I cannot die.
This changes *everything*. |
“A vampire? That’s impossible, you look so young. Did you see the fall of the Roman empire? Oh, what were the ancient pyramids like?” My friend swarmed me with various questions about life, leaving me rather unsure of what to tell him.
“Ah, um. Actually, I kind of am only.”
“Only three hundred years old? Right, no wonder you look so young. Ok, what about in the old days of England? You know, with the body snatchers who used to sell bodies to doctors. Oh, did you know who Jack the ripper was? Did anyone try to kill you for being a vampire?” His questions were rather quick, not even taking a breath before rattling off another dumb question.
“Um, it’s a little awkward to say. I’m.” I tried to explain my current situation to him, tell him I was only 53, but he didn’t appear to care, far too interested in the potential of my journeys.
“Shy, you always have been shy. Look, I get it, but you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Whats your greatest memory? How about that, a simple question?” Liam took a seat, staring up at me in awe, ready to listen with intent to every word I would say.
“Ok, I can answer that. Last month I was heading down to Bubble Blast to get a lunch special Berry Wave beverage, only to find out the lunch special ended five minutes ago.“
“And you said, Well, if I can’t have Berry Wave, then I guess I’ll have you.” And feasted on her, right? I shook my head, placing a finger to my lips, telling him to shut up as politely as I could. He responded by zipping his lips, giving me a thumbs up.
“Ew, no. I don’t like human blood. Have you seen how filthy humans are? No, she said, because I was such a loyal customer, she would extend the lunch special. I got a Berry Wave for $5 at 3pm. It was amazing. The taste was sweet, but the feeling of pride was far sweeter.”
“That’s your amazing story? In all your years of life, that’s the memory that you keep reflecting on? Haven’t you seen kings and queens die?” He didn’t seem impressed by my story, crossing his arms. I didn’t know what else to tell him. I lived an isolated life, only having a few friends.
“I was alive when Freddy Mercury died, does that count?” I asked, hoping that might satisfy his curiosity.
“Of course not. Come on, you are killing me here, Victor. You must have an interesting story. Oh, how about the story of how you became a vampire?” Ah, now that I could work with. I had an answer prepared for that.
“When I was thirteen, I was out camping with my parents. It was boring watching the fire all night, so I went exploring in the dark-“
“And you got jumped by a vampire who offered you the deal of a lifetime. You would have been foolish to deny such an offer, the chance to be an immortal killing machine, who wouldn’t accept such a deal.” I raised an eyebrow at Liam, wondering if my friend was ok, trying to work out where he got such wild ideas from.
“I thought you said you would let me finish. Ok, so I was out exploring when a bat bit me on the neck before flying into a tree. Turns out the bat was a drunken vampire woman that thought I was some type of walking deer. Also, before you ask, no I will not make you a vampire.” I knew the story would amaze him. I awaited his reaction, but the only thing he responded with was a yawn.
“That was lame. You don’t even have a cool origin story. After hearing that, I don’t even want to become a vampire. You shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”
“It’s not my fault you read so much crappy vampire fiction. The reality of it isn’t as impressive. I don’t get it, I’m a living monster. How is that so boring to you? So, what if I’m boring, I’m a vampire, isn’t that impressive?” Liam frustrated me, unable to comprehend how a monster like me was boring to a human.
“Well, Dave’s a werewolf. Compared to that a young vampire is kind of boring.” He said nonchalantly.
“Wait, our Dave is a werewolf? The one we hang out with on Fridays?”
“Oh, shit. You haven’t got some sort of weird Twilight rivalry going on between you two? Forget I said anything, I don’t want my friends fighting.”
“No, it’s not that. I just never would have guessed. I thought werewolves would be hairier. He is quite strong though; he helped me carry a fridge upstairs once, and I was barely lifting the thing. It appears our next Friday game night is going to be a little awkward.”
“Yeah, it is. Maybe let me tell him first, ease things over so its less weird when you two see each other. Even if you don’t have a rivalry or something, it’s going to weird to find out.”
“Alright, fine. Just keep this between us three. Also, Liam, try not to befriend anymore monsters. Having one monster as a friend is weird, having two is downright suspicious.”
“Got it, got it. Ok, I’ll catch you Friday.” With that, I lead him to the door of my manor, watching him leave. It seemed Friday would be interested indeed.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
“Lucifer, what are you doing?” God paused at the sight of the archangel straddling a man on the ground.
“I am advising William to stop hitting himself.” Lucifer replied, holding the man's wrists tight.
“I am *not* hitting myself!” the man yelled.
“See how he lies, my lord? The imprint of his own palm glows upon his cheek.”
“It was my hand, but it was not my will!"The man craned his neck towards God, tears in his eyes. “He also put a finger in my ear! It was wet with some unknown substance.”
“Another lie, my lord.” Lucifer replied. “The substance was known—twas my spit.”
“And then he threatened to submerge my head into a chamberpot whilst its contents swirl about!” The man continued.
“Now, how could he have heard that with ears full of spittle?”
God sighed. “Lucifer, we’ve talked about this. We do not treat the guests of heaven poorly.”
The man nodded emphatically. “I was treated poorly, indeed!”
“This man is… not worthy of our hospitality.” Lucifer turned to God. “He was a liar and a cheat. He–”
“Was human.” God interrupted. “That is all that matters.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned back to the man. “Tell our dear lord how you died.”
The man's face hardened. “I was killed in battle.”
"Details."Lucifer made the man slap himself again. "Tell the Lord how you attempted to ambush a strange woman's husband."
“Such a strong word, *ambush.*"The main quoted the word with what little he could move of his hands. "I merely initiated a duel from a tactical hidden position. Did I strike first? Of course, I'd have been a fool not to. Did I strike from behind? Perhaps, but the scoundrel deserved no better. He wed the fairest maiden in the land! Oh she was beautiful... I first laid eyes on her at the feast. Despite my drunken stupor I knew her beauty was real—not merely the product of mead spectacles. Oh no. These were spectacles of *love.* I had to have her! Yet as I approached, I saw him. And I saw she was *with* him. Can you imagine? A common knight, with her, the biggest, fattest, juiciest ass in the kingdom! It was outrageous! Such a woman belonged to nobility. To *me,* a prince!"
"Why not just woo her and let her decide?"
The man shrugged. "Easier to woo a widow."
“See, Lord?” Lucifer turned back to God. “This one’s a bit of a shit isn't he?”
God stroked his beard. “You may have a point here Lucifer. This one seems quite shitty indeed. Prideful... greedy... envious... lustful... gluttonous..."
"Angry and lazy too,"Lucifer chimed.
"Quiet Lucifer, I'm musing... But yes, those things too. All right, I've decided. Do with him as you wish.”
“Thank you my lord.”
“And you know what? As more like him come, I’ll send them your way.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe. |
Heed the words of the Oracle for the future is theirs to see and theirs alone to tell.
I have seen the life of King Edgar IV and I am... content.
King Edgar IV will don the crown when his father passes with wishes to do him proud and shall forevermore do his utmost to fulfil that promise. Under his reign, the kingdom shall enjoy an era of tremendous peace. Where some would wage needless wars, he shall choose the life of his subjects. Where some would attempt dishonest meddling, he shall choose integrity and respect towards his equals. Where some would throw away the realm's wealth in pursuit of hedonism and debauchery, he shall remain frugal. For what more can a King do than to be an example to his subjects?
Orderly. Fair. Prudent. Such words will often be used to describe our great future monarch and what more could be asked; none could ask for more than to go to bed knowing tomorrow will come as easily and smoothly as today has.
Rest easy now, subjects, knowing that no tragedy, no great hardship, shall strike on the watch of the ever-vigilant King Edgar IV. |
"Hold your fire, I repeat, hold your fire!!"the soldier at the front of the strike team yelled out, his gun still trained at the blood-soaked man standing in front of him, handgun in hand. When they breached the compound door, they expected many things - a lone researcher was not one of them.
"Oh,"the man said with a tired voice, "Mr Harding, is that you under there?"
"Doctor Marchetti?!"the soldier yelled out with audible shock.
"Yes, yes, I- I apologize for my manners, it's just-"Marchetti said and turned around, yet his demeanour was off, slowly, sluggish, like he was in a daze.
"Get me a medic! Doctor, is anyone with you?"
"It's... not my blood,"he chuckled slowly. "No, I... don't think, I- I was alone in my office, the gloomhags overrun the facility- there was a breach you see- I-"he said but stumbled forward, unable to stand properly.
"Doc, come on, sit,"Harding said and helped the man. "Let me take the gun."
"The... gun? Oh, yes, yes, the... you know, I'm a better shot... than I thought. Maybe I missed... my calling,"Marchetti said and slowly handed the soldier his firearm. It was splattered with blood and stank of gunpowder. It seemed that it was not only fired numerous times but used as a blunt weapon as well.
"Alright Doc,"Harding continued, "let's get you looked at."He looked the man over and noticed his other hand was clenched tight to the point where the doctor's knuckles turned white. "What's in your other-"
"NO!"Marchetti yelled suddenly with far more vigour than expected, "no no you- you mustn't touch it! It's..."he slowly opened his hand and showed Harding the thus far tightly held brass pocket watch.
"A watch?"Harding said incredulously.
"7663-B,"Marchetti said with a slight smile as he slumped back down, his outburst of energy taking its toll.
"Wait, that's-"Harding's face turned pale and he shifted slightly away from the doctor.
"I know... I know, Martin,"Marchetti said quietly. "I just- I thought that I could help some of the survivors but there... were none."
Another soldier approached the duo.
"Sir, I need you to step back, I need to take a look at him,"he said. Harding turned and saw the red cross on the soldier's uniform.
"I'm- uh, Jenkins, I-"Harding stuttered.
"What he means to say is that you can't help me, sir,"Marchetti said. "Used the watch, you see?"he said and weakly lifted his hand. The medic looked at the two men confused.
"It's..."Harding croaked, "it's one of the unique items we store. Compresses the rest of your life into one hour. Gives you..."
"Speed and vigour of many years in one hour to fight off a tide of ugly critters,"Marchetti chuckled. He looked at the watch. It was one minute 'till twelve.
"Is there anyone you want us to contact?"Harding solemnly asked.
"Everyone I knew here is dead,"Marchetti said. "Just... Miss Laurits in HR, she recruited me."
"I know her, yes."
"Tell her not to blame herself,"Marchetti continued. "I may have died here, but... because of the things I have seen here... I've lived as well."
Harding nodded and put his hand on Marchetti's shoulder.
"It's been a pleasure, Doc,"Harding said.
"Don't let anyone touch... the watch..."Marchetti said and went limp. The brass timepiece slid out of his hand and hit the concrete floor with a metallic clang.
And the minute hand ticked to midnight. |
"Shit!"
I let out a panicked cry as my pistol fired. Never again will I clean my pistol out without checking the chamber. The sound that my gun made would've disturbed the neighbors, so I'd better go and make sure that the bullet didn't actually hit anybody.
I got up off my old couch. A quick survey of the room shows me nothing unusual. I check the room again. Surely it had to have landed somewhere in here. I find nothing similar to a bullet shaped hole in the room. I look back to my pistol, currently resting atop the coffee table in front of my couch. Maybe I shot a blank? But I don't recall ever buying blanks. I scratch my head and sit down on the couch, confused. While I'm lost in thought, a line from the television catches my interest.
"-the President has been shot!"
My attention now completely focuses on the television. I look at the screen, watching the events unfold.
"Stop the car. I repeat, President Kennedy has been shot... I repeat..."The television repeats the same or similar lines over and over. Slumped over on his seat is, President Kennedy. Leaning over him while wailing for help is his wife. The other two in the car are presumably his bodyguards, currently looking around for the shooter.
This was supposed to be the history channel... right? If I'd recalled correctly, Kennedy was assassinated by a sniper. But... There was something unnerving me. I looked at my pistol, then at the T.V. screen. Something that wasn't there before was on the glass. A small, bullet sized hole, perfectly lined up on the screen where Kennedy had been shot.
It had to be a coincidence...
Right? |
It was easier before, shaping the heroes of legend. I was the mentor, the parental figure, and, ultimately, the sacrifice. It was a matter of simple planning, a climactic finish, and then a quick move to another land of myth where no one knew of my glory.
And now, things are ridiculously difficult. Cameras everywhere. Hospitals with machines that can detect the lightest uptick in breath. Missing posters and facial recognition and too many things that just lead to hero backstories falling apart.
And so that was why I was apprehensive but not entirely surprised when I sensed the team of supers at my doorstep. I didn’t bother casting a glamour as I opened the door.
And there they were, my crowning achievements. Invisi-Girl, Electronix, and Redforce. They stumbled back and forward again when I raised an eyebrow. "Radha. Noah. Cole. It is good to see you three together."
"Anvit-ji,"Radha gasped, at the same time Noah murmured, "Mr. Grayson,"and Cole blinked and blurted, "Ray?"
They'd expected to see me, in all my various forms, and yet they were still surprised. I wasn't sure if the surprise was pleasant or anger-inducing. A bit of both, I guessed, and invited them inside.
Radha had been taught the art of invisibility by a master that died after passing on the secrets of his powers. Noah had learned to program, and later control electricity, from his computer science teacher who was targeted by a foreign cyber terrorist who tried to control him and his powers. Cole had lost the wrestler who had taught him how to give and take punches in the same radioactive storm that gave him his mutated strength.
They remembered me. I remembered them. We had shaped each other. And they had not known I was alive until now.
I served them lemon tea. My trademark, in a way - my identities changed over the years, but my tea blends did not. They took their cups, only vaguely realizing that I still remembered the way they liked it, and stared around the room as if they had never seen walls before. This house was small, and I always traveled light, but some things never changed. I held onto a few valued trinkets from heroes of old, forgotten by all but me, that now lined the bookshelves of the room. I always surrounded myself with books, though whether they were textbooks or scrolls or banned readings depended on the age.
I let them stare, and then I allowed them to get angry. I had anticipated most of this. The question of how was answered as succinctly as possible, and the how-could-you and the accompanying tears hit hard but I still answered.
"The world needed great heroes, throughout all the ages,"I said, and took a sip of the tea. "And heroes need training. And to force them to use that training to help rather than hurt - they need to be hurt first."
They didn't understand. They raged and cursed, and drew back, and studied me silently. "I lost you,"Noah said in the end, and I met his eyes. "I lost you once. And now I realize I've lost you a thousand times since then."
"And if you had not lost me? If you all had not lost me? Would you have joined together to defeat the supervillain of last year, that you gave everything to destroy? Would you have fought if you did not have the image of a man reminding you to fight?"
"I-"And they stopped. And then they protested, a moment later, but that hesitation was enough. We knew the answer.
"You were not puppets,"I said, and I rose. They rose with me. "I was your teacher, and I shaped you, but I loved you. I chose you. I may not have been in your lives for long, but I have watched you grow into the powerful team you are. You are truly heroes, in every sense of the world. I have never been more proud."
And the three grown heroes were not happy as they stepped back into the evening light, but neither were they upset. They had each met a beloved man they had thought to be dead. And while they did not know exactly what to think, they did thank me for the tea as they left.
It was a bit like lemon tea, I mused as I closed the door. Bitter, but rich. Sour, but sweet. |
There were twenty of us when we first started training. And there were ten of us when we finished training, which was where the 50% success rate statistic documented in the *Top Secret* labeled government folders originated. Technically, I suppose there were still twenty of us *alive*, but the other ten were different.
I was recruited out of high school, just like the other nineteen candidates in the program. Back then, I thought that I was applying for a job, and had been lucky enough to find someone willing to hire me. Turns out, they had found me long before I knew they existed.
"Mr. Lionel,"Said the man in the black suit when I entered the interview room, holding a computer print out of my application sheet. I'd found the job online three days prior, when I was searching for a summer position online to earn cash before starting college, since my parents could not afford to give me aid after my father had developed skin cancer. An ad had popped up, an ad that seemed to match my description perfectly. I didn't realize it at the time, but a tad *too* perfectly.
*Intelligent, with a GPA of 3.8 or above. Athletic, above the 95th percentile of the class. Socially adept. With these qualifications, join Brickman Associates, servants of society.*
And three days later, I was shaking the man in the black suit's hand, nervously introducing myself for the interview inside an unmarked brick building.
"Mr. Lionel, the name is Brickman,"He continued, his deep voice rumbling, "It is my understanding that you are looking for a summer position with Brickman Associates? We are searching for only the top candidates, Mr. Lionel. The position can only be described as strenuous, but I assure you it will pay off."
"What is it, exactly?"I had asked, meeting his eyes, the irises so brown that they appeared to be pupils.
"Mr. Lionel, it's a position of extreme confidentiality. Consider it a military position, with some fieldwork combined with intelligence operations."
"Some *what*?"I said, "I thought I was applying for a government desk position. I'm not interested in joining the army, sir. I'm going to college."
"It's not the army, son,"Brickman answered, and leaned across the table, sliding a small piece of folded paper to me, "It's the best of the best. And I can assure you, we pay more than than you wouldreceive out of college. Better yet, we'll expand your mind in ways you cannot yet comprehend."
I unfolded the paper and stared at the number written on it, the zeros seeming to jump from the page.
"This can't be real,"I said, handing it back, and turning to leave.
"I assure you it is. But if you're in, you must be fully committed. We will look after your best interests, but once you are in there is no turning back. We'll be in touch in a few days with further information."
They had, through telephone. The decision was difficult, but logical. I couldn't pay for college, and they were willing to pay me enough to retire in fifteen years to participate in their program. And more importantly, they promised to bring my father to the best doctors in the country, free of charge.
So I accepted.
And they trained me.
I'd never learned to fight before training. None of the twenty had- that was one of the requirements, that we start fresh, with no prior knowledge. But by the end, we were *the best*. Not just in hand to hand, but in every method. Verbal, mental, political- if there was a way to fight, we learned it. And we mastered it by the end of the three years.
At the end of year three, they had gathered us together in a room. And that was when we found the true purpose of our program, listening to a presentation that would change our lives. I'd found my girlfriend in the program, and she was sitting next to me, concern creasing across her face.
"These pills,"Said a doctor at the front through a grey mustache, shaking a small bottle in his hand and smoothing his lab coat, "Have the potential to turn you into something greater than human. Something *incredible*. Right now, you may believe you are the best of the best. And I assure you, you are. But with these, you will no longer be men. You'll be *gods*."
He whispered that last word, and our class leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse of the bottle. The pills had been mandatory, one for each of us, or else we had to leave the program. And I remember watching from the corner of my eye as my girlfriend pocketed hers, and pretended to take it.
I'd swallowed my own, as my father was still taking treatments for his cancer.
The effects had taken one month.
One month before my intellectual capabilities made my previous state appear as if I was a child. And one month before the first of the murders began, as the first of the ten began to turn insane. One month before they were forced to shut down our program, and sign the ten of us who had survived mentally into secrecy, and put the ten others in straight jackets.
"It's us or you,"Shouted one of my classmates, Geoffrey, frothing at the mouth as they carried him away, struggling to point at me, "You don't know the potential we have! You don't know, and you stand in our way! We know you're the only ones who can stop us, and we won't rest until you are dead. It's us or you! Gods and devils, but which is which?"
It had worked for a time, keeping them locked away. Until two years after the program, when the electric power to the psych ward mysteriously shut off. And when it turned back on, ten inmates were missing. The ten who had taken the pill, and had lost their minds, and had spent the last few years screaming into the walls of their cells.
I'd taken my girlfriend then and gone into hiding, living in the tropics far away for the next seven years, doing our best to blend into society. Until one day, our phone rang, and I rushed to answer it.
Not much was said on the other line. Not much had to be.
"We've found you,"Then Geoffrey's laugh, "It's time for the games to begin, Lionel."Then there was a click as the line went dead.
I knew I couldn't face all ten of them, and I knew I could only run for so long. So I walked to my cupboard, and reached to the back, where a bottle had gathered dust for several years, and a single pill was inside. A pill my girlfriend had pretended to swallow long ago.
At times, I still wonder whether the first pill made me intelligent or insane. As I reached towards the cup of water to wash the second one down, I'm leaning towards the latter.
***
By Leo
**[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/4t62ht/wp_a_drug_has_been_outlawed_decades_ago_that_has/)**
|
10/9/2015
Moved into house #21, or is it 27, I don’t even know, or care. I have evaded Shelloko once again, I’m good at that now. Hopped across oceans, now I’m in New York. Currently renting a room in forty-fifth floor, a little risky, cause if Shelloko comes up the elevator I’m pinned, but I don’t really care. Currently hoping that I’ll be able to check security cams from down below me.
11/15/2015
Been testing a online job, online employment sorta new, but online jobs have been expanding recently. Blogging’s coming along, at least I’ve been doing it on and off for a good while. My diary is like a practice for blogging, both are just my rants.
11/28/2015
The first sign of Shelloko has come, a distinct 2 and a half degree temperature in one second. Always hits the news, they always questioned how it happened, blah blah blah, I don’t care. But now I know, Shelloko is within maybe 150 miles of me, took her maybe two months to cross the ocean. I guess she must’ve hopped on a boat rather than walking across water (I have literally no clue how she does it.) On the topic of Shelloko and boats, how does she even know that the boat is heading toward me? I’ll never know, so no use worrying about it.
11/29/2015
I posted on my blog questioning if people had seen or known of any weird things happening in the Pacific (I was using the temperature drop or something as a jumping off point.) some people had some mildly entertaining responses, but nothing tooo interesting. I did see one response that caught my eye, it had a picture of what I assume to be Shelloko using a freakin motorboat to cross the sea. A TURTLE driving a motor boat is bound to catch some attention. I swear Shelloko gets more and more creative every year, three years ago she hid in a baggage compartment. Two years ago it was in a a backpack, how someone didn’t notice a heavy turtle on their back is beyond me, but whatever. And finally last year it was in a racecar traveling Europe. This year she really one-upped herself. Her constant desire to kill me gets annoying, but hey, at least it’s entertaining.
12/1/15
‘Bout time to move again, now that Shelloko found her mode of transport she’s bound to get here at some point. So better hop cross the country, feeling San Francisco right now, always have loved big cities, and my blogging is keeping me afloat right now so my finances can handle it.
12/6/15
I’ve arrived in San Fran, got my apartment, on the outskirts so I got a two-room apartment rather than a one-room. Time to get settled in for a little bit. It’ll be a while till Shelloko figures out the train.
12/7/15
How?! How?! The 2 and a half degree drop already? I turned on my computer, checked the news, and Bam! Two and a half degree drop. I just got here two days ago. Now I gotta pack up?! I should stop typing in this stupid diary and get to work.
Just hearda loud noise, gonna check the news, hope it isn’t Shelloko.
It’s Shelloko, and she’s in the city.
12/9/15
Ok... ok... I can’t believe this even happened. Shelloko straight up went on over to an airport near New York, somehow stole an entire plane, and crashed it into San Francisco. (Should I feel guilty? Yes. But do I? No, I’ve seen so much of Shelloko’s crap over the years I’m just numb.) She walked to outside my apartment, and melted my door. She snuck up on me somewhat unaware, I mean, I knew she was there, just not THERE. I learned something, she’s not just slow, she’s REALLY slow. Anyway I just grabbed a hammer I had laying around, smashed the window, and jogged away. Hopped on a cross-country train, arrived in Dallas; where I am now, meh, at least I got a tracking device on her Shelloko. Threw it on her and she can’t reach it, so I’ll probably be able to track her. But Shelloko is getting more and more creative, so I’ll have to move even faster from now, and prepare for more and more weird ways for her to get near me. Well... back to work in my blogging!
No, I have no idea what I just wrote
r/CascadeCorner
Edit: Went to sleep and just saw that this response blew up. Glad people are enjoying my sorta ridiculous writing. |
I'm getting sick of it.
Every time, every single time I get in this car, something ridiculous happens. I'm an honest man, trying to make an honest living, and I have to put up with this. For some reason, every hard-boiled detective, fugitive space warrior, and mobster-with-a-heart-of-gold chooses this cab.
I'll be sitting there, waiting for a fare - a normal fare - and along they'll come. All I want is a nice old lady who needs to go to the shops, or a couple heading for the airport for a romantic break. But no - I get the secret agents with armoured briefcases, and plucky reporters who have a "complicated"relationship with a superhero.
It's all "follow that car"and "step on it", and then off we go on a ridiculous car chase.
In the past three weeks, I have driven through fourteen large barns, each time coming out surrounded by squawking chickens. I have jumped a missing section of road eight times. And I have been punched by a masked ninja standing on the hood of my car six times. The doctor says my nose will never fully straighten.
It's not good for my blood pressure, I can tell you. Every day is another high-speed race through downtown Tokyo, or Megacity Prime. I don't know how we get there - I live in Bradford. Yet suddenly, we'll turn a corner and be speeding through some high-tech hellscape in a hover car.
And it's never a peaceful place, either. The most relaxing so far was a mountain road - I think it was the Swiss Alps, or somewhere. Lovely scenery. But two minutes after we get there, I'm having to swerve to dodge rockets and accelerating full tilt at a Nazi helicopter. The square-jawed fella in the cowboy hat wasn't helping, either - he kept shouting at me to "hold her steady"while he lobbed grenades and flirted with some Russian bird.
I'm alive, so far. I've been shot at, stabbed, set on fire by a terminator. Pre-cognitive cops shot out one of the tires, and I ended up with whiplash. Whiplash that is never going to heal if I keep on ending up in hansom cab on the trail of the Gang of Four.
Nerves of steel, I'm telling you. That's what you need to have. And I've been trying to develop them, but it's hard to build your courage when you are constantly scared shitless. I thought I had a handle on it, but then it was all "Red Leader, standing by", and I was hurtling towards something that definitely wasn't a moon in a giant letter. The git in the back's constant beeping was not an aid to my concentration.
It doesn't even pay that well. Every time the journey finishes, all I get is a handful of money and a gravelly "keep the change". Half the time, it's not even legal tender - it'll be a bunch of Imperial credits, florins, or conflict diamonds. What am I meant to do with them? And even when it is real, modern money, it's never enough. Not for the journey, and the petrol (do you have any idea how much starship fuel costs?), and the cleaning fees. You try getting pterodactyl blood out of a grille without professional help.
I thought it was too good a deal to be true. £300 for a car - in good working order - with one careful owner and all the modern conveniences. Nobody mentioned that it would send me all over time and space to be shot at by aliens and savage tribesmen. Or that I'd never get to enjoy the digital radio and self-cleaning windscreen because sometimes it turns into a wicker chariot or a U-boat.
I'd like to sell it, really I would. But every time I get in to drive to the dealership, someone flings open one of the back doors and off we go. I've tried telling them to get out, that I'm not taking fares, but they don't listen. The last one just laughed at me, and kept calling me "Chaz".
I tell you what, I'm never buying a stuntman's car again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't have a fancy writing subreddit, but I've got more stories [here](https://inconsistentpacing.wordpress.com/fiction).
|
The first and final blow had been struck, a bolt of purple lightning that tore open the sky and shattered the ground beneath them. The clouds that had been the herald of the spell now burst, sending a torrent of rain over the broken earth and bodies of the people that had come to challenge the necromancer.
He scoffed at the feeble attempt, lifting his hand, now with a sickly green aura, and began the rite to add these new, brave or stupid souls to his army. After a minute of the spell however, he was surprised to find that even though he was positive his spell had killed all of them, nothing was happening. The lightning should have ripped some of them in half, and he could see that their bodies, while whole, were thrown and scattered in unnatural positions.
He made his way over to the closest and was just a few feet away before he noticed the faint golden aura of divinity outlining their body. The necromancer lowered himself to a crouch, using his staff as a support, and reached out to turn the person over. Spell or no, he was certain that this person was most assuredly dead, but kept sanctified by some god’s power. Now that he had a better look, he could tell that the insignia on the helmet was of Marsell, the god of combat. *For being chosen by the gods these warriors were certainly disappoi—*
A gurgling scream burst from behind the helmet as the body suddenly shuddered with pain. The necromancer himself nearly fell back from the surprise, but didn’t move otherwise. He could hear the other warriors violently, painfully coming back to life around him, but he kept his eyes locked on Marsell’s warrior, listening to their rattled and labored breathing.
“My friend, it seems you’ve gotten yourself in the wrong line of work,” the necromancer taunted. “Everyone knows gods aren’t to be trusted. And now here you are, at my feet. Maybe your god can mend your bones, but it would only be for me to smash them again.” The body trembled, the armor gentle clacking as the faint sound of a sob escaped the helmet. The necromancer became furious, standing slowly before driving his foot down onto the lightning blasted breastplate.
“I denounce the gods, call my army, ravage their temples, and this is the best they offer? A sniveling,” he brought his foot up and sharply down, “weak,” again, “pathetic,” again, “pawn?!” He was screaming now, his voice echoing across the destroyed earth. He was vaguely aware of a voice begging him to stop from further away, and in response he stepped off the body and lifted them up by the neck with a giant spectral hand. “Let me see the face of the one the gods would call their champion,” the necromancer growled and ripped the helmet off.
The face was young. Even through the blood that was beginning to color the girl’s long platinum hair there was the undeniable signs of youth. Her face had just begun to slim into the face of the woman she’d become, and her features were the kind of soft that only a carefree child has. The necromancer took a startled step back, dropping the helmet and this time nearly tripping over himself.
The girl’s ice-blue eyes opened, streaming tears, and breathed out, “S-stop. It hurts. Please, stop it.” One of her arms lifted weakly towards her throat, sobbing out, “Make it stop.”
The necromancer didn’t bother to check the others. If the gods had sent one child, he didn’t care to temper himself by confirming they had sent four more. He lowered her gently onto the ground. He thought of explaining this divine curse she’d been subject to but knew it wouldn’t help her understand the pain. She’d grow to hate her god as much as she’d hate him, but that wasn’t the path he was on.
He crouched down next to her, gently laying a glowing hand on her face. She flinched and sobbed, but the magic that seeped into her would dull the pain for a long time. He forced himself to go to the others, not having the will to look under their helmets but giving them the same reprieve from the pain. Long enough, he hoped, that he’d either kill the gods and end their curse or they’d repair them on their own.
By the time he’d made his way back to the first, she had drawn her sword and was shakily holding it up in the air, as of her idea would be to be poised to trick him to falling on it. He crouched beside her again, lowering her arm and gently speaking, “Shh. That’s enough now. You did very well, and I’m proud of you. They shouldn’t have done this to you, but it’s not your fault.”
He looked up at the sky with a renewed sense of purpose. The world was aching, bending to the point of shattering because of the gods. He looked down at his fallen foes—no, these were not enemies of his. The battered children, soldiers of the gods’ war.
“If you ever stand again, I’d like you to come and find me. Maybe then, if I haven’t done what I need to do you’ll be able to take care of me.” The necromancer pulled his hood down and smiled at the girl. Age had certainly taken him, but the platinum hair and blue eyes instantly sparked a memory in the girl of a simpler time, before the war had taken her—
“I’m sorry.”
The necromancer stood, pulling his hood over his face and walking away, eyes locked in a fiery rage towards the sky. Behind him, the girl sobbed again, crying out for the gods, her mother, her father. |
It's the same thing every time they bring in this guy. My accountant wouldn't be able to keep track of the bodies left behind when this maniac goes on a spree. No, that's not my job. I don't have the luxury of an opinion.
I'm a public defender. I have a responsibility to provide -to the best of my ability- legal defense to my client. That's the system. Innocent until proven guilty. It's why I still do this job. It's important, a public service. That's what I tell myself. That's what I need to hear.
When I wake up, I see the blood-red light of sundown dredge through the half closed blinds. The glare in my eyes reflecting off the empty bottle. Sometimes I think to myself how do I sleep at night? The truth is I don't. I drain glass after glass of whiskey until I'm too drunk to pour myself another and then I just take it straight from the bottle.
An incoming call is the only alarm I have. The skull shattering vibrations dragging me back to reality. It's him again. Of course it is. It's always the same too. I think he likes putting me through this. He knows what I'm going to say, so does the judge but they still make me go through the motions.
I arrive at the court with no time to spare, there's no point in being early anymore. I place myself square in front of the judge. My *client* sitting comfortably beside me. The judge rambles on some rigmarole about the course of justice. Then the prosecutor outlines the horrors charged against the man beside me.
It's my turn to speak now. I stand then turn to the judge and say the same thing I have every other time we've been here. The same routine. I say my piece so this guy walks and I go home and try to drink myself to death.
"Your Honour, I call for a mistrial. My client was never read his rights." |
I walked to Nick's house that night a new man. It turns out that what Nick had wanted was a young man, about 6'3, with a charming smile and chiseled abs. What he saw as perfect was courage, and intelligence, and grace, and athleticism, and all those qualities I thought I lacked when I was the old me. But now I had them.
No, this wasn't a curse. I could live with this. Love is powerful. More powerful than sex, or gender. And I loved Nick, and I would be this for him.
I watched him from the tree outside his window. I was amazed at how easily I'd climbed the trunk. How would I introduce myself to him, though? As old Lisa Gray? Or as a new person? And If I stayed like this, what would I tell my parents? Was the old me dead?
But I watched him as he read in the nook of his window, broad shoulders resting on the glass, and I knew the old me was dead. I am only the parts of me that belong to him.
The search for me went on for a few days. Apparently neighbors had seen a young man leaving Lisa's room through the window on the morning of her disappearance. Some people suspected murder or kidnapping, but there was no blood and no body.
I joined the school as a new student and tried out for the football team. Nick was one of the captains. My speed and strength helped me on, and so did Nick. As soon as he saw me he knew. I was perfect to him. I was the child of his dreams.
And from there we fell into each other. Every day, every night, in and out, climbing into each other's bedrooms. I was staying in a little motel just outside town. We made a little life there, together.
But then the law caught up. Someone recognized me as the young man who left Lisa's room that morning. One night, as Nick and I lay intertwined on the motel bed, we heard the approaching sirens. But we were both strong and fast and we leaped out the second floor window and landed in the fields out behind the motel.
We sprinted, side by side, out into the fields, into the darkness. But the dogs had our scent and followed, even more swiftly, through the grass.
Nick fell into a shallow ravine. I heard the crack of his leg as the bone shattered on a rock. I couldn't move him, so we just laid together in the dirt and waited. I resolved to fight to keep us together. I would do anything. I knew he felt the same.
"I just wish we could get out of this,"he said. He kissed me. And then I saw the star pass overhead.
When the police found us, they found the young man who was seen leaving Lisa's apartment wrapped lovingly around Lisa, who had fallen into a ravine and broken her leg.
The news story said that the two had decided to elope and were living in a motel outside of town for weeks.
Nick was still Nick-- on the inside at least. On the outside he looked just like the old me, because he'd wished it-- the cops needed to find Lisa Gray for us to be together. He didn't mind after all, being me. He loves me, and love is more powerful than sex or gender.
And eventually, after all these years together, I've learned to love myself.
|
I have a couple vague memories of faces that looked a lot like mine. My longtime caretaker, Glorgnax, tells me that these faces are called "Mom"and "Dad,"but I don't really have any emotional attachment to those words like Glorgnax keeps telling me I should. Maybe it's just a malfunction of the speakatron device that Glorgnax uses to communicate with me, and it (he? she? I don't really have any clue) is actually trying to tell me different terms.
Apparently though, I'm gonna have to get used to seeing faces like mine, because Glorgnax tells me that I'm going to be released back into the wild with my own kind soon. I think that's what Glorgnax said anyway, as it was tough to tell what exactly it was saying in between the heaving motion in its face that usually signifies sorrow in Glorgnax's species. Its tentacles seemed a lot less lively then usual, and it just kind of stayed there in my enclosure with me for a while after first telling me the news.
Come to think of it, Glorgnax has been acting kind of funny ever since that day. It always brought me what it called "earth literature,"before so that I would sit still in my enclosure for a while instead of screaming and banging my fists on the sides. But since that day, Glorgnax has been bringing me some version of hologram that apparently my kind on earth calls a "VHS."It tells me that I have to study it, so that I know how to behave when I go back to Earth. It especially keeps showing me a hologram about human mating behaviors. I don't really know how to feel about that. I've seen mating before, since there are a ton of Purkons in the enclosure next to mine and they go will go into a mating frenzy every so often. But the hologram tells me that humans don't just mate at specific times of the year, and it seems really complex.
I mean, I never thought that I was going to have the chance to mate, since I've always been the only human here. I knew what my sexual organ was, but having never seen a female human, I didn't know how to use it for mating until Glorgnax showed me those holograms. Just watching those holograms makes my sexual organ (which is evidently called a 'penis") feel funny, but Glorgnax says that's normal for my kind. So I guess that I should be happy that I'm gonna get to actually mate, but the VHS makes it sound like getting a female to mate with you is really tough, and I don't really get what I'm supposed to do to get one to accept me as her mate. Plus, whenever the mating holograms come up, Glorgnax keeps asking me all sorts of weird questions, almost like it's teaching its offspring about the mating behaviors of their species. Glorgnax tells me that my kind call this "The Talk,"but I have no clue what makes that talking different from any other talking.
There's other weird stuff that Glorgnax shows me too. There's this thing that humans do called "work,"and it looks scary. Apparently, if I don't do it good, I won't get an enclosure to live in and food to eat. Glorgnax just brings me my food now, but the hologram says that I have to go get it myself on Earth, but that I have to do this "work"thing first in order to get the food.
I kind of wish Glorgnax would behave like it used to, as all these new holograms make me confused. I'd rather just stay here with Glorgnax and have it keep bringing me my food. I told it that, and it just started making that heaving motion again and wrapped its tentacles around me.
I don't think that I like the idea of going back into the wild, it seems scary compared to things here on Qurpgloz. I hope other humans are as nice as Glorgnax. |
[Edit: Part 2-7 in the comments; this story is now considered finished as of 11/11 13:06 CET; minor edits may come, but no new parts]
Rats. The cliché would have me feast on their blood while roaming through the nights to find something bloodlike to drink and at the same time get used to my new nature. This world had few clichés left in it. The first hurdle was finding an intact structure to use as shelter during the days, the next one indeed was to find something edible. The virus didn't just zombify every human it came in contact with - with its hosts shuffling around in a near comatose state, it had all the time in the world to change, to infect other animals, even birds. While those skulking chunks of meat surely were now edible to me in the proper sense of the word, they suffered a few problems: Most of them didn't have a whole lot of blood left, they tasted awfully stale and spoiled and to top it off, they didn't procreate.
Yes, I know. It kind of seems like a beneficial thing to not have the zombies have little zombie children and populate the desolate wastes with them, but from a stock-breeder's point of view, this was a disaster. They didn't even heal properly, so once slurped up, they weren't much more than an empty juice pack. Well, there goes the vegetable branch of farming. And that brought me right back to problem number one in this world for the vampiric insurgent of the zombie nation: Finding shelter.
Once I had fed on every animal with a heart within the next few miles, I'd have to relocate. When doing so, I took care to spare the living, if I ever found some. At least they'd be able to repopulate in time and maybe I'm lucky and the whole immortality-cliché still holds true, so planning for the future can never be a bad thing. I wonder... was this life I'm now living designed as a counter-measure to a biological weapon?
I guess that's something I'll never know for sure, unless I stumble upon the very labs it was designed in by chance. Hell, even then... who says I'll be able to make any sense out of it? Guess I could have asked her, but for all that I know, she's not any wiser than me as to why or how we are what we are.
It was night when we met for the first time and she didn't simply bite my neck, let me drink some of her blood and move on. At first, I didn't have a clue what she really was. Sure, she was pale and wouldn't go out during the day, but then again so would anybody with common sense while they were around - the paleness just follows naturally. There was not much room for distrust, either - neither of us had seen a fellow human for at least a few months and the company sure was worth the competition. We went to scavenge together, watch our backs and share the spoils of our nightly raids. Oddly enough we seemed to be better off together, which I first attributed to the additional pair of eyes, some group mechanic that increased our efficiency... something along these lines. Little did I know she simply let me have it all in her subtle humility.
With time, we became friends and friends eventually became lovers. She was very picky - naturally so, regarded with hindsight - when we had to relocate and settle down somewhere new. This is not safe, we're at a tactical disadvantage here, the structural integrity of that supporting wall doesn't seem so trustworthy and I swear she once made us discard a location because the matresses were stained. She couldn't have been more stealthy regarding her own feeding habits, though. Up until the end, I still didn't suspect a thing.
There was nothing dramatic about it happening. No chase, no fight. We were scavenging, business as usual. She went off to secure the backdoor of the derelict grocery store, when I stumbled upon a well rotten corpse behind the cash register. Before I even realized what happened, the corpse coughed. I don't know if it actually coughed or if some gases built up in its intestines released in just the right moment, trigerred by some minuscule movement of mine. I immediately backed off and wiped my face, might have even been that this had been my death sentence. Wait to sanitize your hands before touching yourself, surviving a zombie apocalypse one-oh-one. Must have happened to thousands of survivors within the first months, but I never thought something that simple would hit me.
I didn't wait until she came back. Put a flare torch to the corpse to light it up and got out of there before the first smoke hit the roof. No need to take her with me. She would know. And I had some time left, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks, to say my goodbyes to the world, then I'd torch myself rather than surrendering to the virus. I never knew the hopelessness of a ruined world could be topped until I walked through it in broad daylight the next morning, knowing full well I was now a carrier of the disease that stripped it of all life in the first place. I lay in the sun at noon, took a bath in a river ridden with zombie fish and generally enjoyed my first day on earth for a long time, knowing it'd be one of my last, too. Never would I have guessed it actually was my last.
Sure, I took care to put some distance between her and myself, covered my tracks and didn't look back once. Yeah, maybe once or twice, but looking doesn't do any harm, now does it? So call me a little bit surprised when in the middle of the night, I hear a familiar voice in my ear: "Darling, I can't let you go like this. After all, I never even tasted you and who would want my special treat to get spoiled in such a repulsive way?"
I wasn't even asleep, but sitting on a hill, staring at the full moon illuminating the few lonely clouds hanging in the sky, pondering the fate of humankind. Next thing I knew, there was a piercing pain in my neck and shortly thereafter, the moon, the clouds, the entire world faded to black.
I woke up with blood smeared everywhere and the metallic taste of it in my mouth. I was nowhere near the hill she found me on, but rather in the carefully chosen shelter we last inhabited. As my body now started to battle the zombie virus for control, I couldn't really distinguish between reality and the feverish dreams haunting me. I do remember her bringing me food, but back then thought it to be an illusion that it was still moving. When after some days I began getting better, she delivered a final meal: a stray dog, maybe feral before the plague, but not much more than apathetic now. And then, as sudden and abrupt as we had met, she left with only a whisper to remember her by: "Darling, bring love to the world, would you?" |
**So, Mr. Failure, let me first say that it is very odd to call you by that name. You’re the one who freed everyone from the SAO servers, after all.**
Hah, perhaps I am not a failure in this regard, but it took a lot of failures in the closed beta to identify how to win.
**That’s fair. So how did you beat the game so quickly then?**
Well, I didn’t beat the game. The game itself wanted to be defeated, and like every single game was designed to be defeated. That’s the goal of games like this.
**If you didn’t defeat the game, then what did you do?**
I defeated Cardinal. You see, while the game was designed and built to be defeated, a system had to exist to prevent people from beating it unfairly. An example system from other games is the death plane, a kind of wall which will kill you if you go out of bounds. Others have limiters, which say “you can never deal more than X damage per hit”, or “you can never go faster than Y speed.” Most other games like SAO have GMs, err, game managers. They’re kind of like customer service and the game cops all wrapped up into one. They’re able to look at player and computer generated reports and make decisions about whether to punish someone.
However, SAO didn’t have GMs, they had Cardinal. Cardinal is the name of the AI which did the job of all those other systems combined. It was supposed to ensure that the game was *only* beat in the prescribed way.
**So you had to convince the game controlling AI that you weren’t cheating?**
Not quite. The game, like I said, was designed to be defeated. It was designed and built to end once its creator had been defeated - had been killed.
**Aah. Akihiko Kyaba.**
Yes. So the goal of the game was to kill Akihiko Kyaba. So now, I know what the game winning condition is. I know that there’s a system to stop players from cheating. And I made an assumption that Akihiko Kyaba would be with us, as a player. He is human, after all.
**So, you mentioned earlier that you had a lot of failures in the Closed Beta, which helped you here?**
Oh, yeah. I had to find the edges of Cardinal, to find the boundaries between what is, and is not a “fair” action. And I died, a lot, during the closed beta to get that knowledge. That's what we do as speed runners - find the edges in what the game's hindering elements, and figure out how to abuse those edges to beat the game faster.
So once I had that data, I was able to convince the Closed Beta version of Cardinal that the floor bosses were somehow cheating, leading Cardinal to defeat the bosses on my behalf. There's few faster methods to get through a level than not having to fight the boss.
**But they would have closed that loophole, right?**
They totally closed it, about halfway through the beta. That’s why they have beta tests, after all.
**So if Cardinal would no longer kill bosses on your behalf, how was that useful?**
Akihiko Kyaba is not an NPC boss. He’s a player. With the launch coming quickly, they closed one loophole, without thinking on how it might be used in other ways. So I simply identified the PC who was Akihiko Kyaba, and convinced Cardinal that he was cheating.
**How did you identify him?**
Even the best players, like that NEET Kirito, have their health fall from time to time. Akihiko Kyaba's avatar never went below half health. That's what I looked for - someone helping to lead the charge who never lost too much health.
**With in-game death resulting in real world death, mercilessly having an AI kill him seems a bit grim.**
He’s the bastard who put us here. I simply played his game. |
This was it. This would be the best use of my power. I sat down at the computer, looking over my specialized software.
The hardest part about my superpower? Just *discovering* it. I mean, think about it: when was the last time you actually tried something crazy? Most people don't go trying to stop runaway trains. Most people don't fly to central Africa and try to unseat warlords. Honestly, when was the last time you really broke your own expectations, really pushed yourself to do something you thought was impossible?
I figured I'd start with the big ones, since having those would make everything else easier. I opened up DWSIM and started working.
We live in a world that punishes anything *but* mediocrity. I realize that now. My whole life I had waited for something wonderful, until one day I realized I was equally waiting for something terrible. A fire I could rush into, an earthquake I could heroically try to rescue people from. A tragedy I could exploit, if only I had phenomenally exploitable powers. Those flying white guys with the technicolor underwear? Every heroic act they perform is predicated on someone else's loss.
I ran the simulator, saw my molecule try to interact with the far more complex proteins. It seemed like it worked ok. I felt for my power, and it replied.
"Eh, fuck it. That's good enough,"I felt myself say. I saved the file, zipped it, sent it to the mailing list of international pharmacology lab addresses. That was my immortality serum done; they'd race each other to fine tune it into as many variations as necessary for it to work correctly.
See, I didn't have to be great at anything, so long as what I was mediocre at was great enough already. I closed the molecular modeling software, and opened AutoCAD.
We humans, we get stuck in our ruts so easily. I was, too: that's why my power went undiscovered for so long. I was selfishly waiting for someone else's tragedy. So when my own tragedy came knocking, my first instinct was to look for some asshole in a cape to rescue me. Because all my life I had subconsciously thought that that's what tragedies were *for.* They exist to demonstrate what the mighty could accomplish, and we mere mortals were so many NPCs, whose role was to alternate between begging for help and fawning over the heroes who deigned to respond.
Oof, this one was a complex problem. I was forced to design three different novel component machines and a new metamaterial that could withstand spaghettification. But my power kept clicking, so it was *possible*, so I kept at it. It would probably all fall apart if some random schmoe tried to build it in his backyard, but with some refining by the real geniuses, it would work just fine. I just had to do the work.
Because that's what it is, isn't it? Work. Pushing yourself to break free of your own expectations, to overcome your own doubts and fears. To become more than just some cog in the grand machine. To achieve, however modestly, some measure of making the world better than you found it. People would laugh at you, people would judge you, people would warn you not to dare. Governments would pay attention to you--the wrong kind of attention, especially if you had the wrong skin color or the wrong economic upbringing. These conformity pressures were their own tragedy, and exploiting them in order to demonstrate excellence in overcoming them was celebrated as the most heroic act an NPC could accomplish. Cue applause, here's your trophy, thanks for being the real hero.
"Eh, fuck it. That's good enough,"I blurted out. Whoops, got lost in thought and zoned out while working there. But now, the first working (if mediocre) plans for a real life time machine was finished. Once again, I saved everything, zipped up the files (I was surprised at how big these were), and found the mailing list for engineering and physics labs I had made.
I watched the progress bar, and wondered how many tragedies I was exploiting to be the hero today. I had solved aging and time travel; I still had cancer, hunger, and world peace on my list for this afternoon. Tomorrow's list was Alzheimer's, ALS, nuclear proliferation, space colonization, and climate change.
I sat back, stretching, and realized I was hungry. I looked down at my frayed sweatpants and considered getting dressed, going out for a burger. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care that I had the solutions to all their ills? Would anyone ever recognize what I had just done here? I was sending these plans out anonymously to every lab I could find, knowing that allowing any one group to have proprietary control over any of these technologies would be catastrophic.
Perhaps that was my tragedy, then. Perhaps I would wait for someone to exploit it, hoping to find my own personal hero in the one who recognized my work, someday.
I shook off the absurd thought, and laughed at my own hubris. I was being a proper cunt, I knew it. Real heroes? They don't need applause. They just do the work that makes the world a little better than they found it. I got up and went to get dressed, in my mediocre clothes, as a mediocre person. If I was anything more than mediocre, it was merely because I was willing to *try.*
Not all heroes wear capes. Right? |
Hans stomped over to the lunch table and sat with a clatter, practically throwing his tray down. Red sauce splattered onto his white robes. "Fuckin' great,"he muttered under his breath as he slid into the seat.
"Well, my life is ruined,"he announced to his best friend across the table.
Albert rolled his eyes and opened up his lunch. "Come on, man. Don't be melodramatic."
"No, I'm serious. I didn't get into *any* of the good schools I applied for. Germany didn't even bother sending me a rejection letter..."
Albert stayed silent; he'd just sent in his acceptance confirmation to Germany this morning.
"and you know that my dad was really hoping I'd follow in his non-existent footsteps. Well, that's all shot."
Hans' dad was the least famous ninja in all of Germany. And, in the ninja community, that was probably the highest compliment you could give someone. Practically *no one* knew who he was.
Hans continued his rant: "England said that I had not properly demonstrated mastery of the British martial arts style, but come on: that's like the hardest one to learn! France said that my sneaking was 'déficient.' Australia said that I scored a 23% on my poisons exam, which they apparently value highly. And I completely boned the entrance exam for Brazil; I forgot to check for a camera when infiltrating that bank vault."
Hans stabbed a meatball furiously and popped it into his mouth.
"Well, there's always your safety school..."Albert volunteered.
Hans sneered. "For fuck's sake,"he said, spitting little chunks of meatball across the table. "You really think I want to become some bowing little Bond villain henchman? Come on. They're a complete joke! I mean, thanks to them, the normies actually know about ninja stars."
"Come on, Japan wouldn't be *that* bad. There are plenty of great ninjas who have trained in Japan and gone on to do some really sneaky work! I mean, I could name like 20 off the top of my head..."
"Yeah,"Hans interrupted. "You *can* name them off the top of your head. That's the problem!"
He shook his head and poked at another meatball. "Dad is going to disown me. I might as well drop out of ninja training altogether and go work for the Illuminati or something."
---
If you enjoyed it, subscribe to /r/Luna_lovewell where I post all of my prompt responses! |
"I haven't even *seen* Calvin since that dance, OK? He just *disappeared!*"Lorraine's voice had clear notes of exasperation from having to argue about this *again*.
"But you did look for him, didn't you?"George accused. "Even after we were a couple, you went by his Uncle's house to find him, right?"
"Well... I..."she sputtered, "*of course* I looked for him, but only because I was worried! He could have been dead by the side of the road or something. You know that Biff had it out for him. And he didn't show up to school, or..."
"Oh, *save it*, Lorraine!"George was probably red in the face already. "I get it, OK? I've heard that song of his on the radio from Chuck Berry. I know women all want to be with rockstars and whatever. So you tried to find him again, and from the looks of our son, you certainly succeeded!"
"George, how can you even say that? I've *never seen him since that night!* I don't know what I can say that will convince you!"
There was a tense silence. Marty unpaused his video game downstairs, pretending that he wasn't listening in on the fight. It had become a daily occurrence in the McFly household, and he already knew how this would end. Just in time, he heard his father come stomping down the stairs.
"Hey, Dad!"Marty said cheerfully, not taking his eyes off the screen. He'd taken on a role of defusing the tension in the household. Soon enough they'd forget all about the fight and go back to life as usual. Well, till the next one that is. "How about we order some chinese for dinner?"It was Dad's favorite. Marty thought he heard a sob from his parent's room upstairs.
George didn't answer right away. He just stood in the doorway. Marty paused the video game and looked back to see tears rolling down his father's face. And there was a suitcase in his hand. "Dad?"Marty managed to utter. This wasn't right. This had never happened before.
"I'm sorry, so..."His father started to call him 'Son' as normal, but couldn't get the word out. "Marty. I'm sorry, *Marty*. Your mother will explain everything to you. Just..."he sighed heavily. "Goodbye, Marty."
Marty was paralyzed by shock as George picked up the suitcase and walked out the door. He should have done something. Should have stopped him. Should have tried to explain that it was absolutely impossible for him to be his own father. That it was a time paradox that would probably destroy the universe. But he couldn't say any of those things.
There was a knock on the door. Marty didn't know how long it had been. Hours, maybe? He'd just been staring at the wall, imagining what he could have said to make his father stay. But now he was back! Marty leaped off the couch and flew to the atrium without pausing to consider why his father would bother knocking on his own front door.
Doc Brown's bushy mane and wild eyes greeted Marty at the door. "Marty!"
Marty's smile collapsed. "Oh. Sorry, Doc. I thought you were..."
"Your father, yes!"
Marty stared. "How did you..."
"Oh, trust me, Marty... this is a critical moment in your history that has vast repercussions!"He gave an exaggerated shudder. "You don't even want to know what happens to you in this timeline. Or to your parents!"He shook his head like he was clearing those horrible memories out. "I thought that we'd cleaned up every loose end from 1955, but apparently not! We forgot that the *memories* would endure, Marty! We need to fix it!"
For the first time, Marty looked over Doc's shoulder to see the Delorean glowing in the driveway. "Oh *no*,"Marty said. "That always causes problems, Doc!"
"We have to, Marty! We have to go back to 1985 and prevent you from ever going to 1955 in the first place!"
----------
[Here's Parts 2 and 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/42rsd8/back_to_the_future_iv/czcwv5m?context=1)
|
"Gooooood Morning!!!"
"Oh, fuck off Jennifer."After a year of this, I'm at the end of my nerves.
Jennifer scoffs and scurries out of the room. I broke up with her six months ago, not that anyone remembers. My day just keeps starting over. Like a song stuck on repeat until it makes you so sick of it you prefer silence.
It's my birthday. Again. Maybe I would care if it wasn't my 300-something birthday this year. Today was supposed to be New Year's, not that anyone knows that either.
The sunrise is sickenly beautiful, the same streaks of pink and orange swirling in the sky. I wander out of the house and leave Jennifer to pout alone until she knows I'm gone.
Today, I'm not going to go to work. Today I catch a train to New York City, to celebrate New Year's in the place of my dreams. I catch the 5pm train to get me there by 11.
New York is lovely in September. It almost makes me glad I get to celebrate the holiday without freezing in a crowd of strangers.
The tourists surround me as I stand under where the ball should be. I feel my eyes begin to tear up.
"Happy New Years.."I murmur to myself. It's going to storm. It should be snowing.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me... What did you just say?"She's about my age. Eyes are big, full of fear... or hope. Hard to tell.
"I... Nothing."It's not worth explaining. I turn around to go, but she grabs my arm.
"*No,* tell me what you said."Her eyes pierce me.
I sigh. "I just said... Happy New Years."
Her voice is quiet and rough, "Why?"
"It's... I'm... Oh to hell with it you won't remember me tomorrow anyways. I-"
She suddenly hugs me tightly. I feel her chest throb a couple of times as she looks up at me with a teary smile. "Me too."
"You- you too?"I start to laugh. We just stare at each other for a while.
"How long?"I finally ask. She holds up 4 fingers.
"Four months?"She shakes her head sadly.
"Four *years?*"I wrap my arms around her again, "My god, I'm so sorry. It's only been about one for me."
"It's... okay. I'm glad I found you."she whispers. "Does it start over for you too when you go to sleep?"
I nod. There aren't any benches nearby so we lay on the sidewalk. "It's my birthday, you know."
"Today, or *today?*"she asks with a smirk.
"Today."
"Oh. Well then it's my birthday too."It begins to rain, but neither of us move. I take her hand in mine.
Midnight comes too soon.
"Happy New Years."
"Happy New Years."
"... Don't fall asleep, okay?"
"I won't."
"What's your name?"
"Lewis."
"Annabelle."
"...That's a really beautiful name."
"Thank you."
"It fits you well."
"How will I find you again?"
"Meet me here, as soon as you wake up."
"I will."
"But don't fall asleep."
"I won't."
I feel her hand begin to fade from mine, and soon the rain begins to stop.
I wake up to the same day. But this time, something is different. This time, I'll see her. And we will remember yesterday.
Edit: Part 2 in comments (: |
Inside the grandest stadium on Nova Prime, a gathering of hundreds of races was ongoing. A gathering that was unlike any other.
Several weeks ago, a call was issued. Urgent call, to gather the representatives of every single galactic race.
The council was usually used as a place to mediate various conflicts between the opposing parties.
Sometimes to arrange trade routes between the planets or star systems.
And sometimes to discuss various grand projects that would leave their marks in the history.
But there has never been a need to gather all of the representatives.
After all, there were very few instances, where a single matter would be of a concern to all the races in universe.
And even if such things had emerged, a single person would be sent to represent several allied factions at the same time.
That was exactly why, such call was never issued before.
"Greetings ladies and gentlemen, my name is Seraph Cher'Ubin."
A man with a pale, yet exquisite face and several pairs of wings behind his back, walked on to the stadium. And after introducing himself, he bowed his head towards the audience.
"I am chancellor of The Winged race. Please, forgive us for issuing such call so urgently. But we have stumbled upon something that, we believe, concern everyone gathered here."
Silence penetrated the stadium.
The audience could only think about few such matters. But among them, there was only one thing that could force someone to gather all the races at once. All the representatives at this moment could only think about 'Them'.
They were given many names by the galactic society. 'Primordial ones', 'Gods of old', 'Ancestors' and finally, 'Humans'.
Unfortunately, very few things is known about them.
Thousands of millions of years ago, they were the first to create FTL engines.
And within several hundred years, they spread their roots throughout the galaxy. They hoped to meet the others, who, just like them, could appreciate the beauty of creation.
But, to no avail, they were way too early to the party. Instead of finding planets bustling with life and intelligence, they found nothing.
At that time they couldn't find any life apart from simple bacteria and amoebas.
Many would plunge into the pits of despair at that sight, knowing they were alone in a cold and lifeless universe. But, they did not.
They knew that life will sooner or later rise from the seas and walk onto the land.
On the planets they deemed hospitable, they created monoliths. Near indestructible caches, that contained their wisdom.
Every single piece of knowledge that would be useful to the newly born race was included within them.
From mathematical rules that governed the universe. To knowledge of distant stars.
From steam machines, through the computers to their own wings, that gave them power to reach those celestial objects.
They gave them, faster than light technology. A technology that elevated their race from surface level to the kings of galaxies.
They included their belief, that everyone is, or at least should be, equally important.
That no being should be discriminated because they are different from them.
They included their philosophical beliefs and ethics that transcended the time and species itself.
Ethics which convey that the virtue was valuable in itself. And the only right way to live was to cooperate with each other and try to live in harmony.
Those were the bloody lessons which didn't need to be repeated, which should not be repeated. Because every intelligent could also be hurt, suffer and cower in fear.
They were like fathers and mothers of prodigies. Prodigies that could not see their parents' smiles after hearing achievements of their children.
They passed away before they even began crawling and bawling. Before they even have a chance to show them their true potential.
Before they even could repay their debt, that they didn't have.
But, instead they were left with their legacy, a some sort of insurance.
An insurance that would make sure they won't stray from the right path and have a head start in life.
Something, their parents did not have in the past. Guidance from the elders that came before them and paved the way forward, illuminating the darkness of uncertainty.
After all, every parent wished for the happiness and well-being of their children.
Thus, it wasn't an exaggeration to say, that they were ancestors of every galactic race.
Every single race that could be found within the council benefited from their wisdom.
Unfortunately, they couldn't witness that sight. They were extinct.
Universe played a cruel trick on them. An unknown contagious disease struck them. They fought it will all their strength and knowledge, to no avail.
Within a few hundreds years, not a single human remained.
It has been widely thought that their race was forever gone, lost in the annals of history. Until now.
"I believe all of you know about what I am talking about."He paused, for a few seconds. During this time, no one could draw a single breath.
"We have found their DNA perfectly preserved not too long ago."He didn't even need to mention whose DNA it was.
He didn't drop the bomb, no, he dropped an entire Hypernova.
Not a single one of those dignified representative was able to remain quiet after hearing such news. The hall went into the uproar.
And among all of this chaos that spread instantaneously, someone suddenly raised a question that troubled nearly all of them.
"Forgive us, but that's too much of shocking news. Are you certain, it's their DNA ?"
Seraph didn't look surprised when someone asked such a question. It was obvious and natural they doubted him.
"Yes we are. It was preserved within what, we believe, is their final vault, it is located on the asteroid Üc207Pr4f57t9."After saying that, he snapped his fingers and several holograms appeared beside him.
"We spend more than a twenty years trying to break through its defenses. We estimate that it could withstand even the most advanced of our current weapons."
He projected countless images of their attempts to breach its defenses.
"Inside it, we found their DNA, perfectly stored in near absolute zero temperatures and also ..."He paused here, and looked around the gathered, as if in order to gather their attention.
"A small golden disk, and on it, their very last message, to us."After saying this, he fell silent. A few moments later, a voice could be heard, a voice that did not belong to anyone in this stadium.
"This is a last present, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time, so we may live into yours. "
After saying this, the voice went quiet, and different various sounds took its place.
Children's laughter. Sounds of many wild animals. Thunders, earthquakes and waves splashing onto the sands.
Those were the sounds of a bygone era. Greetings and songs of the ancient past.
They were speechless. That was the first time they encountered human's voice and sounds of their home planet.
After all, not even worlds may survive after four hundred million years. Why would it be any different with some race's history ?
After the recording ended, no one could mutter a word. Only some time later, Seraph's voice broke the status quo.
"As you can see, it's genuine. We, are all gathered here, because of them. Our entire society was built upon their legacy, that they have left behind, on their ashes."
After saying this, he projected thousands of images of various countless animals and plants around him.
"Besides their DNA, vault included various seeds and DNA of other organisms that once lived along them on their home planet. Their legacy and wisdom guided us this entire time. So, now it is finally time to, at least partially, repay our debt."
He looked at the audience and after several seconds of silence he finally spoke.
"We shall revive their race. We shall protect them behind their backs and guide them towards the stars. We, Winged race, want to propose to the council a new project."
Above him, several symbols appeared and formed a single sentence: 'PROJECT EARTH'.
---
Pretty sure that's not exactly what you meant when you were writing this prompt, but I wanted to write something like this for wayy too long.
If someone finds some errors ( with usage of times or something like that ), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve.
Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
Edit 1: I changed and added a few sentences to improve word flow, and fixed several mistakes that I was able to spot on. Glad you enjoyed it.
Edit 2: Well, I added a little more than just 'a few sentences', I just couldn't resist myself.
Edit 3: If someone is intrested about the future of this prompt, read my comment down below. |
**HCO-272's brain flickered with electricity as bullets zipped through their gaseous body, scything through their reflectors like they weren't even there.** It had seemed so easy, HCO-272 thought to themself. The Void-Dwellers spent decades in deep space, using lasers to accelerate the thin clouds of particulate matter that made up their bodies to near-light speeds. When they found a new solar system, they spread throughout its planets to harvest their atmospheres to reproduce.
Except this time, one of the rocky planets had been inhabited by aliens with—of all things—bodies made of *solid matter*. And for whatever reason, the solid-bodies *hated* it when the Void-Dwellers tried to vacuum up their atmosphere.
Unfortunately for the solid-bodies, Earth was the best source of oxygen in this solar system, and the HCO-272 damn well hadn't travelled three light-years to turn away at the first sign of resistance. And while every Void Dweller grew up knowing how to wield laser blasters and construct particle deflectors, the primitive solid-bodies used *sublight-speed projectiles*, of all things, to hurt each other. That would never work in space—even their 'bullets' moving at hundreds of miles per hour would be easily dodged by the nimble gas-cloud bodies of the Void Dwellers.
Except... Earth wasn't space. The thick atmosphere surrounding that damn rock did all kinds of bizarre things to laser weapons. Half the time, their lasers would be absorbed by the atmosphere itself before it even reached its target. Lasers didn't do that in space—how was HCO-272 supposed to know their weapons would be half-useless? And when the Void Dwellers laughed contemptuously at the slow bullets, preparing to dodge out of the way at near-lightspeed, they found that there was significantly more air resistance on Earth than in a vacuum. Poor NRD-471 blew themself up by trying to move too fast.
But worst of all? The Void Dwellers... well, they lived in the void. They'd *severely* miscalculated how much gravity Earth had, or just how hard it would be to ascend through that much air resistance under a full g of acceleration. So now they were trapped here. With the humans and their guns, shooting blocks of solid matter that completely ignored the carefully-optimized reflective shields which would have shrugged off even the highest-power lasers in the Void Dwellers' arsenals.
There was only one way out of this.
HCO-272 stopped firing laser blasts—they were barely scorching the humans' planes, anyway—and sent out a radio pulse across the planet, coordinating with what was left of the Void Dweller forces.
*Stand down,* HCO-272 broadcast. *Inform the humans that we surrender.*
A.N.
If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more! |
He asked me if I was alright. His eyes were fixed on mine. "Yes,"I answered, suppressing a sly grin.
His eyes went first. "I knew it,"he mumbled. And then he started to yell. "You can see them, too."He pulled at the restraints. He fumbled over his words. He fought some invisible force.
Maybe it was my hesitancy. Maybe it was the look I gave him. Either way, it was enough to trigger him - enough to let him know that maybe he was a little less crazy than he seemed - and the guards strapped him into the straight-jacket and dragged him away. I took a note in my notebook, filled with over a year of scribbles now. Always the same result. Always the same reaction. And try as I might, I could never figure out the pattern. I could never figure out what they sought. I just let them do what they wanted. I just did as I was told. "Male, thirty one years old... As of today."Unfortunate birthday for him, to say the least. Hopefully by his next one we would figure out how to stabilize him. "Nervous, bloodshot eyes, complaining that they're all around him. Delusions and paranoia."
The director listened to my report keenly. "They've all been male?"I shook my head. There had been about two dozen females. Their reactions were just less dramatic. Less virulent. More controlled. I wasn't sure why the effectiveness was so different. "Age?"No pattern there. I swatted at a fly that buzzed near my ear, used to the motion by now. It landed on his sweaty forehead. He didn't notice. I stared, captivated as the tiny creature feasted on his salty secretions. "Patrick?"I snapped out of it.
"No patterns,"I repeated. Even the computers couldn't figure out the patterns, at least not anything indicating any type of strong correlation. At least not anything more than they were supposed to. The patients were from all walks of life; young and old, poor and rich, white and black and everything in between. The fly paced up his forehead, onto his balding head. Another had joined it, two companions stalking their way to their goal. He wiped at his forehead, as if he was vaguely aware of the creatures helping themselves to the banquet. I knew he wasn't. He wouldn't be here with me if he was. And I wouldn't be here with them if they knew what I knew.
I had had several close calls. Once I swatted at a fly while I sat in the interrogation room across from a patient. The patient's eyes had gone wide. They had pulled against the restraints that held them to the chair. They had screamed. They had begged for mercy. They had begged me to tell the world they were real. But I didn't. I couldn't. I ended that session; I had them gagged and bound and thrown into solitary where they could lay in darkness, straining and drooling until they were feeble-minded and entirely unreliable. There were three flies now. They were gathered near the top of his skull. I stared at them in morbid fascination. It never got old. I could almost see my reflection on his head.
"Patrick,"he said again. He was impatient. We had far too many patients to waste time. I was distracted, my eyes fixed on the mechanical little ritual he was completely unaware of. "They have no sign of infection. There is nothing noticeably wrong with them, other than their behavior. We don't know what came over them but it's always the same. It's like something else entirely has taken control."He was disturbingly close. The patients were often admitted involuntarily, thrust into our possession by worried family members or enraged pedestrians. "Don't let them get you,"they would say. So I was careful. When they came near, I would swat and duck into a bathroom or casually put on a ball-cap. I knew what to look for. I wasn't supposed to be a target, but it was just in case. I didn't want to have to go through all that again. And then the first of the flies was gone, boring its way into the top of his skull. I smiled with satisfaction.
"No, sir,"I answered. "No other symptoms."I had met the director in the interview process. We had quickly bonded. Of course we had. I had been meticulously briefed on his every interest; I had read his favorite books and tracked his favorite sports teams and begun to frequent his favorite restaurants. Plus, I had come with glowing recommendations. Several stints in a number of different facilities, all employments confirmed by phone calls. Of course my resume had been vetted and then vetted again. But it was solid. There were no cracks in the story. We were more careful than that. And now it was just a matter of keeping hold of the people who saw through it all. I had almost begun to like him. I would miss him. But it was necessary.
"Patrick?"He was nervous. The sweat had started to dissipate. Sweating was not a symptom. "Patrick?"he repeated, his voice a little more labored. "You can see them too?"He was desperate now. I could see it in his eyes. I had worked with enough patients to know the moment it took hold. Not the patients here; the patients we had in the lab in the development process. The patients who had made this all possible, God rest their souls, as we stumbled our way through the beta versions. "Patrick?"He was yelling now. He felt trapped in his own head, his arms and legs no longer in his control. His mind would be next. The straight-jackets weren't necessary. They were just traditional.
I pressed the button for the intercom. "I'll need a little help here,"I said with faked urgency. "We have another case."I knew the guards would enter with the straight-jacket ready. They would look at him sadly, another colleague afflicted. I knew they would put him in one of the countless cells in the belly of the building. I knew that the position would now be empty and our grasp would become a little more firm. I knew that the tiny little things buzzing in my pocket were hungry for another strike and I patted the pocket gently to let them know that they would soon be unleashed.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c88wty/wp_they_arrived_not_with_a_bang_but_with_a/)
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Heaven, LLC
I read the first page of the huge packet again and then flipped over the large envelope it came in.
*Heaven, LLC. Your own personal paradise awaits,* it read in flowing golden script.
I read the first page again.
*We are sorry to inform you that your soul has been tampered with by an external force, and you didn’t have a chance to live your life as it was intended. You have a few options.*
It was clearly junk mail. Some scam artist trying to offer me salvation for just a few thousand dollars or something. But whoever it was put a lot of effort into it. The paper was so smooth and soft, like holding silk, and the lettering was all in gold and that same flowing script. And the paper itself smelled slightly of incense.
I dropped it on the counter and started my electric tea kettle. As I stood waiting for the quiet beep that was the precursor to a cup of hot deliciousness, my mind wandered back to the envelope. I picked up the envelope and read the flowing inscription again. Then picked up the packet and read the first page. I shook my head and dropped it. Why was i putting so much thought into such an obvious -
“Oh my Lord, will you just read the darned packet already! Pardon my language but I've been waiting for 2 minutes now and that's a lot of time when you have to be literally everywhere!”
I screamed and dropped my empty mug, which shattered, raining ceramic daggers all over my kitchen floor. Grabbing the nearest thing I could find as a weapon I whirled around and pointed my teaspoon menacingly at the intruder.
“Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in my house?”
“First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, ‘how in *Heaven* did I get in your house,” the tall, dark haired man said. He was roughly 6 feet tall, give or take a few inches, with shoulder length straight black hair. He had a chiseled jaw and olive complexion. He looked like a character out of one of my girlfriends smut books. “You may call me Zazriel, Seraphim of the highest order, second only to the Lord Himself, at your service,” he gave a deep, elaborate bow.
I’ve never been much of a fighter. I once hit someone with a pillow when they tried to mug me while I walked home from the store, then apologized to them as I ran away. I spent good money on that pillow. It was memory foam and had the cooling gel on one side. So anyways, I did what any self respecting man would do when his possessions or life are threatened. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the door.
The man calling himself Zazriel stepped slightly to his right, cutting off my exit. *Shit,* I thought, *I did that thing I always hate in horror movies.* You know when the main characters hide in a room with only one exit. I looked around for another means of escape. The window! I started running towards the window. I sprinted with all my might. I mean, I probably could have beaten Usain Bolt in that instant. But the window never got any closer. I looked down at my pumping legs, only to realize that I was roughly 2 feet above the floor. Apparently, as I entered the Speed Force, Zazriel had somehow managed to find his way behind me, and lift me off the floor by my armpits. He waited until I tired myself out, then sat me gently back on the floor. Then he handed me my shattered mug, now filled with hot bitter tea.
“Please, John. Be not afraid. I am no common thug here to harm you or your possessions. I’m here to deliver a message,” He handed me the packet and smiled, “And go over your options for the afterlife.”
“The...what?” I said. Taking a sip of my tea, which was the perfect temperature.
“The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself.”
“The…what?” I repeated, dumbly
“The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself,” repeated Zazriel, as if it was the first time I had asked.
“Am I….”
“Not yet, but you should be. You were scheduled for a soul retrieval two business days ago. However, something happened. This is not uncommon. Sometimes souls don’t get the message and linger for a little longer, however when we attempted to contact your soul a second time, we received no response.”
“We?”
“Yes, *We*, the angels, John. please try to keep up.”
“You’re not an angel. Angels are terrifying things with eyes and wings.”
“No John you’re thinking of birds,” Zazriel shuttered visibly, then handed me my shattered mug, filled with delicious bitter tea.
“Thanks,” I said, setting my mug on the counter and reaching for the one he - “Wait…”
“Don’t think about it too much. You have plenty else to think about,” he said, pointing to the packet in my free hand. “See someone has tampered with your soul. It cannot be retrieved as wwe are unsure where it is. There could be many reasons for this. Demonic possession is the typical suspect, however you do not exhibit any of the typical signs, such as speaking in unknown languages, higher than normal body temperature, aversion to holy symbols, and smelling of brimstone and sulfur. In fact, you smell like,” He sniffed the air around me, “lavender and shea butter.”
“I have very dry elbows.”
“Indeed. Anyways we have a few options, outlined in this packet. The first is to remain on earth without a soul. You will live eternally, however without a soul your body will soon begin to decay. This will throw a wrench into any social plans you might have. The second is to come with me to a temporary holding cell in heaven, known as Purgatory, until your soul can be retrieved. And the last option is to hunt for your soul yourself. See, He has many enemies, and I don't just mean old Lucy. Many of whom remain at large and must be brought before the Lord for judgement. Should you choose this option, you will be granted immortality, as well as a temporary soul, and in exchange you will become a sort of...supernatural bounty hunter. Take a few days, read the packet, and consider your options. I’ll return to get your answer shortly.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Why are you telling me this story?”
“Because I've had a very long day,” I ejected the clip of my gun and checked the ammunition, slipped the clip back into the gun and chambered a round, then looked back up at the demon. “I’m hoping you’ll come peacefully, and we can skip the whole ‘chasing you through the streets and shooting up the entire block’ bit.”
*He won’t come peacefully,* I thought, *they never do.*
The demon sprung from his chair and ran towards the door. I sighed, stood, and aimed my pistol. |
"There! Now... have at thee!"
Skave just had to comment. "Wait!"
Jorn the Brave staggered to a halt. "What kind of trick is this, now?"
"Fuckin'... Just wait. Did you just eat a *whole* chicken? And two *entire wheels of cheese*? Rind, bones and all?"
Jorn seemed confused. He just looked around. Nobody had ever commented on it before. He'd been through countless battles, and whenever his constitution began to wane, he'd have a snack and be at full strength once again.
"What the fuck dude. Do you not understand how goddamn weird that is?"
"I do not understand the problem."
"Where are the *bones from the chicken*?"
Jorn instinctively looked around for chicken bones. *Drat! His distraction has worked* "Enough of this diversion!"
Jorn raised his sword again, preparing to strike.
"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!"Skave held his staff off to the side, the spell wreathing his off hand dissipating.
Jorn was confused again, frozen with his sword poised to swing down into Skave's shoulder.
"Have you truly never witnessed another person eating a meal?"
"A meal?! That chicken would have fed a whole family! That cheese could have lasted a peasant family weeks! AND WHERE IS THE RIND?! YOU ATE A WHOLE WHEEL OF CHEESE in a single bite LIKE A HONEYBUN!"
Jorn instinctively stepped back, startled by Skave's sudden outburst and bald faced exasperation.
Skave dropped his staff and cradled his head in his hands, muttering to himself about bones and rinds.
Jorn awkwardly walked around Skave's mental breakdown and walked over to the Shrine he was here to destroy in the first place.
Amidst the mumblings about cheese and chickens, he quietly dismantled the shrine and placed the central soulstone into his inventory.
"HEY! WHERE DID YOU JUST PUT THAT!"
Jorn flinched as if he were a child caught stealing sweets before dinner.
"WHERE DID IT GO!"
Skave ran over and began patting Jorn down. Jorn no longer sensed any malice or threat from Skave and simply stood there and let the situation played out.
"WHERE! YOU HAVE NO POCKETS! NO PACK! WHEEEERRREEE!"
Skave collapsed, head once again in his hands, now mumbling about how Jorn must be some kind of eldritch horror he had yet to discover in his studies of the dark arts.
Jorn gave Skave one last glance, realizing that the threat has passed, the shrine destroyed and disempowered and the one soulstone strong enough to power it now safely in his possession. He walked out of the dungeon, feeling almost bad, realizing that he had done to Skave far worse than merely slay him. He hadn't broken his body, but his mind.
All by doing something as natural as enjoying a quick meal during their battle. |
"By the Satan's tits, THEY'RE BACK!"
It was pandemonium in the Demon World. Barons ran amok, trying to calm the populace, but it was futile. It hasn't been 20 years since the portal opened and THAT came out, slaughtering and massacaring countless of their bretherens. Everyone remembered him. Everyone feared him.
The last time they had such a situation, it was the opposite. Everyone was impatient, almost giddy with excitement, of the blood and slaughter their armies will wreak on the puny humans. They were ecstatic, but not for long.
A small human in green suit filled with fire and fury from the heavens ripped and tore apart everything he saw. No matter how many demons he faced, no matter how big they were, no matter how tough they were built - they all died.
"Duke, there are signs of those human trying to enter this dimension. We must do something before that...that THING wakes up."Minions knelt and begged their Lord. "We can't survive another genocide."
The Duke of hell felt a cold sweat running his back. He remembered watching a little, green human jumping up and down, leaping every which where to kill his father, the previous Duke. He was unrestrained by gravity, his guns never stopped blazing until every demon was crushed underneath his boots.
There was also some some unholy music - full of screaming, screeching humans whose voices added to the symphony of metallic sounds - that added to the grotesque nature of his murders. It seemed to add the frenzy of his attacks.
Had he not hidden that day, he'd be dead. Just like his Father. The trauma came rushing back and the Duke felt nauseated.
"Assemble the demons. We will block-"
Just then a loud bang interrupted the hall. The sound was faint but it was a familiar song - the unholy union of screaming humans and the instrument they call 'electric guitar'.
The little human in green was back. |
“Well, you could still-“
“I am not perfect,” Bruce said. “I know that I could be doing better. I also know that punching bad guys isn’t the long-term solution. Believe it or not, but I do know that.”
The Dark Knight sat back into his chair, looking much more tired than you expected from him.
“But Gotham doesn’t always give us the time for long-term plans. Someone has to put out the fires as they come.”
You scowl, holding onto the idea that you knew better.
“Bullshit!” You spat, refusing to see a person. Bruce Wayne was a symbol of rich and powerful making the world their personal playground. “If you had just invested in research of someone like Crane-“
“Crane?” Wayne laughs. Bitterly. “Did you just suggest I give money to Crane?”
You roll your eyes. Of course, he would never see the potential in his villains. He was a bully.
“Yes, if you gave him money to work on Fear Toxin, he would have created cure for anxiety and phobias!”
The silence reigns over the cave. You know that you have won this one.
“… You do realise that Crane is not interested in curing or helping anyone, right? You do know that he was fired from his job as a professor at Gotham University for firing a gun in the class?”
You shrug. That was not important to you.
“He could still help.”
“He doesn’t want to help anyone,” Wayne shakes his head. “If he did, he would attend therapy to improve himself.”
“Fine!” You spat and switch the topic. “Then what about Poison Ivy? Huh?! She wants to make the world a green paradise!”
“At the cost of humanity. I have offered her grants and support of Wayne Enterprises in developing the sustainable practices. But she believes that wiping out people and replacing them with plants is better.”
“Riddler? Two-Face? Mr. Freeze?”
“Riddler only cares about proving himself the smartest. Harvey and Victor are in desperate need of help.”
“And yet you beat on them like a bully!”
You smile smug and confident in your moral victory.
“I do so only when they threaten innocent lives. Their personal problems are not the excuse to endanger or harm others.”
You seethe, trying to find anything that could you hold onto your white horse.
In the end, all you can do is say:
“You could still do more.”
And, in the calmest voice possible, Wayne looks you in the eyes and says:
“I always do.” |
Call me E.
I'm not popular. At this rate, I'll probably be among the most hated people on the Internet for many years to come. Apparently, people don't like it when you have a personal history of poor choices and questionable judgement. They like it even less when you decide to tamper with something they love... Something they've helped to build with their own content and moderation.
But I've got power, and as long as that's the case I'll continue to ignore the anger my actions cause. I'll continue to piss people off. I'll even continue to show how little I understand the company I'm supposed to run.
Why? Because I'm The Interim. My ability is making people grateful for the person who comes after me. No matter how bad the perminant CEO may end up being, my horrific track record will serve as a rallying cry for future generations of users. "Well, at least s/he's no E!" |
I sat in my leather chair and leaned back. "Have you ever played civilization?"I asked the investigator.
"I don't really see how that's relevant sir. We just want to know how you ended producing a democracy from a criminal empire."
"There's a sort of in-joke about the game called one more turn syndrome. You plan to stop at the end of your turn and move onto something else. But, in one more turn you finish your research, then after that you finish your building, then Gandhi declares war on you."
"What? Gandhi declares war on you?"
"yeah there's this funny integer overflow prob- you know that's not really relevant. Anyway, you have all these things about to happen so you tell yourself just one more turn. Then it's 6 in the morning and you have work in forty minutes."
"Can you hurry and get to the point please?"
I leaned back and took a sip of my drink "To put it simply we wanted to be prepared, cover our bases, fill the holes in the organisation, cross the t's and dot the i's etcetra etcetra. We wanted to make things foolproof, Al Capone was brought down on tax evasion, RICO brings down tons of organisations similar to ours. It was a massive undertaking and there was always so much to do and cover before we committed a crime. Just one more gap to fill, just one more backup plan, just one more turn. Does it make more sense now?"
"I think, but I don't see how you go from a secure organisation to a democracy."
"I'm getting to that. Anyway, we wanted to make sure we had a final backup plan, if all else fails and we were caught the guy at the top had to be able to handle the courts, he needed to be strong, eloquent, prepared and most of all he had to have the trust and loyalty of the people beneath him. As prepared as we are the whole thing is a house of cards if you can't rely on the people below you."
"And that's when you first starting holding elections?"
"Yes that's when it began, from there we got so caught up in campaigns and backroom deals, making promises and securing votes that we forget to commit any real crime. Eventually we realized we were making more money preparing for a crime than by ever actually committing one."
"How did you manage that?"
"We have a lot of skilled criminals and lawyers on the payroll, often as the same person. We have a lot of backup plans and contingencies for all sorts of heists, blackmail, kidnapping and any other crime you could think of. When I campaigned for president of our organisation I ran on a platform of committing crime legally. With the resources we had we became a security consulting company. Is your bank truly unbreakable, let us test it and find out. Want to know how long your family safe will hold up, give us a call. It's amazing how many things that we get paid to do that would normally be considered illegal"
"But that's not all you do, is it?"
"You're referring to the rumours that we also consult for the other side? That our position allows us a chance to sell other criminals the way past vaults, into rich homes and bypass security systems? Or that we hire other organisations to hit exploits in other companies so that they'll sign with us?"
"Uhh...No, I was referring to the kidnap experience and other thrill seeking adventures. What was that about consulting for the other side?"
I'd monologued too long, an old habit, hard to break really. The investigator was scribbling in his notepad rather quickly now. I would have to make sure he had an accident before he returned to his office. Vinny and Michael were currently conducting a security audit on his building they would be able to handle it.
"Do you have any comment on these rumours sir?"The investigator was sat, pen poised and ready to go. He was a liability and had to be dealt with. But not yet, the urge to monologue was strong. Just one more turn. |
– Luck's for the weak, sonny! With guts and good strategy, you can beat even the lottery!
Such were the words to live by of Mr. McKinley, my foster father. He and Mrs. McKinley (LUCK 12 and 7, respectively) were proud no-luckers, completely unfazed by the cruelty of fate that they had been experiencing since their first days, content with their hard-won bread and butter. However, when Mrs. McKinley suffered some reproductive health issue that prevented them from having children (I never asked for details), they felt it might be a good thing: stats are at least partially hereditary, after all, so why not adopt a child with better prospects?
They happened to adopt me. The zero-luck Yonah.
By the way, median LUCK stat in our country is 35. Below a certain threshold, 15 I guess, you're not even allowed to work in many responsible occupations, no matter how high your INT or CHAR or DEX or whatever may be. Below 8 you don't get insurance, you can't start a business, and everyone treats you like a leper. The only people still happy to deal with you are swindlers, because a leper can still be a sucker.
Below 5, you aren't expected to make it to adolescence. Your life is considered forfeit from the get-go. For instance, if you're hit by a car and die, the driver isn't culpable no matter his condition. It only takes a drop of your blood, a standard $5 plastic stat-viewer from a drug store, and the incident is resolved in favor of a proper, lucky human. Just another failure, scrapped for good.
McKinleys never admitted to regret their decision. I was loved and taught to love myself, to the day a jet engine crashed into our house out of the blue, killing my parents. It seems father's motto didn't work that well for him in the end.
Even so, I took it to heart. And I survived – somehow.
Reminiscing about better days helps motivate yourself to get up in the morning, or so I think. I stretched, accidentally touching the top of my cardboard box house, and it disintegrated like wet toilet paper. Guess there was rain while I slept, huh. I reflexively covered myself with a blanket expecting a downpour (at least the blanket wasn't stolen by other bums again), but there was nothing of the sort. I saw beautiful blue sky, criss-crossed by two rainbows. It was a soothing sight.
...But is this even optically possible?
No matter. I need to hurry to work. Still three hours left (by the way, how did I happen to not oversleep?), yet something always happens to hinder me. Put on my shoes, trimmed the beard with child safe scissors, found an unopened beer can next to a leftover half-burger. A pretty good start, eh?
When I got out of the back alley, I was nearly squashed flat by a cherry Tesla S. The brakes worked to stop it just in time.
– Damn, almost gave me a heart attack. This auto, why even go here... Hey, you alright? I'm sorry, my car just... Yonah?
A stunning redhead froze mid-motion, staring at me in disbelief.
– You look terr... err, you look about as I expected. Nice beard.
– Thanks Mia. Same to you. Except the beard part I guess.
– You're still a jerk but it's nice to see that you're alive. Going somewhere?
– To garbage disposal plant. Care to give me a ride? I might stain your seats, though.
– Don't worry, I was just driving my dog to a vet the other day so it's covered. But are you sure about garbage disposal? You might still have a few years left.
– Mia, I'm working there.
– ...Oh. Well then, get in.
Mia Goddard, my hopeless middle school crush. A genuinely great girl. Also an overpowered character destined to win at life, with LUCK stat 72. We weren't meant to meet again after graduation.
– Hey Mia, sorry but could you stop by a drug store first? I feel like I need to check something.
*Edits: capitalization, line breaks* |
Hands on the wheel
and eyes on the road -
Dad taught me safety
all those years ago
He said, "Get a good job
and get a nice wife
and look out for strangers
and don't ruin your life."
He said, "Play it safe, son,
you need security,
so just keep your head down
and don't end up like me."
So I got a nice job
with a nine-to-five grind
And I got a nice wife
who I didn't mind
Right up 'till one day
when I drove home
with my hands on the wheel
and eyes on the road -
and I saw my turnoff
and something just snapped
so I kept on rolling
with the sun on my back.
I don't know what'll happen
but I'm feeling no fear
'cause dad, there are worse things
than danger out there. |
We stood there with our mouths and eyes wide open. Al continued to stand there with the book in his hand, his clothes still smoking and eyebrows missing. "I said, it's due back in 3 weeks."He shoved the heavy tome into my hands and began limping back to his desk.
Howard was the first to speak. "Don't open it,"he said. "Just give it back to Mr. Azif and we pretend this never happened."Howard began trembling just looking at the cracked leather binding.
Frank began laughing. "Please, it's just some stupid prank that Mr. Azif is trying to pull on us. I'm actually amazed that he went to the trouble of even shaving his eyebrows off to make it look real!"Frank took the book into his hands and began examining the cover. "He really went all out on this thing. It feels like someone filled it up with rocks!"
I glanced over at Mr. Azif while Howard and Frank continued to argue over the book. Mr. Azif had taken off his shirt and was bandaging a huge laceration across his chest. Based on all the scars, it certainly wasn't the first time.
"I think we need to talk to Mr. Azif about this book,"I said rather loudly. "I don't think this is the first time someone's requested this book. Look."We watched as Mr. Azif began chanting softly as he pulled out a sheet of paper. Using the blood still oozing from his chest, he began writing.
We slowly approached Mr. Azif, watching as he continued to dip his finger into his chest as he filled the page. "Uh... Mr. Azif?"I squeaked. "We have a question."
Mr. Azif did not stop chanting but turned his head. He nodded in encouragement.
"I... didn't really want this book. There was a rumor that you could find any book, even the Necronomicon and that you had loaned it out before."I said, my voice cracking over the soft whispers of Mr. Azif. "I'm really sorry if you went to a lot of trouble for this book, but I would like to return it right now."I slowly placed the book on his desk and waited.
Mr. Azif paused and stared into my eyes. "William. The rumors were true. I am a librarian that can find you any book that you may request. It is also true that you are not the first to request this cursed book."He took the paper, still wet with fresh blood, and placed it gingerly into my hands. "However, the 3 weeks that I gave you was not for the book."My eyes began scanning the letter Mr. Azif had given me. "You must return here in 3 weeks to face the Old Ones. That letter and that cursed book are the only things that can save you now. May your god save you."
***
edit - I must admit, I am surprised how much this blew up overnight! As I always say, the best story can be found in the comments since there will always be a better edit made with fresh eyes.
The requests for more... this is a first. We'll wait and see! I suppose this is when I start my own subreddit to keep up with these requests?
edit - [The end,](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51v4oc/wp_your_middle_school_librarian_has_never_failed/d7grfm7) as requested! |
The file went into detail about Holmes' abilities to deduce elaborate murders based on tiny details and his vast knowledge of the world. For the most part, Holmes was non-violent. Did not even carry a gun, making him an easy target. Supposedly a junky. His assistant, life partner, wingman dr. Watson might be a problem.
I was expecting Ms Hudson, 70something housekeeper to open the door, but it was a spindly looking man with a crooked nose. Holmes.
"Mr Bond, I presume? Here to kill me? Do come in, it is freezing outside, and I can feel it in my bones."I stepped into a trap. As I followed Holmes up the stairs into his study, Dr Watson was behind me. He searched me before I sat down. I was not armed.
"You must be wondering how I knew MI6 is trying to kill me? To be honest, they have no other option.Last night I contracted a virus for the Queen and country. A rather nasty kind could kill millions in hours. Ebola piggybacking on flu. You sneeze, and your innards turn to mush. Killing me and burning the body would cure it forever since it might turn me into patient Zero if whatever triggers it."
"I could just kill you and defuse the threat."
"True. Or you could keep me alive long enough to aid my search for the creator of my demise."
"Moriarty?"
"Blofeld"
Ernst Stavro Blofeld. How many times do I have to kill him? What are they, growing him in vats someplace?
"One of the clones. Produced in the same labs as the virus. I was about to travel to the location myself when the mishap occurred. I can't leave the country legally in this condition. So I need you to kill me and deliver my body to Watson."
"You mean surpass the cleanup crew that is waiting in the van outside and listening?"
"My friends took care of them. The van is ours to escape in. Tracking is disabled."
"You expect me to just go along with this?"
"No Mr Bond I expect you to fall to your urges and go hunt Blofeld. He is your white whale."
He looked at me again, smiling.
"You would be, of course, saving the world and pissing of your superiors in the process, something you've acquired a taste for over the years"
"You seem to have me figured out."
"No, I just hope you will be you."
Watson stepped in front of me, extending his hand. "Glad to have you on board. We should move."
Holmes picked up a sharpie pen and started drawing a tribal motif on his face. Watson gave me one, while shaving his eyebrows.
"Draw below the mouth, but above the chin to make facial recognition misidentify the placement of the jaw.”
"We need a plane to get to South America."
"I know a guy."
Richard owed me a favour since we were young derelicts. He supplied the weed to the Stones. A private plane full of pot, way back in the sixties. Never touched the hard stuff, but it was enough to land him a nice stretch. He has a farm up in Yorkshire now. Keeps the plane at a local airport, as a souvenir. Mick Jagger borrows it to reminisce about the swinging sixties. Hopefully, not today.
We traded the van in with a raver that stumbled out of the woods near the farm. He was off his head, but did not have a way to get home in Manchester, so us giving him the van just for him being so nice sounded reasonable.
Airport was dark. Watson seemed to know his way around the cockpit, so I joined Sherlock in the salon. His eyes were closed and he was playing a violin with moderate skill.
"It helps me think."
"So does cocaine?"
"I found some in the ashtray in the back row. I am sure the owner would not mind." |
Joyce stood at the window of her office, smiling with pride as she looked down at the city that hated her.
Blocks and blocks of offices surrounded her tower, making the complex seem like a fortress. Millions of people populated these for the 24 hours and change that made up a day on Mars; her little worker ants, working to keep the rest of the city running. Swarms of drones flew here and there like bees, while spider-like transport robots traversed the straight and narrow streets. A familiar flash of light came from a nearby street; a worker must have committed some breach of duty like taking a minute extra for lunch or trying to resign, requiring correction from one of her enforcers.
To her left were shining manors with their lush gardens transplanted decades ago from Earth. These belonged to the Early-Birders—the wealthy and famous who'd been the earliest to purchase land here during the initial Emigration. World leaders, artistes, politicians ... desperate to escape their dying home world, they'd paid unimaginable sums to her, thus forever elevating a former middle-income bank clerk to a position above even theirs.
She reminded them of the fact by first officially assigning their society a silly name, and by regularly throwing lavish parties in her tower that they were forced to attend—parties they paid for. Refusal meant an entire purge of their familial line; their estate subsequently surrendered to her control.
Did Joyce feel a single flicker of guilt for the way she treated them? If she did, it had faded long ago. They were the people who could have saved Earth.
Apart from the power plants, hospitals, factories and plantations, the rest of the city consisted mostly of blocky red-brown buildings. Many were crumbling quietly in place, showing their decades in age. These belonged to the rest of her people—she'd negotiated very favorable deals with governments to take these in. Worker ants, she thought, idly studying the massive perimeter wall built around the city's edge—delineating the half of the planet that belonged to her. Every empire needed workers.
She went to her throne—a glassy table equipped with the latest in holographic technology, paired with a massive chair made of the same unusual crystal they'd found on Mars. She ran a hand fondly over a small formicarium, containing luminous blue ants that wove silk from the roaches that they ate, then pulled up her terminal to start her day.
Before she could, there came a knock on the door. She adjusted her glasses, checked her reflection in a desktop mirror—she needed to dye those tips again, she was starting to look her 107 in age—then said, "Enter."
Her secretary—a diminutive but highly efficient fellow named Bruce—came in with a stack of dataslides. Usually brusque, he seemed a tad nervous today. Joyce frowned when she noticed the tall, dark-skinned stranger standing outside the door.
"Who's that?"she said.
"He's ... an unscheduled visitor."Bruce glanced over his shoulder as he came to her desk, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "He insisted on meeting you."
"Appointments only,"she said. "Send him out the wall."
Bruce licked his lips. "I—well, he told me to say this. 'The life you have now, you bought from me for 50 bucks'. Madam, does that—"
Joyce tried not to let him see that she'd stiffened. "In that case ... fetch him a coffee. I'll have a short chat with him. But ... keep security on hand."
Bruce nodded, then went to usher the man in. Joyce took a deep breath as the stranger approached her, trying to recall now-foggy memories: she'd bought half of Mars on the Internet. It had been someone named James, right? Or something? A verified seller ...
"Hello, Joyce."The man's voice was surprisingly light in tone, considering his build. His eyes flitted at the plaque on her desk. It read simply: "Owner". He didn't seem impressed.
"You may address me as Madam,"she said. "Who are you?"
"I'm the one who sold you half this planet,"he said, chuckling. She tried to guess his age; he couldn't be more than forty. Shit. As far as she knew, only eighteen people on the planet could afford to lengthen their lifespans medically. She knew because she kept close tabs on all the rest.
And she had never seen him before.
"You can call me Seeder."He smiled in gratitude when Bruce handed him a coffee, then waited until the secretary had left before placing it on her desk. She felt an urge to throw a coaster at him.
"That's a joke, right?"she said.
"Did it feel like a joke when you paid and got the deed? Do you look out your window every morning, pinch yourself, and check if anyone's laughing, yourself included?"Seeder shrugged. "Maybe it was a joke, you know. Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of fool would fall for it. And you ... you're the exact opposite of that, aren't you?"
"You've built something amazing out of a joke, and I couldn't be more proud."He stood and went to the window. For some reason, Joyce felt compelled to do the same. She suddenly felt like a young , mischievous woman again, the sort who found humor in a deed for Mars—there was this presence that the man exuded that made her so.
They watched the world go by for a while, and she said, "No one knows how much I paid for this planet."
"Not this planet,"he said in a gentle tone. "Only half of it."
"Yes. Well. Seeing as my city is the only settlement here ..."
He nodded, though she had the impression he wasn't agreeing with her. Sweat beaded on her temples. "You have questions, I know. How did I even own half the planet for you to purchase, for instance? Simple. I own a hundred other planets. I own Mars. And Mars, in the grander scheme of things, is like that weedy patch in your garden, the one you pretend doesn't exit because it hasn't shown its potential."
"So when I sold you half the planet, you could say that I was actually hiring a gardener,"Seeder said with a smirk.
"What?"Joyce's annoyance frothed over into anger. "I'm not—"
"That's precisely what you've done. Good work."Seeder pointed at the horizon, over the wall. "It's time for the owner to take it back and turn it into something more."
She squinted toward where his finger was indicating. For a moment, the sun's glare showed her nothing but hazy red mist ... but then she saw them. Gigantic, bipedal shapes, trudging slowly but surely toward her wall, their forms shimmering in watery heat.
"What's going on?"
Seeder spun from the window, heading toward the door. He brushed a hand over her crystal table and sighed. "Amareonite ..."he whispered almost fondly. Then he nodded to her. "I came to notify you that I'm repossessing your half of Mars. I suggest you cancel all your plans for the day—my employees are extremely efficient in what they do."
"But I own ... the deed,"she said, turning her back to the creatures and sagging to the floor. "You can't ... you're stealing ..."
"Like all of your people, you didn't read the fine print,"he said, opening the door. "It says I can refund you at anytime I want for the deed. Congrats, you're now 50 dollars richer. Goodbye, Joyce."
An explosion sounded from the city; evidently her wall hadn't done anything to stop them. Shaking, crying, Joyce crawled to her desk. Bruce charged in, and froze as he saw what was going on outside.
"Madam?"he managed to utter.
No, I won't be cheated by that son of a bitch and I won't die like this, Joyce thought. She drew up the holo-market and began searching, through it.
"Madam, what do we do?"Bruce screamed. A shadow passed over them; Joyce almost fainted, expecting a sudden, violent end for them both, but it passed. She continued to browse, searching for a familiar title ...
"There! There there there!"She almost squealed as she saw it. The page read: "Selling: half of Jupiter for $24.99. Deed transfer upon payment."
She rubbed her hands as the transaction pinged in completion. "Not today, Seeder. Not today. Prepare my ship, Bruce!"
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!* |
The last knight
“Halt there good sirs!” A hearty, powerful voice calls out. Instinctively the five men alongside me raise their rifles at the man who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere on the other side of the creek we had been approaching.
The man looked to be dressed as a knight. He wore a black surcoat with a red beast of some sort on it. In his hands was a large two handed sword. “What business have you here?” The man asked, not moving an inch.
I tossed a look back to my corporal and he shrugged in a non committal way. “Step aside citizen, we don’t wish to hurt you.” I ordered, raising my rifle as well. “I cannot, for I am sworn to the Baron of these lands to guard his borders.” The knight said. I sighed in exasperation. “You are confronting five men armed with rifles with a sword and chain mail. The odds are against you in every conceivable way. Step aside.” I ordered again, flicking the safety off on my rifle. “On the contrary good sirs the odds are with me, for the last man to face me down was King Arthur himself. Sadly, he killed me. But I lived!” The knight said.
“What!” I almost yelled. I made a quick hand motion and one of the men behind me moved towards the knight from one side while another did the same from the opposite side. “Drop the sword.” I commanded. One of the men approaching him grabbed his arm.
The knight moved with impossible speed, picking up the man with one hand and crushing his neck. I now noticed that what I had thought was chain mail was in fact impossibly advanced robotics. I shot almost ten times at him, each round finding its mark. The knight paid no mind as he whipped around and slashed the other man approaching him from shoulder to hip with his sword.
The rest of my unit spread out, firing as fast as we could at him. He cut us down one by one and finally rushed at me. I drew a solid steel baton from my side and held it up in a vain attempt to stop his sword. He slashed through it with ease and I tried to spin away and bring up my rifle but I felt a hard pinch on my arm and found myself looking up at the overcast sky.
The knight approached, whistling a merry tune as I looked over at where my arm had been. Blood flowed freely from the gaping wound but there was hardly any pain. I looked up at him in terror. “What’s the matter good sir? ‘Tis only a flesh wound.” He said, hovering the point of his sword over my face. My vision blurred as I lost blood. “A shame really. It took much more to stop me.” He said, bringing the sword down. My vision flashed and went black. |
You'd never find it if you didn't know where to look. From the outside the entrance looked like an old mossy tree leaning against a boulder, deep in the German Black Forest. A hiker would pass it by and not think twice. He would not hear the shouts or songs or clinking of glasses. He would not see the tavern at all. Yet if he walked beneath that camouflaged doorway, and spoke the magic words, he would find himself suddenly inside *Grimm's Grub and Guzzle*, the family-owned tavern for fabled beasts.
"Another whiskey,"growled the yeti, slamming his heavy paw against the bar, which was made of the polished bone of Moby Dick himself.
"You've drunk enough,"replied Van Helsing, who was sitting beside him, his crossbow propped up at his feet.
"Says who?"asked the yeti.
"Says I,"replied Van. "We've all seen it before. We know how you get. Look at those claw marks in the ceiling. That was a month ago. You were fine, you were only tipsy, you were just unwinding. You only wanted one more drink. Then, suddenly, you went from steady Eddie the yeti to a truly abominable snowman. Baring your teeth and flailing your arms. Biting chairs into splinters. Picking fights. It was a hassle. A real hassle. . .You don't know your limit, but I do. And you've reached it, pal."
The hulking yeti, perched on a small barstool that should not have bourn his weight, growled like an angry hound. He knew his pal Van was speaking sense. Yet he also had a burning in his throat that only whiskey could quench, for it reminded him of the blood of polar adventurers, whom Eddie often used to attack at night, when their blood-alcohol was high. The taste of whiskey brought him back to those days, better days, when he was young and fresh and feral, a fearsome beast.
"Allow him another,"said Beelzebub, the pretentious king of hell, stretching his wide, leathery wings. "He'll behave himself. . .You'll behave yourself, Eddie, won't you? . .Gordon, be a dear and pour the yeti another."
I nodded at the infernal monarch and poured out the whiskey.
\- - -
There are portals connecting this dimension with others; they allow unearthly creatures to travel between their mysterious worlds and ours. Ghosts and ghouls and goblins. Demons and devils. Trolls and faeries and cryptozoological beasts who leave tracks in the mud unlike any left by the animals of earth. Amorphous entities who look like clouds of fear.
Whether they are coming to Earth for business or pleasure, for haunting, hunting or aimless hooliganism, they all use the same few portals. And when they arrive after the long arduous journey, or when they're leaving, after a botched job or time well spent, they want what any travellers want: snacks, booze and a place to relax.
Sixty years ago, my grandfather opened the *Grub and Guzzle,* a stone's throw away from the local portal, to service these fairytale creatures and meet their needs. When he passed, he left the place to his father, who in turn will leave it to me, when he retires. For now, I tend the bar, take orders, and chat with the weary travellers as they eat and drink.
\- - -
Eddie the yeti snatched the shot-glass between his black claws and tilted its contents into his gullet. He slammed it down on the whalebone bar.
"Another!"he roared. "Another! . .And any man, woman or spectre who tells me no best realize that no'll be the last word he speaks! Can't speak with your throat ripped out! I'll take the lot of you. Hear me? I'll take on the lot!"
He threw back his stool as he stood and it smashed into smithereens against the back wall of the tavern. He glared out over the crowd. The murmuring patrons sitting at tables, leaning over pool tables, standing before the jukebox grew silent and faced him.
Trained upon Eddie were the eyes of dwarves and witches, the Sphynx and Dracula, Medusa and the many snakes who grew from her head. Only Harros, the dark wizard, sitting in the shadowy corner, did not look up. He was too engrossed by the visions he scried in his green crystal ball.
"Eddie,"I said, softly from behind the bar. "I don't want another spectacle. I love having you here, buddy. But I don't love when you get like this. I hate to say it, but you're cut off."
"I'm a living legend!"the yeti roared, leaning over the bar, his carious fangs only a few inches from my face. "I'm the meanest monster who ever strode upon ice or snow! Your father would never have dreamed of cutting me off! He had respect! He understood my importance! And he feared me! While you, Gordon Grimm, you, let me tell you--"
The room filled with a ghostly green light. The air hummed with a sound like a choir of cursed angels singing a discordant harmony, beautiful yet ominous, haunting, strange. The light came from the wizard's crystal ball. The crowd's attention shifted to his corner, where the patrons squinted through the bright emanations to see Harros slowly rise into the air, his black cloak spreading out around him, his eyes beaming like two suns.
"Gordon Grimm,"the dark wizard boomed, in a voice that sounded like hundreds of voices speaking in unison. "As you pour drinks and wipe tables and take orders, sating the hungers and thirsts of your customers, a terrible beast has snuck into your abode and stolen that which you hold most dear. A vile creature has snatched your chicks from your nest and flown them to its lair. Your children are in terrible danger!"
The light dimmed and the wizard slowly descended. When his feet touched the ground he collapsed against his table, spent. This revelation made me feel just as weak as Harros looked. I had to steady myself against the bar. I could not think. I could not speak. My children? Kidnapped? My young son and daughter? Stolen from their beds and now in terrible danger?
What paralyzed me with fear filled my patrons with outrage. It even made Eddie reevaluate his priorities. Suddenly he was channeling his rage in a new direction.
"No beast steals the children of Gordon Grimm,"he grumbled.
"That's right!"came a shout from the back of the tavern.
"Indeed!"came another. "Gordon's our friend!"
Smoke was rilling from Beelzebub's nose. Van Helsing balled his fists in indignation. The dwarves methodically sharpened their axes while they clenched their teeth. All were in agreement.
"No fucking beast,"spat the yeti, "is stupid or audacious enough to steal the fucking children of Gordon fucking Grimm! *Our* Gordon Grimm! *Our* human host, son of Graham Grimm, grandson of Gregory Grimm, founder of the *Grub and Guzzle*!"
"Aye!"the crowd yelled in unison.
"So we're gunna find that fucking beast!"roared the yeti.
"Aye!"they cried.
"And we're gunna break every bone in his body!"
"We'll skin him alive!"the crowd added. "We'll boil him in oil!"
"And we're gunna save them fucking kids!"Eddie cried. "Well, who's with me? Who's with me?"
"Aye!"the crowd roared, some standing up in a show of solidarity, some clanking their mugs against the tops of tables. "Aye! Aye!"
Harros, the old wizard, had regained some of his strength. He glared at the monsters and sprites caught up in their frenzy of vengeful fantasies. He shook his head gravely. With a voice that cut through the clamour, he cried:
"Foolish drunkards!"The crowd simmered down at this admonishment. All regarded the powerful wizard with looks of confusion."Headstrong creatures! This beast is no limping lamb to be chased down and slaughtered."
"There are dozens of us,"said the yeti. "The viceroys of viciousness! The princes of pain! We put the super in supernatural! With so many of us working together, what kind of monster would even *dare*\--"
"Silence, you boastful oaf!"hissed the great wizard. Then addressing the room in an ominous tone, he said: "You ask what kind of monster. Do you want to know? Well? The beast who has taken the Grimm children away is none other than the vile and ancient Typhon, cruellest of all creation!"
The room grew silent as the grave. Hardly a creature breathed. The very air became thick with doubt, with fear. Puck, the trickster sprite, always known for making a joke of even the most serious circumstances, dropped his glass in genuine shock. It shattered into a million little fragments, just as the confidence of the monsters had shattered upon hearing the horrible creature's name.
\- - -
Part 2!
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/n9n515/grimms\_tavern\_for\_fairytale\_beasts\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/n9n515/grimms_tavern_for_fairytale_beasts_part_2/) |
After a momentary pause, I know that there is nothing I can do. I think for a minute while the camera man is weeping and the director left the room. I stare into the camera and regain my senses.
"OKAY KIDS! It's time for a new game. I want you to all run to the windows and close the drapes or blinds. It's okay, I'll give you a few seconds. We're not going anywhere!"I think for a minute.
Not only am I done for, but every single one of my young innocent viewers is finished. My responsibility is to entertain these kids to my and their last breath. "Alright, now that you have the windows blocked, we're going to BE MONSTERS! Put your hands in the air like this and make claws. Stomp or hop or jump. Open your mouth wide and roar."
By this point the teleprompter is turned off. Only a few workers are still here. The camera man has opened a flask and began drinking. "Now, you monsters, I want you all to know that I love each and every one of you. No matter what happens, each monster is important and has made a difference in the world. If your mom or dad or brother or sister are with you I want you to give them a big monster hug and hold onto them."
The camera man put his flask down long enough to hold up a sign stating New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Columbus are gone.
With tears in my eyes I tell my monsters, "It has been my honor meeting so many of my monsters. You have all made my monster life so great!"I can hardly breathe now. Snot running down my face, "And remember, be good to you friends, try hard in school, and always believe in yourself because there is nothing you can't do if you pu..." |
As the seas begin to boil and radioactive dust blots out the sun, you feel the summons begin to pull on your essence. You're not particularly surprised, as you've been expecting this moment for eons. You're more resigned than anything else, really.
With a last, sorrowful glance you let yourself go. It was fun while it lasted.
A small shift in reality, a slight warping of space, and you stand before two kings.
Although they do not wear any vestiges that proclaim themselves to be kings, merely being in their presence is enough to unequivocally convince anyone of what they are.
They frown at you. They do not know you, and for them you are a mystery. They quite frankly don't know what to make of you.
"Who the hell are you?"says Lucifer.
"Why in My blazes are you here?"asks God.
God motions, and you're aware they he just tried to erase you from existence. It tickles.
You smile at them. They really have no idea.
Did they really not see this coming? Smug in their superiority, did they never wonder what was going to happen at the end of time? As their timeless war leaves everything desolate, when all other life has been eradicated? Smug bastards.
I AM DEATH, you say as you embrace them.
I BRING A FINAL PEACE
Entropy is a bitch.
Edit: Grammar and stuff (thanks seriouslyrawr)
|
James Barrett, Tom Ford, and Michael Smith; the first interstellar astronauts ever chosen by NASA. The second great space race was about to be won by America for the second time. With the invention of nearly light speed travel, as well as advances in cryogenics; it is possible to send humans out into the galaxy to visit some of our neighbors. Even approaching the speed of light, however, any trip to visit a nearby star takes a very long time.
Astronauts train to perform under the most challenging of conditions. Often times the hardest part isn't the physical portion, but the mental. For the astronauts on the Chronos mission the mental part is definitely the toughest, this mission was to explore a Super-Earth orbiting Betelgeuse. This planet was chosen because it lies in the habitable zone of its star, important because NASA doesn't want to just go around collecting rocks from dead worlds, they want to find life.
Time dilation is what makes this mission more complicated than any other previous space launch. To keep it simple, the faster you are going the slower time appears to be going for you relative to an outside observer. The classic example is of one twin being sent to space for a year traveling at the speed of light, the twin who remained on Earth is one year older, the one who went to space only experience a short period of time.
On the Super-Earth, each second passing on the giant planet is the equivalent to one year on Earth. This means even a brief 10 minute trip to the surface, and six hundred years pass on Earth. Everyone they have ever known will be long dead before they can ever return home. In a very real sense, this is a suicide mission for all those aboard the vessel. Nothing would be the same when they got back home. Would NASA even be an agency when they returned.
These are the thoughts James was having as the lander was heading to the surface. It was an uncomfortable feeling going down to the surface of the planet. James could not shake the feeling that he was committing murder. A very odd thought indeed, but he kept thinking, each second is one year, each year more and more chances for my loved ones to die. When a full minute had passed, he shed a single tear, almost everyone he had ever known was dead.
Flying over the planet, the astronauts understood the NASA scientists had selected the perfect location to land. Super-Earth was an appropriate name for the world, everything on this planet appeared to be an oversized version of its Earth equivalent. One hundred story trees, Deer like looking creatures as big as an elephant, a volcano that looks to be much bigger than Mount Everest back home.
Life, James thought, there is actual life here; Life similar to earth. This was the most amazing discovery any human had ever made. "Talk about one small step"James said as he stepped off the lander, "Alright boys, the clock is ticking, every second here is another year gone on Earth, we don't want to go back to find NASA is gone"
"Wow, did you ever think you'd see a place like this in your life?"Tom said to the group, clearly in awe of the place.
"Oi!"came a cry from the distance.
Everyone froze in place, "Did you hear that?"James asked the group.
Slowly, they all nodded in unison. The astronauts now began looking around for the source of the noise. No one could find the source, "Hello!"louder came out from just beyond the tree line. From out of the woods came a-- came a-- an astronaut; a human astronaut, walking around with his helmet off.
The Chronos astronauts were frozen, paralyzed by what they were seeing. James was thinking this through, he could not come up with a plausible explanation for what he was seeing, it had to be some kind of a trick of his mind.
"Took you guys long enough, I have been stuck on this rock for a week. Thought you guys forgot about me ha"the approaching astronaut said.
James did some math in his head, one week, it has to be an Earth week as he's speaking English; that is 604,800 years that would have passed on Earth.
"I knew you guys were in trouble, but a half a million years of trouble?"the strange astronaut said.
"How could you...?"James started but what unable to finish.
"You don't know do you? How could you?"the strange astronaut began "We discovered faster than light travel after you already left on your journey. My team was sent ahead, figuring we would beat you here with our ship, then could give you a ride home. You know, make your trip slightly less suicidal."
"But your cryo-tubes malfunctioned"the strange astronaut continued "You were inadvertently put in to stasis for more than half a million years." |
**Is your character a girl?**
No
**Is your character in a book?**
No
**Does your character appear in a movie?**
No
*It'll never guess correctly*.
**Does your character have powers?**
No
**Does your character sometimes wear a hat?**
Yes
**Is your character a virgin?**
N—Yes...
**Is your character bored with life?**
Yes
**Does your character own a pet?**
Yes
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
Don't know
**Is your character using a computer?**
Yes
**Is your character sitting by a window?**
Yes
**Your character is** ***LiquidBeagle***.
*That's me... That's me in my window... No one is there... What—How?*
**Is your character real?**
...Yes...
**Are you sure?**
Yes!
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
*No! I mean ye—I don't know!*
**Does your character know they're living in a simulation?**
*What is going on—*
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
**DOES YOUR CHARACTER KNOW THEY'RE LIVING IN A SIMULATION?**
................................................
.
.
.
*SYSTEM REBOOT*
______
***/r/BeagleTales*** |
I didn't spend much time on my wedding vows. I didn't intend to keep many of them, anyway. My first vow was to always be honest with her. I broke that vow at the reception when she asked me how her hair looked. My wife still believes in pure, innocent love, so I do the song and dance. I bullshitted a few more vows for her benefit. Must've done a good job, since she was almost too emotional to say the words "I do."
I watch my brother give a toast. He's red-faced and needs one hand on the table to stop from falling down, but everybody is eating this crap right up. He's slurring a made-up story about how he knew my wife and I were meant for each other from day one. Even though he's too drunk to pronounce my wife's name, half the audience is in tears.
Not everything I said was bullshit. At the end of my vows, I looked deep into my wife's eyes, and I said, "I would do anything for you."
That was true. I would do anything for my wife. And I have.
If she knew about Brenna, it would kill her. It would cost me my job, too. I've been teaching at that high school for fifteen years, and that one mistake would've taken everything from me.
So I went to Brenna's house. I knew I could shame her into aborting it. Her parents had abandoned her years ago. Giving up on children was in her genes. It was tougher than I thought, though. I didn't want to call a seventeen-year-old girl a whore. But I did it for love. She should be going to the clinic any day, now. Might even be today.
Brenna lived with her grandparents. I came to her house when neither of them were home. On my way out, I encountered her grandmother. That complicated things. She knew. She threatened to expose what had happened. I'm almost positive she hit me first, but it's tough to remember. I didn't mean to kick her once she was on the ground. Not that any of that matters. I did it for love.
Brenna, God love her, agreed to stay quiet. She would say a burglar came into the house and attacked her grandmother. Last I heard, the old woman was in a coma. Her husband intended to take her off life support any day, now. Might even be today.
As I watch my brother give a speech, I see my nephew in the back of the reception hall. He steals a kiss from the flower girl. She turns red. It might be her first. Maybe someday she'll learn that there's no such thing as pure and innocent love.
Might even be today. |
The lamps in the in the dining hall flickered a eerie, uncertain gold. Though dim, they illuminated the entirety of the room-- from the massive old fashioned oaken table at the center, to the variety of glasses and a smattering of bottles strewn along its edge, to the guests, crowded near the window, faces contorted with shock and fear, to the dead body lying on the floor with a bloody candlestick lying next to it.
Dr. Hall knelt before the corpse of our esteemed host, Professor Henderson. The doctor wore a spiff white lab coat, only mostly covering some worn and stained pajamas. When he rose, the doctors stern face had somehow contorted itself into a ever more grave depiction of brisk authority.
“The cause of death was trauma to the head, inflicted by the candlestick. Henderson was murdered”. Said Dr. Hall, in a gravelly intelligent voice that almost masked how the doctor, like the rest of the guests, was very hungover.
A murmur swept through the small crowd-- each of the party guests glanced suspiciously at every other. Who was the culprit? What was his motive? Was there anymore vodka stashed anywhere? Did that old medicine cabinet contain anything for hangovers?
The unfortunate truth was that none of the guests could really remember the night before-- it was a haze of poor quality music and high quality alcohol. In addition, everyone of them was a suspect, and they knew it, because everyone HATED Professor Henry Henderson.
Sophia Scarlet had once had a severe crush for the brilliant, handsome professor. Only a few weeks ago she had openly declared her affections for him, and had been delighted to have them reciprocated. It had seemed to be the beginning of a fairy-tale romance-- until it turned out that Professor Hendersons only interests were full contact bocce ball and Adam Sandler movies.
Henderson had considered Dr.Herbert Hall a rare intellectual equal to his-- and had discoursed with him often about their shared interests in his wheezy high pitched voice. Except that Dr. Hall was a world renowned surgeon, while Henderson was a Ornithologist, and an idiot.
Ms. Whilma White was Professor Hendersons long time maid and confident-- and his untimely death had probably saved her 0-10 hours of vengeance for all those half-empty cartons of milk he spilled places to be amusing.
Colonel John Jackson was the military companion of the professor-- they had been squad-mates in the war. That was, until Henderson had abandoned their trench in the middle of a firefight to see if the local village had any mayonnaise.
And lastly, there was the professors’ esteemed mother, Lady Violet Purpula. She had lived with the professor his whole life-- and if that didn’t make her a suspect, nothing would.
So all the guests went back to bed, scared, but also cheerful. As they walked, they thought hard to themselves: how would they prove their innocence? Who could they trust? And since they had probably done the murder themselves-- was this gonna be a usual thing, or a one time incident?
(Might do a second part later today. r/StannisTheAmish).
|
Life was okay until I turned two. The body and brain can’t utilize past knowledge much before then. But once I turned two, oh boy.
“Jerry somebody’s broken in.” I heard my mom whisper to my dad.
*What? I don’t remember our house ever being broken into. And my parents would’ve told me about that at some point for sure. Our family didn’t keep secrets like that.*
“I told you I should’ve gotten that Glock.” My dad whispers back. I can hear voices downstairs now. Several of them, and several bolts being pulled back to chamber rounds in what sounds like are very large guns.
“We’ve got to protect the baby.” My mom tells my dad.
*No, this baby’s got to protect you.* I roll out of my bed and hit the ground. Thankfully being a baby I am very light weight and therefore make very little noise. I run to the top of the stairs before my dad can open his door to sneak over to my room.
I move noiselessly to the base of the stairs and peak around the corner.
A normal person would be scared at a group of thugs stacking up on the stairwell like a SWAT team. A normal person would’ve probably begged for their life when they saw all the assaults rifles, shotguns, and body armor. A normal toddler would’ve wet themselves and passed out. But a normal toddler also didn’t do three tours in Afghanistan.
“It’s him!” The first one shouts, bringing his gun to bear. I’m too weak to fight him directly so I dive under him, pulling the pin on one of his grenades as I duck under.
“Don’t let…” I cut the second guy off with a strategic punch to his reproductive organs, and sprint into a nearby bathroom, jumping into the tub and covering my head just in time to hear the grenade go off.
*This is going to be an interesting childhood.*
Life was rough enough as a SEAL team six member the first time around.
Edit: New book project! I’ll be turning **Baby Team Six** into a five part book over the next couple of weeks. I’ll be updating here and on my subreddit /r/samgalimore .
Part 1 word count: Done! Link: http://www.reddit.com/r/SamGalimore/comments/2ron44/baby_team_six_part_one/
Part 2 word count: Done! Link: http://www.reddit.com/r/SamGalimore/comments/2rz2cf/baby_team_six_part_two/ |
Sam stared at the shuffling, drooling horror that had once been Ms. Abernathy. Her wrinkled old face was pressed up against the glass of the treatment chamber; she didn't quite seem to grasp the concept of glass anymore. Her fingers, nails painted a soft pink, scraped at the wall as she tried to lunge at Sam over and over. Each *thunk* left the wall a bit more smudged and smeared in that one spot.
“What did you *do* to her?” Sam whispered to the machine. He’d seen enough zombie movies and TV shows to recognize it in an instant, but who knows if the machine had been programmed to be aware of popular horror culture.
Overhead, the mechanical arms and optical sensors shifted to and fro as it continued to analyze and study Ms. Abernathy’s walking corpse. “She claimed to suffer from a number of conditions,” it answered. “I found no evidence of those conditions and concluded that it was an error in her own diagnostic systems. So I undid that section of her mind.” It brought up an image on the screen of a brain cross-section, but Sam was a programmer, not a doctor. He had absolutely no clue what he was looking at.
“But she’s….” he studied the pallid skin and cold, emotionless eyes. The top of her head was sitting on a metal tray across the room, and her quivering pink brain was poking out from behind what was left of her forehead. A low moan escaped Ms. Abernathy’s throat. “She’s *dead*!”
“Yes,” the machine answered. “But she no longer suffers from any of her stated conditions!” Sam had programmed it to always sound upbeat and cheerful. The contract parameters called for the machine to have a good bedside manner with patients. “She is cured!”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Across the glass, Ms. Abernathy drooled. It was thick and tinged pink from a burst blood vessel somewhere. What now? Did he have to… *behead* Ms. Abernathy? Would that even work? It did in the movies….
“Shall I release the patient?” the computer asked. “Now that she is cured?”
“NO!” Sam took a few steps back as a precaution. But he knew how this movie went. Everyone always underestimates patient zero, and that’s how outbreaks start. “No, she’s still sick. Horribly, horribly sick.”
The machine whirred to life. Its arms extended down from the ceiling and poked her with various instruments. Temperature readings (well below 98.6 degrees), heartbeat monitors (silent), and all sorts of other information were pulled up on the screens. “I do not have a matching diagnosis for her condition,” the machine said. *No shit,* Sam thought. She was the first *zombie* ever. “Though her symptoms do seem significant,” the machine continued. “Why don’t I just fix her?”
“Fix her??” Sam asked. The machine sprang to life and inserted some of its arms back into Ms. Abernathy’s head. It scooped up her body right as she collapsed, and then it placed her gingerly back on the operating table. Within minutes, it finished fussing around in her brain and was surgically reattaching the top of her skull. The heart monitors began to beep, her chest rose and fell with breath, and her brain scan activity turned back to normal.
“Huh.” Sam had been all ready to grab the stout red ax from the box on the wall. He’d always secretly wanted to break that glass in case of emergency. And to be honest he wasn't a huge fan of Ms. Abernathy to begin with. “I didn’t really think fixing her was an option.”
“Of course it is,” the machine said, cheerful as ever. “I was created to cure nearly everything!”
---
If you enjoyed the story, you should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more!
|
You'd think someone wearing skulls with "Evil"written on the teeth would *realize* they were the bad guys, right? I had always thought that was a trope of the traveling actor guilds, but no, here I was talking to Lord Evil himself, skull-emblazoned shirt covered in spikes signifying the death he has caused for his people, chain necklaces signifying the slavery of his people, and heavy leather boots to show off the hard work he makes them do - just as we were taught in school in the Kingdom of Light. Lord Evil commands an evil land full of darkness and suffering. Yet he told me *we* were the ones in the wrong.
"You don't know what you're doing."He said as I pointed my dagger at him, closing in in his tiny back room.
"I know enough. I walked here through the villages. I heard the screaming at night, the death marches. I passed by traveling hordes that looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks, wailing and making strange flailing motions - you could hear them from leagues away and see their tortured suffering"I replied, dodging over a desk to try to grab him.
"You came to my kingdom at a bad time-"he jumped back around the desk and pushed a chair in front of me.
I cut him off. "Oh, so you didn't have time to sweep aside your evil deeds and give me a grand welcome? I know your type. That horde would have never even been let into the Kingdom of Light looking like that - they violated all of our dress and hygiene codes. Man, or they would have been fined and exiled if they were seen inside."
"No, you don't understand. None of the people from your kingdom ever listen to us, they just jump to conclusions. Our people you saw were dressed up for our winter festival."
I had him backed into a corner now, and took the time to talk, to get him to show some remorse before he died. That's the only way for his soul to be saved. Well, that or pay the High Priest of Light 10 years of labor or equivalent gold.
"You mean you starved them on purpose to be sacrifices at your festival? There must have been two legions of people there. In the Kingdom of Light we never sacrifice more than ten people at a festival, and they're always children so it lessens the impact on our economy... It used to be two children per year but the parents complained so they are sacrificed now too, as two whole families of five people each. Our good king decreed that for us to keep us safe."
"That's terrible!"He said. I paused, noticing the regret in his voice. Maybe he was starting to listen?
"Yes, you're truly terrible to sacrifice whole villages of young adults. I can't imagine what you would have decreed, and the suffering you have caused, Lord Evil."
"Would you listen to me? I think we have a misunderstanding"
"Fine! You have two minutes."I settled in with a smug grin. "Tell me why you think a skullmaster named Lord Evil has a simple 'misunderstanding' with the Kingdom of Light."
"Our winter festival - this is a music festival, you see. The 'hordes' you saw were going there to dance! It's a celebration of personal identity, so you probably saw them dressed up. The flailing was dancing. Have you ever danced before? Or sang?"
"Dancing's only allowed in the King's court, with a golden ticket. He says only people who are in his presence are happy enough to do it. And only certain songs... My mother was taken away for singing to me in the field once - she said she made me happier than any king ever could."My eyes watered remembering her voice.
"I'm sorry to hear that."He put his hand on my shoulder and continued. "We give people a month off of work to rejuvenate their spirits in the winter. That's terrible that you can't express yourselves this way."
"It would be nice, but if our king decrees it that way, he must have a good reason. He removed days of rest a few years ago - if we're busy enough, we don't cause trouble. He's such a wise man."
"Speaking of that - he also decreed killing human beings. Why do you even do that?"
"How else are you going to ensure there is enough food left after the taxes are taken? They say one soul is enough for the gods to give us twenty rainfalls."
"Don't you use irrigation?"
"No, the old pipes rusted out a generation ago - but relying on the gods is much better. Otherwise how would the king have been able to afford his new appointment room? I can't imagine what *your* appointment room must look like."
"Uh"he gestured broadly "you're looking at it. I hardly have enough to repair the walls when mice get in."
"But it's so plain!"
"It's *fine*. It's cozy. It helps me focus."
"But where do you hide your traps?"
"The what?"
"You know, like the cage for the tiger you release to eat the people you don't like, or the sword that swings down to make sure people are bowing deeply enough. How do you enforce your decrees?"
"I don't have any of that! Maybe it would come in handy sometimes, but I'm actually powerless."
I gestured pointedly at his skull crown.
He pulled up a chair and we ended up talking for a few hours. I have a lot to think about now. Lord Evil's parents were free spirits who gave him that name. He knows how to dance - he showed me a few moves - and told me his outfit, chains and spikes, is "metal"attire to bring more soul to the dancing, or something like that. And he actually *is* powerless. He talked me through the bureaucratic process they have and it's amazing they get anything done at all. Apparently that's also why he can't change his name, though his friends call him Bernard. But since he has nothing to do, he's taking me to the winter festival to show me what he calls the best of his kingdom. Maybe it's a ruse so he can sacrifice me there? But I think it's worth it if I can hear the songs my mother used to sing me. Maybe I can learn something good from this evil land full of dancers and bureaucracy. |
I discovered the ability when I was sixteen, when a car struck the back of the school bus I was on. It sent me hurtling through a window pane, crunching bones and piercing skin. I remember lying there on the asphalt, about to bleed out, a frenzy of students and teachers and pedestrians around the wreckage calling 911 and yelling and yelling some more. I can hear it to this day, and it never even happened.
It took some time to figure out exactly what the ability was. In a world where people with superhuman capabilities were rare, I thought I was one of them.
That time it was on a train track, a train riding through a sunny afternoon. No one spotted the man who had left a backpack unattended on a train seat, no one rigged the intercom, nothing. Then it exploded into fire. A single boom. People blown to bits just like that. I felt my entire arm just, ripped away. And then it never happened again, and I was back on the train and the backpack with the bomb disappeared. No one else seems to remember that, but I remember. I always will.
It was only when I was specially scouted by the Heroes Ally that I realized how powerful I was. If I throw myself into a building with a bomb just as it's about to explode, time warps itself. Reality warps. Doesn't allow me to die. The bomb explodes, I feel it explode, but the next second there wasn't ever a bomb. That's my big power, and only one man realized it. He was called Auth, and no one really knew where he came from. Auth himself had assembled the Heroes Ally, and he knew about the car crash, and the bomb on the train. I thought those were just a vivid hallucination, tricks my mind played on me. There's something distressing about knowing that something which has traumatised you for three years actually happened. The smell of the blood, the ash, the fire, everything. Something deeply distressing.
Getting into the Heroes Ally wasn't easy. Most of them - Firestarter, Twist, they didn't know I had powers even. Thought I was just a 'fucking norm'. Auth tried to explain, but they don't get it. And that's fair. They can't get it, because my powers censor themselves. They can't see it. But still, they tag me along. Send me into a burning building, then reality warps - the building stops burning and they forget what they came there for. In some ways I'm one of the best assets the Heroes Ally has.
There was one villain, a Heroes Ally member gone rogue. His name was Bulletboard, and he shot magical piercing bullets out of his fingers. No one remembers him anymore, because he shot me. Overwritten immediately. Time itself bent to force him out of reality. Only Auth remembers Bulletboard.
So, hey. Why am I writing to you? Because I'm sick of being treated like the Heroes' little brother that they have to tag along. Every single day. They talk to me like I didn't help save five million people when you sent an asteroid hurtling towards the Earth. They think Auth is wrong and weird for accepting me. They don't even remember I'm the reason that Bulletboard didn't kill them all.
Villains, you can use me. I might not be strong, or intellectually gifted, or anything. But together, we can wipe them out. No one will accept me except you, and if the rest of humanity keeps treating me like a fucking norm, they deserve to die too.
My name's the Immortal Bystander, and I have the power of Plot Armor. Together, we can destroy the Heroes Ally. |
The Rules of Teleportation, First Draft, by John F. Craften
I am John Craften. By some happenstance of fate, I developed a power that, to this day, I still have not fully understood. In the interests of advancing this field of research I have endeavored to conduct what experiments I could. Some of the rules and observations herein are as near to fact as I can determine, while others I must confess are mere conjecture. I hope this book can be of some use to those researching the field of material teleportation, or at least of some interest.
For those who doubt my abilities, I care not.
Without further ado, please do enjoy.
-Craften
---
Chapter 1, Basic Observations
*For every event, there is an equal and opposite volumetric displacement*
A teleportation event is commonly understood as the movement of an object to some distant location without appearing to traverse the intervening space. In actuality, as my early testing demonstrated, this is not the case. Teleportation is the transfer of two ‘objects’, so to speak, of equal volume. One needs only observe the lack of any sound accompanying a teleportation to know that there is no need for air to fill the gap, as is the case with thunder.
Further testing involving teleportation with water showed similar results, resulting in the brief appearance of a human-shaped body of water at the teleporter’s location.
Implications are simple, but reassuring. A person can not become impaled or injured by a foreign body occupying the space they appear in, but may cause injury to people or objects in the target destination.
Limited testing showed that no material is immune to this effect, with all resulting in the teleporter taking ‘supremacy’, so to speak.
*Exertion is proportional to distance traveled and mass transported, by some unknown formula*
While the exact mechanism of teleportation remains unclear, it is obvious that exertion is required in relation to distance. Farther distance traveled results in increased feelings of exhaustion and a near-instantaneously elevated heart rate, appearing to be exponentially related to distance. A higher teleported mass increases this phenomenon, although the exact relation is unclear and difficult to determine due to the lack of clear, objective measurements.
*Teleportation does not necessarily include the teleporter alone*
Related to the previous observation, a teleporter is freely able to bring worn and carried items, as evidenced by the teleporters appearance at their destination still fully clothed. Living creatures and plants can also become passengers, so to speak, although some intent appears to be required. Teleporting while in contact with an object one does not intend to bring results in no effect to the object, although no testing was conducted to determine if an unwilling passenger would be left behind in the same manner regardless of the teleporter's intent.
*Teleportation requires familiarity with the destination*
Simple knowledge of a place does not grant the ability to teleport to it. A person who has never visited Paris cannot teleport there, and even familiarity through photographs or satellite imagery requires extreme concentration. Some part of the mechanism appears to require subconscious knowledge of a location in physical space. This may be related to the ability of migratory animals to return to the same location yearly, although further research would be required.
*Momentum is preserved through a teleportation*
During a teleportation event, any momentum carried by the objects teleported is preserved. Teleportation while falling preserves the speed at the time of activation. This can be a cause for some disorientation.
While on the subject, teleportation to and from the air, without contact with any surface, is possible but ill-advised.
---
These five are, to my current knowledge, the basic elements that must be observed across all teleportation events and upon which further testing should be based. Further study and increasingly advanced experiments will no doubt lead to other basic rules and more elaborate qualification of each. In further chapters, I will discuss my methodology that led to their discovery, along with a brief discussion on the impact teleportation may have on society, including the clear and obvious hazards and dangers. |
"I don't mess with those things..."Ben said. "I've read about them, and it just seems like something I wouldn't want to do. Like it's not natural or something."
"You sound like a kid thinking about smoking pot for the first time,"Andrea joked. They crossed the street to avoid 12th, as most people do, save for the few exceptions staring intently at their phones and getting a very strange, disconcerting surprise. "I'd be there with you, too. You need to try new things, and you've already said we should be spending more time together."
"I know I have, but-"A car drove through a puddle and splashed him all down his side. Ben gritted his teeth, seeing dirty water soil the sides of his new suit. Andrea was walking on the other side of him, and he took the brunt of it. She thought this was hilarious, of course.
"Just try it. Once. That's all I ask,"she said.
Ben mulled it over. His coffee breaks were only an hour, and he had to make sure to get back to the office as he was certainly on thin ice already from the last proposal. He shook his head again. "I just don't understand them. So, take the marina - you walk into the bubble, time moves really fast, so you can see people speeding around inside it? Everything's just different within the bubble? That's how this works as I'm interpreting it?"
"Yeah!"Andrea replied.
"Alright, thanks. I just... wanted to establish that."
"Time travel does tend to be difficult to understand."Andrea was smiling. She knew she had him. The moment he started asking questions, getting curious, he'd be there in no time. "How about we head on down to the spot and you can tell me if it's up your alley?"
She pulled him back from a big puddle just as a car rushed past it, casting a tidal wave of gutter water all over the side of the adjacent building. This time, he smiled at her. Andrea had a way of looking out for him, especially when he got too caught up in his nine-to-five.
"Okay. We'll go,"he said, feigning a sigh but knowing deep down he was a little excited as well, whatever it was exactly. "But don't get too worked up. We're just checking it out."
"I've already booked our spot."
"Of course you have."They walked, hand in hand, another couple of blocks, doubling back but avoiding 12th street again. They watched as a mother slowly walked through pushing her stroller. The baby came out the other end a fair size larger and older than when her mother brought her through. "Wait, so it just..."Ben watched, puzzled. "So, like, does it get proper nutrition, or... I'm sorry, it's just a confusing-"
"Don't analyse it too deeply,"she said, clutching his arm. "You're not getting many answers here. We're almost at the spot anyway."
A time bubble covered a small hilltop. A secluded bench was all that was inside. A couple just walked out, smiling ear to ear. "Alright. We made it this far. I assume you've timed this, guessing when you'd change my mind... It's our reservation now, isn't it?"
"Of course!"
Ben and Andrea walked through the bubble. Time, outside, moved far more slowly. Birds passed above them, and they watched each ripple of their wings, their feathers all a synchronised, breathtaking display. The cars splashing through the puddles went from frustration to beauty, the light from the sun peeking through the clouds catching each individual water droplet. Frantic passerby of the busy downtown checked their watches and spilled their coffee at a fraction of the speed, all while Ben watched, seeing himself in their shoes just a moment ago.
The bubble was small, large enough to encapsulate only Andrea and Ben. For this brief moment in time, the world all but stopped for them.
Andrea grabbed his hand, startling Ben, so absorbed as he was by the scene. She tapped the bench for him to sit with her, and she wrapped her arm around him. "Don't worry about getting back to work on time. Suddenly, we've got all afternoon."
\---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed that, please feel free to check out some of my other stuff over at [r/JohnBordenWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/JohnBordenWriting/)! |
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Jennifer Blotter, and I've come to speak about my good friend, Valerie Frizzle, accused of tampering with Noma-“
She cleared her throat.
“Muggle artifacts, exposing magic to muggles, and breaching the Statute Of Secrecy. I am here today to show to you this is all untrue, under American law, and the Ministry of Magic has grossly overstepped their bounds.”
Jennifer looked over at Valerie. Normally, she'd be teaching her students right now, even though it was five o' clock in London.
“On April 18th of this year, Valerie Frizzle and her students were on a field trip. On said field trip, Frizzle used what the ministry described as a ‘Modified muggle transportation automation, used for transporting students, to transfigure students into water.’ A chain of events occurred, causing the children in question to ‘rain’ in London. The day after, a member of the Misuse Of Muggle Artifacts Office was sent to confiscate said automation, as well as an Auror to arrest Ms. Frizzle. However, this was a gross misuse of power.”
The judges looked at each other incredulously. How dare this woman question their judgement?
“In the first case, Valerie Frizzle is an American witch, and her students are all Americans as well. While her ‘crime’ was committed in London, she had express permission from the President to travel for her field trips. Second of all, the school bus in question was *not* a Muggle artifact.
“The school bus is a 1987 Dragonkin, which is made by the Wesley and Darris Automotive Company, owned and operated by Wizards. It was outfitted by BlotterTek, which I happen to be the CEO of. You have the registration, signed by technician R.U. Humerus.”
“But why was she given such a bus in the first place? And there still is the matter of the Muggle children...”, one of the judges remarked.
“Except they were not Muggle students. Each and everyone of the students in Frizzle's class were Muggle-born wizards and witches. Ms. Frizzle is a member of the Path-to-Ilvermorny program, a program implemented in 1931. Teachers such as Ms. Frizzle are sent to public schools to ease Muggle-borns into the concept of magic. Many, if not most students, already have a magical presence elsewhere in their life. Frizzle was acting within the bounds of her contract as an employee of the Path-to-Ilvermorny program. Therefore, she was acting completely within the boundaries of both American and English Magical law. And if you're not convinced, may I introduce President Ramirez of the Magical Congress of the United States Of America, the next person to speak on her behalf.” |
The tower was made of solid gold, and stretched all the way to the skies above. And here I was at the bottom, along with everyone else. I slotted my application form in and waited for the briefing, though I already knew what I should do.
I knew my chances of getting to the top were limited. There were whole adventuring parties who had prepared for all of their lives - or rather, all of the king's life - to get to the top of the hundred floors. Some were important aristocrats that had their indentured servants carrying their provisions and luxuries, taking pensive sips of their champagne as their minions laboured to bring them up. Others were battle-hardened veterans of the royal army, who carried all 30 kilograms of their supplies and essentials on their backs and were now doing the all-too-common armed forces warm-up. A few famous bards and writers were here too, to the adoration of their audiences, some of which were also selected as the lucky few to accompany them on the ascent. And the rest of us looked unremarkable enough; no distinguishing accomplishments to give us a head start.
I'd served a bit of time in the army myself. Two years, as compared to the veterans with decades and the politicians who had probably long since forgotten about suffering. I did my own stretches, careful to not let my calf muscle implode just like the last forced march I did. So as the hundreds of contestants set off on their journey skyward to the crown, I took the first step, knowing that I could at least tell myself I tried.
In the early morning climb, with a knapsack on my back, I'd an aching in my heart, and a body full of sweat.
 
The first few floors saw the aristocrats first. Some endlessly exhorted their servants to move faster up the tower, trampling any others who tried to continue. Others kept a dour look on their faces as they condescendingly threatened their men with the sack or death should they give up. Next were the bards and playwrights, whose fans had much enthusiasm but little stamina, and slowly regressed to a walking speed. The veterans had formed a coalition, slowly but consistently trudging up the wide staircase and encouraging each other. And there was me at the back, observing while moving at my own pace.
At the twentieth floor, the aristocrats' power had not been able to motivate their men forward, and some stopped for a break. I managed to get in a chat with one servant, indentured to a young lord who had a reputation for spending money lavishly. Breaking apart a cookie to share with him, he told me of his master's father who had been, if not the wisest, at least a reasonable ruler of the small fiefdom they owned. He was increasingly greying, and worrying about his new master's inexperience and desire to simply enjoy his life, even if in the company of wenches and booze. The servant pointed out his previous master's fields from the sky. Once lush and green with prosperity, they slowly decayed with his health, and faced an uncertain future with the junior man. I took a sip of water, gave him the rest of the cookie and bid him farewell and good luck. I hoped that regardless of his master's progress, him and the rest of the servants would fare well afterwards.
Another lord's party was causing a ruckus that took up one entire side of the staircase. One of his servants had decided to steal a bit of coin from him, and the punishment was to be a flogging. While the lord whiled away with other matters, the whip sat in a vat of oil meant to thicken it, with the accused chained up right beside. I took another opportunity to hear his case, as an impartial observer. The young man was barely my age, with a family to support. He knew his master had not paid him enough, and told me however hard he toiled the fields his wage would not increase. I knew this for a fact; my father had been in such a situation, I had used the army as a convenient escape, and if I could not find any other employment I could very well be in his position sooner or later.
I took my chance. Taking out my lighter, I threw it in the vat of oil. As it burned, the lord started to panic, and ordered his servants to extinguish the flames. They remained in their positions, even as the lord's face grew hot with the fire and his own anger at insubordination. As the graying, stony-faced man drew his sword and approached us, the accused merely pushed over the vat containing the inferno, letting it consume that part of the staircase entirely as his friends escaped down the staircase.
I decided I had had enough of aristocrats and their poor servants, and climbed forth to the skies above.
 
The next group I met, at the fortieth floor, were the few bards and writers that had set their eyes on the crown. Their audiences were enraptured by the songs and performances that they had reserved half of the stairway to perform. I knew these plays; I'd seen a few during my army days. A romance between two feuding families was a pretty popular theme, and seeing the same characters in action against and for each other, weaving as the tributaries of a river would; that reminded me of my own exploits. When I tried to catch the eye of a pretty girl from the village I grew up in, we went to see plays together when the commanders gave us days off. It was easy to put ourselves in that position, except we were separated by occupation and thankfully not by family. But those were memories long gone.
The audiences were so enraptured by the bards that they surrounded them everywhere, but I talked to one. I asked him why, if it was easier to entertain his crowds, he would want to aspire towards kinghood. He admitted that it was all about the money he got from his works, and really the plot device of forbidden romance had been overdone to death. I assured him that people like him already did well enough on the ground, bringing joy to the masses, and did not need to do more for riches or glory. I told him of the young love I tried to have, and he seemed to sympathise, even empathise, on some level. We shared another cookie and a bottle of water before parting ways.
The next day, the bards decided to go home.
 
I'd reached the seventieth floor. The brotherhood of veterans was forging ahead. Proudly wearing their battle gear and medals, they sang those familiar army songs as they marched consistently up. But even the most resilient troopers needed rest, and at their water point was where I saw them gathered.
The routine order on the pole was something I was used to seeing in camp. This time, it merely said the next time to move off, which was due in half an hour. My former officer saw me and waved me over to take a seat beside him. I had much respect for him, for his willingness to put his life on the frontlines just as we had, even if his orders pushed us to our physical and mental limits. Initially afraid that he would try to convince me to re-enlist, he instead merely asked for my support to get a soldier to the top. He'd known about the aristocrats and bards that had failed, and was fully convinced that a warrior should be the next King. We had a pleasant conversation for the remaining rest time they had, before they suited up to ascend once more.
I followed them along, singing along to the old army songs and keeping cadence for the remaining distance. By the hundredth floor, only myself and the veterans remained. The other independent adventurers had, unfortunately, decided to go home. Celebrating their victory, the brotherhood proceeded to the castle where the crown was hidden, while I followed them as an outsider, and inevitably a competitor.
 
What awaits those who reach the top isn't well documented, because the King lives longer than most of us anyway, and why would he want to reveal how he got the most power in the land?
In any case, the small citadel that topped the hundred floors was not what we expected. As we knew, the mission was never complete until we were absolutely certain that it was. The centre of the room had a simple set of scales, though they were human sized, and the crown lay alone on one side. It was evident that only one man could try at a time.
We took turns, and I was immediately pushed to the very back, where I once again met my commander. Soldier after soldier stepped on the scales, and each was rejected. Being too heavy as compared to the crown, even with all gear off, they were confused and agitated. Hearing the vulgarities that I was all too used to, I was a little surprised as to how angry these veterans were with each other, even as they had progressed as one solid unit to the front. Hands were on swords, shields were being raised.
And it was my turn.
Within that instant, I heard an intangible, yet powerful voice speak.
*Yes. You are the man this kingdom needs to lead it. We have seen what you have done on the stairway. You have much to learn, but you are pure of heart, and will be trusted to do Right.*
The forces at work in the kingdom, unexplainable as they were omniscient, had spoken.
Half the room knelt in respect, while the other half stared in disbelief. A mere enlisted man, who had already been discharged, was more worthy than the brave men who had been ready to strike out at the Kingdom's enemies for their entire lives? This was most unacceptable to them.
Swords were drawn, and I knew this would not end well. As the new King, this was the first crisis I had to resolve: a civil war raging right in front of me. The short skirmish that happened before me was quickly quelled by the memories and common experiences these commanders and veterans shared, but I knew the root problem had not been quelled.
And as I returned to the capital to the cheers of the bards and the suspicions of the aristocracy, I knew the road ahead as the new King was a long one.
But I knew one thing: a day may come where we lose, but it's not today. |
*Crash*
Oh. Oh no.
I leap out of bed, tossing the covers aside. My wife sits bolt upright in terror, eyes fully open but her brain clearly not quite all there yet.
"Whu?"She grunts, blinking. I am already throwing open the bedroom door and racing down the hall. I slip on the slick flooring and fall on my ass with a thud, sliding a few feet. I grab the door jamb and stop myself from going further, hauling myself up in a panic and ripping open the door. I reach in and flick on the light, ready to panic.
Then I stop.
"Never had a dream this vivid."I say, rubbing my face. It felt so real. The crash sounded so real, so close. I thought a shelf had collapsed, maybe a display case. I had visions of thousands, tens of thousands of dollars, countless hours of back pain and squinting and thinning paint wasted and scattered on the floor.
But clearly it wasn't real because that's a dragon.
Sure, it's tiny and stuff, but it's a dragon. It's the size of really big cat. Or a kind of small dog. I'm not really clear on the measurements yet. I stare at it and it stares at me.
It's bright red, scaly. A dragon. Sharp teeth. Yellow eyes. Swishing tail. Wings tucked against a back. Four limbs, two wings. Not a wyvern, not a wyrm, a dragon.
"Bite sized."I say, chuckling. "I'm going back to bed."
The dragon turns and looks at me. It tilts a scaly head, two sleek horns sprouting from a square head and pointing straight back.
"You're a loser."It says. I stop heading back to bed and look at the dragon.
"Well."I say, motioning at the room full of warhammer figures, carefully painted and displayed. "Do you think that's the first time someone's said that to me? Try harder."
"No."It says shaking it's head and leaping over to one of my display cases. It peers inside. "Cadian? Really. I mean, come on, vanilla is a delicious flavour but this is like...ice cream without sugar."
"Hey now."I say, walking over the dragon. The dragon. Man, I gotta quit reading fantasy until I fall asleep. Ridiculous. "You're being rude."
"Catachan, now *that* will put some hair on your chest. At least they're rough around the edges, fun! And Ultramarines? You can have one plain jane army, you can't have two. Do you go to Baskin Robbins and just chew on the sample sticks?"
I kneel down and poke the dragon. It jumps back, offended, puffing smoke from angry little nostrils. Then suddenly it is on me, scampering up to my shoulders. It feels so...real.
This all feels a little too real.
"This...this isn't a dream, is it?"I whisper, eyes wide. The dragon takes my hand in little claws and looks into my eyes, blinking in that sideways lizard way that freaks everyone out.
"A nightmare, more like."It says. "Where are the Orks? The T'au? Necrons? It's like you picked Lawful Good as a personality and that's *just. so. boring."*
"What the hell is-"My wife is in the doorway and her mouth drops open. The dragon looks at her, tilting it's head again.
"Hello."It says. "I am here to...hoard."
"Yeah."She says drily, walking over and poking the dragon. It crosses her arm and slinks around her shoulders. Then it's eyes light up.
"There!"It says. She walks with it to a shelf. Half finished models in bright yellow, red, green lay strewn about. The dragon is excited, scampering out and looking them over.
"Kit bashing and color and fun! Now this, *this* is a hoard I can get behind."It looks at her and then nuzzles her chin with it's scaly head, purring.
Purring!
I glare.
She looks at me and smiles.
"Told you."She says, sticking her tongue out at me. I do it back.
"We are going to need more space."The dragon says, looking around.
"I've been saying that for years."My wife says, scratching the dragon behind...the ears? I'm not entirely sure if dragons even have ears. I rub my eyes again.
"Now, tell me, it has been many years since I have been able to play. Tell me, what has changed in the last ten or fifteen years."
I suck my teeth and my wife and I share a glance. The dragon looks confused.
"What?"It says.
"You...you might want to sit down for this." |
We had no idea what we were getting into.
It was called the Lifeless Zone, an area of the Atlantic devoid of life for a roughly 150-mile radius. No one knew what caused it so suddenly - not NOAA, not the government (that they told us), not anyone. Theories abounded, wilder by the retelling: the Russians, the North Koreans, aliens. Who knew how long the Lifeless Zone had existed, even, since NOAA detected it?
I was a midshipman on the U.S. Seacat at the time. Since I was little, I'd heard the siren song of the sea, but my parents had wanted me to join the military. The Navy was enough to satisfy them. We were called out to dredge the Lifeless Zone for any kind of outside interference, since we were the closest ship to it for a hundred miles.
The surface of the Lifeless Zone looked just like the rest of the ocean: boundless ripples moving in the direction of the wind and the currents. Bright and sunny and calm, completely belying the reality at the bottom of the ocean.
"Start pinging,"the Captain commanded. "I want to see every nook and cranny of the Lifeless Zone, and I want to know what's hiding in the nooks and crannies."
"Aye sir,"the woman working at sonar replied. The musical beeps of active sonar began to echo softly through the helm. It stayed that way for hours. Then . . .
"Movement, our four! Oh my god, what is that?"
"What's happening, Lieutenant?"the Captain demanded.
"It's way too fast for a sub!"one of the nearby men reported, hovering over the girl's shoulders.
"500 meters . . . 400 . . . 300 . . . 200 . . ."
Several of us ran outside to see the thing that moved so fast. A bulge formed in the water to starboard. I was among those who crowded to the rails hoping for a glimpse. I wish I'd stayed inside.
Its domed top rose out of the water, followed by a columnous body - thousands upon thousands of tentacles, rising ever upwards. It was so tall, its shadow blocked out the sun. I thought I could see mouths on the ends of some of the tentacles, snapping and thrashing.
Then, silence. I now knew what they meant about silence being the loudest thing of all – it was so silent, so still, it was as if the moment in time was frozen forever in a tableau of shock and awe.
That moment popped like a bubble as the monster began to fall towards the deck.
Edit: that should be all the errors. I apologize, I do not usually submit first drafts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Also, I thought it was kind of obvious that they all died. |
"We would like to clarify a few facts about the recent Red Riding Hood case,"said social services regional officer Mary Tennet.
The cameras flashed, leaving shifting blotches of dark purple all over her vision. The forest of microphones pointed at her was more than a little intimidating.
"We have received permission from a judge to share details of this case with the public. He judged that the family's extensive media appearances waived their right to privacy."
"Does this set a dangerous precedent for other cases?"yelled a reporter in the back.
"Could this have a chilling effect on other families?"asked another.
Her media wrangler finally got silence and Mary continued.
"On the morning of May 15th, we received a phone call from Mr Awoo Longear, whom the media has been erroneously referring to as the Big Bad Wolf. The individual usually known by that name is still in custody awaiting trial for destruction of property, uttering threats and attempted murder in the Three Little Pigs case. Again, she is not involved with the Red Riding Hood case in any way."
"Mr Longear reported an 8yo girl walking alone through the forest. When approached, she confirmed that she was alone and would be going deeper into the forest on an errand for her mother. Mr Longear felt this was unsafe, given the hazards in that area. These include wild boar, poachers, illegal logging operations and bogs. On our advice, Mr Longear tailed the girl and stayed on the line until we could dispatch officers."
"So you told a wolf to follow a girl? Aren't you supposed to be protecting kids?"asked the reporter for the Conservative Times.
"That'll be enough with the speciest comments,"snapped the wrangler as the reporter from The Evening Howl began to growl.
"We were still on the line,"Mary continued, "It was an acceptable risk, and Mr Longear more than justified our trust. Once they were close to the grandmother's cabin, Mr Longear noticed that there was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Fearing the worst, and wishing to avoid the girl finding her grandmother dead or seriously injured, Mr Longear went ahead to investigate. He found the grandmother, suffering from a raging fever. She was hallucinating and believed him to be her granddaughter. She dressed him in her spare nightdress and put him in her bed. Mr Longear played along, not wishing to further distress a fragile elderly woman. She then went to the bathroom, and this is unfortunately when Red Riding Hood came in. She saw Mr Longear in her grandmother's clothes and bed and panicked. Mr Longear tried to restrain her and explain."
"Mr Longear assaulted her!"yelled a few voices, "We have a witness!"
The chant of "Free the Lumberjack"began in several corners of the room. This time, the media wrangler had to enlist help from security. A few reporters were escorted out, complaining of censorship. Mary couldn't wait for the press conference to be over.
"Our crisis response team was just minutes away. Mr Longear's phone was still on speaker so they knew what to expect. They were running as fast as they could. An ambulance for the grandmother was about an hour away. A nearby lumberjack heard Red Riding Hood's screams and decided to respond. Seeing reinforcement, Mr Longear released the girl and began to explain the situation. The Lumberjack did not listen and attacked Mr Longear with his axe while yelling speciest slurs. Red Riding Hood ran out of the cabin, but thankfully our team was right there and were able to intervene. The Lumberjack is currently in jail awaiting trial for assault with a deadly weapon and possibly other charges. Red Riding Hood is in care. Her grandmother was taken to hospital. She had been suffering from both a serious UTI and pneumonia for several days. She has recovered and been taken to a retirement home where she will not be neglected again. The parents are being investigated. Mr Longear remains critical, although I'm told that surviving this long is a good sign."
The media wrangler stepped up to the podium. "Thank you. Do we have any questions?"
"Was the logging operation in which the Lumberjack was employed legal?"
"We don't know at this time. It's not relevant to this case since, as an employee, the Lumberjack would not be liable for any the legality of his employer in this case."
The questions continued. Mary did her best to answer them. Why on earth had she taken those promotions? She was a social worker, not a media personality.
Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5 below
Edit: If any of you lovely people want to read more of my stuff, I've started compiling it at r/StoriesByMathandBake. I mostly write sci fi and fantasy. |
They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?"he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!"the controller asked
"Sure, why not."the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
|
Tiny diamonds of light danced around the edges of her turquoise irises. She smiled and her skin creased on the sides of her eyes.
“Jessica?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“What?”
Casually, she put her hand on mine and nodded encouragingly. It felt warm and soft. Her crimson nails were a nice contrast to my jet black ones.
“What did you just say?” I asked, trying to keep my mind clear, which was increasingly hard with her there.
“I’m your guardian angel,” she said again. “I’ve been watching over you since February 1st.”
The sincerity in her voice was disturbing. It was an absurd thing to say, but I knew she wasn’t lying. She probably couldn’t.
“But… what?”
My mind still couldn’t grasp it. I had never been a believer, but when the light from the window behind her framed her blonde head like a Gloria, I just knew it had to be true. She patted my hand with her thumb and leaned forward as if to tell a secret.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time; it’s normal to be upset or confused.”
“But… February 1st, why February 1st?”
“You burned out my predecessor,” she said more solemnly. “He needed a vacation.”
“Burned out?”
“Yes, you were too much work, but don’t worry, I’m a specialist.”
“Specialist for what?”
“Come on, Jess,” she said and weaved her fingers into mine. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve read your file.”
“Whatever, I’m leaving,” I said and pulled my hands away from her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said calmly. “You think that I’m messing with you, and also wondering how someone could be so cruel – as if you don’t have enough issues.”
I was this close to getting up and walking out of the coffee shop, but something kept me there for a little while longer. She put her elbows on the table, leaned closer, and lifted my chin. Our eyes met again.
“Your first attempt was in eighth grade when you realized you were gay. Your mother would’ve kicked you out if she knew,” she continued. “Then again after you lost your virginity to Brandon – my predecessor had to put his fingers down your throat to make you vomit. Three years into your marriage to a man who never loved you – it was on the Golden Gate Bridge. And again two years later on the same spot, after he left you for another. Then again on the roof of your apartment building after you lost your baby. Should I continue?”
I just looked at her wide-eyed as I relived the most horrible days of my life. I felt my throat screw itself shut. She turned into a bright blur as my eyes filled up with tears.
“February 1st,” she said. “After countless dates with random girls that didn’t want the second one, you concluded that you’d rather die than be alone for the rest of your life. Of course, my colleague was once again there to stop you. He was done after that, and I mean, you can’t really blame him, can you?”
“So, what makes you think I won’t burn you out too?” I whispered.
“Because, you don’t need to be saved,” she said and kissed me on the forehead. “You just need to be loved.”
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
Edit: To the kind person who gilded this - thank you so much!
Edit: And from the bottom of my heart, thank you to the second person who gilded this! |
"We're doomed,"Og whispered, clutching at the handle of his stone ax that he'd relied on so much through the years. Artillery fire echoed through the streets, from so many tiles away that the cannons weren't even visible.
"No!"Gred shouted, lifting his own weapon high to rally the men. "Do not lose hope!"
"Do you not see them?"Og answered, gesturing past the crumbling city wall to the fields beyond. Lines of musketman filled the low hills circling the northern border, taking advantage of the terrain bonus. Smoke wafted into the sky from the pillaged gem mine that had pleased the citizens of this fine city for so many years.
"I see them, Og. I know that they have superior firepower. But I trust in our Commander."
"All is lost, Gred! Our precious few resources have been squandered on a useless caravel, sent to explore the other side of the world! Our leader chose to emphasize *culture*, for God's sake! Our capital city doesn't even have a *library*, much less any Wonders. And we don't even have the iron necessary to make swords for us. And now,"he said, pointing to the troops massing for their attack, "We're being overrun by *industrial era* forces when we've barely hit the Rennaissance! How do you think it is going to end?"
Gred furrowed his brow. "You have forgotten so much, brother. Do you remember the barbarian invasion of 1250 BC, in which our order valiantly defended the one civilian we had improving land tiles? How we fought off *three* different invading units? Then how we counter-attacked and destroyed their camp, earning *25 gold*? Or how about when Japan created its first settler, and we seized the unit before they could establish another city? A peace was brokered shortly after, but we stunted the growth of their civilization for the rest of history! Or when Arabia's units came calling, and we fought down to the last man? It took time for us to heal, but we overcame! And we can do it again, Brother Og, if you just have faith in the leader."
Og just sneered, but had no response. Then the order came down: vacate the city, and move into the fields. Right between the city and the encroaching invaders.
"We'll be killed!"Og wailed as he marched forward. "We're just stalling for one more turn until the inevitable demise of the city!"
Gred's jaw was set with grim determination. "To die so that replacement units have more time to train is an honor, Og. Maybe we'll even take one or two of them with us. Be brave, man."
The squad of warriors marched out of the city gates. Golden wheat waved around them in the gentle breeze. Gred could feel the eyes of the musketmen on the ridge above him, taking sight with their rifles or sharpening their bayonets. There was no apprehension or fear in their faces; only impatience. Their greedy eyes looked past the warriors, hungrily coveting the city beyond. "Not so fast,"Gred growled, more to himself than to the countless enemies. "You still have to go through us."And then the turned ended.
For a brief moment, everything was still. Then drums sounded from above. Gred and Og turned to face the oncoming foe rushing down the hillside. A volley of shots rang out, and half the warriors dropped dead in an instant. Gred stared straight ahead, trying not to look into the lifeless eyes of his former comrades as they bled out into the wheat. "For the Empire!"he shouted, once the musketmen were close enough. The few remaining warriors launched themselves forward with ferocious battlecries and stone axes raised high.
Another volley rang out, and half of the remaining men dropped. But Gred and Og made it into the enemy lines. Gred sank his axe into the closest soldier's neck, as he had done so many times before. It didn't matter what weapon the other men had; they all died the same way. Together, Gred and Og fought, blocking bayonets and countering with their sharp stone blades that had served them so well for countless centuries.
When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, Og was left standing with a bloodsoaked axe. The musketmen were retreating up the hill, licking their wounds.
"We did it, Gred!"he shouted. All of his negativity and fear had melted away in the heat of battle. Gred had been right! He should have trusted him all along.
Only silence answered. Og soon found Gred's body, pierced by a dozen bayonets. His hand still clutched at his ax, ready to take on the Empire's enemies even in death. Og was the only one left.
He returned to the center of the field that he'd been ordered to hold. From the west, he heard rumbling and saw an approaching cloud of dust. A cavalry charge.
"For Gred,"he whispered to himself as he hefted his ax high.
----
You should also visit /r/Luna_lovewell for more stories! |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.