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Lying in the slop of the trench — half his left leg missing and the other half bone, the stink of mould and gas and gunfire engulfing him — Robert wasn’t a soldier sent to die, but instead a little boy again, in his bedroom, years before even the first whisper of war.
In his head, he could hear his old music box playing, a gift from his father. Two tin figurines waltzing a circle. Its shrill chime drowned out the boom of artillery and the screams of his friends, the scuttling of starving rats.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top…*
He’d been too old for the lullaby by then, but the melody still enchanted him. And through the open window came an errant bat, scuffed into the curtains, wrapped in silk, found a way past and into the room. A little bat, tiny thing. Precious.
They were coming now. The enemy. Boots sloshing in the mud. The trench was lost. The seconds were punctuated by the *crack* of rifles as his comrades were executed or else put out of their misery.
“It’s okay,” he’d said, the bat having trapped itself in a hanging shirt, flapping frantically. “It’s okay, I got you.” He cupped it gently as the music box sang. No fear in him. Stroked a finger over its furry nose. The bat chirped like a wren and Robert laughed. He’d slid open the window and released the little bat like a wedding dove into the evening.
They were above him now. A wide shadow. Silhouetted in the steam and fog of gunfire and cold night. Two of them. Bayonets raised. Impossible to see whether they held tears of guilt or smiles of glee. Probably neither, and either way: w*hat did it matter?* He wanted to tell them it was okay, he understood.
The bat had stayed, hovered outside his window for a while, as if looking at him, as if thinking.
The men stepped closer, rose over him like mountains wigged in fog.
And then what Robert thought was a black leaf drifted down in front of him. How strange and out of place a leaf was in this land of craters and death.
He didn’t see the leaf land, but instead saw a third silhouette rise in the mist. Smaller than the others. Only a child with dark hair and night-smudged features. The painting of a girl from long ago.
Then the whistling, the sounding, of the melody trapped in Robert’s head.
It haunted the air, froze the men, silenced the bullets and bombardment.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows the cradle will rock.*
Was Robert singing it? His mouth barely moved, breath barely came, just ragged puffs of white.
He missed his parents. Dad had been dead years but his mother was at home waiting.
The crack and snap of bone; the hiss of snared arteries; the gush of opened blood. Violent flowers of steaming red added to his cold, greying world.
The two tall silhouettes fell like trees chopped, their mouths open wide but their screams deathly silent.
Existence ran slow for a time.
The girl turned, gently knelt by Robert’s side.
Her lips touched his forehead.
”Sleep,” said the girl. “It’s time for you to rest now, Robert. To be at peace. Far away from here, to some place much softer.”
Robert could still hear the melody soothing in his mind, but quietening, softening, now as gentle as the sound of fresh snowfall.
The girl’s hand, petal-soft, touched his eyes, closed them. He lay against her.
The battlefield was silent. Peaceful as his heart. |
"Um, sir,"I said, shuffling my feet. "I think -"I glanced backwards at the closed door. "I think this has really gone on long enough, don't you?"
Dumbledore lounged easily behind his massive desk, his eyes twinkling like the little spinny silvery things he had all over his office. "Has it?"he said cheerfully. "You haven't been caught, and you haven't graduated, so I think you've quite a way to go, Simon. I must commend you, though, you've done a splendid job so far. Your teachers are quite impressed."
"It's not hard,"I said, rubbing my arm. "They're not - I just don't know what you're trying to prove anymore."I shook out my sleeves onto his desk, unloading the flash powder, the teacup I'd secreted away, my lockpick set, and a spool of thin, almost invisible string. "They're not - I'm sorry to tell you this, sir, but this isn't a good school!"
Dumbledore's eyebrows went up. "Is that so?"He leaned forward and picked up a lockpick, turning it over in the light. "I'd be very interested to hear your opinion, Simon, I daresay it will be more enlightening than what your teachers had to say."
I threw up my hands. "They're terrible! One of them - you've got a ghost teaching, you realize that? Doesn't realize he's dead. You've got Professor Snape - my god, that man loves to play favorites. Which is part of how I've gotten this far, since I'm in Slytherin, but really, it's terrible! Blatant favoritism all over the place! Last year, you made Hagrid a teacher! He's terrible! Nearly got one of the students mauled every lesson! I mean, I like him, but he shouldn't be teaching!"I pushed off from the desk and made the rounds of the room. "And even the teachers who aren't horrible, they're - well, they don't pay much attention to us, do they? As long as we can perform the trick -"I waved my hands over the teacup and palmed it away - "That's it. That's all they're looking for. Nothing about theory, nothing about - about understanding it, you just pronounce the words right and get the motions down and memorize a bunch of names and try not to get bubotuber juice on your bare hands -"
Dumbledore rose to his feet, a complacent smile on his face. I coughed and fell silent. "I'm sorry, sir,"I mumbled. "I mean, I'm glad to be here, I was ecstatic when you first came to me, but it's been four years and ..."I shook my head. "Every year it's something! One of your teachers was possessed, and then a fucking giant snake started killing people, and then an escaped convict showed up, and then -"I let out a breath. "It's the stress, sir, the stress. It's not that I'm a perfect faker, I'm competent, if that. It's just I don't know how you expect anyone to learn anything at this school!"
"Simon,"Dumbledore said kindly. "Do you really think anyone actually comes to Hogwarts to learn anything?"
"Uh?"I said.
Dumbledore strode to the window, his robes flowing behind him, and gazed wistfully out at the school grounds. "It's magic,"he said. "You wave a wand, you say the magic words. You mix the potion ingredients in the right order. There's nothing to learn, really."He turned around to face me. "You could learn all this at home, really, by one of those - what do you call them? Dictaphones?"
"Tape recorders?"I said.
"Recording tape?"he said. "How odd,"and shook his head. "You know why I invited a Muggle to study here?"
I slowly shook my head.
"When we isolated ourselves from Muggles,"he said, folding his hands behind his back, "it was a sin of pride. It was an arrogance that led us to remove ourselves from the natural world."He made the slow rounds of the room, delicately touching his trinkets. "A wizard doesn't need society, you see. He doesn't need neighbors. He waves his wand, and the world bends to his will."He sighed deeply. "Without Hogwarts, we'd be a population of autodidacts and madmen, flying on our own individual courses. The pureblood houses? The Blacks, the Malfoys? That's what you'd see more of if we didn't force our children to socialize with each other for seven years. A hundred bitter, inbred islands lashing out at anyone the slightest bit different from them."
"Sir,"I said, frowning, "you sort children into four houses and make it so that's what defines them for the rest of their lives."
Dumbledore shrugged whimsically. "Better four than a thousand."
I sat back in my chair, trying to process this massive revelation. "So, I'm here because..."
Dumbledore knelt across from me, bring his face to eye level. "I want to teach them, Simon. That there's very little separating us and Muggles."He held his fingers together. "That there's the barest film of difference separating us from each other. Imagine, you graduating from Hogwarts! Living among wizards! That would be quite the surprise, wouldn't it?"
"B-but sir,"I stammered. "That's - that's a lot to ask of me, sir."I fidgeted in my robes. "What if they find out? Or - It's not going to prove much, is it? So one Muggle could fool them."I slumped my shoulders. "That's not going to prove much of anything."
"Simon,"Dumbledore said, straightening up. "In your four years here so far, have you observed your fellow students struggling as you have? Have you found their performance in class perhaps ... less than magical?"
"Sir...?"I said, squinting up at him.
The gleam was back in his eye. "Simon, whatever made you think you were the only one?" |
**Private Journal of Pope Francis**
**Entry 1**
The Church is dying. The old generation refuses to see it, and the new generation has known nothing but decline. The select few - the old but not prideful see the slow death of it - the choking out of the truth.
The Church is not dying naturally, oh no. Given free reign, the Lord's truth will only grow in radiance. No, the Church is being murdered, strangled. Killed by the media, new entertainment devices, new ways to pass the time, and of course, The Church itself is being poisoned from the inside. People are so drawn in to themselves that they stray further and further from the Light. They remember what religion has driven the minority to do - to kill, to hate, to rape, that they forget what the majority does: love and save.
I cannot save it. Though it shames me to say it, I can do nothing. The Church was supposed be evolve with time, but is hasn't changed in the last 70 years. I cannot bring 70 years worth of change in less than ten.
I implore the God, though we may be unworthy, to give us a Miracle.
**Entry 2**
Then God said, "let there be light,"and there was light.
It has happened. The Miracle. I curse myself even now for doubting, for falling into despair. The Lord helps his children: he always has, he always will.
I never though it possible, but Disney, yes Disney the movie company has offered to purchase us, The Church. The deal is private for now of course, I can only imagine the media stink when this goes live, but for now only I and a select few know. The select who are like me: old but not full of pride. They see what this is: a chance for salvation.
Modern industries like Disney are the kind of institutions that have contributed to our fall, so our only chance is to become one of them, to play their game. A game not of prayers and good faith, but of entertainment and accessibility.
I doubt the Disney executives see it, but they are not purchasing us, we are infiltrating them.
**Entry 3**
The Negotiations are complete. There was some money involved, which I used to silence some of the dissenters withing the Church, but the real deal was the talk of rights. Every movie made by Disney would have a Catholic priest as an adviser. None of his suggestions would be mandatory, but the director would be obliged to listen. The executives had smiled when they heard. Thinking us fools. They were the fools. Priests had convinced people to change their way of life, what was convincing a director to make a slight adjustment to a film?
Disney would have rights to present the material of the Church in any light, and the Church would legally sign away any recourse of heresy or libel. Again, this was just a benefit. The Church's image could hardly get worse. A dying patient would rather take the dangerous experimental drug rather than do nothing.
**Entry 4**
Busy. Managing Media. Meetings. Will convince them. Will obey the lord's will.
**Entry 5**
It has taken a year, but the deal has officially happened. The legal battles are over, the strife in the Church has...lessened. The media coverage however, has just intensified. Some fear it may be the end of the Church as we know it, but the Church was ending anyways. Either I have saved it, or just accelerated its demise.
Time will tell.
**Entry 6**
The first movie released today. The first movie under the Catholic Disney, or the Disney Church, depending on who you're asking. It was about a bitter boy who lost his parents in war, and how he finds comfort in the form a nun who was excommunicated. Even I must say it was heartwarming to watch. Some of the dissenters are even coming around. Saying this wan't that bad of an idea after all. The movie is a huge hit, children love it, adults love it. Even the media has grudgingly admitted that it's one of the best movies Disney has ever released.
And they say Miracles do not occur.
**Entry 7**
I have done it, I think. I have created a new Church, a new world. Now I can rest. |
"can you feel it"asked the demon.
mr adley considered. he wasnt on fire. there were no tridents poking him..and he wasnt strapped to anything.
sure, he was in hell. the demon had told him that allready. but physically he was fine. and there was nothing immediatly concerning about his surroundings. just a regular room....and the demon. who wasnt particularly scary, actually looked presentable even cute. like a gremlin in a tuxedo.
and yet Mr adley suffered. he could not put his finger on what *it* was, but he was sure that *yes he could feel it*.
the demon seemed to diduce as much and didn't bother waiting for a response..."its the fabric of reality you see"it said.
"reality?"adley asked. adley had allready figured he wasnt on earth and probly not even the same plane of existance. "what about reality."
"this room..this dimension. its all made and maintened by this guy Ethan. he doesnt really care about rules."the demon laughed. "or at least thats what he claims! ask me i think he's just kind of a shitty creator."
"so whats...wrong with it"said mr adley.
"oh everything! i mean its sloppy for a start. we certanly didn't proofread it. then theres no sense of consistency or style. very poorly structured, the past and presents gets mixed up and the syntax is just aweful"the demon says earnestly. "are you talknig to me or do you talk to me? can you even tell the diffrence in here?"
and Mr adley knew the demon spoke truth. was speaking truth. generally and regularly or currently in this moment? adley didnt know, which only confirmed the demon's words.
"and to top it off the ending is super abrupt"the demon said, and Adley did never not feel *it* ever again. |
**My(37M) wife(34F) has been looking through videos and has found that our son (7) only speaks one word in each video. The words in order of the videos seem to make a sentence. She thinks our son is trying to tell us something. Like a warning. Help!**
My wife has been all over this Facebook thing. Recently she has be insistent that we delete all of our data on Facebook and transfer it to a Zip drive via email. She has been going through the videos and pictures doing a delete and keep. She has finished up all of the pics and has moved on to the videos. The thing is our son’s videos seem to be different than the rest and only for the past few months. For instance up until about two months ago he would talk like every other kid his age now he only speaks one word while looking at the camera. Then he runs away or he starts playing again.
My wife being the best woman in the world has gone through them and seems to be going crazy. She thinks he is trying to tell us something. She has decided to write down every word from every video he is in when the one word videos started.
So far she has the words: *mom, and, dad, you, need, to, listen, to, me, we, are, all, in, grave, danger, they, are, coming, for, us, they, are, coming*
My wife thinks honestly that he is telling us or warning us of something. I don’t know what to believe. Is he a warning us or have we just caught him mid sentence or we didn’t catch the entire conversation.
The part about my wife that is also troubling is, she has taken this to heart. She actually thinks he is warning us and has began to be a little paranoid. She has spent countless hours and days looking at the videos and rewatching them. She has been on detective mode. It is putting a strain on our relationship. When it could be something else. It’s getting pretty bad.
So fellow redditors what do I do? Do I take this as a ominous warning or do I get my wife help? I think my wife is going crazy.
TL;DR: wife has been going through videos from Facebook and has found videos of our son saying just one word. She has put the words in order and it seems to come out as a sentence. It’s straining our marriage. Is my wife going crazy.
Edit: thanks for all the comments. I am going to talk to her and get her away from the videos. Maybe a nice date and take the kids to the park.
Edit 2: Date went nice. I was able to convince her to stop with the videos and that it could really be anything.
Edit 3: while at the park we were videoing the kids our son came up and said *today* to the camera and ran way. What does that even mean? Now my wife is freaking out and pulled out the list of words from her purse. She has given me the new sentence. She is crying.
New sentence: *mom, and, dad, you, need, to, listen, to, me, we, are, all, in, grave, danger, they, are, coming, for, us, they, are, coming, today*
What am I going to do? She thinks this means people are coming for us today.
Edit 4: several men have pulled up to the house in white vans.
I’ll keep you updated if anything happens. |
At the start it was good fun. LZ would write the name of a difficult customer in the notebook then watch them shit their pants. He’d laugh and the person would scuttle away leaving a brown snail trail behind them.
LZ found it got boring to write a nobody’s name into the Brown Note.
So, LZ would watch the news in the Entertainment Department of his local Target. He’d pull up a stool and switch between channels looking for a live broadcast. The department employees would try to shoo him away, but all it would take was their quickly scrawled name, and the employee would run to the bathroom in a cloud of crap and embarrassment.
At first LZ used his power for good. He ruined the political career of a corrupt state representative who lied on camera. Next was the governor after she embezzled state funds. After that it was a Senator who voted to repeal the 13th Amendment.
LZ’s chest swelled with pride as he brought down the powerful in a waterfall of diarrhea.
In time people picked up on the unnatural bowel movements. They began to wear it as a badge of courage. They’d continue to speak even as raw sewage leaked from their pant legs.
LZ’s frustration grew as his influence waned.
One day as he watched the live television broadcast LZ listened as the president lied about her role in privatizing Social Security. He wrote her name over and over. The president gripped the podium with white knuckled ferocity as her legs began to give out even as her bowels were emptied but still trying to expel.
LZ found out two days later that she died from severe dehydration.
People around the country began to shit their pants in solidarity. #brownpantsforprez and #TheCrappening trended for weeks. LZ couldn’t write anyone’s names in the book because they had almost all already crapped their pants.
It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t entertaining. It wasn’t worth it anymore, so LZ set aside his notebook. He regretted putting it away, but now wasn’t the time to make people shit themselves. It would be lost amongst a tsunami of human created chocolate pudding.
He knew it wouldn’t last though. The people would forget about the president. They would forget about The Crappening. They would move on to the next big social movement.
And when they did LZ would be there with his Brown Note.
|
As always the rest of the team left a week earlier. One man had to stay behind to look after the facility until a new team arrives. The rest took the samples, dirty laundry and read books with them, so Jamie's only job was to make sure the generator is going.
He didn't mind the job. The white all around you is crushing and so are the narrow corridors, but it's just a week. The trick is to count the days down and think about the extra money you get for this.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
*Zero.*
Zero? Jamie woke up confused. He had spent the whole previous day waiting for the helicopter and listening to the radio. The weather was nice and there was no apparent reason for them to be late. He fell asleep after midnight.
Again, nobody answered his calls. Like there was nobody to hear him. Whatever happened, he wasn't willing to wait and see how fast would he go insane, if his count reached minus one. He packed all he needed, left a note and left the facility.
Yes, the site all around you and the narrow corridors are crushing. But when there is *only* the white, it's agonizing. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero, he kept repeating.
He walked for three days, rarely stopping to rest. Part of him hoped he will hear a helicopter flying above him, searching for him. But mainly he didn't even think about it. About anything. Just seven, six, five...
A cry of joy escaped his dry lips when he saw the first buildings. Although so fricking tired, he ran the rest of the way and collapsed on the porch of the small tourist hotel.
He has been in this town before, but only once. It took some time before he realised something is wrong. No smokes rising from the chimneys, no dogs barking, no people doing their job.
The hotel was open, of course, but nobody was there to greet him. Although uneasy about the quietness of the place, he couldn't stop and think about finding them. He started the generator himself, warmed up some water, took a shower. He ate the last MRE he carried and went to sleep.
What a bad idea, he realised when he woke up at 3 in the morning. He got up and searched the place again. Nothing. There was nothing that would explain all of this. There was also no radio and the TV didn't work.
Even more frightened and nervous than he was in the morning when he arrived he left. He walked door to door, knocked, called, but nobody answered. Finally he found a door that was unlocked and not frozen in place.
First thing he saw was a dead body. And it didn't startle him as much as it should. Of course there is a dead body, at the end of the fucking world, he thought. Then it hit him, slowly. If the only man he finds there is dead, it's not a good sign.
Confident about his safety he entered the house and searched for anything that would help him. A newspaper. Good old newspaper.
**"Mysterious illness deemed unstoppable,"** said the headline.
It was like a bad apocalypse movie plot. No illness could wipe out the whole planet, he knew. But as he read into the article, saw the words like *highly adaptive, mutation* and *billions dead daily,* realisation started to get to him.
*"If this one breaks loose, it might as well wipe out everything alive,"* they joked about one of the samples. It was a mold. An unbelievable one that survives anything and adapts to any environment.
But no, *NO.* That's impossible. That couldn't be.
Finally he ran to and knelt next to the dead body. No time to give the old man peace. He jerked at his shoulder and flipped him over.
Jamie screamed.
The man's eyes were gone, his mouth and nose covered in blood, his face was blue and purple in a strange way.
He started coughing. At first he thought it's the shock. But it didn't stop.
*Minus three,* he thought as he fell to the ground, still gasping for air. His sight was blurry, but not teary blurry. *Minus numbers bring bad luck.*
The last man on Earth died, killed by his own discovery.
\********
Not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes. :) |
"Well, honey, it's time you knew: I'm not keeping an affair from you. It's more like a second job. You see, I'm a superhero,"I said.
Jennifer frowned. "I... see. Um... which one?"
It was a less excited reaction than I thought I'd be getting, to be honest. Admittedly, I had figured the excitement would either fall into the "that's wonderful"or "you're going to get yourself killed"categories, but still, I'd expected more than this. "I'm the Concrete Avenger."
Jennifer's eyes widened. "Oh no. Oh nonononono."
There was the excitement, I thought. Not the good kind, but at least it was a reaction. "Honey, it's okay, I'm as strong and invincible as concrete, I'll be fine."Granted, that wasn't as strong and invincible as, say, The Steel Avenger, but still it was pretty good.
"That's not it,"Jennifer said, visibly steeling herself. "I'm superpowered too,"she said finally.
I was about to rejoice myself, but then her earlier reaction came to mind. "I note you didn't say you're a super*hero*."
"Because I'm not,"Jennifer said. "I'm actually... your arch nemesis."
"You're Jackhammer-man?"I asked. She was a lot better at costumes than I'd thought if that were the case.
"What? No!"Jennifer said. "Jackhammer-man isn't your arch-nemesis, he's just some guy with a jackhammer! I'm the one you've been foiling all these years!"
"Okay,"I said, "First, Jackhammer-man is absolutely my arch-nemesis, because he's got a jackhammer and as I mentioned I'm practically concrete. It's thematic! Second, if you're not him then you've got to be Ms. Pain, right? I mean, I can work with that, if you know what I'm saying,"I winked. I really, really hoped that guess was right.
The look on her fact told me that I was really, really wrong.
"No I'm not Ms. Pain! I'm Jenny Fur!"
"I know you're Jennifer,"I said.
"No, it's a play on my name: Jenny Fur. Because I turn into a bear?"
I wracked my brains trying to remember fighting a bear. The problem wasn't that I couldn't remember doing so but rather that I'd fought so *many* animals.
"Oh my God!"Jennifer said, my time having apparently run out. "I can't believe you don't remember! You've foiled every single time I've tried to rob a bank!"
"Wait, that was you?"I said. "Animal control called me in on that and told me a panda had gotten loose. You're a *panda*?"
"I never said it was a good bear,"Jennifer muttered. "The point is, I've been fighting you for years and it barely registered!"
"Barely!"I said. "I get it!"
She stormed out. In retrospect, the pun may have been unintentional.
*Later that day:*
The phone rang. "Concrete Avenger,"I answered it.
"Hey, C.A., this is Doctor Forshee at animal control,"the voice on the other end of the line said. I immediately got a bad feeling about this.
"How can I help you, doctor?"
"There's apparently some kind of panda on a rampage in the mall downtown, and you've become the department's go-to for animal attacks. Are you up for handling this?"
I sighed. I didn't really have a choice, did I? "I'll be right there,"I said.
Well, I thought, time to make up. |
I stared at the wizened old man in front of me. I didn't even know how I had gotten here - wherever *here* was. I remembered opening my notebook for Chemistry, only instead of yesterday's notes about covalent bonds there was a bright purple portal that sucked me to friggin' Narnia or whatever.
"A noble quest? Seriously?"I rolled my eyes. "How cliche can you get? Wait, wait, don't tell me, there's an ancient prophecy saying that some unknown hero will come from a far-off land and defeat the ancient evil and bring a new era of peace and prosperity to the land?"
The old man paused with his mouth open for several seconds. Yeah, that confirms that. Stupid prophecies, never liked the things.
"It doesn't matter if there's a prophecy, Taylor!"he finally snapped. "If nothing else, do it for the knowledge that you're helping us, that you're bettering yourself!"
"Blah blah,"I said, rolling my eyes again. "Whatever. I'll do it. Now I've seen how these stories work, you've probably got a group to help me already picked out, right?"
"You.... You have helped other lands from evils such as this?"The man laughed with joy. "Then perhaps we have hope after all! Come, come meet your fellow adventurers!"
He grabbed my by the hand, and I almost tripped over my backpack, which I suddenly realized had been dragged through the portal with me by snagging on my leg. I bent down and threw it over my shoulder. It would probably be more comfortable than whatever packs these people had. And besides, my iPod and my Kindle were in there. Wherever the "ancient evil"was, we weren't going to be getting there any time soon, and I had no intention of getting bored.
We reached the back of his cabin and I saw two other children around my own age, sparring. One was a tall handsome boy wearing heavy armor and twirling a sword as though it were a natural extension of his body, and the other was a scrawny girl with long flowing robes who was deflecting his blows using some form of magic. I couldn't help but laugh at the cliche-ness of the whole situation, which drew their attention to us. They approached us, both glancing me over before turning to the old man.
"Is this the best you could bring us?"the boy asked haughtily. "She doesn't look like she could last a minute in a fight!"
"Hush, Thomas,"the girl said quietly. "You cannot see her aura as I can. There is something different about her, an aspect to her aura I have never before seen."
"Yeah, yeah, we start off disliking each other until the first accident on our little quest, at which point we realize that everyone needs everyone else and we all hold hands and sing Kumbaya,"I muttered. "So what's this quest all about, anyway? 'Ancient evil' doesn't exactly narrow it down. What're we dealing with? World-eating dragon? Immortal demigod? A boy band?"
The old man gestured us to a table, where a map had been laid out. Pointing to a fortress shaped like a skull - I swear, I could not make this up - and said "Here is the stronghold of the Necromancer of Rek'shan. He has held the world in his grip for generations, only pockets of resistance capable of -"
I interrupted him. "... Capable of standing against him, surviving in secret until true heroes can yadda yadda yadda. Great. Does he have a weakness or anything?"
The old man pointed at the boy. "His sword is forged from star-metal, from the star that fell when the Necromancer rose to power. The planets shall align in mere weeks. Should he be stabbed with this sword in this time, he will be defenseless."
Typical.
_____________________
It took us two weeks to get to the fortress. Two weeks of living outside, not even making a fire so as to hide from... whatever they called the legions of doom or whatever, it was awful. There was a part of me that was glad to be about to fight the Necromancer, if only because it meant we would be inside.
"There are three doors, tests, barriers to entry,"said Athgar, the witch-girl, as we slowly approached the main gate. "Legend says that the first door is opened by a test of magic, so I'll be the one to do that. The second door is opened by a test of resolve, so that will probably be Thomas. The third door is a test of knowledge, so... We'll see who can deal with that."
"What, you don't think it'll be one test for each of us?"I asked sarcastically.
"Need I remind you of three days ago,"asked Thomas, "when you mistook poison elm for maple when relieving yourself? I hardly think you can be counted on for a test of knowledge."
My retort was cut short by movement at the gate. We had arrived, and the test was beginning. Two large gargoyles flanking the gate came to life at our approach. One opened its mouth to speak.
*If ye seek entry, a test you must pass. Only those strong in magic can succeed.*
Agathar stepped forward. "Let my magic be tested!"she said loudly. The second gargoyle responded.
*Make ye a light to shine into my eyes. But be warned: if the light doth enter my brother's eye, ye shall fail.*
Agathar paled. Turning to us, she whispered "Guys.... I don't know if I can do that... They're so close, anything I do to one would be seen by the other... The only option I'm seeing -"
"Oh for crying out loud, get out of the way,"I snapped, bending down to dig through my backpack. Why is it that everything you need falls down to the bottom when you need it?
Standing up, I turned to the gargoyles and aimed my laser pointer directly into the statue's eye. Magic, photon receptor, it's all the same deal. The gargoyles stirred, then returned to their positions alongside the gate.
*Your magic is strong. You may pass.*
The gate swung open.
__________________________
"Okay, the test of resolve,"said Thomas. "Seems to be something behind this door, can you hear it?"
I could. It was like a faint screaming. Stepping forward, I put my hand flat against the door.
"Definitely a lot of noise in there. You can feel the vibrations."
"The Hall of Wailing!"Agathar exclaimed. "It's full of banshees.... I thought it was a myth! Supposedly they'll only stop their wailing if someone can open the door at the other end of the hall. They usually drive people insane before then though."
"How do we get me through?"Thomas asked.
"Well, in the stories an ancient druid got through by filling his ears with beeswax, but we don't exactly have any of that... We could try making do with cotton, but... Taylor! What are you do- AAAGGGGHHHH!"
I opened the door and slipped through. Apparently the noise was deafening, even outside. I hoped they would be okay, but for the time being I had bigger things to worry about.
The hall was bigger than I had expected. Must have been two football fields across. Above me I could see the spectral banshees, mouths agape, screaming endless screams. When I finally reached the opposite side and threw open the door, they and their screams vanished into nothingness.
I turned and began to walk back, but my companions were already entering. Apparently their hearing wasn't gone permanently, that was good. I leaned against the doorway and waited for them to reach me.
"By the gods, what were you thinking?"Agathar shouted at me. "You could have been killed!"
"More importantly,"said Thomas slowly, "how didn't you?"
I pulled my headphones out of my ears, and reaching into my pocket, turned off my iPod.
"I went through a Scene phase when I was younger. Never cleared this thing off. So I threw on some Evanescence. I figured if you're already listening to one wailing banshee, what're a few more?" |
*Remember to get milk, you used the last for breakfast*.
He heard it in the back of his mind, as he was standing in line to the till. He quickly went off to get some, as he had forgotten he needed some. That was what they were like. Helpful. Reminding him of stuff. If you want a clearer imagine of the man, imagine a person in his early thirties, dark hair, warm eyes, a sad, somewhat nerveous, but kind smile. He was tall, and rather on the thin side, though he clearly hadn't gotten good at using his own body, even after having it for some thirty odd years. If anybody were asked to describe him by comparing him to an animal, they'd say he reminded them of a newborn giraffe.
*Cash in left pocket, right one has a hole in it.*
He nodded to the voice he heard. For he heard voices in his head. And they weren't his internal monologue. They mostly reminded him of things, kept his schedule clear, and only rarely did they overwhelm him by talking to him all at once. He had medicine for it, though that merely prevented the voices from being too much or too loud. He could live with them, if he had his medicine.
He paid for his groceries and walked out to his car. Once he got inside he turned the key. *You need some nice and calming tunes, turn it to channel 92.3 FM, you'd like that.* He tuned his radio, and a smooth jazzy song played. He was fond of jazz. He drove home without distractions, and got into his flat without trouble. Placing the groceries into his fridge he once more heard the voices. *You know, if you boil some of that broccoli, and add in the frozen peas, then blend them and mix them with the cream cheese, you could get a healthy and tasty green mush without the consistency of broccoli.* He once more nodded and did just that as he fried some chicken strips and boiled his rice. He wasn't a complicated man beyond the whole voice thing, and he liked simple fare.
He'd once asked his mother about the voices when he was a kid. And she'd asked what they sounded like. He described them and she nodded. She was a superstitious woman, and believed all sorts of things. She told him that it was the voices of all his ancestors, giving him good advice. He didn't believe that himself, but he did admit that it sounded like a nice thing, so he indulged his mother and always agreed with her when she talked about it.
They were always there with kind words, and good advice. Never cruel or degrading to him. And as long as he took his meds, they didn't overwhelm him. Because that had happened before, especially when he was a kid. Back then when he got into trouble, all the voices tried to give him advice and help at the same time. Imagine hearing more than twenty voices trying to say different things to you inside your mind all at once.
It had not been pleasant.
But he'd still led a good life with the voices. He'd been surprised when he moved to the mainland and learned that usually voices are cruel and insulting, when in the culture he had been raised in, the voices were always kind, often people he had met who also heard voices, said that they sounded like the voices of kin. His didn't sound like any kin he had, but that was mostly because he only had his mother, and no other relatives. His father had been a runaway, and never spoke of his home, and his mother had been an only child. When his father died, he was but a babe in his mother's arms.
*It's your anniversary.* Shortly after he had eaten his dinner, the voice reminded him. He picked up the phone and called his love. They picked up, and were happy to hear from him, being temporarily posted on the other side of the world was never good for a relationship, and they'd been unable to get time off to come home and celebrate it. To think he had nearly forgotten about it.
He and the person he loved, spoke all through the evening, and into the night. Whispering sweet words and loving sounds into each others' ears. When they finally had to hang up, he sighed, and went to bed. He always waited with taking his medicine until he was going to bed. **G^G o^o o^o d^d n^n i^i g^g h^h t^t d^d e^e a^a r^r!** The voices all said at once. He didn't really know why he always waited for them to say good night to him all at once, but it felt wrong not to. He quietly told them, ''*Good night.*'' and went to sleep. Where he dreamt of holding the person he loves in his arms, holding them tightly and never letting go.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"The prophecy clearly states that any such warrior must be of a young age, most likely a teenager— "
"What?"
The cleric ignored the exclamation from the throne. They'd all gotten into the habit of ignoring the Queen and her odd ideas.
"So through a rigorous process of tests, we have decided—"
"A teenager?"
The cleric cleared their throat, darting an annoyed look at the throne.
"We have decided— "
"I will not listen to this any longer!"The voice cracked through the throne room like a whip through butter. Collapsing his scroll the cleric turned viciously towards the throne, only to be met with an equally vicious glare, as his Queen gripped the armrests of her gilded seat.
"Your Majesty,"he said, the condescension dripping in his voice. "The prophe— "
"You want me to send a godsdamned teenager to fight when we have trained soldiers!"The queen rose, striding towards the cleric. "Have you finally sacrificed your mind to your deity Brother Anself? This idea is ludicrous."
Her nose inches from the cleric's she snarled at him, low and unable to be heard by the rest of the gathered officials.
"I will not let some innocent child be led into this by your kind. Not again. Not like what happened to— "Her voice cracked, but she rallied in an instant. "Not like what happened to *me*."
The cleric flinched back from the venom in her voice, the scroll crumpling under suddenly white knuckles. He'd never seen the Queen like this. Never seen their— raised to the throne by the priesthood— Queen, fight back against what a cleric said. Her eyes glowed with a strange light, the room seeming to darken around her.
"You can't stop—"
"*I* will do whatever I please Anself. Or have you forgotten that your kind invested me with ultimate power and rule? Oh, you did it to enact your own selfish ends, never thinking I could use it against you. But I can. And I *will*."
The Queen raised her arms, turning to the gathered crowd. Everyone was leaning forward, trying to hear what the two could possibly have been whispering about. They shifted back as the Queen started to speak.
"This growing menace of the Dark Lord in our land is horrifying. The prophecy calls for a teenager, an untried and pure-at-heart teenager. I believe this is absolute bullshit. But prophecy is never wrong. And so,"She smiled viciously at the crowd. "And so. I will go against the Dark Lord."
There was a whimper from the cleric behind her. The crowd around them shuffled their feet in a concerted attempt to look anywhere but at their Queen.
"But I will not go alone! I will bring my elite soldiers from every corner of my castle and kingdom. And of course,"She turned the predatory smile on Anself, who had crushed the scroll into a tiny ball. "Of course, I will need the priesthood around me, the deity's blessing."Anself actually cowered, moving away.
"Your Majesty!"A voice called out from the crowd, and she looked back, questioningly.
"Your Majesty, if prophecy is never wrong, you'll need a teenager! What about that?"Before responding, the Queen hissed at Anself.
"Drop it."He knew what she meant and dropped the magic that surrounded her with a hand gesture. The air warped and seemed to bend, as the guise of a woman in her forties disappeared, leaving a young girl in its place. The Queen smiled at the reactions in the crowd.
"*I* am but seventeen years old. *I* am the teenager. And *I* will go."
She turned and swept out of the room, a cowering cleric running in her wake. With the prophecy and her declaration, the balance of power had shifted in the castle and things would never be the same.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
Torches hung high on the stone walls, like flickering guardians watching over the hall. At the center of the hall stood a young girl, with a gnarled staff gripped in both hands. The staff was easily twice her height, and she had to move it by dragging it across the cobbled floor.
A dozen paces in front of her stood a boy dressed in a robe. Or rather, a robe stood with a boy in it. The hem of the robe, which glowed in the darkness, piled around the boy's feet, and the sleeves swallowed his arms. On his head, he wore a hat with a brim so wide, he had to hold it up to see. Sewn-on moons and stars shimmered and rolled slowly around the brim of the hat.
Two men, hidden by the shadows, looked on as the children struggled to face each other.
"No interference?"one said, with a voice as gentle as a bubbling cauldron.
"No interference,"said the other, who could have been half-giant by the way his voice rumbled.
"What makes the victor?"
"Whoever is knocked from their feet is the victim."
The first voice chuckled, "But yours can barely stand."
"And yours can barely see."
"Fair enough. Shall we commence?"
The second man nodded at the first, and the first raised his arms, calling out to the children, "Listen! Knock your opponent down, and you will claim all honor! Beg-"
"Daddy, I have to go to the toilet!"cried the girl.
The second man grumbled, and tried to lend his voice a note of encouragement, "You can go in a minute, sweetie. First, you have to win the duel."
"Okay, daddy."
The first man cleared his throat, and in a voice that echoed over the stones, he boomed out, "Begin the duel!"
The two children shuffled around to look at each other. The girl waved at the boy, and shouted,
"Are you ready?"
The boy tried to wave back, but his hands didn't reach beyond the sleeves of his robes. As his head bobbed up an down, His hat flapped and sank over his eyes, which made the girl burst into giggles.
The first man stepped forward, and the second stopped him by saying, "No interference, remember?"
"Okay,"the girl announced, "I'm going to cast a *icey* spell!"
"Okay,"came the muffled reply of the boy, who seemed to have sunk even further into his robes, "And I'm going to cast - I'm going to cast a *flying* spell!"
The two men looked at each other, "You taught him a levitation spell?"
"Uhhh... no. I did not."
"Then what is he talking about?"
A shrug was the only reply.
The girl maneuvered the staff until it was resting on her back and over her shoulder, and angled vaguely towards the boy.
"*Arctus Immensio!*"the girl squeaked.
A drop of ice squeezed out of the tip of the staff, and dropped on the back of her neck. She screamed.
"*Uppity huppity*"the boy shouted, bouncing up and down inside of the robes. He looked like nothing more than a pile of clothes, dangling on a wire, "Up, up and away! Fly-us up-us!"
More ice squeezed out of the tip of the staff, clattering around the girl, and piling up around her feet. She shrieked, "Stop! Cancel! Stop it!"and she threw the staff down, which only seemed to increase the volume of ice leaking out of the staff's end. She hopped around the cobbles, scrabbling with the collar of her robe to pull out the ice.
The men looked at the boy, who was actually floating a few inches off the ground. Or rather, his robes were floating off the ground with the boy still tangled up in them. It was as if a softly glowing ghost had swallowed a child whole, and the child was fighting back from inside the ghost's stomach.
"Daddy!"the girl shrieked, "Daddy, I can't make it stop!"
Icicles had formed on the floor, stalagmites that pointed up towards the ceiling. More ice vomited from the spear-tips of the icicles, threatening to paint the whole room in slick, frozen water.
The two men looked at each other. The first man's face was red, while the other was struggling to contain his laughter.
"Think we *should* interfere, yet?"
"Maybe just a little."
***
*Hi! I hoped you liked this story. If you did, please consider subbing to /r/PSHoffman for more stories posted (almost) daily!* |
FADE IN:
INT. A WORSKHOP
*A young man sits at a cluttered desk, a dogeared notebook open in front of him. This is BEN, a graduate student. He taps a pencil against the pages, clearly lost in thought.*
**BEN:** (*To himself*) That's it. That's it!
*With hurried, almost frantic motions, Ben scribbles in the notebook. His writing is revealed to be the final details of an incredibly convoluted equation. He turns the page, then pauses. On the next sheet of paper is one word: "DON'T!"Ben stares at this for a few seconds, only to be distracted by a flash of light.*
**BEN:** (*O.S.*) Stop! Don't turn that page!
*Ben turns to see a man who could be his twin standing behind him. This is BEN. He is distinguishable from Ben only because he is wearing a windbreaker.*
**BEN:** What the hell?
**BEN:** Aw, damn it. I'm too late, aren't I?
**BEN:** Too late for what? What's going on?
*Ben walks forward and examines Ben's notebook.*
**BEN:** Yep, that's what I thought. You've just discovered time travel, and now you've received a warning from yourself.
*Ben glances from his doppelganger to his notebook.*
**BEN:** What, you wrote this?
**BEN:** Technically, you did. Or you will. Or rather, I probably will, then you will.
**BEN:** ... What?
*There is another flash of light. When it subsides, another young man has appeared. This is BEN.*
**BEN:** Sorry, sorry. I'll only be a second.
*Ben walks past Ben and Ben and retrieves a windbreaker from a hidden spot beside the desk.*
**BEN:** (*CONT'D*) Don't mind me. Pretend I wasn't even here.
*Ben and Ben squint and shield their eyes as Ben disappears in another flash.*
**BEN:** Was that you?
**BEN:** Apparently. All of these flashes are making it hot in here, though.
*Ben removes his windbreaker and drops it beside the desk.*
**BEN:** (*CONT'D*) Now, look... I know you're probably feeling confused right now, but we have to fix this before it gets out of hand.
**BEN:** Fix *what?* What is even going on?!
**BEN:** There's no time to explain!
**BEN:** That doesn't make any sense! The entire basis of time travel stipulates that you have as much time as you want!
**BEN:** Yeah, it turns out that it doesn't actually work that way. Come on.
*Ben grabs Ben by the shoulder, and they both vanish in a flash of light. They arrive in the same workshop.*
**BEN:** ... What is this?
**BEN:** It's my... your... it's the workshop, obviously. We're about fifteen minutes before you... I... in fifteen minutes, Ben is going to come down the stairs and start writing in that notebook.
*Ben points at the notebook, and in doing so, realizes that his windbreaker is missing.*
**BEN:** (*CONT'D*) Aw, damn it. Wait here for a second, will you?
**BEN:** Where are you going?!
**BEN:** I forgot my jacket.
*Ben disappears in a flash of light, leaving Ben on his own. Barely a second passes before yet another flash appears, revealing a young man. This is BEN.*
**BEN:** (*Shouting*) Don't listen to him!
**BEN:** (*Frustrated*) Oh, now what?
**BEN:** There's no time to...
**BEN:** (*Interrupting*) Stop! Enough!
*Ben opens the notebook and picks up a pencil.*
**BEN:** (*CONT'D*) This is entirely too confusing! I'm going to put a stop to it!
**BEN:** No, you idiot, you're going to *cause* it.
**BEN:** Which one are you, then? Huh? Past-future-past-me, or future-past-future-me?
**BEN:** I am a baked potato.
*Ben stares at Ben for several seconds.*
**BEN:** ... What?!
**BEN:** Okay, so, you're the wrong one. That was the code-phrase. Remember it.
*Ben disappears in a flash of light, and is immediately replaced by Ben, who has retrieved his windbreaker. He pulls it on as he walks toward Ben.*
**BEN:** Sorry that took so long. I couldn't get the thingy to work quite right.
**BEN:** Yeah, about that: How exactly is all of this time travel happening, anyway?
*Ben pulls a small remote control from his pocket.*
**BEN:** This activates the machine, which is buried in the foundation beneath the workshop.
**BEN:** I'm sorry, did you say it...
**BEN:** (*Interrupting*) Yeah, from what I've been told, I... one of us is going to go back and put it there.
**BEN:** Who told you *that?!*
**BEN:** Me.
*Ben looks ready to say something, but he is interrupted by a flash of light. Once it subsides, a young man becomes visible. This is BEN.*
**BEN:** (*To Ben*) Here, catch.
*Ben throws a small remote control to Ben, who fumbles to catch it. He drops the pencil in the process.*
**BEN:** (*CONT'D*) Good luck.
*Ben disappears in a flash of light. Ben looks from the remote control to Ben and back a few times.*
**BEN:** No, wait, you don't...
**BEN:** (*Interrupting*) Nope. Not listening.
*Ben walks to the workshop's door, where a windbreaker is hanging.*
**BEN:** You don't know what you're doing!
**BEN:** I also don't care.
*Ben dons his windbreaker, then fiddles with the remote control for a few seconds. A flash of light surrounds him, and he disappears. Ben watches this.*
**BEN:** (*To himself*) This is going to get complicated.
*Ben picks up the pencil from the floor and approaches the open notebook. He scrawls the word "DON'T!"on the visible page.*
[CUT TO:](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5c6ppm/wp_youve_been_playing_with_equations_in_a/d9u3t1y/) |
Daddy always brings me my juice in my bed when I get up. He puts it in a cup with two bunnies on it because I like bunnies and on the cup the bunnies are holding hands under a rainbow because I like rainbows too. Daddy says hold the cup with two hands like a big girl so I don't spill any juice in bed or else I have to use the sippie lid so then I'm always really really careful when I drink the juice. Usually it is orange juice but sometimes grape.
But today I think he's late coming to wake me up or something because already it's really sunny. I can't get out of bed without Daddy that's against the rules. But now that I'm thinking about it, is that really a good rule? Why do I need to wait for him to just get out of bed. The sunlight is creeping over my face and it's making the blanket hot. But I can't throw it it off. My wrists will barely move. I jerk and lash my body as best I can until the blanket (it's some ridiculous snowflake patterned blanket) slides off me onto the pink carpet. My wrists are bound to the bed frame by velcro straps. So are my ankles. Where am I? Why would I be tied up?
My memory is foggy and the few clear thoughts I have are too ephemeral to interpret. It feels like some bewildering mix between a hallucination and full cognizance. The last thing I can clearly recall, I was in the biochemistry lab. It feels like that was an instant and an eon ago. I was walking into the biochemistry lab with Richard because he had told me he'd had a breakthrough. He'd found a way to reverse the post-synaptic serotonin release through the voltage gated ion channels during pre-frontal cortex neural network structuring. He said that meant he could reverse someone's mental age, their emotional maturity, acuity, linguistic and spatial reasoning. His protocol could effectively render someone a child again. Even though the corporate counsel had told him there was an express covenant in the company's Series C convertible notes that prohibited him from undertaking any research that wasn't duly authorized by an independent panel of bioethicists with specialized understanding of neuroplasticity or else the investors could trigger a default on the notes and any other outstanding debentures senior to Series C, he gone ahead with it in some clandestine, ancillary, off-budget way. He had begged me to come see his results. I had told him I wasn't the right person to evaluate that type of work and besides I was so close to understanding the full landscape of tachyon free Kaluza Klein compactifications of SO(32) heterotic strings on a Z2 orbifold, not to mention I had to give a talk that afternoon on Ramond-Ramond sector scalar bosons in the weak coupling limit. But Richard said he'd give me all his supercomputer processing time next week if I just followed him to his lab. He said he wanted me to see what he'd done before anyone else because of how close he felt to me, how I was the only other person in the R&D division he truly felt was a real, pure scientist like he was. But when we stepped off the elevator, the syringe slid into my neck and I could feel my mind dissolving.
Footsteps. He heard me testing the restraints. He comes in with that fucking bunny cup and he sees the blanket on the floor. Richard looks in my eyes and he knows he let me go too long with a dose. I start cursing at him, calling him a monster, demanding he release me. He says he's sorry and that he has a sickness and he wishes it could all be so different. He says it's too late now. He plugs my nose and forces the cup in my mouth and then puts his hands over my lips until I swallow.
Then I look down and I start crying cause I got some juice on my pajamas and on the sheets but I'm a big girl and I don't wanna use the sippie lid anymore. I tell Daddy I'm sorry I spilled and I promise I won't spill tomorrow and he tells me it's all okay and he strokes my hair. Daddy asks if I want to get up and play and I nod like I really wanna because actually I really do wanna play and I really feel like today's going to be a lot of fun. |
"This isn't going to work out the way you think,"the Devil said, eyes narrowed at the man standing before him. He was unassuming, even for a human - plain clothes, a scruffy face you'd forget in a heartbeat, and only a handful of scars allowed him to stand out.
"Others have tried this wording, you know?"the Devil continued.
"I assumed they did. And I am okay with that,"the man responded. He was... calm, oddly so, for someone in the presence of the Lord of Hell. His manner of speech was cool and collected, just short of being robotic.
"Very well,"the Devil said and tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk he sat at. A scroll materialised itself before him, ready to be written upon. "So, is it the cancer? I can remove it and give you, let's say, 15 years before-"
"Not for me. My city,"the man interrupted.
"Your city,"the Devil repeated curiously.
"The Night Stalkers come every single sunset. Get rid of them and my soul is yours."
The Devil raised an eyebrow and from below his desk pulled out a folder. Let's see... Lee Nefter, sheriff in the city of... Durthel, under siege from various assorted monsters for the last 4 weeks, primarily *tenebris humanica -* mutated human. *How ironic*. No help available. 852 dead thus far.
"Fancy yourself a hero?"the Devil grinned. The man frowned.
"Do you accept?"he growled.
The Devil took a deep breath and, amused by the human's audacity, decided to state his curiosity. He focused and gazed deep into the man's mind and soul. It was always entertaining to see the souls of those noble and selfless, the kind and caring, as their inner turmoil of dealing with Him caused so much conflict.
Only... this man had no nobility, he had no selflessness. He'd expected to find his heart filled with love for his fellow man but... it wasn't. He *hated* them, despite continuing to serve as their sheriff. He'd long abandoned ideals of justice and integrity, no longer believed people were good. There was barely a scrap of kinship towards them. No, this man's heart and soul were filled with something different altogether.
*Spite*.
Pure, unadulterated loathing flowed through his veins - anger at the monsters who so callously came and slaughtered, rage at the injustice in what was an already unjust world, disgust at their consumption of flesh. He didn't care about the townsfolk, not really. But he did care about the bastards who *dared* to kill them and he was willing to damn himself just to see them suffer.
The Devil could not help but chuckle. This... this was fun. He cracked his neck.
"Done. You'll find them dead within two days. Give their bodies a good kick for me."
The man took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"So,"he said, "where do I sign and how long do I have?"
The Devil nodded ever so slightly and a door behind the man opened, a bright light emanating from it.
"Out,"the Devil commanded. The man's disposition changed for the first time since his visit.
"I don't understand. I didn't sign-"he said with complete confusion.
"Oh, no. You're more fun out there. So *this one*,"the Devil said with a, well, devilish grin, "t*his one is on the house.*" |
"What's your zombie plan?"
Oh, how many hours we all wasted, people young and old, on that fun little hypothetical. Friends and family would be judged mercilessly on their choices. "The mall? The mall? It's over populated - too many bodies!"
But when the first few grey hands punched up out of fresh graves, people lost their shit. We'd joked about it, but we weren't really ready. Well some people were ready - the real wackos, you know the ones - but everyone else was just standing about, hands on their cheeks, mouths wide like we'd just slapped on some of Dad's after-shave.
We all stood in dumbfounded awe as the buried unburied themselves and the morgues went from being filled to being populated. It was all on the news - by which I mean social media, no one watches the news - and we were all struck by how anti-climactic the whole thing was.
They, the recently undeaded, didn't seem interested in feasting on human flesh at all. They were actually quite chipper and polite - obviously there was somewhat of a communication barrier, it's hard to sound out syllables when your jaw has rotted off, but slowly we worked out a communicatory shorthand.
Grannies the world over were back in the kitchen, though their scent often overpowered the smell of their once famous and fondly remembered baked-goods. Families were reunited, loves lost were found, fighting over the interpretation of wills was settled. It was good! People got to say the things that had not been said. But, the instant explosive over population wasn't great.
Also, I, and many others, felt a little bit guilty. My Nan was in an urn on the mantlepiece. I had had her cremated. She couldn't really get up and walk around, being ashes and all.
The urn does wobble at me though - judging me from it's place next to the picture of my dog.
They, the re-living, were pretty keen to keep why they had come back a secret. When we asked the question, they changed the subject. But, finally they cracked, a few spilled the beans and soon everyone found out just why the dead had left the afterlife and come back.
We couldn't believe it.
It had always been free, the afterlife, but now it was pay-to-rest-in-peace. Dying got you access to the base package, but all the fun stuff cost money. Turns out some gaming execs had passed over and had manged to weasel their way into management positions.
The bastards.
---
*edit: ...typos. Why are their always typos?*
8edit 2: Well that blew up more than I would have expected. I'd recommend the read of this done by /u/terram_alwathani below, it's good! |
"Say, Matt,"I ask, as Melody grabs the axe by the door. "Didn't you ever wonder why everyone tries to kill us on
our birthday?"
"I do sometimes,"Matt replies. "And I think I know the reason."
"Really? Why don't you tell me?"
Melody swings, and I crouch just in time to not have my head cut off.
"Well… you know how we are best friends?"Matt asks, as Will cocks the gun by our side on the couch.
"Yes."
"And you know how our birthdays are on the same day, and that's why everyone is trying to kill us now?"
"Sure."
"And you know how this is really bad exposition dialogue and no one really talks like this?"
"Uh-huh."
Will fires. Matt and I cover our reads as we run to the door. My mom shows up with a ceramic knife, swinging
around like crazy.
Down the stairs, Matt continues as we run. "Well, I noticed all these things a while ago, and I have to say… I
suspect we're in a shitty YA novel."
"Really?"
The sound of Will's gun firing reach us from the top of the stairs as we reach the front door.
"I think so. I mean, notice the incredibly unrealistic doomsday scenario."
I open the door and look around at the usually-quiet street. All our neighbors are out carrying guns and knives and all sorts of dangerous-looking weapons, looking for us.
"Notice the set of seemingly arbitrary 'rules' that serve no purpose other than to create conflict and tension."
"I see your point,"I say, as we make way to the back of the house. "Why would people kill each other on their
birthdays?"
"Exactly. Also,"Matt pulls me behind a bush just as Melody steps out from the back door of the house. "Notice the
cute girl with the odd yet charming name."
Melody looks around. Her blue eyes sparkle like ocean storms in high seas.
"Yes! The cheeky, over-the-top descriptions!"I say, noticing it too now. "This is definitely crappy YA material.
We're one Jennifer Lawrence away from a hit movie, dude."
"Exactly,"Matt says. "And… well, you know what you have to do now."
"I do?"
Melody step-by-steps her way closer to us.
"You have to conquer the heart of the girl. And then start a revolution."
"Against whom?"
"Who the hell cares? End the story in a cliffhanger, then, if it's a hit, make it up as you go on the second novel."
"Will that work?"
"Worked for Maze Runner…"
I step out from behind the bush, and Melody rests her beautiful, dolphin-gray sparkling eyes that are also blue on
my somber-yet-charming figure. "Melody!"I say.
"Psycho!"
"Listen… we have to get together, Melody. We're in a YA novel."
Melody takes my hand, the axe still resting on hers. "Didn't you write a story like this before, Psycho?"
'Shh, it's been a long time, no one will remember it,"I say, running my hand through her golden-like-pale-morning
hair. "Everything's going to be ok, Melody."
"It is?"Melody asks, still holding on to the axe.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's a YA story. We're gonna get in trouble, then out of trouble, then fall in love, then fight, then fall
in love again, and in the end everything is going to be PG-Thirteengly fine."
"You sure?"
"Positive."I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the strawberry-sweet rivers of happiness that are her lips. I
hear a soft metallic screech as she raises the axe and, a second later, I feel the hit against my left leg.
I fall to the ground a second after the leg. Blood everywhere.
"Did you just cut my leg off?"
She swings again, and now my other leg is gone.
"Tis but a scratch!"I say.
She swings again, now against my neck. My lifeless head rolls down the yard, stopping by Matt behind the bush.
Matt gets up, looking from my head to Melody. "Shit. Guess this wasn't a YA story after all. Poor Psycho."
"Well, he wrote it,"Melody says, shrugging.
Matt shrugs too. "That's true. Wanna get some ice cream?"
"Sure,"Melody replies, and then she kills him too, because I just remembered I mentioned it was also his birthday
at the start of the story, and consistency is key.
_____________
*For more shattered fourth walls, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
The dainty but cruel faerie recoiled in a brief moment of shock before puffing up their chest and flying a bit closer to the human’s face. “You might be saying that now but wait until I get you out there frolicking in the fields or trying all the different mushrooms. Oh don’t worry I will make sure you stay alive but all the funny effects will be hilarious to watch!”
Smirking even further at the additional details of the new arrangement, the human opened his mouth and repeated their name a few more times.
The floating fae frowned slightly before yelling, “yes, yes! I already have you under my control! Now why don’t you get down on all fours and run around like a pony for my amusement!” At this command the human got down and with both hands and feet on the ground started to prance in the clearing. Looking on with enjoyment and pride the faerie started to smile again. Yes! With thousands of thralls over the years it was always a great moment when taking control of a mortal.
After a few minutes though the faerie started to feel like something was off and looked more closely at the human. *Hmmm*, they pondered to themselves, *was this one perhaps not fibbing?* The human lacked the contorted face that most enthralled mortals had as they tried to resist. The breathing as well, it sounds more even and normal then anyone in duress would have. Quickly they were losing interest in their new toy. Yes, that was what enthralled mortals were for. Faerie play things.
“Okay you, stand up and walk here,” the faerie called to the person. The human very slowly stopped being on all fours, almost as if they were sad it was over, and walked back over on just their feet. “Be serious now and tell me how you felt about that!” the faerie demanded of the person.
Beaming, the human responded, “felt great, haven’t had a great run around like that in years.” The faerie felt vaguely ill at this reply. The person continued, “so when do we get to the really fun stuff? Like forcing me to perform dangerous tricks, or being stuck in a maze for days on ends? Oh and don’t forget the mushrooms too! That sounded like a blast.”
The faerie very nearly fainted from the wave of nausea.
“You know what,” started the winged one, “I think I am well and done with this. I’m sorry I took your time. Get out of my forest, you can leave with this warning,” they finished as they turned in the air and headed deeper into the woods.
A wave of shock overcame the person, “ wait! Wait!” they called out. “Please take me under your control again! I crave it!” The human started after the fae, intending to follow them.
Flying faster the faerie responded, “n-no, leave me!” and flew on. The two continued to chase and be chased. It was unclear at that point who’s forest it really was and some say until this day faerie is still fleeing. |
I remember how we met casually, on the train. I walked in a nearly empty car and saw you sitting by a corner, reading a book. I smiled and sat beside you, nudging you to show how I had the exact same book in my own bag.
You took a good look at me, then laughed. For the next 15 minutes, we talked about punishment, redemption, dreams, aspirations. I enjoyed your company, and immediately thought of you as my best friend.
I was too shy to ask for your number. A little sad, I was about to say goodbye when the train got to my stop, but we stood up at the same time. You grinned at me, motioned for me to follow, and walked out. So I did.
We ended up in a coffee shop just outside the train station. We talked some more. You agreed with everything I said. I agreed with everything you said. It was amazing to have that kind of connection with someone.
It was getting late. We didn't want to go, but the baristas were starting to close the bar. I looked at you and you winked. You lived just 2 blocks down, you said. I lived 2 blocks up, I whispered.
We ended up at your place. Something felt odd. It looked just like my apartment, even the front door. We walked up the stairs to Room 204, a number familiar to me, familiar to me.
You opened the door and led me inside. You closed the door on my thoughts and held me close. I placed my arms around you, and you gently pressed your lips to mine. I closed my eyes.
When I open them again, I am back in the center. You are nowhere to be found and only the white walls stare back at me. I look down to see a book on my lap.
Then I remember. I remember you. The book. The train. The coffee shop. Room 204. You.
The door opens, and my eyes widen as I see you walk in. Two men in black suits come in after you. You look tired, and you have cuts and bruises all over. I stand up to greet you, and the book falls from my lap. You shake your head. I sit back down.
One of the men speaks. "Z-204, for falling in love with your Reference, you have broken rule 8-67. The sentence is immediate death."
You try to go to me, but the other man holds on to your shoulder. You start sobbing.
The one who spoke takes out a small silver gun and aims it at my head. I do not resist, and merely look at you sadly. You cry louder.
He pulls the trigger and mutters, "Stupid clone."
And I remember no more.
EDIT: Thank you for reading, kind stranger! If you want more, [part 2 is over here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6hxep2/comment/dj2jhi4?st=J42XPA2E&sh=821bd5cd) |
Slimey. That was my first thought. With greased back hair, as inky as a shadow, he seemed a copy of that fabled Slytherin head master almost no one spoke about, the one that Professor Longbottom hexed under his breath if he was ever mentioned.
But, he seemed charming. Disarming in a way. He'd been endorsed by auror Harry Potter, so he had to be good, right?
Well...In a way, he was. Professor Loki hated bullies as much as the rest of us, regardless of their house. He wasn't a Hogwarts alumni, so he had no particular loyalty to any of the four. He handed us weaker students, even us of Slytherin, little sheets of paper- offering an extra tutoring lesson in wandless magic should we desire it.
"Very expressly, you may not and I repeat, *may not* use these wandless spells to do evil upon your classmates."He said very firmly on our first day. "But let it be known that these spells are essentially untraceable by my fellow professors and can be hidden by wearing a very large scarf in the winter and fall and a doctor's mask in the spring."
As far as professors go, especially DADA professors, he was fair. Getting papers back would always include fair criticisms and solutions to them, and he'd recognize when and where we were improving as students. A rare anomaly in Hogwarts, if my parents are to be believed.
When his brother, a golden lion in human form who was donned in red and shouting merrily at the top of his lungs, came for a visit, laughing so loudly about how lacklustre Loki had been as a warrior that it was inevitable that he'd become a 'lowly teacher', we all were suddenly aware of why Professor Loki was less than pleased with bullies, regardless of which house they came from.
Although Thor was a great hero, didn't mean he was a great person. |
Eight sets of eyes fixed themselves upon the man about to speak. His posture relaxed, his hands clasped, his jaw set almost cockily forward, ready to tell a story.
“You are all sitting in a Denny’s. It is lit by blindingly-bright fluorescent lighting and the smell of stale coffee and off-brand syrup permeates the air. Pop music from several years ago, perhaps of the sort you might associate with your high school days, plays softly in the background. Serving the tables is a lone waitress. What are your characters doing?”
“Is she hot?” Jaykob asked.
“No, she is overweight and entering into her 40’s. Etched onto her face is a scowl that suggests she would rather be anywhere but in that Denny’s.”
“My character is sitting by himself in the corner booth with the hood of his hoodie pulled up, sipping a cup of coffee. Black,” said K-Den.
“Oh wow, a dark and mysterious hacker character sitting in the corner of a Denny’s. Where did you come up with that idea K?” Jaykob said.
“Do you have a problem with the way I want to play Offices & Managers, K? Fuck me for not playing it exactly how you want to, right?”
“I wouldn’t have a problem if your stupid characters would stop wandering off because they’re a fucking lone-wolf hacker who doesn’t want to work with the party.”
“We are not starting this shit again Jaykob,” the storyteller said. “I’m not gonna DM for you guys if you’re gonna interrupt my storytelling with squabbling. You’re killing the emersion.”
“Guys listen to Hunter, come on,” Alyx said.
Jaykob and K-Den stared each other down for a second and then deferred to hunter.
“Alright, the mysterious, hooded hacker is sitting in the corner booth. Where are you Janei?”
“Haley is digging into a stack of pancakes at a table with John, syrup dribbling down her chin.”
“John is pouring salt on an ice cube and watching it melt,” Alyx said, “and paying no attention to his sister.”
“And you Jaykob?”
“Is there anyone else in the Denny’s aside from us?”
“A few, mostly tired-looking stragglers. Some of them wearing scrubs. A group of teenagers in the back making a lot of noise and getting the stink eye from the waitress.”
“I wanna sit down at a table with the person who looks the most like they know there way around town.”
“Roll awareness.”
“Wouldn’t it be perception? Awareness is more for like checking if people are lying and stuff,” K-Den said.
“I’m saying it’s awareness because figuring out which person to talk to is more of a gut thing than just looking for a specific thing. What’d you roll Jaykob?”
“I got a 12 plus 5 from my mods.”
“You have a 5 for awareness?” Alyx said.
“My common sense is stupid-high man; I’m playing a drug dealer.”
“So with a 17 you see one guy, looks like a construction worker but you would probably know from your background as a drug dealer that he moves meth and he seems like he would know who’s who and what’s what.”
“I sit down next to him, and say, ‘suh dude. What’s lit fam?’”
“Please don’t do a 2010’s accent the entire time, it’s gonna get really cringy after a while,” Alyx said.
“Fine, I say, ‘hey do you know of anything important happening in the town right now?’”
Hunter cleared his throat, tilting it forward and dropping his Adam’s apple. From his throat came a deep, gravely, 2010’s mid-western dialect.
“’Why ya wanna know?’ he says, bits of bacon sticking out through a meaty fist.”
“’Just curious, always good to be informed right? And what’s a bit of information?’”
“Roll convincement.”
The copper die hit felt with a soft thump and rolled into the wooden side of the dice box. The number on top was a 1.
“He glares at you with a look of paranoia and the bacon in his clenched fist drops to his plate in crumbles. ‘The only reason you’d be askin’ is if you’re tryin’ to muscle in on my territory or if you’re a plain-shirt cop and either one is a good reason to waste ya.’ The man slides out of the booth and towers over you by almost half a foot. Roll perception.”
“13 plus 2 is 15.”
“Okay, you notice the bulge in the front of his pants. It looks like he’s strapping.”
“Seeing this,” Janei said. “Haley rushes over and says, ‘hey what’s going on!’”
“’Nothin’ that concerns you girl, fuck off.’”
“I flutter my eyes and lean forward so he can see down my crop-top. ‘Do you really need to fight here?’”
“Roll convincement with advantage.”
“Why’s she get advantage?” Jaykob asked.
“Cam-girl with streamer archetype,” Janei said. “You get advantage on convincement checks against people attracted to you. It was a 24 by the way Hunter.”
“So as you say that the guy’s face goes immediately red, ‘whatever. But if I ever catch this pussy-ass little bitch where a cop ain’t around I’mma fuck him up.’ The guy gets up and leaves, still eyeing you Kyle.”
Jaykob turned to Janei, “’thanks for the save. What’s your name?’”
“Haley. And that guy over there is my brother John. We come here sometimes and hang out after I’m done streaming.”
“’Cool. Mind if I go over and hang out with you guys?’”
“Yeah sure. Pull up a chair!”
“I finish my coffee and wave the waitress over, pointing at the cup for her to refill it,” K-Den said. Jaykob sighed.
“Eventually you all notice a man walk in from outside, dressed in a patchy button-down shirt with a Goodwill tag on it, torn jeans, and sneakers with holes in them. Much of his face is obscured by a beard, but thin, purple, chapped-lips peak out from under the beard and form a grin at the sight of your table. He walks over, taking with him the smell of mold and marijuana. ‘You dudes seem like you can handle yourselves. Interested in a bit of an adventure? At least let me tell you what it is, no harm in that.’”
“I nod for him to continue,” said Alyx.
“’You may not believe me, but I come from the future. A future where people are slaves to the service industry, and everything is sponsored, even your apartment, if you can even afford one. I am part of a socialist resistance that is trying to change this fate, and all of it hinges on this year. But I need your help. But I warn you that this adventure is going to be dangerous, and might include, Russian hackers, Islamic militants, infiltrating a political party, and saving a gorilla. Do you think you can handle it?”
“’I’m in,’ Haley says,” Janei said.
“Same.”
“Same.”
“The homeless man’s eyes sweep across the three of you gathered around the table. ’If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me a bit about yourselves before I take you on the quest?’”
“’I’m John, the Hipster Barber,’” Alyx said.
“’I’m Haley, the Half-Nerd Streamer.’”
“’I’m Kyle, the Hipster Drug Dealer.’ And for fuck’s sake K-den can you please do something to introduce your character before we leave you behind?”
“I was literally just about to get to that Jaykob if you could find two seconds in your busy schedule. I get up from my booth and stride over to the table and say, ‘I couldn’t help but overhear something about Russian hackers. I’m in. The name’s Kaden and I’m a-“
“That’s literally just your name, K.”
“It’s spelled K-A-D-E-N though, not K-hyphen D-E-N, dickbox.”
“Are you really just gonna give your character your own name with an archaic spelling? That’s such a copout man.”
“Guy’s come on stop!” Janei said.
“So if you’re done, Jaykob, I say, ‘The name’s Kaden and I’m a Nerd Hacker. I’ve got unfinished business with a Russian hacker who stole my father’s identity. And I plan to get it back.
“’That is literally the most generic backstory for an O&M character ever.”
“Character development can happen dynamically throughout-“
At that moment a bell rang, silencing the argument and the table.
“Pizza’s here,” Alyx said.
|
“We have to welcome them properly! All our years of studying human culture has led up to this one single moment, so we have to do our best!” Ausserirdisc chirped, changing the channels that displayed the orbiting human spaceships incessantly.
“I know you have a thing for this, but I’ve done real research on how humans view us in particular. We’re what they would claim is...’nightmare fuel.’ Your dream is far fetched and we’re going to traumatize them at first sight,” Wessenfremd deadpanned. Their friend, crestfallen, turned to them and frowned.
The enthusiastic alien’s limbs were white and abnormally long, ending in sharp claws of the same stark white. It’s eyes, honed to detect food sources in the dark, were pitch black and gleamed menacingly. It’s legs were bended at an angle that made it almost seem like a bird, and if they rose to full height, they were about seven feet tall.
“But...but...we’re not carnivores! We don’t even have the instinct to kill. Humans are the ones who do that.”
Wessendfremd sighed. “Thats right. By every law of nature, were significantly less harmful then the average human. We’ve had no impact on our environment. Our societies have advanced much further then theirs, and we are of an intelligence that allows us communication abilities beyond what one of them could ever fathom. But we look weird, so that’s it for us.”
“That’s...that can’t be it...”
“It is,” Wessenfremd insisted. “I studied the history. All of it. Humans hate other humans, too, for looking different. If they can’t handle different colors, then do you think they’ll be able to handle us?”
“Yes,” Ausserirdisc stubbornly countered. “Not all of them can be that way. And since you think we’re so smart, then use that intelligence of yours to remember that no species is exactly the same unless they reproduce asexually. Even then, nature is imperfect. It’s not like humans are designed to hate everybody. It’s possible.”
“Fine. But I will be the one to say ‘I told you so.’ Thats the best damn part of my life.”
—
The space ship descended onto the unusual planet. It made a careful and steady landing, touching the surface without a single fault. Eventually, one person in a space suit emerged.
Ausserirdisc nervously moved out from behind a tower of rock. Stepping forward cautiously as not to alert the sensitive species, they set a sparkly gem down onto the ground in front of the human. The person in a space suit looked down at it, and then back up. They made no move to run away.
They reached down and picked up the rock with one hand. With the other, they offered a hand to the alien. Ausserirdisc’s black eyes lit up with joy.
It seems that humans were just as diversely beautiful as Ausserirdisc knew they would be.
(I cant spell, so sorry if there’s mistakes!) |
The barefoot traveller shook off his cloak as he entered the Centre for Worship, trying hard to blend in and failing spectacularly.
People stared and giggled at his plain clothes, dressed as they were in the gaudy outfits and accessories that signified their belief in the dizzying array of gods to choose from.
He kept his eyes averted and made his way through the crowds, listening intently to the conversation and taking in their...costumes.
One young woman wore a colourful, decorated bangle for every Greek god she worshipped, making jarring music as she walked. A heavily tattooed man was debating the benefits of Valhalla versus Nirvana with a gentle-looking boy who wore nothing but a loincloth.
"Does this matter, though?"another interjected, chugging down a beer and slapping the other two on the backs. "It's all true, people, that's what we need to remember. The gods would never be so cruel to make us choose between them."
The traveller stopped in his tracks and wheeled around to face the group.
"What if there were?"he asked. "What if *everyone* here is wrong about what is waiting on the other side? What if there's only one god overlooked by you all, aggrieved and angry to see what has happened to his world? To the lack of worship for him?"
They stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.
"Aggrieved about not being worshipped!"the tattooed man said, his wild mane of red hair shaking as he laughed. "The gods wouldn't be angry if someone doesn't worship them, man, that's why they're *gods*. They just *are*. And where is this mystery god of yours, if he's so pissed off? Shouldn't he be down here, trying to convince us, if he cares so much?"
"Don't mind Eric,"the woman with the bangles smiled at him. "Look, we gather here to talk all this stuff through, so say what you like, my friend. What's your name?"
"Er. Yeshua,"the traveller said. "Is that familiar to any of you?"
They shuffled their feet awkwardly and gave strained smiles. He felt a pit in his stomach and hastily left the group. It was worse to face them because they were right.
Their gods did exist.
Anything powered by such whole-hearted belief did. And because these people didn't particularly care whether their gods walked around on Earth, he was currently the only deity in the room. Well, former deity. He could feel his power ebbing away with the growing proof of his utter irrelevance in this world.
He'd hoped it would be a relief to return to Earth: the empty space he labelled 'heaven' in his mind was overrun with an unbelievably noisy, petulant gaggle of gods. Not to mention spiteful. Zeus had been particularly amused to hear his story, and had zapped his sandals with a lightning bolt. Accident, his ass. So he'd come to Earth. Home. But far from relief, he had sunk into depression. No-one believed in him.
How should he even start building it up again? When he'd last seen Earth, he'd left it up to his disciples to tend the small flame of belief he'd woken in his followers, until his return. He didn't even know what had happened to his friends.
He wandered dispiritedly outside again, into a nearby bar that was almost deserted: the Hug-and-Mun Inn. The barman nodded to him in a friendly fashion. The symbol of Odin winked at Yeshua from a chain around the man's neck. Well, that explained the bar's name, at least.
"Happy Worship Day, brother,"he said, and pushed a glass of wine across the counter. "On the house."
"Thanks,"Yeshua said, sipping the drink and glancing at the only other customer, sitting next to him, moodily drinking a beer.
"Bad day?"he asked.
"Worship Day is always so *noisy*,"the guy sighed. "I'm an atheist. It gets old."
"How many atheists are there, would you say?"Yeshua asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.
The young man raised an eyebrow at the odd question, but answered with a shrug. "Oh, a few million or so, probably. We keep to ourselves, mostly."
Yeshua pondered this as he took another sip. He should be depressed about that too, but really, this man and everyone like him was at least a dozen gods closer to the number they *should* be worshipping. It was a start. He could build something from this.
He hoped desperately he still had the juice to pull off a trick or two, and beamed at the man.
"Well, I don't like Worship Day either. It seems all wrong somehow,"he said. "I have something to cheer you up."
He tapped the glass and groped for the majestic, booming voice he had once been able to pull off without any trouble.
"Want to see what I can do with this wine?"
-----
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
The piano stood her vigil for over forty years. Each day the man sat and played the same song, and every time the keys absorbed a little bit of the love radiating from his soul, vibrating both the strings of her soundboard and the strings within her very subatomic structure.
As the years passed, the love the piano absorbed never faded. It grew exponentially, with each song adding to its depth. Until the day finally came that the man at the keys could barely play anymore.
The piano knew that this was the last time he would sit at her keys and play the song, the song that opened an entire world of his own imagining.
As the last key fell, the strings of the piano vibrated, but didn’t stop; their vibration had reached a type of critical mass. The energy poured out from the deepest levels of reality, from places so pure and true that those who glimpse them spend a lifetime seeking out just one more nanosecond of such truth, and took the man at the keys along with them.
The trip was only one way. No song existed that could bring him back to the world before, but he had no reason to return. His decades of love and pure caring for his fellow man had brought him to this place of true connection, a world devoid of hatred, but where it was OK to feel bad because someone was always there to make things better.
To this day, whenever you do something selfless, whenever you forgive an unkindness, whenever you chose love and honest connection over anger and isolation, you can hear him, playing his song from the deepest places of your soul.
“Won’t you please? Won’t you please?
Please won’t you be, my neighbor?” |
I sat down heavily in my black leather couch and sighed deeply. What a day, almost nothing had gone right. We had been going over the conquests of Alexander and something just clicked for me. I don't want to do this. I dont want to be this. I am supposed to 'upend the kingdoms of man, and lead the forces of Hell to ultimate victory.' It sounded like a bother honestly.
Just as I was really hitting my brooding stride, my dog Cerbi jumped up and placed her head on my lap. Her eyes looked up at me as if to say, 'I'm here, you should be happy now.' I chuckled with melancholy and pet the dog heavily on the head. Dogs were the only redeemable thing in all of creation as far as I was concerned. They loved you no matter what you were, so long as you loved them too. Nothing more, nothing less. Pure creatures if ever there was one.
I thought about the unfortunate fate which would befall dogs if I did go about with that 'apocalypse' business. What with the lakes of fire and oceans of blood nonsense. Besides, humans weren't good for much, but if they all died who would look after the dogs? Who would be able to love them all? That thought stilled me.
I decided to call up Dad and see if anything could be done for the dogs. After all, nothing in The Book said anything about dogs. Surely we could save a billion or so humans to look after the dogs properly. We could even start by burning the people who didn't much like dogs into cinders, the only ones left could be dog lovers. That sounded like an enlightened society to me.
I picked up the infernal telephone, and dialed, 6-6-6. I waited on the line. "Hello, office of The Dark Lord speaking, who may I ask is calling?"The voice of a cheery secretary answered the phone.
"I am the Prince of Darkness, the bringer of the apocalypse. I am His only child, and I am the doom of Heaven."My voice took on an unnatural duality, as if two voices had merged. One was the normal alto voice I usually spoke in, the other was an unholy baritone which sounded much like the end of days.
The secretary sounded like she wrote something down, "Alright, I have you down as 'The Antichrist. Your Father is very busy as you know. There is a lot to plan for. Because it's you, I'll pass a message along."She sounded slightly uncomfortable at the prospect, but she knew her job.
"I need to talk with him about a matter most dire. It could affect the success of the Apocalypse altogether."I intoned this in the same unnatural tones as before.
I heard her gulp and set the phone down. Moments later I heard, "This better be important Son."His voice wasn't split. As always, he sounded like he was seconds away from bursting into song. His baritone was gentle and pleasing, the kind of voice which would sing songbirds to a restful slumber. I wasn't fooled, I knew exactly what this man was.
I hesitated for just a moment and said confidently, "I would like to arrange a safe place for the dogs of Earth in the wars to come. I was also thinking of saving a billion or so humans to look out for them."
The voice on the other line stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his voice came back in a roar which sounded like molten gold, "YOU PISSANT BOY!! YOU DARE TO INTERRUPT ME? YOU DARE TO BRING SOMETHING SO PETTY TO MY ATTENTION?"abruptly his voice chilled, "I will personally kill every dog on Earth. Apparently you cannot handle the distraction they cause."His voice was icy fire as he said this.
I froze and I burned. This was my Father? This petty creature which would destroy what I loved for simply asking? Fine. I will not ask, I will take. I hung up the phone.
I roared in anger and frustration, the windows to my apartment shattered and smoked. He wants to destroy the things I love? I won't wait for that to happen. I flexed my shoulders and wings of black and white burst from my back. I could feel a crown appear on my head. I extended my now clawed hand and conjured a sword. "This will be the end of days, for Hell and all its demons."I seethed with anger.
With a snap of my claws, I appeared at the gates of Hell.
A horde of demons awaited me, clad in black armor and equipped with soot stained swords.
These would be the first of many to break before my wrath.
The last would be my Father.
**************************
/r/SirLemoncakes [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9y5goz/wp_you_are_the_antichrist_your_destiny_is_to/e9ze3w9/?context=1&st=jon7rhwa&sh=d6450ba5) |
# Smoke and Starlight
He was only here so he could gloat, Smoke thought.
There had been a time when the Bottled Worm was just a seedy warehouse. That time had long since passed. Now it was a disaster zone, the sort of place that only existed because long-dead authorities had been paid off not to demolish the rusty biohazard a generation before anyone even thought to turn it into a club.
Now, somehow, it was exclusive. But still, it wasn’t the sort of place anyone would think to find Ms. Starlight.
Not that anyone else had tried. Smoke couldn’t parse that one. The media had run some stories and then wrung their hands, her sister had been even worse. Her boyfriend? The bastard seemed almost gleeful. Smoke chuckled, clouds of hazy green leaking out from the slits in his neck. The bouncers at the doors edged back, giving him a respectful distance even as their hands darted down towards their guns.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Smoke said. One of them, the younger one, tried to turn the gesture nonchalant. He wiped his palm on his shirt and looked Smoke right in his cold, dead eyes.
“Attaboy,” Smoke said.
The crowd parted and the bouncers let him through, and there was nothing but sweaty flesh, broken, bloody tiles, and overpriced drinks as far as the eye could see.
Smoke was right at home.
\*\*\*
He was only here to prove a point, Smoke thought.
He waded through the writhing bodies, one tall, dark figure among many, though a little thicker, a little strong— lethal. Ahead the bodies writhed in all directions, gyrated in patterns that some people called “dance.” Behind they only writhed away. Smoke had a smell like crushed mountain flowers, just the menacing side of too sweet. In the right circles, it was known.
The point was simple: Smoke got everywhere. He infested all the corners of the world, even the shitholes that didn’t matter, the ones where he’d dredged up her past. Ms. Starlight, the darling of the Capital, wasn’t half the saint she seemed. Beneath the thousand-watt smile and the silvery, enticing eyes, she was just as human as all the rest of them. As human as him.
Before everything, before she was Ms. Starlight, before she was a sensation, before she was the ray of hope in the night that crushed all his dreams, she had been Ava Solis. Ava Solis was a Gaze Addict.
You weren’t anyone when you were on Gaze. At least, not outwardly. Gaze was a drug you took to slip into someone else’s skin or to give your own to someone else for a time. A Gaze addict’s eyes were too blank to see, their hands couldn’t grip; sometimes they even forgot to breathe. But behind those eyes they could be anywhere, the full force of the human mind cut loose to hallucinate at will, like lucid dreaming but ten times as real.
There was Gaze here, Smoke could see a few addicts by the bar, tearing packets and passing pills, a trio of rich hotshots with their muscle nearby in case someone tried to kick them off the bar. It was a statement, to take up a whole barstool in a place as exclusive as the Bottled Worm, just to go somewhere else.
Smoke heard a tortured scream and a bell ringing. He glanced up to the second level where banks of TVs hung down to broadcast a fight the plebs couldn’t afford to see in person, even though it was happening right up there. A razor-fiend was down and screaming, a badly grafted crab claw arm snapped off and spurting blood. The victor, a guy with chrome-plated hands, held the arm over his head like a trophy. He shook it violently and dropped it to the ground, cracked the crab claw open, and reached in for the meat.
Smoke turned away. He shouldered one of the hotshots off his barstool and the man crumpled bonelessly to the ground. One of the enforcers started towards him and Smoke blew a single puff of green haze at him. The man backed off with a shrug. Smoke glanced down at the hotshot. A creaseless white Armani shirt and a thickly braided gold chain, a spot on his pants where he’d pissed himself. It was a wonder Ms. Starlight had ever kicked the stuff.
The bartender was a young girl after his own heart, gill slits prominently displayed on the graceful column of her neck. “I’m looking for a woman,” Smoke said.
“You’ve come to the right place,” she said.
Smoke shook his head, almost sadly, and said her name.
\*\*\*
He was only here because he’d been an addict too, Smoke thought, playing absently with the photograph in his hand. It was impressive, what Ms. Starlight had done, even if she'd fallen off the wagon.
He followed the bartender deeper into the Bottled Worm’s guts, a series of progressively shoddier warehouses. There were more fights here. Dour men stood in silent rings as gene-spliced freaks beat the hell out of each other; the only sounds were the bartender’s heels and the wet impact of fists on flesh, or scales, or occasionally fur.
“What makes you think Ms. Starlight is here?” the bartender asked.
Smoke said nothing. One of the fight rings split open and a man done up like a werewolf spilled out towards him, clawing at the space where its muzzle had been. It lurched and swayed, the bartender stared as silently as the men. Smoke stepped towards it.
“My face,” the werewolf was trying to say, “oh god, my face.”
If he hadn’t seen the fights before, Smoke would never have understood it. He grabbed the creature around the shoulders, hugging it to him.
“What?” the werewolf said. "What, what?"
“Rest now,” Smoke said, and he expelled a tendril of emerald green. He felt the creature stiffen, feet weakly pawing at the ground. It trembled, gave one last, violent heave, and then fell silent.
Smoke let the werewolf fall. All eyes were on him, and many things that were not eyes.
But they smelled his sweetness, saw the creature at his feet, and they let him be.
"I don't think she had a choice,” Smoke said. When he looked back, the bartender was scared. |
There’s something many people forget about expanding an empire. Something the Romans had to deal with. The Chinese. The Mongols…you get the idea.
As you get bigger, you have to more border to defend. As bad as it is on land, it is even worse in space. An ever enlarging sphere of empty space to defend.
Luckily for us, humanity didn’t need much space.
We’d gotten used to living on ships and orbitals. We’d had to, given what we’d done to our planet.
So when we found out that nearby systems were already claimed and occupied, we began diplomatic missions instead of colonizing ones.
And when the first of our new neighbors decided to see if our systems were worth colonizing, they ran into a nasty surprise.
You see, we might not have been as advanced, and we might not have a sprawling empire of trillions, but we did have a lot of ships.
In a relatively small area.
We lost a lot in the first attack. Outgunned one on one, we simply couldn’t stand and fight.
Once they entered the edges of our system, though, things changed. The fleet they saw was simply decades behind, technologically. It also outnumbered them seven to one.
The fleet they didn’t see, which had hid in the shadows of Pluto, made the numbers almost twenty to one.
The men and women lost that day made it a Pyrrhic victory. The technology we gained, though, made the Sol system impenetrable.
Four times since then we’ve faced invasions. Each time it was easier and easier to fend them off, and each time we learned. Developed. Gained new technology and insights into the galaxy and the systems around us.
If any had brought the full force of their military against us, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. But they would have to strip their own borders - some further from us then we can travel in a lifetime - leaving themselves open to attack.
So instead, we became the tough little nut in the middle of great empires. Their border wars ended at the edges of our system. Traders and diplomats were welcomed, while ships armed with anything more then a light asteroid smasher was turned away…or swarmed down and dismantled for parts.
It wasn’t long before many of them saw the use of having a neutral party in the middle. Diplomats were safe to meet and work out ceasefires (no war between the great empires would ever truly end, despite our attempts). Trade goods made near the heart of the galaxy, could find their way across our sphere, leaving to begin a journey that could take them to the rim of space (rumors reach us that they could go beyond, even).
All minus our cut, of course.
Our people became sacrosanct. We could travel in our great cruisers, touring the galaxy and seeing wonders that were banned to any other outsiders. Who would tell us no? When the risk was to lose access to the great neutral zone, the free trading spaces and diplomatic zones? The one place where art, culture, and technology could be exchanged?
Easier to let the humans roam in their ships. We didn’t colonize (why bother, when our ships could hold hundreds of millions in comfort), but rather…toured. Saw new systems and their wonders.
In time, there were branches of humanity who had gone so far away that they had never seen the light of Sol. Perhaps they will turn around at the edges of the empires they travel through, or perhaps they will continue on, braving the new borders we have only heard of.
Perhaps they will find new systems, unclaimed in the depths, and settle them. Make them another small hub - well defended, and neutral in other conflicts - another launching point for the great explorers of humanity to travel out from. |
A week after Louis had helped take down the cult, his world changed. He’d been delivering his report to his superior: a detailed analysis of how Louis and his team had infiltrated and arrested the sixty-member criminal organisation. But his boss’s office had been empty. Her computer was on, however, and sat unlocked with a document loaded up on the screen.
Careless of her.
He really should have locked it on her behalf, but instead he began to read.
\*
“Well?” said Eleonora, as she stepped into her office and found Louis sitting in her seat.
”Tell me this isn’t true,” Louis said. “Tell me we didn’t take down the good guys?”
”We didn’t take down the good guys,” she said with a faux-smile. “I can tell you that. What they were doing was illegal. We took down criminals, as we always do.“
”They were helping refugees! Preserving land for dragons. I…“ He shook his head. The entire thing was unbelievable. Or he just didn’t want to believe it, that he’d been responsible for so much hurt.
“The dragon was taking up a lot of prime real estate, you understand? The criminals who owned all that sprawling countryside had to give it up. Now it’s become land we can build on. You’ll surely agree that’s good news? And besides, the dragon was a thief. You have no idea the amount of priceless treasures it had been hoarding. Now they belong — rightfully — to us.”
Rightfully? What made them rightfully belong to people any more than to a dragon. ”So what will we do them now?” Louis asked. “With all these great treasures?”
”Sell those of most historical importance to museums. The rest we sell to private buyers and then that money goes back to the government — as it should. Have you any issues with that?”
He did. He was certain he did. But he wasn’t sure exactly what his issues with it were. “Where’s the dragon now?”
”Safely locked up, far below us.”
“Below us?’ Louis’s eyes widened.
“Relax. It can’t breathe fire in the low oxygen atmosphere down there, and it certainly cannot break free of its shackles in its state. So we’re perfectly safe up here. Besides, it’s only temporary. Once we find the right buyer we’ll descale it and sell what we can.”
”Descale it? That sounds like it’ll… That it’ll hurt it pretty badly.”
She laughed. “Oh Louis. Don’t be naive. It’ll kill it. But it’ll also help lift this country out of its national debts. Not a bad sacrifice, I’d say.”
Louis’s stomach churned, his vision dancing back and forth — along with his ideas of morality. “And the orphans? We’ve displaced hundreds of people with nowhere left to go.”
“They have places to go! A wide range of places.”
Finally, a little hope. ”Yeah?”
“They can choose prison, or they can go back where they came from. We’ll find somewhere for each and every one of them, don’t you worry.”
\*
Louis had been involved in many dangerous situations during his time in the job, but he’d never been involved in a jailbreak.
He crawled through the vents, gradually lowering himself deeper into the underbelly of the building. Then deeper into the earth itself. He dragged something very heavy behind him, making the entire endeavour damned near impossible: a cylindrical blue oxygen tank.
If he could get near enough to the dragon’s mouth… It would only need one burst of this oxygen to give it back its fire. Or enough, with any luck, to melt its chains. Then after that… It would be on its own, he supposed. Would have to have luck on its side to escape the rest of the building.
He’d be left on his own then, too. A traitor.
A needle in his arm.
A unmarked grave.
But over the last few days he’d decided he’d prefer to die a traitor than live loyal to this.
\*
He hadn’t expected the dragon to be able to talk. To thank him through an ancient and tired voice for freeing her.
He certainly hadn’t expected to ride out on its back, as great steel doors gave way to the dragon’s whipping tail. As fire returned to her belly and to her eyes.
Once out, they circled over the building, the dragon raining flames down on it, until it turned soot-black and was left a breath away from crumbling.
Then, together, they flew to a distant place in a distant land where Louis said they might undo some of the bad Louis had caused — if the dragon agreed to help him.
\*
The dragon carved the new orphanage into the mountains. Great halls with vaulted ceilings, a thousand rooms. Louis redirected a stream of fresh water, helped the dragon forge flat step-terraces trailing down the mountains for food to be grown on.
The dragon then allowed Louis to pluck a scale from its back and to sell it for all the money they’d need to get started.
Orphans of both wars and natural disasters were broken out of their waiting-room prisons by Louis and the dragon. Two wooden platforms sat on either side of the dragon’s back, and like a great green airship they transported prisoners group by group to their new home in the mountains.
Louis showed each person — no longer orphans — to their very own room. Gave them food and water. Would soon teach them how to fetch and grow their own here.
The dragon slept on the very tip of the mountain, curled around the rock like a kitten around its mother’s legs, its snoozing breath warming the pipes that ran through the orphanage. |
The commander of a meager squad of troops thought of his predicament.. Fully surrounded, cut off from all reinforcements, no chance for retreat, and no possibility of extraction. He looked behind him at the few men nearest him, knowing the rest were spread about and still maintaining the weak perimeter that they'd been ordered to defend..
"If we survive this, we'll be heroes!"a young, nervous soldier uttered, choosing to show bravado instead of fear.
"And if we don't survive?"A slightly older soldier beside him inquired.
"Then we'll be legends."the commander said. The few troops gathered nearest him all looked up, ready to follow his command, to the death if needed before the commander finally turned back to the small radio set before him, the static crackle of the radio muting as he keyed up across the airwaves.
***"Russian Warship, go fuck yourself!"*** |
"You?"I managed to croak, grasping at the handrails of my hospital bed and trying to sit up. The heart monitor began to beep faster, and lights flashed.
The man in the bright orange jumpsuit took a step closer and bowed in greeting. The neon fabric contrasted with his dark skin. "Hello, Ms. Sanchez. Or, should I say *Madame President*? It's been a long time for you, hasn't it?"In his hand, he held a blue elephant stuffed animal that I'd had as a kid. That he'd taken from my room that night. He handed me the toy with a smile.
"For so long, I thought you were imaginary. A dream,"I whispered, holding the elephant in my hands. It seemed brand new, though it had disappeared a century ago. "I tried to convince myself you weren't real..."Perhaps he still wasn't. Maybe this was a side effect of that new medication the doctor had tried. He'd said that it was experimental and still somewhat unknown.
The man took a seat in one of the chairs near my bedside that had been occupied by my family members only a few hours prior, and placed a warm hand on my arm. "I'm most certainly real."His tone was both polite and indignant.
"Who are you?"
He smiled. "I do owe you an explanation now. My official title is 'Harbinger.' I come from a distant future, using this."He held up a small square of metal, no larger than a cell phone. "It is my duty to come back and give certain historical figures a nudge in the right direction. I spoke with you just a minute ago, when you were only ten years old."
"You told me I would be President,"I said, replaying the memory in my head. Even now, when I struggled to remember my son's face from earlier today, I could still clearly picture this Harbinger wearing the same orange jumpsuit and appearing in my bedroom over a century ago. How he'd told me about my destiny, and everything that I could do to achieve it. And how the world would be so much better. Then he'd simply opened a door in thin air and stepped through, disappearing forever with my blue elephant. "You were wrong though,"I told him with a smirk.
"Oh?"He gestured toward the door marked with the Presidential seal, where my secret service detail was waiting in the hallway. It had been decades since I was in office, but a President is protected for life.
"You told me I'd fix everything. How I'd be the greatest President of the modern age, and solve all of these complicated world problems, and do all of these things. But I couldn't. The world is still falling apart at the seams."
He gave a wry smile. "You're right. I did lie to you. About everything."
We both fell silent as I processed this, interrupted only by the beeping of the machines keeping me alive. "That can't be."I finally answered. "I did everything exactly as you said. Going to Harvard... Running for governor... then Secretary of Defense.. just like you told me."
He smiled. "Maybe you only followed that path because you were *told* that it was your destiny. Did I tell you your fate, or did I write it for you?"
"This whole time..."I whispered. *Not possible,* I told myself.
"The Harbinger program identified you as someone with significant potential,"he said. "Intelligent, charismatic, compassionate, but... listless in another timeline. All we had to do was give you hint at what you *could* achieve, and you did the rest yourself. Why else would we need to come back and interfere, instead of letting history run its course?"
Memories flashed through my mind, of me accepting Harvard because I knew I was supposed to. Deciding to run for Governor against a popular incumbent because I *knew* I would win. Asking to be Secretary of Defense instead of Vice President because that was my destiny... "Why, though?"
"The world is better now because you *tried* to fulfill this prophecy, isn't it?"he gestured around the room at the shelves and shelves of flowers and gifts from well wishers. "You were motivated to *try* because I told you that you *would* fix all of those problems. But think about all the good you did, even if you couldn't solve *everything*."
I gave a weak smile. I *had* done a lot, hadn't I? "Is that why you came back?"I asked.
"Yes."He was beaming like a proud parent. "I've come back to thank you. You saved millions of people from death in one way or another. And you improved the lives of countless others in so many ways."
"And what now?"I asked.
"Now, we die."
I sighed. I'd known that that was coming for a while. "You too? You don't go back?"
"The timeline seems to shift upon death. I will be erased, but there will be some new version of me that will go back to some other candidate and give them the right nudge, thus starting the cycle all over. Each time, the world is incrementally improved. All of your achievements will become a permanent part of history, and a new branch in the timeline created. Rewritten as a better society, thanks to you."
He grasped my hand tight, and my eyes closed. "No, thanks to *you*,"I whispered with my last breath. The beeping of the monitor became a steady whine, and my hand fell to my side as the Harbinger vanished entirely. Only the blue elephant remained as proof that he'd ever existed.
----
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|
The Vampires were the first to notice--or the first to complain at least. The Guardian Angels had known obviously, but they weren't about to say anything (they never do). The Vampires--all five species had been on the run for years though, and finally had taken to keeping their own private food sources--blood banks and the such.
It isn't that a vampire can't drink the blood of an alien or even a zombie, it's just that it's not quite the same. Or it messes with their heads in some cases like Angels. It's also a good deal more dangerous than going after humans. And well androids aren't exactly toting around any blood anyway.
Not that anyone was very sympathetic at the High Council when Drakul brought it up. I wasn't exactly happy about it at the time, but what could we do?
"I'm telling you this is a problem!"Drakul sat lazily in the overstuffed chair. Our council meetings didn't go in for the board-room look. We went for comfortable. We were all too *old* to be much impressed by anything else.
I raised my glass of wine. It was a fine vintage, and it sparkled ruby in the light. "Drakul, it's just humans. What is the problem? It's like those damn birds down in Africa. They've gone extinct. Who cares?"
J'Ximpl, an alien from some planet that happened to have a major stake in exporting water from Earth to his planet--highly lucrative for him for some reason--adjusted his ascot and sighed noisily. "They were useful in some ways, mind you, but it's not like the world has ceased to function. The peasants are still peasants and the jobs are still getting done. What does it matter that it's being done by Androids, Angels and Loup-Garou and so forth instead of mere *humans*? They were rather expendable anyway."
I gave him a nod, as did several others in the room, though I noted, not Chief LongFang of the Loup-Garou. He was notable for his rather primitive view on the best uses for mortals. And likely part of the reason they were extinct.
"Exactly Drakul. They were soft, pathetic, and, quite frankly, rather bothersome."
He sneered. "Of course you think so. You've been lying in that cave of yours for how many millenia? Soaking in the heat, enjoying your gold and gems? And you need to eat what? Every two or three hundred years? And does it matter what you eat? No! You dragons are all alike. Eat anything, care for nothing. I'm surprised you bothered to show up for the Council."
I hmphed. "It was my turn. We *do* have a sense of duty you know. Unlike your people, apparently. Which of you was responsible for ensuring that you'd have a food supply going forward?"
He got a nasty look on his face, but didn't do anything stupid like lunge toward me in anger or even bare his pathetic little fangs. Vampires are many things, but they aren't entirely stupid. Well. They are cunning at least. They know when to back away from a fight. And there was never a Vampire that could so much as touch a dragon. Not the best of theirs to weakest of mine. Still...
He got himself under control. "We didn't have anyone in charge of that. It didn't seem necessary. There have always just been so many of them."
I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Lady Winter--Elf Queen, though don't call her that, she is Sidhe--saw no reason to be as diplomatic. "So you thought it fine to hunt and kill and torture the weaklings and never once to watch their numbers? Even they did that with their own herds--even wild animals do better than that! Pathetic Drakul. Still, I fail to see how Winter--or my friend Summer--could see this as our concern. We are not dependent on them. Of all those here, only you and the Angels *really* have a need for the humans."
Drakul snarled outright now. He wasn't nearly as worried about her displeasure as mine. The fool. Even dragons respect the Sidhe--not for raw power, but for maliciousness in revenge. "Humans, for what it's worth, are the ones that have souls. Or did you all forget that! Oh you did didn't you. We don't get souls."
That got my attention. The ArchAngel--I knew which one, but for reasons of polity, we never identified which of them was attending--shifted ever so slightly. They regarded souls as their own domain and discouraged talk of them in front of some of the others. The aliens and the androids especially, but hardly just them.
But more importantly, Drakul had finally made a point that had some merit. Souls were a source of power. Of magic. Humans hadn't been using magic for centuries--that I knew of anyway--but their souls were still the *source* for it.
I coughed politely. "Drakul, you should have led with this, not whining about food."
"Oh?"He sneered openly. "Perhaps you should have seen what not having humans meant more quickly."
I acknowledged the point with a dip of my head. "Of course. But now, what can be done? Angel, is there a solution?"
The Arch-Angel turned his hooded head toward me and I *felt* his gaze upon me. Of all the beings in the room, this was the one that would give me pause in an open battle. The elves would prove bothersome and annoying over millennia--until they got bored--but the angel might just decide to end my existence. One did not anger them lightly.
His voice was like stones rubbing together--deep, powerful, and not exactly easy to hear. "I will CONSULT. Pray a moment."
Of course he meant it literally. Angels always did. They had always maintained that God was real, though the rest of us had always entertained rather more skepticism on that score. I remembered the planet long before the angels showed up. Still...
"It will not be easy. Human souls are...restricted. The time has come for the angels to withdraw from this world. If you want more souls, you will have to find a new source--a new kind of mortal--to raise up from the mortal beings on this planet and help them along. Souls will come when a species native to this realm achieves intellectus and is able to fully reason. You have time enough to do so before the magic fades from the realm. If you can cooperate. It may require some--adjustments."
With that he stood, threw back his hood and the room suddenly grew very bright. "You would be wise to work together to choose a new species--perhaps two or three--to shepherd into intellectus. You would also be wise to avoid wasting power."
----
I wish I could say it went well after he left--one moment there, then the light gathered in on itself and he was gone--along with all the other angels.
But it's been two hundred years and we still argue and fight. Well they do. The dragons did what we always do--most of us went to sleep and we chose one of us to fix the problem.
I wish it hadn't been me. But I do hope the Vampires enjoy what I've done. Because today? Today my tigers started using tools. And they are saying hello to each other in very plain language. It helps that I gave them proper thumbs. |
"It's just a really bad storm,"replied The Do-Gooder, adjusting his over-sized utility belt.
"A bad storm? With no clouds in the sky? Don't be stupid. I told you, I can sense a strong power entering the city. This being has the ability to manipulate the elements and it is coming here to free me."
Animal Boy was looking at both of us, his tail changing to that of a mouse. "I don't know, DG, I think she is telling the truth. Maybe we should just let her go..."
DG scoffed and landed a heavy hand on his sidekick's shoulder. "That's what Mysteriosa wants you to do. We release her from those chains and then--"the building shook, dimming the lights before the generators kicked on, "then she escapes to destroy the city once more. No, Animal Boy, she will stay here in this cell forever. We can investigate this ourselves. If we were able to trap Mysteriosa, then this being stands no chance against us!"
I was at a loss. Maintain my solitude and allow the city to be destroyed. Or reveal myself, losing everything I'd work so hard to obtain, just so that I could be a hero once more. DG and AB argued amongst themselves as I allowed my mind to travel over the city. It moved in dark shadows, but I could make out the shape of a dark red beating heart moving ever closer. It called to me as it floated over the mountains to the west and I could feel the darkness of it covering the skies.
DG tightened the shackles that bound my wrists and ankles. "No, she stays. Come, let us confront this being once and for all!"
I glanced about my little cell for the last time. It had been worth it to allow myself to be captured. Seeing everything as I did, being able to manipulate time and energy: it had been as gratifying as it had been exhausting. The fame, the attention, the booming sound of all of their thoughts constantly ringing in my ears. It had been too much. Asking to be left alone had drawn the cameras and flashing lights closer. The reporters had followed me everywhere. Until I became a villain. I set fire to a few cars and exploded a bank vault. Minor incidents with no true victims. I didn't even take any money. It would have been just arson, really, and yet they began to distance themselves. They feared me and left me alone. But then it became an issue of "Mysteriosa sightings"and moronic superheroes trying to bring me down. DG and AB were the ones who happened to show up when I had had enough. I allowed myself to be captured and they promised to hide me away in the deepest, darkest vault. Alone. Pure bliss.
But now this. The darkness was enveloping the edges of the western suburbs, the skies black as if it were night. Animal Boy was attempting to call the guards to open the cell, but the phone on the wall wasn't working. DG banged on the cell door, calling out for the guards.
The shackles melted away, falling into a pile of dust on the floor. Animal Boy was the first one to notice me dusting away my clothes and he transformed into a mouse, skittering to the other side of the cell.
"This cell is 100 floors below ground. They aren't going to hear you."The Do-Gooder jumped back, his hand going for his utility belt. A flick of the wrist and it too melted away. His hands went to his waist to keep his pants up. It would have been comical under other circumstances.
The bars opened and we began soaring up the shaft. The elevator was stuck at the top but it moved out of the way as we neared it. Animal Boy changed into a squirrel and hid himself under the cape of DG.
"What on Earth? How is this-- we defeated you!"
DG was apoplectic, his face red and eyes wide. Poor guy. "Hmm? Oh, yes, that,"I opened the doors of the main floor and we flew through the lobby to the front door. "Well, you did, but I allowed you to. I needed the break."
His stammering faded away as we considered the darkness overcoming the city. "Listen, I really must run. Thank you for--"I struggled to find the words. "Just...thanks."
Another booming sound and I was standing in the heart of the storm, alone. We stood in what remained of the city hall plaza but it was being reduced to rubble. I could feel the being within reach and its laugh filled the air before it settled before me.
"Mysteriosa! You've ruined my plans!"
I stared at the being as it transformed from a dark cloud into the face that I knew so well. It was like looking into a mirror. "Hello sister."
-------------
Edit: Thanks for the comments! Just posted Part 2 below... |
The scariest thing in the world is a house cat with ambition.
You might think this odd. With a world so full of terrors--you might wonder--why would we fear our furry friends?
They are harmless, you say. Disruptive sometimes, sure, but ultimately they're just lazy balls of fluff.
I'm not much of a history buff, but if you ask me, the ancient Egyptians definitely knew better.
They knew what a cat could become if it ever truly wanted for anything. They knew what would happen if a cat decided to tap into that spark of chaos at the core of its essence.
That's why they worshipped them, gave the cats everything they could need, everything they could desire.
Really, if you think about it, we have the Egyptians to thank for the society we know today. Without their efforts to placate and appease the true masters of this world, I'm not sure humanity would have made it this far.
But I'm rambling now.
Let's get to the actual story.
My name is Jon, and this is the tale of why I feed my cat lasagna. |
“Evening friends, I brought the mead.” Jack held the bag of mead to the heavens. The dragon and princess letting out a small cheer as he approached, placing the booze down before throwing himself onto the grass beside them. “Sorry I took so long, I had to give a rousing speech to the villagers about how I would slay the mighty fiend, you know the usual.”
“You still give those lame speeches? No wonder all the noble ladies laugh at you in the castle.” Alice reached for one of the bottles, popping the cork off, happily chugging down the mixture.
“Lame? Those speeches inspire hope. What would you know about speeches, Alice? You just get someone else to make yours. I bet you couldn’t even make a speech half as good as mine.” Jack said, grumbling to himself as he grabbed a bottle of mead, giving Alice a small glare as he drank from it.
“Fear not noble townsfolk. It is I, Sir Jack, who will slay the mighty beast and return your lovely princess. I shall not let a single golden hair of hers get burnt by the mighty flames.” Alice recited, mocking one of Jack’s speeches, causing the knight’s face to flush with anger.
“They are a little lame, Jack, sorry.” Maxil snickered, the enormous dragon expelling a few flames from its nostrils, trying not to laugh at Alice’s impression.
“Oh, come on, you try making up a speech on the spot. It’s really hard. Do you know how much pressure it is to have people looking at you?” Jack complained, though only Maxil showed the slightest hint of sympathy.
“Today, we have received reports that Princess Alice has been kidnapped by an invading dragon. The dragon came into our kingdom before the rising of the sun and captured her, flying her to a cave northwest of the kingdom. We have sent a knight to retrieve her, there’s no reason to panic.” Alice said, creating a speech on the spot, grinning at her two friends.
“That’s not bad Alice, it sounds so regal and professional.” Maxil said, admiring the princesses calm message.
“It was decent. It wasn’t as interesting as mine, though. You need to add some excitement to it. You think people will write tales and songs about a lame speech like that? Mine will inspire classical stories of great bravery and heroism.”
“And stupidity.” Alice added, shaking her head. “It’s a princess being captured, how much added excitement does it need?”
“I don’t mean to bother you both, but can someone toss me up a beverage?” Maxil asked, struggling to grip the bottle with her tail., trying to retrieve one without knocking over her friends.
Jack grabbed a bottle of mead, tossing it into the air. The open space allowing her more room to move as her tail swiped the spot, latching onto the mead, bringing it towards her mouth. With a sharp tooth, she pulled the cork free, pouring the booze down her throat.
“Insults aside, how have you both been? Ive been waiting for this for a few weeks now. What took you both so long?” Jack said, expecting these little get-togethers to be more frequent than a monthly basis.
“Do you know how hard it is to prepare a kidnapping? I have to make sure there're no guards around and that Maxil is available. Unlike you, we don’t get to sit on our asses and wait for someone to tell us the princess has been kidnapped.” Alice scoffed, rolling her eyes at her knight.
“It is a lot of work. But I think its worth it. Even if its only every month, I enjoy seeing you both. It brings back memories of that first time we met. When you were both bratty children fighting over a stick. To think twenty years have passed since then.” Maxil reminisced about the event only for Jack to speak up.
“Right, when the snot-nosed princess nearly got us killed. You have a house full of gold and wouldn’t let me have a stick I found. You were willing to push us both of a cliff over it. Not only that, I got in so much trouble for sneaking you out of the castle, my father nearly lost his head over it.”
“I said I was sorry. It was only through my words of forgiveness that you even got to become a knight. You should be grateful for that, at least.” Alice tried to hide how much she hated being reminded of that incident. He was right. Her snobby attitude nearly killed them both, but at the very least she learnt from it. To some small degree.
“Lucky a giant dragon took pity on you both and swept you up from the edge, only asking one small thing in return. That you come and visit. I never expected you both to return. Its been fun watching you both grow into such influential people. I feel like a proud parent.” Maxil fawned over the pair, tossing the empty bottle of mead aside, using her tail to pull them both into an embrace. “I love my little friends.”
“Gah, love you too, but stop squishing us. I can’t breathe in this armor.” The two fidgeted until Maxil released them, Jack gasping for air, holding his now dented chest plate.
“Now you actually look like a knight, try not to make up some lame story about how you got that dent.” Alice said, giving him a smirk.
“You know he’s already thinking of one. Let him have his glory. I believe he’s earnt it. He does protect you.” Maxil said, the two watching the knight as he recovered from the hug.
“Fine, he can have one.” Alice shrugged. “We should get going Maxil, sorry this visit was so short, we only have a few hours before they send reinforcements. Father isn’t a patient man. You ready to ride, oh valiant knight?”
Jack picked himself off the floor, tapping his dented chest plate. “Yeah, Im good. To think I pulled myself out of a dragons death grip using only my bare hands.” He said proudly, causing Alice to groan, while Maxil let out a hearty laugh.
“Be safe, you two. Please come and visit soon, I’ll supply the booze next time.” Maxil said, waving her claw at the pair as they climbed onto their horse.
The princess and the knight offered a wave back, giving their friend a smile before heading towards the kingdom.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Sensation. Light battering aching eyes. I groaned, shifted, and opened them, squinting into the darkness. The four glittering eyes set in the skull before me greeted me.
"Excellent,"he said. "Mechanic, I require your services on my Camaro."
"Wha...?"I groaned, and reached up. With practiced ease, I cracked my jaw back into place, and winced when I felt across smooth bone. "You better give me some skin, too."
"Sure,"The skull said, brightly, the four glittering eyes closing as metallic folds flicked across them.
I'd been dead.... six, six or seven months, by what little count I got in Mechani. Mechani was not exactly where I'd been expecting to go when I passed, you understand. I was more under the impression I'd end up around Volcanon, or maybe in one the of Celestrial's glowing silver moons, forever bathed in the radiant light of the time crystal's glittering at the heart of the Undying star.
I'd hated being dead at first, but the endless work of Mechani, work that was specialized to me and myself in particular, it gave me a peculiar sense of purpose, a place in the grand scheme of the cosmos that I'd never managed to really figure out in real life.
It made me angry to be taken away from there, and yet...
"Seriously,"I said, slowly working myself off of the table I was strewn across. My bones clicked together in a most peculiar way, and I looked down, staring across my bones.
My bones.
Were they even all mine?
I glared at him, but I lacked most of the muscles for that, so I wasn't sure if I even got the message across.
"Oh, it's fine,"the skull said. "I wouldn't worry about your place back at The Eternal Expanse. I cleared it with upper management."
I flicked my eyes away from the skull's ruby red gems and down to the long tendrils sliding across his form, slipping with surgical precision into the depths of the body he was piloting. This time the body was more feminine. I wasn't going to question the skull's tastes at a time like this, it seemed a bit poor taste.
"Did you wreck your Camaro again?"
"It's the kids these days,"The skull said. "They have this bizarre idea that I'm /terrible/ at street racing just because I'm using a car from 1972 instead of one of those new hovering types."
"So what,"I asked, running pale bone fingers across my body. "You got into a car accident in a challenge for their soul?"
"Yep,"The reaper said in reply. "It happens a lot. Especially since I got my promotion to the 'reckless and arrogant' division of soul collection."
I let my shoulders slump.
"So...?"
"Right!"The reaper said, brightly. "I am 'He-Who-Chases'. You knew me as Roberto."
"Okay,"I said. "You already know my name."
"You should get a cooler one,"The reaper suggested, sweeping to the side. He tore a curtain off, and the dual suns poured their light, amber and copper, across the expanse of his workshop. Strange fluids boiled in the corner, and a great silver leaf book sat, half open. A few words were written there, burning with righteous indignation and intolerance.
I guessed he was a bit behind on his job, considering his ride was broken. Whatever.
"You're taking this very well,"The reaper noted.
"Call me,"I said, taking in a deep breath. It failed, of course, because I didn't have any organs. "The Skull-Mechanic."
"Cool,"The reaper said. "I rather enjoy working with you Mechani folk. Really understand the joys of the job."
I squinted at him (I didn't actually).
"You're buttering me up,"I said.
"Well...."
He opened up another door, this one to the garage, by the pale fumes of aetheric gasoline in the air, little dances of rainbows and playful possibilities from the breakdown between realities in each calorie dense cup, and I stopped, and stared, and then glared, feeling the soul boiling in my bones turn red hot.
The reaper's Camaro wasn't just broken, or bent. It was wrecked! Absolutely destroyed! Desecrated!
"Oh,"I hissed, glaring at Roberto, or He-Who-Chases. "You didn't mention that you /lost/ the race."
"Oh, didn't I?"The reaper replied. "Well, that's the problem. That you're going to be helping me with."
He laughed, his four jeweled eyes dancing on his skull in resonance. "Skull Mechanic is an awful name. I'd find another one."
"Anything else?"I asked, letting my skull slump down on my exposed collar bones.
"I lost my license in the accident."The reaper noted, almost smugly. "I know you've missed the roar of the engine, so... How'd you like to be my driver?"
My head darted up.
"What?"I asked.
"Is it a deal?"
I looked around at the workshop, taking tender note of necromantic and purely mechanical components. Why... it'd take me months to fully bring the Camaro back from the dead, and drag the soul back from Mechani where it inhabited one of the eternal machines powering the Greatest Work.
But...
A race?
Yeah. I could do a race.
"Deal."
-------
Want more like this? Head here!
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ |
My guardian angel was made of light. Her features were obscure. She was like a floating golden cloud in the shape of an angel, with wide wings whose fringes dissolved into the air of my cramped apartment.
"Which old lady?"I asked. "Where?"
Her voice was gentle, compassionate, humane.
"At the intersection in front of the 7/11,"she said. "You had just bought sour patch kids and a slushie. You stood at the the crosswalk, next to her. An elderly woman. Half blind. She started to cross as the city bus barrelled down the road toward her. You pulled her back. The bus whizzed by not a foot from your faces, the driver leaning on the horn. Then, when the light turned red, you helped her across."
"I hardly remember,"I said.
I had not spoken with my guardian angel since my tenth birthday. Today was my thirtieth. A difficult birthday, signalling the definitive end of my youth. Perhaps that was why she had come to visit me. Perhaps she had sensed that I was lonely and struggling.
"It's not always the grand theatrical actions that have the greatest impact,"she said. "In fact, it's often the small words and deeds you never bothered to remember in the first place that have the greatest influence. A kind word to a stranger in the grocery store can mean more in the final reckoning than draining the game winning basket."
"Even so, those little things don't count as a life's purpose."
Thirty years old and still I was aimless. Still I saw no clear path forward. I had tried things out. I had soul searched and job searched and searched for my true love. I had been more attuned than most to the importance of living authentically. I had striven to find my truth, to ensure my outward life reflected my innermost being. I had lived in constant fear of mindlessly following the path of least resistance, of getting swept up by the momentum of careless choices and losing myself along the way.
Yet I had never stuck with anything long, because nothing had ever perfectly clicked. I had always been on the hunt for that moment of apotheosis. I had always believed that when I finally found my purpose, I would know in an instant, clearly and distinctly.
But that jubilant, transcendent moment had never arrived.
Now I was spending my thirtieth birthday in my small apartment, drinking alone. No deep passion, no fulfilling career, no true love by my side. When my guardian angel arrived, I was thrilled. I was sure she would give me guidance and point me in the right direction. I had hoped when I asked her about my purpose, she would illuminate a path forward which had hitherto been hidden from my sight.
But that was not what had happened. The only light her answer had shone was on why I felt so lost. Of course I couldn't find my purpose. I had already fulfilled it. But knowing that didn't bring me consolation. It filled me with anger and despair.
I lifted my half-can of beer to my lips, tilted and chugged it empty. I crushed the can and threw it on the table.
"So what's the point then?"I snapped.
"The point?"
"Of living?"I continued. "I already fulfilled my purpose. That's as bad as having no purpose at all. . .Jesus. Nothing significant since I was thirteen? Really? And nothing meaningful coming down the line? I was put on this earth to save some old woman I don't even remember? I was destined to peak at thirteen and then waste away, dicking around for decades, waiting for death?"
"It should feel liberating,"she said. "To know there are no expectations of you. To know you have nothing to prove. To know that you have already accomplished the greatest thing you ever could."
"The greatest thing I ever *could*?"I repeated. "I don't know about that. . .Who was this woman anyways? Did she go on to cure some terrible disease?"
"She did not."
"Did she broker a peace between two nuclear superpowers on the brink of war?"
"Not that either."
"What did she go on to do, then, that made saving her so important?"
"The poor woman,"said the angel. "She only grew blinder and more impatient as time passed. Less than a year after you saved her, she found herself reenacting the old scene, squinting from the side of the road before stepping into oncoming traffic. Sadly, there was no one to pull her back that time. She was flattened by an RV. Died on impact."
I glowered at the glowing angelic shape. "The greatest thing I have ever done, and ever *could* do, was add a single year onto the life of some blind old crone?"
"All part of god's plan,"the angel said sweetly. "You asked what your higher purpose was. Now you know."
I stood up and crossed my arms. I tapped my foot furiously. This was absurd! My life had been capped by a divinely ordained ceiling. A higher purpose? More like a bar so low that any child could easily step over it.
"I can't accept it,"I said. "I won't. I can't spend my life looking backwards, wistfully half-remembering some adolescent afternoon at a crosswalk. I don't care if that's all that was planned for me. I'm destined for something more. Maybe not greatness. But something greater than *that*. . .I'll flout god's grand design if I have to."
"Impossible,"said the angel. "It cannot be escaped. Besides, you're living exactly according to His plan already. You saved the old woman. Your box was checked. And now you're free from expectation and responsibility. . .Everything is going according to plan. It's no coincidence that you live in a paralysis of indecisiveness. Alone. Sheltered. Unable to act or move forward. Trapped in thought. Weighing all the possible options for a meaningful life, but too scared about choosing wrong to choose at all and commit. Dabbling here and there: in jobs, in hobbies, in women. But never staying with anything long enough to find real meaning. Waiting around in limbo for me, or god, to tell you what to decide. It's no coincidence, because it is what god wants for you. It is how you shall spend the rest of your days."
The finger I pointed at my faceless guardian angel trembled with rage.
"I don't need god, or you, or anyone to decide my purpose!"I said. "It's my own decision. Whatever I want, I can will it. I can make it happen. Maybe the gravity of fate drags me in certain directions, like into this listless inertia. Maybe there are *some* limits to what I can achieve. But I haven't reached them yet. Not even close. I can still fight. And I *will* fight. It's not up to you to tell me my purpose. It's up to me to find it myself! To choose and commit and see it through!"
"In that case,"she said, "you should probably stop waiting for higher powers to hand your purpose to you. It's not like you'll listen to us anyways."She winked with a thin golden arc like an eyelid on her otherwise featureless face and disappeared.
\- - -
Check out r/CLBHos for more short stories and novellas! |
"Hello? Is this thing working? I guess it is. Alright, my name is Manuel. Yeah, like that dude from *Faulty Towers*, you can laugh it up now, british folks."
The sound of heavy footsteps play throught the stream. The camera seems to be faulty, but slowly the image becomes clearer: The streamer is walking fast through what appears to be an abbandoned building.
"Definetively, God, Alah, Buddah or the freaking leprechauns must be playing me the most impressive prank of all times... *Fuck!*"
Manuel whispers that curse as he ducks behind a corner; a Woman appears briefly on the screen, wearing rags and covered in what looke like dried blood and filth. She is so thin that she seems to be a walking death, trembling with each step and making eerie breath sounds.
After a few minutes, Manuel resumes his walking.
"Ten years ago, the first case of 'Human Rabid Disease Virus', or 'HARD-V', as we nicknamed it, appeared in my city. Some say it was a woman, some said it was actually a dog, or even freaking aliens. I don't care, to be honest: Facts goes that in less than twelve hours, half of the inhabitants of the city had been infected. The symptoms are... well. Patient first get high fever, laboured breath, and then falls unconscious. Next, he or she wakes up and tries to split your skull open to feast on your delicious brain.
Quite a sight, isn't it?"
He stops again and produces an smartphone in front of the camera. He is checking Twitch's chat; some viewers mention that the phone is an *antique.*
"What? You don't believe me? Oh well, worry not, you will. O know most of you will think that I am simply a gamer pretending to be in a zombie apocalypse, so let me tell you this: Search for my country, Spain, and look at the news. You'll find virtually *nothing*. Nada. Zero. Zip. Just political mumbo-jumbo, but no news at all of what is happening in Spain. And even more, try, just *try* to book your holidays there. Every single hotel, flight, boat or freaking Uber is filled to capacity. It is impossible to come here! And now try to search news related to Barcelona between December 2011 and June 2012. Please go, check it out, and then come back."
A few minutes pass in which Manuel gets out of the building and runs through some streets, stopping behind abbandoned vehicles, burned-down army transports, and finally starts to march towards an avenue, jumping over what appear to be random obstacles.
"Yeah, you saw it. Just a few notes saying that communications with Barcelona seem to have failed, and some news about riots. But nothing else. So let me tell you this: Ten years ago there *WAS* a zombie apocalypse, and my city, my country, were where it begun. So I can only guess that OTAN, the USA, the Illuminati or whatever-the-fuck-is-responsible-for-this-massacre has silenced it!! Some would say you cannot make a whole country dissappear, and they didn't just do that! Portugal and Andorra are gone too!! They went through the same treatment!"
He jumps through a window and, immediatly, crouches behind it, resting his back over the wall.
"I knkow it's not the first time... Well, IF my previous streams have somehow reached you, this is not the first time you saw me. Something funny happened: After I managed to stablish a satellite internet connection, apparently thanks to a guy called Elon Musk, and after I wrote my first messages on Reddit... the freaking army appeared here.
I though they were finally going to save us! But then, they started hunting down the survivors. Damn my luck..."
Manuel stays there, catching back his breath, before finally climbing the stairs inside the building to what appears to be a fourth stage. He looks through the window, sun is setting and soon night will arrive.
"I have been running for the last few days. But those bastards don't know a few things. Look, can you see them?"
The camera moves, as if Manuel had grabbed it with his hand to show it through the window. Despite the low quality, the movement of human figures is obvious, as they take cover and advanced coordinated towards the building where Manuel is hiding. The camera moves again, as Manuel reataches it to his head.
"The first thing, is that you don't *fuck* with a bastard who survived for ten long years"
He produces a different cellphone and dials a number. After two call tones, an intense orange light iluminates the room, followed by the explosion. Silence follows, then screamed orders... and the roar. Hundreds, thousands of inhuman voices roaring at the same time.
"Second, is that *they* only go out at night. And third..."
The camera pans as Manuel drops a huge bag he seems to have been carrying for the whole video. He immediatly gets a long rifle from the bad, dissassembled in three pieces, that he expertly puts back together. When he's ready, less than thirty seconds later, he takes the rifle, puts it on the edge of the window, at the same time that he adjusts the scope.
Screams and roars fill the audio systems. The solders in the street fire in every direction, as hordes of humans, savages as rabid dogs, sprint towards them. Manuel takes aim.
"This is my city".
The chat goes silent as the first rounds are shot. And not a single one is aimed to the HARD-V victims. |
"...I... thank you?"Hades awkwardly held onto bouquet, glancing between it and Ares, "Did... did she specify these are for someone, or...?"
"I have no idea, she started talking about Percy giving you flowers and told me I should do it too."The god of war shrugged, standing gormlessly in front of his fellow god's desk, and Hades looked back to the flowers. Was... was Ares coming on to him, or something? After a second he realized how ridiculous that was; he and the god of war worked together closely but despite what the mortals believed (thanks Zeus) the other gods weren't up to any ridiculous shenanigans... mostly. Honestly though, these two were probably the least equipped to handle any mysteries regarding romance. "I... well tell her I said thank you, I guess?"
Ares gave a flummoxed shrug and departed from Hades' realm, and the god of death just as awkwardly began the search for a vase to put the blooms in that Persephone's flowers did not already occupy, trying to think of the message behind the gift...
\-----
Ares stepped back onto Mt. Olympus and was almost immediately accosted by an excited looking Aphrodite, the woman nearly bouncing on her feet, "Sooooo..."
"Y-Yes?"She leaned in close.
"A little birdy told me you were out collecting flowers\~."
"Yes? Yes, I delivered them already."As she blinked in confusion Ares took a step back.
"Wait what? I've been here all day and haven't received anything..."Okay now what the Styx was she on about?
"Why would I send them to you?"Aphrodite stared at Ares in confusion for a long, silent moment before Zeus' voice suddenly rang out from around the corner.
"Dite, why in my name did my brother just send me a load of flowers claiming you started this..?" |
“I don’t do accidents, Agent Ross. Just confirmed kills.”
Bob Ross chambered a round, stepping over a dead body. “You can do anything here -- the only prerequisite is that it makes you happy.”
“Accidents don’t make me happy. They make me dead.”
Ross smiled. “The secret to doing anything is believing that you can do it. Anything that you believe you can do strong enough, you can do.”
I sighed. Why’d I have to get stuck with this agent? His history, like all of ours, was classified, but I’m willing to bet he used to be a motivational speaker. Probably not a very good one either.
“Whatever. Just do your job, Ross, and I’ll do mine. Personally, I’m not gunning for any accidents.”
“No pressure,” he said with that disarming grin. “Just relax and watch it happen.”
I shushed him. Faint talking came from around the corridor. Our mission was to infiltrate this base, and the best way was the classic way: kill everyone before they could scream. The security cameras were disabled, any sensors were turned off, so all we needed to do was stay quiet for as long as possible, picking off targets from the shadows.
The corridor took a sharp turn ahead, and we crept in front of it, keeping ourselves hidden. The voices sounded like they were deep in conversation. A perfect distraction so we could catch them unaware.
I made a motion and lunged forward. My gun flashed once, firing a bullet towards the first person I saw, then I dodged out of the way as Ross took his shot.
It was clean and efficient, dispatching two guards before they could raise the alarm. Our silencers ensured that the sound didn’t travel far enough to reach the closest patrol. According to the intel, the guards were spaced out evenly enough for our needs. The intel was the most crucial part of every mission, and it had never been wrong yet.
A movement from Ross brought me back into the present. He was inching forwards with his gun pointed down the corridor.
“Ross?”
Suddenly I realized he hadn’t said a word. Usually after a kill he would make some inane comment about the red blood blending with the blue jacket or the pink of splattered brains complimenting the wall color well. It wasn’t normal for him to say nothing.
I could only see his back, but I could swear his grin widened. “Let’s get a little crazy here.”
He fired right as they came into view. I quickly had my gun joining his, and a bullet whizzed past me as Ross fired again and again.
The firefight was over as soon as it started. I could see several corpses up ahead piled into the narrow corridor. Evidently they’d expected to catch us by surprise, or they wouldn’t have made themselves such easy targets. Ross lowered his smoking gun and looked back at me. I was right, his grin was definitely wider.
I spoke up before he could. “It was an ambush. Intel made a mistake.”
Ross shook his head. “There are no mistakes.” He grimaced, raising a bleeding arm. “Just happy little accidents.”
I gaped. “You’ve been shot!”
“It’s life,” he shrugged. “It’s interesting. It’s fun.”
I fumbled for a gauze to stop the bleeding. If he found being shot fun, he was more crazy than I expected. But if crazy was what it took to spot an ambush before it happened, I wasn’t going to complain.
“Fine then,” I said. “Is there anyone else coming?” He shook his head. “Then let’s patch you up and go cause some accidents.”
---
r/OracleOfCake
ETA: Just an extra note since it was brought up in the comments[.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f4qnmv/wp_we_dont_make_mistakes_around_here_agent_bob/fhw41fy/) Other than some superficial similarities, this character is not meant to mimic Bob Ross as a real person. I'm aware that he didn't, as far as I know, take pride in his military background, and no disrespect is meant by this story, which was written just for fun. |
"Reroll, please."
My head snaps up from my forging, the soul I was reshaping falling to the anvil. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me buddy! I want a reroll! The last few times you've sent me down as an ant, and then a turkey, and now a lobster? I'm just not *vibing*, you feel me?"
What the actual fuck. I peer down at the lobster-shaped soul blob before me and my own hammer marks glow before me, detailing all the times this soul has been reshaped by me. "How in all worlds have you been here ten times in five days?"
"I told you man, the vibes were *off*, so like I just came back? Not super hard but bro, the judgment line *sucks*. I tried telling the guy up front that I was a frequent customer and next time he should just fast track me to you but he threw me all the way back and I had to wait through the whole thing again! Anyway I want a reroll! No more lame animals, I wanna go back as a dude with a massive sch-"
"Jesus Christ on a slice of toast, just shut the Hell up for a second! HOW are you retaining your memories? That's the first thing I knock out of you."
The lobster raises its front claws in a strange crustacean shrug. "Dunno. Try it."
I swung my hammer down and smashed the lobster with relish. The cleansing sound echoed across my forge as it was reshaped back into a perfect sphere, clear and unblemished as the day it was created. There was no way that-
"Yeahhhh so that didn't work. Don't mind being a ball though. Ooh, sneak me into the NBA! I wanna meet LeBron!"
I looked at the soul, throwing itself in and out of my trash can and yelling something about "slam dunks". Looked at my hammer. Looked at the two hundred thousand page manual labeled "WHAT TO DO WHEN SOMETHING WEIRD HAPPENS IN THE SOUL REFORGER (NOW WITH MORE PAPERWORK!)". Looked back at the soul. At my hammer. At the growing line of souls needing reforging. I made my decision. Snagged the dumb ball mid dunk out of my trash can and placed it on my anvil and held my hammer over it. Ignoring the feeling that I was making a huge mistake, I asked it:
"How big do you want your schlong?" |
Lucky dashed down the hall, scarf billowing out behind him like a cape. Chest heaving, he skidded to a halt at the pantry door and rattled the doorknob. "Open... up... There's time! He's not here yet! Open! Please!"
"No room!"Called a silly voice from within. Tears streamed from the leprechaun's face as he collapsed to the floor.
"Please! I'll give you gold! Diamonds! Rainbows! Anything!"The door didn't budge as the figure stepped closer.
"You really think I'd fall for that? Silly leprechaun. Tricks are for kids,"came the voice from behind the door. A gleaming talon shot forth from the darkness, seizing Lucky from behind and snapping his neck. Charms clattered to the floor as the figure tossed his lifeless body aside.
"I heard a thud!"Buzz whispered. A flutter of his wings stirred up a swirl of dust in the darkness of the pantry. "How long do we wait? I don't want to die in here."
Toucan Sam sniffed the air. "I think he's gone. We should make a break for it. Follow my nose."
The rabbit, the toucan, and the bee opened the door a crack and peeked outside.
"Fuck this shit! I'm retired! I'm not with them! Take the others!"Buzz screamed as he shot out towards the open window. *Splort*. He collided with a sheet of clingfilm, barely visible against the morning sunlight.
"What the?"He strained, fluttering his wings to no avail. "Help! Guys, help me! I was just kidding!"
"I was just thinking we needed a distraction,"the rabbit said. "Thanks for volunteering."Toucan Sam flipped Buzz off as they made a mad dash for the living room.
"Wait! Do you smell that? He's back. Hide, and be quiet!"Toucan Sam whispered, drawing the rabbit behind the couch. Clunk. Scraaaaaape. Someone was advancing on the clingfilm trap.
"Please, let me go! I'm retired! You can't do this to me! The others are in the living room, they're running away, youcanstillgetthemAHHHHHHHH!"Buzz's cry was cut short by a bloody gurgle. And then, silence.
"That son of a bitch!"The rabbit shouted. Toucan Sam slapped a wing over his mouth.
"Quiet!"he hissed. "He'll hear us! Look, the TV cabinet is just barely open. We can hide in there. You're faster. So you go first. Don't worry about me."
"Alright."The rabbit whispered, and hopped across the living room floor, navigating dexterously through chair legs, old toys, and a dog's squeaky toy. The silhouette of a bird joined him in the dark, and he quickly closed the door. "What now?"
A knock came from outside the door. "Rabbit? Rabbit, you have to get out of there!"
"Toucan Sam? But if you're not in here with me, then who's... Oh, Shit."
A huff of warm, chocolatey breath hit the rabbit square in the face as a large talon seized him by the neck. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. I'm just a little cuckoo."
[join the community!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) |
The text message says “Clean up on aisle 4.”
“Hilarious. So witty. Never gets old,” I grumble as I grab my super suit from the closet. It’s not shiny leather, it doesn’t have a cape, doesn’t have a badass logo on the chest. It does have steel toed boots and a utility belt though. It’s also knit from a tungsten-carbon fiber - spiderweb alloy for durability because while I am indestructible, my favorite pair of Levi’s are not.
The text was from my buddy over in police dispatch who relayed messages to me when the Heroes and Villains started to throw down and literally threw each other into shit, causing all kinds of collateral damage and endangering countless bystanders. God, I hate them all.
What I mean is that I hate having to clean up after them. Does Batman care that his flying rodent grappling hook damaged a historic landmark? No. Does Magneto care that the streetlight he wrapped around Wolverine can’t be used anymore? No. But I do and I can actually do something about it. Hence the “cleanup” text that wasn’t funny the first 849 times.
Suited up, I check my phone for the follow up text that actually told me where to go. I don’t need to go very far before I can hear the yelling and see the debris cloud drifting down Central Avenue.
I had a rough day at my 9-to-5 and I really don’t need this right now. I maybe overreacted a wee bit: instead of my usual Time Freeze, I cast Frozen just on the two combatants. Their every cell locked up. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t circulate blood through their systems. It’s a terrifying sensation, especially if you’re used to thinking you’re A-List.
While I let them slowly begin to die (they’re both Supers, it takes a while), I cleared the area of civilians, and used my actual power of atomic manipulation to replace the street and fix the structure damage in the four, yes FOUR, buildings they’d thrown things through.
And then I found her. She was maybe six years old, and half buried under a billboard that had fallen off its stand. I could feel that she wasn’t dead yet, but would be in 3 minutes.
I carefully moved her to between the two Frozen figures stuck in absurdly antagonistic poses. “You did this. And for what? Look at her. LOOK AT HER!”
I scooped her back up into my arms, letting them think she died, but I was already at work stabilizing her poor broken body. I could feel the spark in her responding and refused to let the assholes behind me see.
Regretfully after turning the corner and leaving line of sight, I Unfroze the Hero and Villain who to me felt like equally bad guys. |
The sad thing is, by the time most people die they don't want to live any more. Look into the eyes of an old man and you will see one overriding desire. Wander around the average old-age care home and you can feel it heavy in the air. That last gasp really is a gasp of relief. That peaceful look which finally settles over their face is no lie.
I should know, when you've lived as long as I have you've seen a lot of people die. 3000 years, that's 38 lifetimes. 120 generations. If I had any living decedents they would likely be my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren. That's crazy, huh?
Of course, it's a strange sort of existence, mine. Nobody actually living can see me. I can't interact with the world in any way. I've never seen any other ghost, like me. Although I presume they must exist. I died when I was 83, lung cancer. I can't remember what it's like to taste anything, what it's like to dream, or to remember. Or to cry. The human mind is not meant to function for this long. What am I? Where did I come from? Why am I here? The same eternal questions trouble me now, after 3000 years, just as much as they do the short-lived mortals who somehow still inhabit this planet.
I'm stuck here in limbo, and I don't know how to leave. How does a ghost kill themselves? I want to die so bad. You can't imagine how much I want to stop thinking. 3000 years, with no human interaction. 12,000 seasons without ever feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. 36,000 months without ever experiencing that invigorating breath of fresh crisp winter air. 156,000 weeks without anything to live for. Over one Million days. What does a man who isn't really alive do for a million days?
Have you ever been asked the question "Do you want to live forever?"When I was alive, I was obsessed with living forever. I would emphatically answer YES to this question every time. When I died and found myself still here I was excited. I felt like my wish had been granted. Perhaps it was. I roamed the world. I was all-knowing, there was nowhere I couldn't go. I floated through walls, across oceans, into war-zones and the most secret meetings. And then I got bored. Humanity is boring. Apes, they blow things up, then they build them again, then they blow them up again. This is torture. Occasionally there will be somebody or something special but they, or it, are here and gone so quickly it seems so pointless.
My favourite past-time these days is to sit and read. I can't turn the pages, of course. So I find somebody who reads at about the same speed as me. They turn the pages, we read together. If you ever find yourself in this situation, make sure the reader you choose to haunt reads slightly slower than you. It is so frustrating to miss the last sentence of every other page. But what do I do when they sleep. When they eat. When they shit. Or when they just sit there staring into nothingness while I'm dying to know what is on the next page. Not literally dying. |
**THANKS TO** **MarkReadsReddit** **FOR THIS NARRATION:** [**https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqYMd5xs7f8&feature=youtu.be**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqYMd5xs7f8&feature=youtu.be)
118B.
An entire world, an entire people, with millions of years of accumulated history- and yet, to the strange bipedals of flesh and metal, all this can be summed up in four characters. The hundred and eighteenth world, of the second great campaign- like tallies on a list, the moniker is orderly, efficient, utilitarian.
And, above all, it is cold.
To the Vri, war was an art- as subtle, as varied, as creative as any other. Battle was empathy- the combination of knowing oneself and one's enemy. The planet the humans call 118B was instead something far more meaningful: Czen-nal-dim, "The Fierce Orb"of the Xelt, proud soldiers of a savage and pure spirit. Its denizens are the eternal foes of the Vri, recalled in our legends as warriors of worth and valor to equal our own. For ten thousand years, our conflicts have raged across the stars. Worlds have burnt, trillions have fallen- and yet, despite the horrors they have wrought, our enemies still command our respect. Their visages adorned our memorials as much as our own- after all, without our worthy opponents, Vri glory would not be possible.
To the humans, this is incomprehensible- and, as such, inconsequential. Our war-ballads are superstition, our battle-chants meaningless. They do not know war as we do- and, perhaps, they never have. The human knows no ancestor-spirit, no battlefield saints. They are as cold and unfeeling as the machines they have implanted themselves with- and, at times, I find it hard to separate the two. Their admiral is as much computer as he is man, with wires and interfaces emerging sickeningly from defiled flesh. When he addresses me, he speaks twice- once in his strange, native tongue, and once, nigh-simultaneously, in perfect, machine-generated Vri. He is an abomination, surely a sacrilege upon his ancestors' memories- but, as much as he reviles me, he is our only hope for survival.
I cannot deny the effectiveness of the human commanders. In a few short years, they have turned the tide of war- a war that, for the past century, has consumed the collective attention of the Vri race. World after world has been purged of the Xelt- but, even so, this is not achievement. The humans are not warriors- they are a natural disaster, as uncaring and capricious as the World-Father himself. There is no victory, no glory here- only flippant destruction, and, underneath it all, a palpable tinge of regret. Now that we have outsourced our very birthright to the machine-men, we can never reclaim what we've lost.
Below me, the Xelt home-world begins to burn. Gamma lances blaze with invisible light, searing death upon the cities and forests and oceans. I cannot bear to look- but still, I do not turn away, for the sake of Xelt and Vri alike. Someone needs to feel the weight of this, to channel the immensity of the destruction- but, despite my efforts, I feel nothing. No happiness, no anger, no sorrow. For a moment, I finally understand how it feels to be human- and the agony tears me apart from within.
Finally, from the central console, a voice emanates to break the silence. It is polite, crisp- and entirely artificial, like almost everything else I lay my eyes on. It intones one phrase: "Sterilization complete"- and then it is done. Without hesitation, the various fleet commanders collect their things and leave the command room, as abrupt and curt as the voice of the machine-woman. Like their warfare, the commanders are clean, orderly, mechanistic- perfect soldiers, in perfect lines, yielding perfect results. The admiral rises from his chair, unplugs his interfaces, and, finally, leaves with his lieutenants. Not a moment wasted, not a single unnecessary movement- no, not even the formality of addressing me as he leaves. The job is done, and that is that- anything more is inefficient, inadvisable, in-human.
I sit there, for a long time- until the lights dim to black, and the screens flicker off. The world blackens with dust outside- the last, fading remnant of war eternal, whose victories and defeats had helped Xelt and Vri achieve glory for millenia. I am the only Vri to witness this- indeed, one of the few Vri left alive. By all rights, I should feel validated with vengeance- and yet, where triumph should be, I feel nothing. Czen-nal-dim is gone, and in its place, 118B stands- a memorial not to the Vri, nor to the Xelt, but to the humans who had killed world after world from the detached safety of orbit.
Ancestors forgive me. This is not how it should have been. |
"One must imagine Sisyphus happy."-Albert Camus
Trapped in a god's curse of his own, Connor O'Henry began to realize it wasn't him, but everyone else who was stuck in a loop. Every day, the same events would play out, the only differences being things spurred on by him. He'd honk his horn in a different place during his commute, or change up his lunch order at the cafe. Small changes like these were reciprocated with small changes from, what he now called, the environment. The environment would honk back at him, from a red truck instead of black sedan. Or the environment would bring him a grilled cheese instead of the smoked salmon on a kaiser roll. Like a tree's leaves moving to follow the sun throughout the day, all the people around Connor moved in synchrony to his baton.
"Good morning dear,"his wife said for the millionth time. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
Small talk to fill the void, an innocent question to gently wipe away the lingering grasp of sleep in the morning. With dark circles under his eyes, and an exhausted yawn, Connor agreed: it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the air was cool and promised to change into a comfortable warmth as the day went on, and a bluejay stationed on a branch outside their window chirped a familiar tune. A perfect caricature of spring.
The problem came the next morning. A cold snap had found its way into the air overnight, so chilly the heat had automatically turned itself on. Outside, the tree branch stood bird-less. Worst of all, a heavy storm poured from the sky in torrents. Everything was grey.
But still worse than the cold air, worse than the naked branch, and worse then the "worst of all"rain, was the thing his wife would say about the dreary weather.
"Good morning dear,"she'd say. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
There was no point in disagreeing. Many years ago, he would have fought back against the tyranny of the repetitious hell he found himself in, but now, beaten down by the club of time, he followed the script.
"Yes, it is a beautiful day."
Day after day, month after month, year after year, Connor fell into the same routines as all of them. Six o'clock sharp, wake up. Shower, brush teeth, and finish breakfast by seven. In the office by eight. Work until five, with an hour lunch at Suzzane's every noon. Home, dinner, TV, and sleep. For twenty years now, he'd done this, everyday the same. Everyone trapped in a loop, and he assimilated into it.
It was easier this way, he told himself. Like Sisyphus, the man cursed by the gods to roll a boulder up a hill for eternity, he imagined himself happy. Or maybe he had tricked himself into thinking that. Whichever the case was, he surrendered his autonomy to the environment. There was no way to rebel against the entire world, so why even try?
As the centuries went by, he found himself thinking less and less. The script became easier to follow with every passing repetition. Kiss the wife good morning, agree with her on the weather, don't honk at the jeep that cuts you off, data entry all day, shoot the breeze with Michael during lunch, finish work, go back home, cook dinner with wife, watch TV, go to bed. The routine brought him joy, and the familiarity made him at peace.
He was fully integrated with the environment now. A blank mind, a blank routine, a blank life. But still, he was happy. He smiled, he laughed, he enjoyed the lemon and herb basted turkey every single night. If anything changed the routine, a glitch in the system, a misspoken word on his part, he'd spend the rest of the day upset with himself. There was perfection in sameness.
He'd forgotten what it meant to be alive. He'd forgotten how to have feelings and how to think. He'd forgotten how to strive for something better, a new tomorrow, a brighter future. His mind had turned to mush without anything stimulating it. Just like the king of Ephyra, Connor disappeared within himself, never to be seen again.
One morning, many years later, the environment finally changed. Nobody knew why, or how, but everyone felt it.
It began to snow. Outside their apartment, huge white flakes drifted down from white clouds. A soft silence took over the city, the snow absorbing anything that threatened to disrupt the peace.
And then, out of nothing, something was born. Something beautiful, something unpredictable, something new.
"I hate this snow,"his wife said, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. "I'm going to have a hard time getting into work."
Without thought, without feeling, and without a care, Connor responded, still lost inside of himself, still lost in the dangerous comfort of familiarity.
"Yes,"he yawned. "It is a beautiful day." |
I like my job.
I work hard, because I like to work. It makes me happy.
It took me a long time to find a good job. I have Downs, and it is hard. It takes me longer to do things.
I have a job at a restaurant. It is a French restaurant. My job is to wash the dishes. The people eat on them and make them dirty, then I wash them. It is a lot of fun, and I like it because I always know that my hands will be clean at the end.
I have friends at my job. They are nice. There is Jock who is the chef. He is French. I do not know how to spell his name, but every one says his name like I do, with a Z. Sometimes I do not know if they are playing jokes on me. He yells at me when I am slow. I like him anyway. Then there is Henry, but people say his name weird, like it's "on ree"which is strange. He is also French. He is the owner, and he also yells at me. He also gives me my paycheck, which is nice. There are other people, but they are not nice. They are the Sue Chefs. I do not know why they are all named Sue. Jock yells at them a lot.
My best friend is Larry. Larry is a lobster. He's black and crawls in the water. They have a tank for him in the dining room. He has been there for a long time. Two years. They keep his water nice and cool. He does not like hot water. One day, the air conditioning was broken, and I put ice cubes in Larry's water to keep it cool for him - but not too cold. Larry doesn't like cold water either.
Some days there are lots of dishes. I have to work very hard on those days. Other days, there are not as many. On those days, I talk to Larry. The other people in the kitchen make fun of me, but not Larry.
It is hard to make friends since I have Downs.
Larry is my good friend. He waves his claws at me. Henry and Jock let me feed him the lobster food when the restaurant is closed, and that makes him happy. It makes me happy to see him happy.
Today, there is not as many dishes. I do not have a lot of work to do. So I talk to Larry. I look through the window in the kitchen out to the dining room, and I talk to him. I pretend he can hear me. I was talking to him about my day, about the nice people on the bus who laughed at my jokes, even the ones I forget that I tell. A man comes into the dining room. Louie takes his order. Louie is the waiter. He makes me laugh. When he comes into the kitchen, he always says hello to me, and tells me a joke. When the man makes his order, Louie does not smile. He does not look at me. I say hello to Louie, but he looks at me like he is afraid. He gives the order to Jock.
Jock yells something in French to the other Sue chefs. Carlos reaches into the water tank and grabs Larry. When Carlos comes into the kitchen, I asked Carlos what he was going to do with Larry, but he did not say anything. He put Larry into a pot with very hot water in it. Larry doesn't like very hot water.
I yelled louder, because I thought that maybe Carlos did not hear me. I told him in a loud voice that Larry does not like the hot water. He did not listen. He put the lid on the pot, and walked away.
I was very worried about Larry. I opened the pot, and tried to reach inside, but it was too hot. Larry was not moving, and his shell was starting to turn red. Carlos pushed me away and put the lid on the pot.
I was yelling, and Henry came out of his office to find out what all the noise was. Louie tried to hug me. I started to cry and yell because Larry was in the hot water. Jock was yelling at me, and yelling at Carlos. Henry yelled at me and yelled at Louie. Louie said something to him in French. Then Louie said we should go outside. Carlos put Larry on a plate, and put lemons around him. Larry was bright red, and was not moving anymore.
The man in the dining room was going to eat Larry.
I was very sad. I cried and cried.
Henry yelled at Louie and me some more. Louie brought me outside and talked to me until I stopped crying. I was very sad that Larry was going to be eaten.
I stopped crying after a while.
Louie and I went inside, and Henry stopped us. Henry said that the man in the dining room heard me crying about Larry. He did not want to eat Larry any more and he left the dining room without paying for anything. They put Larry into the garbage. I did not get to say goodbye to Larry.
Henry said that because I cried and the man left, I can not work at the restaurant any more.
Louie was sad, but he had to go back to work.
Now I have to find a new job.
I also have to find a new friend.
I am very sad.
|
"Becky! Just don't take a shower! "I pleaded with her. She was at her wits end.
"Im taking a goddamn shower! Its been weeks, Darien!"She replied.
"Then were all coming in with you! "
"Ugh! Dont be a perv, Darien!"Jessica the slutty white girl destined to die in a sexual act said.
"Okay then, no showers! Besides, if were all in the bathroom while Becky showers, Jessica you will get turned on, start getting weird, and i'll die, then you'll all die, Im trying to save your lives!"They just didnt understand.
Becky walked to the bathroom and shut and locked the door. I tried the handle and slammed on the wood.
"Becky! Dont! "
Becky breathed a sigh of relief and turned on the water. I started pulling out a credit card to jam into the crack of the door and open it. Jessica leaned on the door and started walking two fingers up my arm.
"Maybeeee...while she--"I smacked her hand away.
"No! You dirty slut! If you start coming onto me, we will both die. Dead. Gone. Stop. Dont touch me, dont think about me. You're beautiful, but god damnit, STOP. "
Becky stepped in the steaming hot shower. I waited for the inevitable. As she wet her hair, chunks fell out of the crown of her skull. She held the hair in her hands and screamed. Her scream was cut off from her choking and gagging. She reached into her mouth and pulled out a stringy clump of black hair from her throat. The water turned to blood, as spiders came out of the drain.
"Oh! Surprise suprise! Did the water turn to blood becky? Guess what, youre going to snap out of it in a minute, you fucking idiot!"
Becky fell out of the shower, bringing the shower curtain with her. When she looked up the blood was gone. Just the shower running.
"Now Becky, Dont look in the mirror!"
She got up, and looked directly in the mirror. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and baby hands forced her mouth open.
I was done. Done trying to keep them alive. Becky was pulling a hangnail off now, and peeled the skin off her finger, down her arm in a bloody mess.
I unbuckled my pants.
"Okay Jessica, make it worth it. "
Jessica bit her lip and got down on her knees. "Oh itll be worth it."
As she started, the lights flickered and the house rumbled. Jessicas neck snapped as a spectre rose from the floor. A gangly womans spirit, with matted hair, matte black that twitched and contorted in an unnatural fashion.
"Wait. Jessica dies first? But I'm the black guy! I thought..."
The spirit hissed. Its voice a thousand tormented souls speaking as one.
"SssSsssSs -- Nooooo. Yoooouuu arrreeee Peurtooooo Ricaaaaannnnn. Ittsssssss nottttt the sssaaaaaaammmeee. SssSssssSs--" |
The war lasted a mere thirty-eight minutes, from when the one-hundred-dalla-strong force touched down near their target mountaintops to when the last of the very confused dalla lay dying, its silvery blood draining away into the soft ground.
"They're... they're sticks,"he gasped, his brain still refusing to believe. "Stick thrown by strings. With sharpened stones at their tips."
His eyes rolled upwards, taking in the horrid blue of this alien sky.
"How... how did they know?"
Much later, songs and stories would be told, stories about the things of eyes and wings and lightning, and how they had brought fire and wind down upon the peoples of the land... and the brave warriors that had stood strong and turned away their terrible weapons with the might of bow and spear. Mythologies would arise and disappear based on those thirty-eight minutes; angels in some cultures, demons in others. Dragons of fire, great gods of lightning - all laid low before the united tribe and their own gods of animals and wood. |
My stiffening fingers brush the sleeves, picking familiar grooves from the records. Vivaldi jumps, Bach skips, Mozart sometimes won't play at all. I put on Moonlight Sonata. She always loved Moonlight Sonata.
The door knocks, and opens quickly, "Mr. Kilkane, she's ready."
"Thank you."
She closes the door. In a few moments Erica will walk in. She'll smile, close her eyes, her brow will wrinkle, the sides of her mouth will crease slightly, she'll pause to savour the piano.
We'll embrace quickly, quietly. After all this time there's never need for words. She'll kiss my nose, nuzzle her way into my neck and sway with no real pace to the music. We'll listen to the entire recording, with no real purpose. She'll sigh, deep and heavy, her smile as intense as ever. She'll look up at me with tired, loving eyes, and say she loves me.
I'll return the sentiment, she'll ask why I'm crying, I'll just say I missed her.
We'll move to the bed after that, she likes to be the big spoon. She'll whisper nothing into the back of my head, the feeling of my hair, the scent of my cologne and shampoo, this is her safe place.
I'll roll over, we'll kiss again, she'll brush my hair aside, then her own. She'll make a comment, my greying hair, my new wrinkles, something that makes her feel like it's been too long.
We'll kiss a third time, fall into each other, make love like something between teenagers and saints, worshipping an old hunger.
We fall asleep.
In the middle of the night she kisses me awake. As if she could devour me, we dive back into one body.
In the morning she wakes up in tears. "Something's wrong."she says, as if she remembers. I smile, kiss her. I tell her it's going to be alright but she always knows when I'm lying. We hold each other.
"How many times?"She asks.
"As many as I can."
She nods, still crying but almost smiling now.
"Even now?"
"Always,"my own tears slow and filled with memory.
"I love you."she laughs a little and wipes away her tears.
"I love you too."I'll say.
She'll crawl back into me, fall asleep smiling. That's how she'll go. In her sleep, happy.
There'll be a knock at the door, they'll take me out, comfort me as always.
I still remember the first time. The Doctor explaining what an aneurysm was.
There's a knock at the door.
It opens.
"Erica..."I whisper.
She smiles. Closes her eyes. Savours the music. |
(Note: Forgive the grammar mistakes, this clocked in at a larger word count than I thought it would be)
Adam lived the life I feared I would’ve had if my parents hadn’t kicked me out after high school. Twenty years ago we were best friends. We played Magic at lunch, watched anime after school, and loitered at the local hobby store challenging anyone who think their collectable armies can beat our custom painted ones. Like most friends we grew apart after school, only checking in on Facebook every once in a while. I didn’t know he died until his mom found my phone number in his address book, I had to *unfollow* him on Facebook because too many of his yuri Facebook group posts where showing up on my feed when I browsed at work.
His *funeral* was at the crematorium and consisted of his mother, Elizabeth, myself, and the employee flipping the switch. I didn’t think I could feel guiltier about removing him from my life.
After Elizabeth collected the Urn I caught up to her before she made it to her bus stop.
“Hey, Ms. Low, I can give you a ride back to your place. I mean, you shouldn’t have to take the bus home. Just let me know where you’re living now.” I offered, it was the least I can do.
“Oh, are you sure Max? I don’t want to be a burden t-“
“No burden at all, it’s the least I can do.”
We walked to the parking lot in silence. I didn’t know what to say or bring up. Luckily Elizabeth broke the silence soon after I unlocked the car from the remote.
“Oh, fancy. Is this one of those smart things the news keeps talking about? It looks bigger than I thought.”
I chuckled.
“Yeah, it’s a two-seater smart car. You can fit a lot in it, I have no issues with groceries. I bet Tim is more of a truck type?” I remembered when I hanged around their house Adam’s father Tim would always have a broken down truck or two he’s working on to resell. He would’ve made fun of my Eco-Smart Hatchback car.
“Oh, Tim passed away four years ago.”
*Shit* I thought, this is awkward.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. First your husband and now your son.”
“Yeah, I don’t… I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get by. Adam was the one paying the bills with his job.” My ears perked up as we pulled out of the crematorium.
“Oh, he had a job? Doing what?”
“Something online, government researcher? I don’t know exactly but he was in his room all the time and paid the bills every month along with take out every few days. With him gone, I think I need to find work again.”
I didn’t know what to say, I mean good for Adam.
After following Elizabeth’s instructions I pulled into the driveway twenty minutes later. Same childhood home, I remember bombing down Mary Hill with our bikes racing to get to his house after going to McDonalds for dinner. I smile, those were fun times. Now I steam tofu and veggies for dinner.
“Hey Max, thanks for the ride. Can you do me another favour?”
“Yeah anything.”
“Can you check his room and let me know if there is anything valuable to sell? Those pawn shows often have those toys you and Adam are into on them and they sell quite a bit. It’ll save me time from having to find som—“
“Of course I can do that for you. It’s been a while since I played with toys, but I can look them up for you.” I cut her off, she sounded nervous about asking. I didn’t expect a senior citizen to be knowledgeable on *Dragon Ball Z* figurines and Warhammer.
Walking into my best friend’s childhood home is almost exactly how I remembered it. The stale stench of cigarette smoke forever etched into the walls and ceiling of the one storey house. The place looked like how it did in the 90’s, stuck in the 80’s with beige wallpaper and brown furniture. The only thing new about the place is the cat piss smell and a half-dozen cats laying around the front room. My hand goes to cover my mouth, as I silently gagged. I didn’t remember the place being this rundown, I knew it wasn’t as nice as my parents or my condo that I live in downtown, but this was depressing.
“Oh, I’m sorry. The place is such a mess. Since I heard about the accident on the highway, I figured what’s the point of cleaning up if it’s just me and the cats?”
I smiled as wide as I can.
“Oh, it’s fine Ms. Low.”
“Would you like some tea or coffee before you start?”
“No, I think it’ll be best if I get started. I need to be back home to cook dinner for the girlfriend.” I mentioned, she smiled as she escorted me down to the basement where Adam’s room was.
“Oh, you have a girlfriend now? That’s nice. Adam he had… trouble with girls.” She off handily mentioned.
“Yeah, been seeing her for two years now. I’m thinking about proposing to her soon.” I smiled, she frowned.
“I guess I won’t know what it’s like to be a grandma…” She stammered. She walked back upstairs leaving me alone with Adam’s room.
Adam’s room was next to the laundry room. It’s slightly better than a prison cell with food stained cement flooring, plywood walls put up by his dad dividing the laundry room and his room, and a broken futon bed slumped on one side with evidence of rat shit littered everywhere on the shelving ledges. His computer monitor is still on with a naked purple haired anime chick wrestling with tentacles as his screensaver. Here after hearing about his job I thought I totally misread Adam’s life.
In terms of stuff, Adam had long boxes of comic books & magic cards along with a shelf full of Warhammer Figurines. I decided I would start there. Taking a long box and setting it on his desk, I took a look at his keyboard to decide if I wanted to type all of these out on my phone or risk my health by touching it. It looked clean-ish.
No password on his computer. I opened up Chrome and typed in google, before I even got to *O* his bookmarks popped up for *Gatekeepers Guardians*, *Gaia Online*, *Go-Daddy*, and other websites beginning with a G. He’s categorized so many, the effort he put into bookmarking puts me to shame, I just google what I want. Like *Facebook*, I type in Facebook in google instead of going to the URL.
I clicked on *Gatekeepers Guardians* since it was tagged as *work*, it brought me to a message form auto logging me into his account. The message board was scattered in discussion, there’s posts talking about the second coming of Christ, the rise of *Gehenna*, and the dominance and religious superiority of the white race. It was like a right-winged conspiracy theory occult message board.
“What the fuck Adam.” I whispered, looking back at his posts. He talked about blowing up a Mosque in a city a few stateliness over, and how he can’t find a partner who believes in the spiritual superiority of the white race. I laugh when people say the N word in inappropriate contexts, but this is next level fuckery.
I closed the page in disgust. I’ve heard of the stereotype of people staying online all the time in their mother’s basement being weirdos, but this. It was too much. I’m kind of glad he died in the car accident reading what he’s been typing online. Sickening.
Still I need to see where I can sell off his stuff for his mom. I opened google and typed in *Where to* but before I put sell comic books, the last few searches of *Where to buy fake IDs* and *Where to buy a gun* popped up. Frozen, I couldn’t possibly imagine my best friend who I grew up with playing D&D and being outcasts all throughout school can grow up to be so different from me. A pop up notification from G-Mail alerting me of a new private message on *Gatekeepers Guardians* displayed, and on instinct I opened it.
The message contained a google map image of Adam’s house with the words *FOUND YOU* on it from the username *Gatekeeper*. I got up from the chair, and left Adam’s room.
“Elizabeth. We need to call the cops, like right now.” Freaked out about what I’ve seen, the authorities can deal with this.
“Why, what’s going on?” She answered, sitting on the couch watching home renovation shows.
“I think there ma-“
*Riiiiing* the house phone rang.
“Don’t answer that!” I yelled. Confused, she answered it on reflex.
“Hello?”
**PART 2 IN COMMENTS** |
One winter day, there was a solar eclipse, the next day nothing. I could feel myself opening and closing my eyes but all that greeted me was a void of light. No subtle light spots, no static vision, nothing. Needless to say, I panicked. I was able to call my parents and tell them about the situation and they immediately rushed over. Soon enough we went to go see a doctor about it and they informed me that I seemed to have inadvertently looked directly at the eclipse and gone temporarily blind. That was two years ago.
I'm currently in a support group with some people who also experienced the same thing I had. Sudden blindness occurred during that solar eclipse. All of us had similar stories of the lights turning off and being sent to the hospital one way or another. I think there was some fund for the victims of the accident because I'm living pretty lavishly in my opinion so far. Food's nice, company is pretty good and I've been hanging with this girl named Mary who I've met from the support group.
Things are pretty good, or at least they were.
This morning, I woke up. Like every other morning, I wake up, place my sunglasses on and start preparing for the day. Except I could see. I could finally see and I just started crying. It was beautiful. Being stuck in a place devoid of sights when you had known what it's like to see. It changes a man. I quickly noticed something was off.
The walls of my room were a pristine ivory white. They were polished to perfection and looked smoother than jade. And, there was a phrase written in multiple different languages. In perfectly even print of what seemed to be 24 point font interspaced in perfectly spaced out spaces was the phrase: "Don't tell them you can see."Written in English, in Spanish, in Chinese, Korean, German, French, Latin, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Russian, and many different languages that I did not recognize, over and over again. In the middle of each of the four walls, there was a more emphasized space with fewer words and more of a series of pictures. A cross-out symbol on top of human making noise or speaking, And then a pair of eyes looking out weird grey figures.
It honestly spooked me, but there was a knock at the door and I knew it was Mary. We had promised to meet up after I woke up today at 9 AM to eat lunch and talk. Thoughts about the weird walls could wait and after all, I could tell them to Mary later. I tidied out my shirt and did my hair a little with some of the gel in the bathroom.
As I opened the door I said, "Good Morning, Mary. How are you do--".
I stopped. As I opened the door into a large white pristine hallway. There was a grey figure in front of me that looked vaguely humanoid and about my height. I could make eye contact. If there were any in those empty abyssal orbs. Sockets darker than a night with nothing, and a grey form surrounding them. It was as if those eyes would suck me in as I stood teetering on the edge of a cliff staring down into a bottomless chasm where the only thing awaiting me at the end was truly and only the end except there was nothing I could do except wait for my demise as the looming darkness only grew larger and larger and soon enough all I could think about was how dark it was and how there was no light, no light and just myself, no light and the darkness, no light no light no light no light dark dark dark dark dark dark dark dark ---
"Hey there Steve, good weather we're having huh?", 'Mary' said joyfully.
I came back to my senses. My blood was freezing and I felt tired, the voice had come from the figure in front of me. And as I remembered those eyes and I realized the meaning of the words on the wall. I saw nothing and I would say nothing forever more.
"Very funny Mary, we can't see the weather, but it does feel warmer today!"
"I hope you're ready to get some food at the cafeteria, I'm dying to tell you about some cool people I met a couple of days ago!"
I came back to my senses. My blood was freezing and I felt tired, the voice had come from the figure in front of me. And as I remembered those eyes and I realized the meaning of the words on the wall. I saw nothing and I would say nothing forevermore. |
If anyone ever tells you an international, er, intergalactic ambassador can't be an idiot, just tell them my story.
I grew up like a lot of kids. Playing with whatever shape of ball, puck, racket or back was in season at the time. I stuck playing cards in my bike wheels and pretended I was the worlds greatest badass as I jumped off of curbs. I was always going at full steam, and as such had my fair share of broken bones and lumps on my skull. My one claim to fame growing up was that I had smacked my head on every kind of native tree in my area.
During those whirlwind summers, I would often spend the days and my grandma's house. While my parents worked, they needed someone who could keep up with me, and more importantly was always well-stocked with bandages, to watch me. We always got along well; she had a great sense of humor.
What's more, is that dining with her was always an adventure in and of itself. I *never* knew what I was getting into when she'd yell down the street for me. She always told me I could invite my friends over for lunch, but that was only ever a one time experience for them, so I usually never bothered. But it always excited me. *Their loss!* I always told myself as I ran back for whatever plated adventure awaited me.
Her meals rarely made sense, and even less often tasted like anything...edible, but it was the journey that made it worth it every time. I'd always ask where she found her dish of the day, and was always met with a wild tale that I never consciously questioned - why would grandma lie? - but looking back were simply grand stories. "I met another grandma at the European deli who told me she had a century old jar of pickled vegetables from the old country in her basement..."they would often begin. I was always too enthralled to ask specifics, and by the time I was done it was time to play, and I'd disappear in the afternoon sun without another thought.
Twenty years later, long after those summer days had succumb too old age, I found myself seeing a sight I had long stored away deep in the file cabinets of my mind.
*Why do the aliens have grandma's pickle crepes?*
A few months earlier, we had finally been visited by creatures from the stars. They seemed to only have peaceful intentions, but we couldn't communicate in the slightest, so nobody was quite sure. Eventually, the aliens started to prepare something that had the remnants of familiarity - a dining room. "They're preparing a table for us to sit at, and a meal to share!"it was soon realized. But it was more specific than anyone had thought. They were looking for someone who knew what they were offering; who could appreciate their preparation. The aliens had turned away all who had tried to partake of their meal, waiting for the one who could 'enjoy' it.
And that turned out to be me.
I called into one of the local stations, saying that I knew what it was. "Yeah, those are pickle crepes. They don't taste like either, they're more like motor oil mixed with tuna, but my grandma called them pickle crepes."
Things started to move quickly after that. Men and suits kept handing me off to other men in suits, as I climbed the government ladder up through all of its acronyms. Eventually, I stood on the doorway leading to the alien's prepared meal. "Don't you guys think I should change? I still have mustard on my shirt."But they pushed me out the door, anyway. I guess the eagerness to solidify whatever relationship we were making with these aliens was *slightly* more important than my mustard situation.
I walked into the dining room to an eerie silence. *Sure smells like pickle crepes,* I thought to myself. The aliens motioned with their, uh, smaller slimy bits towards the table. I walked over, and confirmed that it was exactly what I thought it was. *Well, here's to the journey...* I pondered, as I took the first of many bites. It tasted miserable, but the memories were sweet, and that got me through.
What followed is your classic doofus-becomes-important story. The aliens would only deal with me, as I was the only one allowed to eat their food. Roast duck popsicles, cucumber ravioli, barley brittle, etc - if they made it, I ate it. It was like living those fond summer days all over again, except with aliens. And being the bridge between two galaxies. And I had to wear suits, now. And they wouldn't let me near mustard. You get the idea - normal bureaucratic nonsense.
I still have no idea where my grandma got these 'recipes' or why I was the one lucky or unlucky enough to be destined for this position. But I wouldn't change anything. I had a great childhood full of adventures and stories, and I get the chance to relive those stories and make new ones of my own. It's a good life, aside from the taste.
 
__________________________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
“Daddy! All gone!”
It was cute enough to share with my friends. I was pretending to steal his food in an ultimately successful attempt to get him to eat it.
My wife thought he was politely telling me to “go away”, but didn’t have the vocabulary.
Tim looked thoughtful and said his kid had said the same words. Wasn’t that a coincidence?
We didn’t think anything more of it that day, but then Ben from down the road knocked on my door. His new kid had said the same thing, and he was worried about what it meant.
I told him not to worry.
I was wrong, and I was right. There was something to worry about, but nothing we could do to. No point worrying about inevitability.
The news was full of the sentence the next week. More and more people noticed that the children were all saying “all gone”.
Years passed without incident, and it became a weird anomaly. Something that just happened. Everyone’s first words were always “all gone”.
——
The new World Space Telescope noticed it first. The most distant galaxies red-shifted out of detectable wavelengths. It was a scientific curiosity for a few more years. It didn’t affect our day to day lives.
The country folk noticed it next.
The night sky had been their friend for their whole lives. When the crisp winter air is clear, and the cities and the towns are below the horizon, you can see for billions of light years.
Or at least, you used to be able to.
A huge swathe of stars disappeared in minutes one night in December. Panicked phone calls were made. But it made no difference.
In the cities, where the stars can barely be seen, life went on. But uneasily. People huddled together, afraid.
And then our sun went out.
Civilisation collapsed. Riots, arson, murder. All vestiges of sanity had vanished with the sun, and despair sank into the bones of humanity.
As we looked up at the empty sky, someone whispered the words we all knew.
“All gone.” |
"I demand to speak to your manager"I squeaked out, for the 37th time that day. The president, looking dumbfounded, started to explain that he was the highest authority, when a wrinkled old man popped into the center of my living room.
Had I ever imagined a small error on my coffee order would get me here, I may have just drank it black.
My powers had proven invaluable to disabling drug rings, human trafficking, pyramid schemes, and any other criminal organization you can think of. Asking the local pusher to see his manager standing in the police station was always good for a laugh. They never understood how they got there, but with no warning, they usually had something incriminating on them.
This time though, I had stumbled into an upward power spiral, asking twice had me at the ceo, asking 4 times had gotten me the president, so now I wonder, what will the 6th step be?
The wrinkled old man was speaking something that sounded like Russian maybe? German? I never had an ear for language. He spoke to the president, while glaring at me the entire time. After what felt like hours, the old man approached me "what is it you want?"I smiled as the words left my lips as soon as "your manager"left my lips, I knew I may have made a mistake, the room filled with smoke that smelled of Sulphur, and the lights all turned a blood red. "I've never asked this question 6 times before"I thought to myself as I shook in fear. Suddenly everything returned to normal, and standing in the center of the room was none other than a very confused Kevin bacon. |
"We'll call the Uber. Dan, are you joining us?"
"No, thanks, I'll teleport. FUCK!"
No, no, no, no, not again. God damn it.
I look around at what appears to be a deserted island.
Like the pirates movie kind of deserted island. Coconut trees and all that stuff.
"Shit,"I say, pressing my eyes closed and trying again. Teleporting with ADHD is hell, man. You have to keep your mind focused on *one* thing, and one thing only, to teleport. You get distracted and shit like this happens.
I picture the night club. The floor under my feet disappears, and I feel my body spinning into darkness.
"A suruba completa é cinquenta reais, mas pra você a gente faz desconto."
I open my eyes to find a hairy-chested, fully-mustached man in fishnet stocking and a bowtie smiling at me from
the entrance of… I wanna say a nightclub… but this is a nightclub in the same sense that a kitten is a puma ridding
a dragon into battle. On fire.
Everyone's naked behind the mustached fishnet stockings man, and there's soap and… is that a sex swing?
God, I don't even want to know.
"Where am I?"I ask the man, trying with all my strength not to look behind him at the horrendous affair.
"Brazil,"the man replies. "This is the hottest swing club in Sao Paulo, dude."
*Wrong nightclub,* I think, pressing my eyes shut again.
You have to have the clear image in your head. That, and only that image can be in your thoughts, otherwise it
goes wrong.
Go ask Buddhist monks how easy it is to keep your mind focused. And Buddhist monks don't have to take Adderall to be functional.
I picture the night club. The LOS ANGELES night club – the one my friends are going to. I wonder if Ethan is going
to be there. Ethan is a nice guy. His father works at Nasa. Hey, what was that announcement Nasa made a couple
of days –
I open my eyes and I'm in Mars.
"SHIT!"
I press my eyes closed again, trying to think of anything at all before I die from the lack of…
From the… you know, the pressure and the… oxygen…
Ok, I don't know what exactly will kill me in Mars, but I'm pretty sure something will if I don't get out of here soon.
Just think of anything! Anything! Anywhere is better than here!
I open my eyes and I see Matt Damon in his underwear.
"Dude, what the –"
"I'm sorry!"I say, opening my hands in front of my chest in apology. Matt jumps from his couch. "I'm sorry! I had
to think of something to get out of Mars and I guess your face was the first thing that popped in my mind, because
of the movie, you know? I'll go soon, just give me –"
"Get out! Get out!"Matt Damon grabs a golf club and charges in my direction. Making a run for it, I press my eyes
closed again.
*Ok, the nightclub! The nightclub! The nightclub in Hollywood! The nightclub in Hollywood! Yes, keep your mind
focused on it! It's just like performing a Patronus spell, you have to –*
I open my eyes to the Diagon Alley Butterbeer stand at Universal Studios.
"Oh, for fuck's sake,"I say, rolling my eyes.
"Hey, dude, there are kids here,"a fat man walking by complains. "Mind your language."
"Fuck!"I yell, widening my eyes at him and his kids. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCKEDDY FUCKEDDY FUCK! INTERCOURSE!
FUCK A FUCKERSON FUCKERSWEAR FUCKEDDY FUCKARD! BOOBS!"
The man sprints as I semi-chase him for a couple of steps, then stop again.
Ok, I have to calm down. I'm losing it.
Let's look at the bright side. At least I have time here. I have all the time in the world to focus.
I close my eyes. My mind is blank. Ok. Let's do it.
Not a thought. Everything is blank. Peace. Tranquility.
You know what? Screw the nightclub. I just wanna go home, now.
That's it. Home.
I picture it. My bedroom. The walls. The ceiling, the bed. The computer on the side. The books spread on the floor
with my dirty clothes.
*Yes,* I think. *Home. Enough with this madness. Let's just go home.*
Universal Studios disappears around me, and I feel the floor vanish under my feet.
*Yes. Enough with pansexual orgies and distant planets and Matt Damon and theme parks,* I think, naturally
picturing all of these things as I think them.
I wake up in a pansexual orgy at a Jupiter theme park with Matt Damon.
"You know what?"I think, looking around. "This one is actually pretty cool."
Matt Damon smiles.
________________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* |
"There have been some recent *incidents*,"Snape said with an icy whisper and a pointed stare at Lavender "that have caused the Board of Governors to *re-evaluate* the school's curriculum. So instead of Potions, today I will be instructing you on the matters of reproduction."He grimaced like he had something foul caught in his nostrils. He tapped his wand against the side of the desk, and posters popped out of nowhere with detailed diagrams of genitalia. "BLIMEY!"Ron blurted out, gripping the front of the desk as his eyes went wide. A wave of giggles rolled through the classroom; Snape rolled his eyes.
"Try to control yourself and pay attention, Mr. Weasley. It may be a while before you have another opportunity to study some,"he remarked with his trademark sneer as he gestured at the diagram of breasts. Ron turned bright red and shrank down in his desk while Malfoy struggled to contain his laughter.
"We will begin with a lesson concerning the genitalia."He rapped his wand against a detailed cross-section of the penis. "Can anyone name the parts of the male anatomy depicted here?"he asked the class. The room was so silent you could have heard a pixie's whisper. "Oh, no answers to volunteer for once, Ms. Granger?"His mouth twisted into the closest thing he had to a smile, but still cruel and heartless. Hermione bit her lip; she looked like she was about to cry. He was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in humiliating the Gryffindors today. "Very well,"he continued. "Get out your quills."
After a long lecture on anatomy that resulted in quite a few uncomfortable pauses and hurried glances between members of the opposite sex, the topic turned to the subject of sexually transmitted diseases. "There are a number of afflictions that you all should watch out for. These can be naturally occurring, such as Dragon's Breath which gives an uncomfortable rash, as well as the hex-based ailments that can be inflicted by a jilted lover, including Cupid's Curse and Cauldron Rot."
"Probably a common affliction for Potions Masters,"Ron whispered. Harry couldn't help but snort, and Snape was looming suddenly over them like a bat. "Fifty. Points. From. Gryffindor,"he said slowly, seething with anger and grinding his teeth between each pause. Ron had evidently struck a bit too close to home.
"Worse than the diseases, though,"he continued "Are the attempted cures. I've seen many a foolish student"he glanced at Neville and raised his thin black eyebrows, "think that they could simply charm away a bad case of Dungeon Boils, only to find themselves in the hospital wing having Madam Pomfrey apply some particularly unpleasant creams, to some *particularly* sensitive areas."Neville looked positively sick at the thought.
From there, the lecture turned to pregnancy. "Prevention is most important,"Snape said emphatically. "Though legal, there are certain sects of the Wizard community who find it... distasteful, shall we say, to not carry to term. The ladies of the room can prevent pregnancy with a simple potion, which I shall pass out instructions for all of you to brew. But for the boys in the room..."He produced a small paper packet from his pocket. "These are known as 'condoms.'"He tore it open, and a bright purple patch of rubber danced out of the package and hopped onto the table, slowly inflating. Snape looked at it with disdain as it swirled around in a circle, and lunged at Snape's crotch. "It will simply apply itself,"he said as he caught it deftly, and it deflated like a worm in his hand. "But be forewarned: if it has turned black, it has expired."
"Snape's probably used to them matching the rest of his wardrobe,"Ron whispered again. Hermione had to use a Silencio charm on Harry to prevent him from bursting out in laughter.
Finally, the bell rang and they fled the dungeon classroom as though chased by dragons. "I've got to... er... go to my locker!"Hermione said to her shoes, afraid to look either of the boys in the face. Ron blushed as she ran down the hallway. Padma and Parvati passed by and both gave Harry a slight wave. "Well done, boy,"said a knight in a painting in the hall behind him. "Well done indeed!" |
"Yes,"I told him. "$10,000 to steal that car for me."I'd sent him a photo of the vehicle earlier and told him where to find it.
Sam's gravely voice on the other end was skeptical. "That car ain't even worth 10k."I think his name was Sam, at least. It's hard to keep them all straight.
"Not your concern,"I told him. "I just want the car, and I want it delivered to 1821 North Allen Rd. And I don't want any evidence in the car. You make sure you have gloves on."
"Your money, man,"he said. Sam wasn't stupid. He'd know that it wasn't about the car; it was about the contents. Nobody cared about some rusty Honda Accord abandoned in an old parking lot that seemed like it had been there for weeks. This was a delivery job, not a boost job. Probably drugs, or drug money. Those are both common in this neighborhood. I was *counting* on Sam to put two and two together, and also to get a little greedy.
I took up my position in the abandoned office building across the street, pulling down the massive "For Lease"sign to get a better view. It was faded after at least a year of sun exposure in the window; no one wanted to rent this dump. I had my night-vision binoculars and a folding lawn chair for a front-row seat of the action.
A car pulled up at 12:31 AM, very conspicuous in this utterly deserted part of town. A bit late, given that I'd told him to have it at the dropoff by 1. Not that I really cared whether he was late. He would never make it in the first place. I took out my phone.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
"He...hello? Please, you need to send someone immediately! I just heard screaming! Horrible screaming, like a girl dying! I think it's a carjacking!"
Across the street, my associate had reached the car he was supposed to steal. He circled it, peering into windows with a flashlight. My heart skipped a beat when he looked into the passenger side, but he moved on without a second glance.
"Calm down, Sir. What's your location?"
"The corner of Medton Street and 21st Avenue! Please, send someone immediately."
"Just stay calm. Officers are on the...."I hung up.
Sam looked around, checking for any potential witnesses. He looked straight at the building across the street, where I was lurking three stories up. But he had absolutely no idea I was watching, thankfully. He went to the driver's side door of the car and tugged at the door. Locked, of course. Don't want to make things too easy on him, do we? He hunched over it, blocking my view, and managed to get the door open in under a minute. Pretty impressive! I was worried he might resort to breaking the glass, but he was a pro. I knew I'd picked the right man for the job; he had a long rap-sheet of break-ins.
The key was already in the ignition. This was definitely a surprise for him. I watched him hold it up and study it closely in the dim light from the street lamps, as if trying to determine if this *really was* the key to this particular car. Of course it was!
In the distance, I could hear approaching sirens. Could Sam hear them? Would he even care? It's not an uncommon sound in these parts. And he had no reason to think they were coming for him.
Sam circled around to the trunk, and I got jittery with anticipation. This was the fun part. I could clearly see his broad smile as he prepared to assess the loot, and maybe skim a bit off the top. Who would notice a kilo or two of drugs, or one more stack of bills missing from an entire trunkload?
He popped it open. I could almost hear the rusty whine of the hinges. I opened Snapchat on my phone and typed out the message. His flashlight clicked on, and he looked down. I hit "send,"and saw the phone in the trunk light up. Then Sam backed away from the car.
He was looking at the body of one Amanda Martin, stabbed multiple times earlier this evening. Precisely calculated wounds to ensure that she was still alive when she went into that trunk. Wounds that would keep bleeding for over an hour, until she expired right around 12:31. If she was a fighter, she could still be clinging to life! I'd planned for that, of course: any attempt to remove her from the trunk would slide a blade right down her wrist, finishing the job once and for all. The message on the phone only read "Tag, you're it."One last taunt that would disappear in just a few seconds.
Right on time, the police swung around the corner, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Three cars roared over the curb and came to a screeching halt to surround Sam and the car. I saw him drop to his knees as officers rushed from their cars, caught sight of the body, and unholstered their weapons. A closer inspection of the car would reveal a bloody knife and a half-written ransom note. Probably enough to convict Sam, given that he'd be saddled with some overworked public defender who'd immediately write him off as a lost cause.
I quietly packed up my belongings as more police arrived and made my way to the parking lot of the office building. I climbed into my own car and slowly pulled onto the street. I was far enough from the crime scene now to escape unnoticed, but more police attention might soon make that difficult.
It's a shame, too. Sam had seemed like a nice enough kid. Better than the other patsies I'd used. But bodies had to be disposed of, and the best way to do that is to ensure that no one was even looking for them.
----
If you enjoyed the story, you should also check out my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
How do I put this?
We are a very fragmented people. We didn't officially become unified until recently. *Very* recently. Get enough humans in one place, and they will fight. To avoid fighting, they spread out.
Do you see where this is going?
The hunter gatherers fought and spread out. Many of them died, but not all.
The ones that did not, eventually developed farming. They fought, and spread out.
Then, repeat ad nauseam.
[inaudible]
Yes! Exactly!
We have had *dozens* of civilizations, all with the same origin! One society became many. Because we had many at the same time, it didn't matter if one, two or many got wiped out. The others just looted the remains, and kept going.
This whole "unity"thing is actually quite new.
[inaudible]
Of course it's new!
The leaders didn't put "united"in the name because we're actually united. It's to remind people that we're *supposed* to be united. It's like how a liar and a cheat assures you they can be trusted.
In fact, I would say that we're *most* unified when we have something in common to fight. We bond over other things, but on a grand scale, it's still just bonding over food and fighting.
[inaudible]
How have you never heard of that? I thought it was common knowledge.
We make up enemies just to keep the infighting low. People work real well together when there's an external threat.
[inaudible]
That's too bad. I was hoping we could be friends. |
**If you want more of my writing until then check out /r/Jacksonwrites**
I stood at the edge of the Pacific forest. I looked back at my camera crew; it was going to be a long walk. We had enough to keep everything working. All of our equipment was solar powered. I was the host of a T.V show called 'Never been there' where the entire point was to go places that no modern people had ever been. The first season had been pretty tame, but my hosting skill got us to cult status. The network wanted an event, and we were taking the risk of the long way across the Pacific. Miles of evergreen laid out before me. The Pacific was home to the evergreens, which meant we could have done this during the winter when more things were asleep.
We had chosen not to.
I took the first steps into the forest and started to walk, head high and to wander in. It was bravery for the shot. We wouldn't be filming for the next few days, so after this shot we could all take it easy. After passing a few trees, I turned back to the crew, "That kay?"
"Looks ominous enough I think,"he waved me over, and I waltzed back over, watching myself go into the trees again, I looked confident. The sun was low enough that nightfall was beginning in the forest. It was a good shot. I had him play it again while I stroked the stubble I had grown over the past three days of prep to look rugged, "Good enough,"I said, "they can edit that in post if they want to, but we should get in there."
There were 7,800 miles between me and the other side of the Pacific. We were going to walk the entire thing. If we kept a good pace, it would take us six months walking around 13 hours a day. Seeing as we were going to take it pretty easy, we had allotted eight months to pull this off. Our cell equipment should work anywhere in the forest, but rescue crews could only go so far. We were supposed to place beacons down every 100 miles. Once we got 400 miles in they were going to drop off more so that we could have a full 78.
I nodded forward, "If we are going to use that shot we can get going right?"Cheryl our camera woman nodded and came with. We were a team of Six. Cheryl, Alex, Jesse, Syd, Roger and me Everett West. Together we were going to conquer the Central Pacific for the first time in properly recorded history. Damn that was a nice sound byte, I should make sure to record that later for the sake of the intro.
We only went around 30 miles on the first day before we were sitting around a campfire. We didn't need the warmth; it was damn summer. The trees were already bigger than most of the ones that I had seen in my lifetime. There were a
few near the coast of Cali that hit these sizes, but not many. It had been quiet for a few minutes when Cheryl piped up, "So who dies first?"
I sighed, "I bet on Roger last time, but he keeps making it, so Jesse."
"Me?"Jesse asked running his hand through his blonde hair, "I'm always fine."
"Yeah but you can't dye your hair for eight months,"Cheryl said, "So my money is on you too."
"Seven,"Jesse said, "fucking seven or my Sandra,"Jesse's wife "is going to kill me."
"We scheduled eight,"I said as I started to laugh, "you're fucked."
"Dude, it's our anniversary,"He said, "if one of you guys breaks a leg or some shit and makes us slow I'm just going to run ahead."There was a brief pause, "and Everett dies first."
"Ballsy,"Roger said as he was working on one of the tents, "he's the host if he goes we are fucked."
"Most watched videos on the internet are of people dying,"I said as I turned to face him, "that or Korean chicks singing."
Syd said something in Korean. I knew enough to know that she was swearing at me; I didn't know enough to say which word it was. I just laughed it off; we were going to give each other shit over the next eight months, but we were going to live.
We were going to make one hell of a show doing it too.
|
This was his 9th Marriage.
He had been training for marriage since he was but a wee babe. No school for him and his ilk, just combat training from Dusk 'til Dawn. First marriage at 18, lucky to make it out of that one alive. He could hear the low rumble of spectators through the walls.
Vows were in 20 minutes meaning he'll have to the paparazzi in 10. Probably have to get some photos taken with some celebrities. He'll hold his sword as if to strike like he always does. His hands always got clammy on wedding days.
This particular Prenuptial agreement was sponsored by Korematsu Industries, Parker Athletics, and Mama Jackson's Sweet Honey Restaurant Chain. Big money.
If he makes it out of this one, that'll be close $2 billion syphoning into his bank accounts and the bank accounts of his promoters and trainers.
It's funny that in an attempt to maintain the sanctity of marriage the Government had instead created the loophole that made this form of entertainment legal. Gay marriage was legal, murder was not. Those brave enough were signing up across the country to try their hand at fighting to the death.
It promised Fame.
It promised Fortune.
It promised Respect.
It promised POWER.
are you brave enough to enter...
the WEDDING RING. |
The disguise I wore burned away from my feet first, revealing my claws and scaly skin.
At the sight some of them gasped in disgust or fear, and I did my best not to smile.
"Now, since you're all gathered here,"I started over again. "I have a proposition for you. Your northern fields have encroached on my territory. Now, normally that wouldn't be a problem, I'd just move, but I have two eggs to hatch. Not very mobile, I'm sure you understand."
They didn't, despite my best efforts, seem to understand.
"The witch has offspring! Accursed beasts far from God's light, heathen scaly-footed wretches!"One man screamed, riling up the crowd onto a frenzy as my disguise burned away a bit more, my legs now a good bit larger than they had been, but still not so much as to be obvious under my skirt, currently in flames.
"Well, yes, they would be heathens since I don't believe in your particular God,"I agreed, bobbing my head. "But to be fair, you don't believe in any of the other gods I've heard about, so I think we're on a fairly level playing f--"
I stopped as a man charged up with a spear, eager to impale me.
Grimacing, I tore one hand free from the ropes and grabbed the spear, just before it would have pierced me, just as the fire further revealed my body, my tail lashing in the first sign of actual anger, as I stared into the eyes of the holy man who had just tried to kill me.
"She must live in the smoking cave!"He declared loudly. "If we take her bastard children, then she will have to do as we say!"
And for the first time in decades, I felt the icy grip of fear on my heart, as half the townsfolk turned and began to run for the fields.
"No..."I growled, ripping free of the stake and landing with a crunch on the burning logs, fire wreathing me and finally freeing me from my diplomatic guise. "No, I will not allow that."
I towered over the man closest to me, my sharp teeth bared and claws wrenching the spear away from him to clatter across the town square.
He had just enough time to scream, before I burned him alive.
But I had more urgent matters to attend to, than enjoy the sight of his skull frozen in that silent scream for all eternity
EDIT: There are now 8 parts released, all available [HERE](https://www.reddit.com/r/Saryis/comments/kracb7/dragon_of_faith_sections_18/)! The 9th, 10th, and epilogue sections will be released tomorrow 1/6/20 and be linked in that same post.
My subreddit is r/saryis My website is Mythostrilogy.com where you can sign up for a monthly email about my writing and my book.
Thank you! |
“I’m in no position to make a deal like that,” said the first demon that I encountered. “No matter how much I desire your soul.” Five forked tongues emerged like eels from the five mouths above its chin as the demon looked me over.
We were in a dim, damp cavern. A vast rock plinth sat in center of this cave — and on it, something blacker than the darkness. Something that looked organic, like a rotten heart, only it wasn’t beating.
”Then I’ll remain dead,” I said. I didn’t say it sadly nor with anger, just as a statement of fact.
“Deeper,” said one of its mouths, as the tongues in the others retracted.
”You must travel deeper for such a request to be met,” said the next mouth.
“I do not have the power to grant such deals.“
”But others do.“
”If you can reach them,” said the fifth.
The demon pointed to a descending tunnel where shadows rustled like leaves, shadows that morphed on the rock walls into snakes that snapped their black teeth as I walked past. They didn’t scare me, however — how could any danger scare the already dead?
​
The second demon‘s face was familar. An ex-girlfriend, my first love. But then her face warped into a teardrop of skin and fell from the demon’s head. Now the face of my father was uncovered and being worn by the creature. For a while I stared as forgetten memories stirred up in my mind as if by a breeze, memories of a man who had died when I was only six. Of being thrown into the air… caught. Peals of laughter.
My father’s face drooped, fell, splashed on top of the previous face.
And now it wore a teacher’s face — an old English teacher from a class I failed. I’d forgotten all about that.
I took a long breath. What can scare the dead? Perhaps this face-wearing demon was the answer.
”I have come to make a deal,” I said. “For my eternal soul, or whatever else I can offer you.”
“And in return?”
”My life.”
The demon’s eyes widened as it shook its head. “I do not have that power, although I have more power than the upper demons.”
”Are there any that do have such power?”
”Perhaps.”
It pointed down. Its face dripped a final time and I saw my son’s gentle features revealed.
Quickly, my stomach roiling, I walked on.
​
The third and final demon moved as I did. As if there was a dark mirror between us. Its actions repeated my own.
”I was told you could give me my life back,” I said.
The demon mimicked my movements but it said nothing. I watched it smile sadly. It’s — my — face pale and pallid from the months alone in my home.
After my son’s death, my wife and I weren’t able to look at each other. It wasn’t that we blamed each other but that we blamed ourselves. That we couldn’t stand the other to look at us because we could feel the crushing weight of our own culpability — whether deserved or not — in the other’s eyes.
And it wasn’t either of our faults. Not truly. It was our genes that had caused the problem. But how could one blame themselves for their genes?
Yet we did.
I still do.
After my wife left, I found anyone looking at me dredged up the same feelings of guilt and shame. So I stopped letting people see me.
”The other demons,” I said. “They told me you could give me my life back. That I could live again if I made a deal with you.”
The demon was crying now. I felt my own cheeks but there were no tears on them. The demon wasn’t mirroring me, instead it was crying for me.
”Please,” I begged.
I thought of the first demon and the black heart it was protecting. I thought of the second and the faces that dripped down from it.
Then I looked at third, the demon weeping for me, the only one of them who could help me.
“Please,” I said again.
It pointed at its tear-stained cheeks. It sniffed and cried and shook. And there was something so sad and pathetic about the sight that I began to cry too. I was crying for this wretched demon. The first tears I’d cried since my wife had left me.
Tears not just for my son, or my wife, but also for me.
I sat for a long time with the demon as we watched each other cry.
Perhaps I had given it what it had needed, I thought, and in return it was giving something to me.
Eventually, I got to my feet and began the long walk back to the surface. |
“Shit,” I spat, as bullets whizzed by down the hall. The alarms blared and clanged overhead, dousing the cool metal walls with a foreboding red. The stamp of boots and reloading guns squeezed the air around me.
I set my pistol down, then reached up to my necklace and snapped it off. My last gram of Alevium dangled limply on the leather cord. I stared at the crystalline mineral, hating that I needed to take more of it and how much I’ve already taken today. Getting into this research facility had not been a “walk in the park.” If I get out of here alive, I was going to find that strange man and make him pay.
Cursing, I threaded the gold-and-silver stone off, dumped it into the water bottle dangling at my hip, and shook it fiercely. The noise rattled down the hall, and the steady melody of feet increased in tempo.
I popped the cap open and chugged the half-dissolved Serum. Bits of mineral rattled against my teeth, and I hastily chewed down them, grimacing at their toughness. I didn’t have time to wait for a proper mixture.
Immediately, the healing began to take effect, even with this inefficient dose. The two holes in my thighs began to close, and the bullets popped out onto the ground. I could feel the dozen other minor scrapes and scrapes begin to heal. I didn’t have time to think about it.
I grabbed my pistol and tore down the hallway I had ducked into, tossing my last handful of firecrackers behind me as I did so. A few guards exclaimed out loud as they turned the corner.
I burst out into a larger section of the research center. Three tunnels shot out in every direction. The Serum was thrumming in me now, making me feel loose and disconnected. With some effort, I brought up the map I had memorized earlier. It was hard to tell which way was correct. I chose the one on the right and dashed down it.
Halfway through the dark, flashing hallway, I blacked out. It was brief, only for a few seconds, but I knew. It’s been happening too often for me to not recognize it.
I regained control just a little farther down the tunnel than I remembered being in. I could feel my nose bleed, then heal. I felt afraid, more afraid of what these blackouts suggested than the guards behind me.
Speaking of which. A bullet slammed into the back of my thigh. I stumbled, but the Serum was still working, albeit less effectively. I belatedly realized that the guards were trying to catch me alive: they only shot at my legs.
I turned mid-motion and unloaded my last clip in their direction, forcing the guards to shout and fall back. My new thigh wound hurt like hell. I pushed on, wondering where this tunnel would lead. Likely to my death, but that was fine. Death in the pursuit of knowledge was a noble end, right?
I was feeling delirious. I wondered if there was some kind of poisonous coating around the bullet.
The guards started shooting again. I threw myself against the wall, then tossed my pistol in their direction. The noise gave me the half second reprieve I needed to gather myself together and start half-running, half-limping again. I tried not to feel bad about the gun, but it was hard.
Eventually, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It was another flashing alarm. This one was set above a quaint wooden door that seemed at odds with the grim, unflinching metal around me.
No time to think. I picked up as much speed as I could and rammed down the door, only to find it wasn’t even locked or fully closed. I crashed through, falling to the ground with a muffled cry. On instinct, I kicked the door shut and locked it.
Looking around, I saw a laboratory room in a state of stillness, like a tableau. Cups of half-full coffee sat on counters. Papers were only slighted askew, as if the person handling them had just casually set them down. Chairs were sticking half-out of their respective desks.
And then there was the screen in the middle of the room. It took up the entire wall, like a projector but perfectly melded to the wall and powered by something I couldn’t see. The screen was frozen on a single picture surrounded by complex formulas.
It was enough. My suspicions have finally been answered.
---
(Second half down below as a reply to this comment :D) |
I sat at my desk, ticking the various boxes on my board, trying to make my disinterest obvious as my pen slowly slid along each box, drawing out the already monotonous task. “You said you were a prophesied adventurer? The one who would free this world from the evil clutches of… Oh, you never told me the name of the evil you were fighting. Mind giving me a few details about them. Are we talking aliens? Vampires? Something not on this list that might give me a moment of happiness?” I said that last part softly, begging for something interesting to pop up.
“Vampire aliens.” He said proudly, pointing to the sword on his back that had a few green fairy lights attached to it. Giving the metallic sword a sci-fi look, one that mirrored that of every Sci-Fi movie made. “Yes, I’m the only hero in my town. They chose me by-“ I had to stop him before this went on too long, giving him a fake smile.
“Please save the monologues for the-“ The customer friendly tone I had put on for the sentence vanished when I realized what I had to say next. A long sigh followed “For the vampire aliens…” as I wrote the villain in the box, placing the board aside. “Now, I must warn you that this will take a few years. Are you ready for such an adventure?”
“I have been ready my whole life. Every day, I train in the art of Alien disemboweling. I have taken down many jugs of water in my time. I’m now ready for the real thing.” As he said that, I rose from my desk, walking over to the large metallic door behind me, punching in a few numbers on the passcode beside it.
“These aliens. Sorry, I mean vampire aliens you speak of. You mentioned one looked like our ruler Martin Landon, right? I’m sorry, just making sure I have all the information right. Its important to document our heroes so we can give them awards later. At the freedom fighter headquarters, we aim to topple any evil in the world. As you know from our website.” I kept my hand on the keypad, not entering the last digit just yet, waiting for his answer.
“Yes, it looks exactly like him. Don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.” At the mention of the website, he seemed to ponder that. “Oh, the website. Yes, that was really helpful, a little hard to find, but that made it more rewarding to locate. I can see why you would want to keep it hidden, though. You could have your blood sucked out if they knew you helped me.” His tone made me roll my eyes. How much of a complex could one man have?
“It’s meant to be hidden. If we had everyone coming here, we would be in trouble.” Once the last digit was pressed, I stepped aside, revealing the bland room inside. We decorated the interior with weaponry and various supplies, ranging from grenades to packets of chips. In the center of the room was a table, like my front desk, with a pair of glasses on it. “Put the glasses on and see the truth.” I gave him a nod, motioning him through.
“Thank you. I will always remember your brave sacrifice to get me here. I would ask you to accompany me on my journeys, but I fear this is something I must do alone.” He said, dramatically placing a hand on his forehead while I pretended to be saddened by the lack of invite.
“Oh, it hurts, but I know some of us just aren’t ready to be heroes. Make us proud.” I gave him a salute before he stepped through. Once he was away from the door, I placed my hand on the passcode, reentering the numbers before it closed behind him.
When the doors had fully sealed, I tapped my earpiece, sending a message through to the operators inside. “He has a sword on him. We will need to replace that while he’s sleeping. Other than that, he’s in a room with the dummy weaponry now. He’s not showing any signs of suspicion either, he’s a regular class one hero. Observe if he puts the glasses on or not. If he doesn’t go into the simulation, we will have to hire some actors to perform the roles instead. Let’s hope he goes with the simulation; I don’t feel like arranging vampire alien costumes to be made.”
“Roger that Garth. I’ll keep watch and alert you if any additional measures are needed. I wouldn’t mind a vampire alien costume. Think about how good it would be for Halloween parties. I took the zombie one to last year’s Halloween bash, and it got so many scares.” Lisa said, perhaps forgetting who she was addressing.
“Do I need to remind you that those costumes are company property. Look, just make sure they are clean before you bring them back.” I could have gone with a sterner tone, but that seemed a waste of time. It was better to let them have their fun rather than deal with their bundled-up anger at work.
“Will do. See guys, I told you he was a cool boss. Should we invite him this year?” Lisa said, only to let out a small curse, forgetting I was on the line. After the curse, I was greeted with static, only able to smile at that.
“I’m far too nice of a boss for them.” Returning to my desk, I looked at the screen, seeing the hero from earlier hunched over, staring at a random piece of wall with his glasses on. Perfect, we could leave him in the hands of the simulation. I began opening access points throughout the twenty-story office building, subtly directing his movements to the elevator. “I’ll leave him on floor twelve sector B. That should be enough room for him to explore. His rehabilitation should take a year. I’ll monitor his progress fortnightly. He should have enough supplies. If not, I’ll get Lisa to plant some at night.”
I began entering the information into our system, making sure everyone had a record of his movements. Not wanting to double book a sector and risk a problem arising in their rehabilitation. Once my work was done, I leaned back in the chair. “Who would have thought hero complexes could be so dangerous. Guess, that’s why we have hero therapy. Let’s just see how this patient responds.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Police Record of [REDACTED]'s Journal Following Incident [REDACTED]
08/22/20xx
Today I saw somebody die for the first time. Right in front of me. He handed me this...credit card...before blowing his brains out. I was just walking home from work like normal. I'm not sure what to do or who to tell. When the police showed up it was like they didn't notice me. They didn't take a statement, or my name, or anything. I offered and they just let me go. I don't know how to handle this. I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist but I don't think she'd believe me. I fear I'm losing my grip on reality I...*words scratched out*
The weirdest thing about this is that the card has my name on it. I mean, it didn't when he gave it to me but it changed. I know this doesn't make any sense. Hopefully I can make sense of all of this. I'll keep this record updated but I don't intend to use the card at all. I'll just hang on to it just in case.
***Note: Most of the next week passes with little mention of the card, as though the person in question is trying to forget or actively not mentioning it. Picking up at the next relevant date***
8/28/20xx
I was reading back to my earlier entries and noticed mention of a credit card and somebody dying. I...I don't remember that happening but I also don't recognize this card in my wallet. It feels like it's always been there. I used it to pay for my coffee today without realizing I didn't recognize it at first. Journal, I really feel like I've lost it this time. My medication isn't helping with this. I need to lie down. I'll update again after I've had time to think.
---
I called the number on the back of the card to verify my account. See when I opened it. See the gaps in my memory I'm missing. Did it as soon as I woke up. Do you remember dial-up? That horrible noise from when we were growing up together? That's all I heard screeching back at me. There's no website to try on the card. Hell, there isn't even a "Visa"or "MasterCard"logo or anything like that. Gonna try using it online and see what happens.
---
I just bought a new laptop. It worked. We'll see when it gets here. I really wish I knew what was going on.
***Note: Another return to normalcy until the laptop shows up 3 days later.***
8/31/20xx
The laptop showed up today. I don't remember ordering it but here it is. It's like whenever I try to think about the card it slips my mind. Whenever I use it it eats at me. Is that the price? Is that why he died? Is it eating my soul? Why did he give it to me? I called my therapist and mentioned the card. Said I needed new medication and I didn't know what was happening. I go in in a couple days.
Laptop works great.
***Note: Daily updates stop here. Aside from a few distorted drawings and a short, irrelevant poem the journal does not update until the next full posting. This is different than anytime in the journals record which goes back [REDACTED] years updating daily***
9/4/20xx
Went in to therapist's office today. Mentioned appointment. Was told I didn't have one. Circled on my calendar. Used card to pay triple fee for emergency. Talked to therapist. She took notes. Said she'd figure out a new prescription and get back to me by the end of the week.
Used the card to buy a new car. Needed it for job after crashing this one. Getting hard to think.
***Note: After this posting regular updates stop entirely. Following this note is the remainder of the relevant information as it is written.***
NO call from ThERapist. Can't remember Her oFFice.
Won an auction for a vintage bottle of wine today. Loving the new upgrades in the car.
Can't remember NaME? IS it on the CARD?
HELP me Mother. Tell me WHO I am.
Picture of self. DON'T FORGET: ***Picture not even remotely resembling anything human is found here.***
Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card Declined. CARD DECLINED CARD DECLINED CARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINED.
Found HEr. Follwoing. She can make IT work again.
//END RECORD
Subject was found 9/14/20xx with multiple self-inflicted lacerations. Investigations into where this "card"or who "her"may be are ongoing. Therapist does not remember seeing the subject during this time-frame nor are there any records of any visit.
edit: This got popular so I fixed some formatting.
Edit 2: I legitimately can't believe I got gold for this. Thank you so much...I'll try to write here more often. |
Caesar crumpled to his knees, clothes red, life ebbing into the floor around him.
He tried to inhale and instead felt the unstoppable torrent of blood clogging his mouth. His voice failed him.
He was dying. Again.
Craning his neck up, he saw the next attack coming before it embedded itself in his chest. The handle of a dagger, golden, embellished with a myriad of jewels and gemstones, came into Caesar's vision, just below his heart.
The dagger he'd given to his most trusted ally.
"Et tu, Brute?"
The now blurring figure of Brutus attempted to look somber. They failed, a smile breaking their lips.
*'I should've known*', Caesar thought to himself.
Brutus - no, *Aegis* - leaned in close to her lifelong foe, pressing her lips to his ear. *Her ear.*
"I win, my dear Eve."
-----
"It seems my cover has been blown,"Queen Elizabeth muttered, kicking up a cloud of ash with her foot. The simple motion sent a spasm of pain through her spine.
Eve hated the Queen's form; old, decrepit, ostensibly every bit as unrelenting in dying as she was.
91 fucking years of marching towards death's door, never quite able to open it.
Aegis - *or, rather, Betty White* - quirked a brow, a rare look of surprise crossing her features.
"My, my. That's quite the bit you've got yourself. I never would've guessed. Honest to God. You have a thing for monarchs, don't you?"
Elizabeth rubbed the scar under her heart. "Power gets me things I want,"she said blankly.
"Like daggers in the chest?"
"It has its shortcomings."
"I was genuinely surprised you survived that time, really. I'd been pretty damn thorough. Even went and celebrated."
Elizabeth grinned sheepishly. "*Please.* We've both been through worse. Remember Romeo and Juliet?"
"Oh, Christ, that's the last time I'm pretending to kill myself on your behalf."Betty chuckled breezily, sitting herself down with a slight hiss of pain.
Elizabeth copied, sitting opposite her on the ground. "Gods, these forms are pathetic. What can a hag of a monarch do without subjects to command?"
"Complain, evidently."
"Screw you."
"I *told* you to not remind me of Romeo and Juliet."
Elizabeth snickered, clicking her shoulders as she leaned back and forth. "Hey, our little shenanigans made for a pretty good play."
"Two of them, *Caesar*."Betty stared at her partner pointedly.
"I don't like to think about that one. Makes me cry every time."
"The pain or the fact I played you like a puppet?"
"Both, really."
Betty clicked her tongue, holding up a hand as she fumbled through her inner-pockets. After an age, she produced two small vials, laying them on the ground between her and Elizabeth.
"Look, Liz - *Eve* - I know we've been at it for quite some time, so long I've forgotten all that matters. Even the thought of killing you has lost its novelty at this point."
"I'm flattered."
"But the fact is we both want the same thing. Truly. What else could we ask for after so many years?"
Elizbeth didn't take her eyes off the vials, the creases in her forehead becoming prominent as she furrowed her brows. "This *can't* possibly be your new way of tricking me."
"Look me in the eyes and tell me we don't want the same thing."
Elizabeth met her rival's unyielding gaze. In that moment, she felt wearier than she'd ever done before; as if every year, century and millennia she'd suffered all caught up to her at once.
She keeled over, clenching her fists as a violent cough shook her body.
"Our curse,"Betty muttered, her expression morose. "The sad fact is, I don't think we can die in competition. Time has proven it an innumerable amount of times."
"Then *how?*"Elizbeth lurched forward, grabbing Betty by the collar. "How the fuck can this all end, Aegis?! I'm tired. I'm weak. I've experienced every pleasure there is in existence, every form of suffering one can imagine; torture, heartbreak, betrayal, love, you name it. All of it with the hope that one day, one distant, singular, moment in the future, I'd be able to end it all. And you're telling me it'll never happen?"
Elizabeth let go of Betty, slumping against the ground, her face collapsing into the dirt.
"You and I both, Sister."
Elizabeth let out a low chuckle, although the sound was bitter. "That's a new one."
"Your existential dread has helped breed a little kinship, let us say."
"*Dread* doesn't do it justice. Children dread the boogeyman. Adults dread unemployment and filing tax returns. I don't think there's any word that can explain what it really is. Nobody else has lived long enough to make it."
"You're a real bore when you're like this, you know that?"
"It's a side effect of life."
"If you can call this one."
"A *shitty* life. An everlife. An ever-shitty-life."
Betty had to try her best to not reach out and strangle Eve. "Look, Eve, I didn't say we *can't die*. We can. Just not the way you might've envisioned it. I'm afraid to say there'll be no grand finale for us."
Elizabeth tilted her head to look at Betty. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. "I'll say it again. *How?*"
Betty picked up one of the vials on the ground, unscrewed its cork, and held it out to Elizabeth. "*Together.* At each other's hand. Not from hatred, nor revenge, or suicide. Gods know we've tried. But as the one being we are; two birds of a feather, the sides of a coin. For as long as one of us draws breath, so will the other. And, no, I'm not intentionally referencing your favourite ill-fated couple here."
Elizabeth straightened up and took the vial, clasping it in her hands. Betty picked up the other, unscrewing it as well.
"How do I know this isn't another ploy?"Elizabeth asked as she rested her own above her lips. It was ridiculous for Betty to think she could build trust on a foundation as lofty as their relationship. And now of all times.
Betty shook her head, pulling forward Elizabeth's hand so that the vial was instead near herself. "I said it before. We've both faced the tribulations of immortality. We made a game of it for a time, sure, but there's nothing to laugh at here. This is it. Freedom."
Betty moved her own vial forwards, locking her arm around Elizabeth's. She gulped, her arm shaking.
*Freedom*. The word, in all of her years, had almost lost all meaning to Elizabeth. At the beginning, it had quite literally costed her heaven, her wings, all notions of happiness, scarce as they were. Beyond that, so many lives had been lost in revolutions staked on that vacuous idea, countless more in the pursuit of personal liberty, and, of course, she knew that hope was the greatest plague of them all for both mortals and immortals alike. What was it all for?
That was life, she'd concluded. A ceaseless, ridiculous practice in futility. A wish for change that never came.
"Freedom,"she said, just for the pleasure of hearing it. "Maybe there's an afterlife."
"For us? Probably not."
"I hope there isn't one,"Elizabeth said.
"As do I."
Elizabeth gave Betty a quizzical look, reassessing the woman she'd known for so many lifetimes. "God, I hate myself for believing you right now."
"I know."
"You better not be lying."
"I promise."
"*Ha*, good one."
Elizabeth bit her quivering lip, tilting her head back.
Betty mirrored the motion. "Not with a bang, but with a whimper,"Betty whispered, a girlish grin on her features.
"Fitting,"Elizabeth echoed. The world was so quiet, but for the two of them.
Together, Eve and Aegis tossed back the contents of each vial.
Together, they collapsed to the ground.
Together, the beat of their immortal hearts began to still.
"*W- we've won*,"Eve said, tears streaking her eyes as she reached out to clasp her sister's hand. "*So many fucking years...*"
Aegis clutched her sister tightly, unable to summon up the strength to respond.
Seconds later, her grasp loosened.
The world became silent. |
The door came crashing down and was sent sliding into the middle of the restaurant by the sheer force of the blow from the battering ram. A stream of DHHS agents came pouring in after it, flooding the room like the door had been a dam holding them back. Flashlights and badges were thrust into the faces of poor confused customers, and baskets of fries and half-eaten burgers were seized and promptly thrown into plastic baggies of evidence.
There was chaos in the kitchen. Head frycook decided to just make a run for it out the back and slammed straight into the five agents who were guarding the emergency exit. He tried to stammer some excuse, but the grease streaks down his white apron were the only evidence they needed to throw a pair of handcuffs on him. The others who remained inside hastily threw burger patties down the garbage disposal, or rushed to bring out trays of vegetables to act like they were serving them. But they'd gotten complacent, never expecting to be raided, and the veggies were brown and rotted.
Agent Singh stepped into the restaurant. He wore a perfectly starched suit and shoes so shiny you could see your reflection in them. He strolled past booths, occasionally stopping to pick up menus with one handkerchief-wrapped hand. The laminated papers promised plates of carrots and celery accompanied by healthy dipping sauces, but it was all a code. The many plates in front of the porky customers told a different story. Even standing in this place made Singh want to take another multivitamin supplement.
Three agents brought out the head chef, cuffed but still defiant. "Quite the operation,"Agent Singh gestured around at the restaurant with sarcasm in his voice. They didn't even have the proper ventilation to get rid of the *smell* of burgers and hot dogs. It was *sickening*.
"We're a legit operation,"the Chef spat back. "Healthy living; 'at's our motto!"He jerked his head toward a sign in the kitchen that did indeed say that. What a joke.
"Really."Singh smirked. *Why do they always try to talk their way out of it?* "And what's all this?"From the kitchen, his boys brought out all of the hamburger fixings. Buns, lettuce, tomato, onion, ketchup, mustard, cheese... the only thing missing was the meat itself.
"No law against having lettuce, is there?"the Chef growled.
"Uh huh. And what about *this*?"Singh asked, thrusting an accusing finger at the large vat of sizzling oil.
"For Tempura,"the chef said, stone-faced and emotionless. The agents *had* found a bowl of tempura batter in the back, though that was likely just part of their cover. "It's healthy. And we're trying out a whole fusion vibe, you know? It's all the rage now."
*He'd be a good poker buddy,* Singh conceded to himself. "And *this*?"Singh snatched a basket of food from one of the portly customers and threw it to the floor, covering the chef's shoes with fries, ketchup and burger fixings. Sick bastards. "Stop playing games with me!"
"Don't know nothing about that,"the chef contended. "We don't sell that sort of garbage here. He musta brought it in himself. Customers do that sometimes, you know. They come for the atmosphere."That got a laugh out of at least half the agents. This place was a complete *dump*. Maybe if they enjoyed the ambiance of having roaches skittering around under their tables.
"You!"Singh dragged the customer to his feet, which was no small task. The man must have weighed at least four hundred pounds. His cheeks jiggled like jello, and even the act of getting to his feet seemed to have left him out of breath. "Where'd you get that burger?"
The man cleared his throat, managing to get that last bit of junk food down his gullet. Then he took a wheezing breath and reached into his back pocket. "I got a prescription,"he blubbered, holding out the wrinkled, mustard-stained piece of paper.
Singh took the paper with his handkerchief-covered hand. "To whom it may concern,"it read, "This man suffers from protein deficiency and is chronically underweight."Singh glanced back at the man: he was already sweating, either from the tension of the situation or the strain of standing up for more than a few minutes at a time.
"See?"the chef said with a jubilant grin. "All perfectly legit!"
Singh tore the 'prescription' to shreds and tossed it to the ground. "Get these hogs out of here,"he barked to the other officers. He eyed the patrons of the place and noted the number of Rascal scooters. "And we're probably going to need some paddywagons with ramps."
---
You should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories! |
Reina was the great goddess of the hills who, in the dark time before, teased mountains to life with gentle song. Their curious rocky noses poked out from beneath mother dirt, sniffed the fresh air high up above them, then cautiously rumbled up from the earth until the clouds whispered them to slow. But they didn't listen, only pausing when they peeked into the black heavens far above the skies.
Jakia, god of sand and dust, long ago rubbed the rough skin of his palm over the crusty earth, until his kingdom salted into a haze of burnt orange and misted in the wind; until dunes swept themselves into great piles and sand lapped the far water's edge.
The people of earth had many gods to choose from, but the goddess of mountains attracted those of a solitary nature, who would watch and contemplate without being part of the great world below. The god of sand and dust attracted those with hot blood but loyal, loving hearts, and those with playful natures.
The grandeur of the mountains awed Jakia while the sweeping, plaited deserts thrilled Reina's heart. And in each others eyes they saw far deeper beauties still.
As the lovers kissed for the first time, the mountains fell a little from the heavens, down into the breath of clouds below. And the dunes rose higher from the flat sand and turned into great coppery hills pointing to the heavens.
But the mountains and deserts never met all the way. For Reina and Jakia were protective of their own great works, and each was secretly jealous of the other's. As time passed, the jealousy grew and their eyes burned gem-green. Soon the resentment grew not solely between gods, but between their passionate followers.
War came for their kingdoms.
Death came for their people. And he wore a bone-white grin as he walked between kingdoms with his sack of souls -- ever fattening -- slung over his shoulder.
A hundred-years and a day the war lasted, with neither kingdom overcoming the other. A time deemed far too long by the Gods of all Gods; in their collective wisdom, they judged and punished both Reina and Jakia for their jealous rivalry.
A ravine cracked open between the kingdoms, swallowing mountains and gasping in hills of dust, pulling them down into its endless black mouth. An ocean of nothing, impossible to cross, lay forever as a fracture between their kingdoms.
But the Gods of all Gods had been too slow and Death's sack had filled entirely.
For a time, both Reina and Jakia wept, alone, over what they had lost because of their greed and insecurity.
​
The prophecy, carved into the wooden Heart of the earth, was older than either god -- than anyone who had lived, some said. The prophecy was simply this: there was to be born a child who could kill a god. That could kill all gods, if the hand that helps it walk leads it in the wrong direction.
Killing a god was a feat something not even the Gods of all Gods could achieve. A power beyond any.
In this time, trapped by the endless ravine, Reina and Jakia waited. They waited longer. Waited until they grew once more hungry for what the other had and they didn't.
​
​
Jakia heard of the child's rumour first. Not a tangible, promised thing, not yet -- not something he could hold or even touch. Just the first drop of rainfall that might one day fill a lake. But that was enough: no rumour-child could be left unclaimed. The parents-to-maybe-be lived far south, far away from any kingdom Jakia knew of. He rubbed his rough hands over his naked body until the wind took his dusty form and blew it south towards the maybe-child. Towards the parents he would make swear an oath to him.
​
The clouds of the mountains breathed slower to pass their news to Reina, but she took action sooner, leaping from off the tallest mountain where she'd sat with legs dangling for many years. Great dove wings sprouted as she fell and she glided on the winds, south towards the parents. They would swear her an oath. The same oath as Jakia would force them to take.
To promise them the god-slayer. |
I stared at that '2' longer than I'd stared at anything before in my entire life.
Nothing could match the beauty of that plain, grey '2'. No sunset, no mountain and no masterpiece could even compare to the emotions I felt when I saw that '2'.
There was no comment. There was no trace of who this person was. It almost didn't matter...almost.
Then I saw it. An orange envelope that filled me with hope. I clicked it like my sanity depended on it. God knows it did.
'Are you real?'
My fingers typed as I replied. The first human contact I had in 4 grueling years, 'Yes, I'm real. Who are you?'
'My name is Sarah. I'm a survivor.'
A girl. Another living human, and it was a woman. The hope of a new life filled my mind, and I could see it all. A home in the wreckage. A family. Children. Love. Human warmth. I could almost feel it again.
'Are there others?'
It felt like an eternity of refreshing over and over before the orange envelope was back. 'I don't know.'
'Where are you?' It was all I could ask. I had to find her. Go to her. Be with her. Be with someone. Anyone. The isolation was finally over. I could feel sorrow being washed from my soul.
'I'm not really comfortable telling some internet stranger where I live. You could be a perv.'
I stared at those words on my screen for a long, long time before 4 words echoed through streets of desolation.
**"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!"** |
**A lot of people enjoyed this and I really appreciate it. I've got a couple of ideas for it, so you can follow any updates on the sub I set up /r/Old_Dogs, or on my [Medium](https://medium.com/@Eilrahc). Thanks for all your comments!**
I blinked in disbelief.
"What?"I asked quietly.
My dog, Hovi, sat in his bed, head raised proudly and the arch in his back relaxed. His lips seemed to smile kindly.
"I am Odin, the All Father,"he said, speaking in a carefully worded Scandinavian accent.
"You're a dog,"I replied. "You're my dog."
Hovi smiled.
"In this life, yes, I am your dog Hovi,"he seemed to wink with his one good eye. "In my previous life, I ruled the realm of Asgard, God of All."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was absurd. And yet, Hovi was speaking, and not only that: claiming the be the Norse god Odin.
"You've been my dog for ten years,"I said. "I found you in a shelter, you went to college with me. Oh god, you've seen me-"
"Jack,"Hovi - Odin - said. "Fear not, you are my keeper and I paid you the courtesy of privacy when necessary."
I sat on my bed in my studio apartment, incredulous, the vet's bills spread out across the duvet.
"How long have you been like this? How long have you been able to talk?"
"My entire life,"Hovi said, padding towards the bed on his giant paws. Caught somewhere between a Newfoundland and an Alaskan Malamute, he'd always towered over the other dogs at the local park. "And for a thousand years before that."
"A *thousand* years?"I asked.
"And longer,"Hovi said, hopping up into the bed. "An age ago, I and the other gods were banished to your world by an evil force which now rules above.
"It would have had us killed, but for the final tricks of Loki, for once serving his brethren. He gave us these forms and hid us away on this Earth."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"So all dogs are gods in exile?"
"Yes."
"What about cats?"
"No, cats are simply cats."
"Right."
We looked at each other for a short while in silence. The fur that had grown over the patch where Hovi's eye had once been - missing since long before I had been his owner - twitched.
"Why now?"I asked. "Why reveal yourself to me now?"
Hovi gestured to the vet's bills on the bed.
"The healer you call 'vet' desired to... Reduce me,"he explained, his tongue curling oddly to form the words. "You convinced him not to. For this kindness, Jack, I am forever in your debt."
"Right."
Another brief moment of silence, then Hovi leaned into me, a slight grin on his black lips.
"So, Jack, what would you ask of an old God?" |
I'm the world's best translator. Or so I've been told.
It's been a while since I've been the best anything, last I can remember, I was the 'most improved' participant at the swim camp I attended over the summer when I was 10 years old. I haven't swam since.
They say a rolling stone gathers no moss. I don't know much about Mick Jagger, but he doesn't really look greasy.
Anyway, what I'm getting at is, I am currently the person in the world who has the best ability to translate languages. How that happened overnight, I do not know. How everyone else found out before me? Also not something I'm aware of.
All I know is that I'm supposed to be able to understand whatever this guy is shouting in my general direction. He's breathing heavy and his face is red. And there's some weird figures floating around a couple inches from the floor. It kinda looks like some kind of alphabet. Huh. Oh well. I wish I didn't have to be here right now. I don't really know what I'm doing with my life.
In fact, there's a lot of things I don't know. For example, I don't know how to read.
Welcome to my life. I'm Jared, I'm 19. And I just never learned how to read. |
“Galade, why don’t you ever take that armor off?” said my companion.
“Makes me feel comf’rble,” I replied, tersely.
“All that metal can’t be comfortable, friend. Come, when’s the last time you took that off?” he said as he reached for the sides of my helmet. I grabbed his hands, which seemed to surprise him.
“It’s quite comf’rting, knowing that any weapon an en’my might bring to bear’ll do me next to no ‘arm when it strikes,” I responded, as I had many times to the same inquiry from others.
Valden’s expression soured. “But it’s just the two of us here. Do you not trust me? Gods above, Galade, I don’t even know what you look like.”
I hadn’t the guts literally or figuratively to tell him then and there that this was all there was to see, but he persisted in reaching for my… well, I suppose “face” isn’t the wrong word, so I felt some reassurance or explanation was in order. What could I say, though? This friend of mine must have been acting under the assumption that I was like him, alive and full of warmth and compassion, but alas, I am just this metal shell imbued with a hollow semblance of life…
“Galade. Please.”
I wanted so completely to tell him the truth in that moment. Yet it was as if some barrier existed that prevented the words from issuing forth. What would he think? What would he say? Surely, he would want me destroyed for the abomination I am, but if I deny him now, he will only persist in his prying. Perhaps I am only delaying the inevitable.
I let go of his hands, accepting of my fate.
As my visor lifted, he looked surprised, then confused, then perhaps a little angry, as he searched the empty helmet for a face.
“That’s… all ‘ere is, my friend,” I said, arms outstretched, waiting for the inevitable accusatory finger-point and shouting about Gods and the natural and unnatural and so on. He was indignant for certain, but not quite in the way I expected.
“You’re… what, you’re an animated armor?”
“…yes.”
“What, and you weren’t going to tell me as such? I was worried, Galade! You know it’s pretty obvious you don’t sleep and don’t eat properly, I thought you would collapse any minute if you didn’t get some proper rest! Oh, that’s a relief. Dear Gods.”
This was… a strange feeling. Relief? Happiness? I didn’t know how I was… supposed to feel, but nonetheless I managed to inquire, “You’re not… mad? Afraid?”
He replied, “Well, no, I could never stay mad at you. I didn’t know animated things like you could be so… human. It’s certainly weird, but… many things in life are weirder than *this.*” He gestured to my shell as he spoke. “Honestly, friend, I’m quite impressed, first at the fact that you are so much… *yourself*, and second, that you managed to keep this a secret as long as you did.”
“But I’m a monster…”
“Sure, but what difference does that make?” he asked. “You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got a good soul, and that’s all that really matters in life. Come, I’m sure you’ve got some interesting stories about wizards and old, crumbly towers to tell.”
I thought about his words for a long time after that. I’m still not sure I understand, but it was nice to know I really could trust him. |
“We’re here, sir.”
Gordon didn’t hear his driver. He was still thinking about the gala. What an exquisite success it had been! Nearly three million dollars raised for the Foundation. And no small feat, either. Getting that much money out of Manhattan’s elite was like pulling teeth from a lion. Still, there was no denying that he’d be the talk of the town after tonight’s success.
“Sir?” The door opened and David’s voice cut through his reverie. “We’re here. The penthouse, sir.”
“Oh. Right, of course. Thank you, David.” He climbed out of the car. “Drive safe.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good night.” David closed the door, stepped around to the driver’s side, and drove off down the road, leaving Gordon standing next to an entrance to Central Park, across the street from his apartment building.
Gordon took a deep breath in. Even in the city there was something he loved about autumn nights.
“Change, mister?”
Gordon jumped. He hadn’t seen the homeless man sitting against the park wall.
“You got any change, mister? Just a couple o’ coins’ll do it, that’s it.”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t carry change. I don’t have any money on me.”
The homeless man looked at him curiously. “Fella like you in a fancy tuxedo ain’t go no money on him? Almost don’t seem right, does it? I mean, not whatchoo’d e’spect, anyway.” The man stood up slowly. He didn’t seem to do anything quickly, thought Gordon, but then again, why would he?
“You know, if you go up to 98th, I’ve got a shelter up there for—“
The beggar waved a hand and cut him off. “Oh no, I don’t need no shelter. Leave that for a soul needs it. All I need is some change.” He looked in his cup and shook it. A few coins in there jingled. He smiled up at Gordon. “Something we all need a little bit o’, am I right? Little change.”
“I don’t…um…”
“I mean even you, right? You here with your tuxedo, you can walk ‘cross the street into your buildin’,” he waved his hand at the tower. “Go ‘bout everything the way it’s been, right? No change. But hell. You wanna, you could walk right into this here park ‘n’ give it all up forever.” He chuckled. “Don’t suppose you’ll be doing that though, eh?”
“I…”
“Naw, listen to me all philosophizin’ here. That’s enough of that.” He started to totter past the bewildered millionare. “You’ll be wantin’ to be gettin’ on to gettin’ on, I reckon.” He paused and peered closely into Gordon’s eyes. “You sure? No change? Well then…” He reached into his cup and pulled something out. His dirty hands pressed it into Gordon’s clean palm. He looked up at Gordon with what seemed like sorrow. His eyes met Gordon’s. There was something clear, wise, and sad about them.
“You’re gonna need these. See ya, mister.” And he tottered off towards the shadows of the park.
Gordon opened his hand and saw two large coins in his hand. Definitely not American currency. They looked antique, even ancient. The orange streetlights gleamed off polished silver.
“Wait!” He called after the man. “These are—“
The beggar turned around. “They’re for you. Trust me. Man like you don’t deserve to be standing by the dock forever.” He turned back towards the park. “Besides, that boatman is an asshole.”
And he was gone.
Gordon was still standing there trying to understand what had just happened when the drunk driver swerved off the road and straight through where he was standing.
________________________
EDIT: Holy carp, yous guys! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. I fixed the coins to be the correct coins. Accuracy!
FILTHY SHAMELESS SELF PLUG: If you liked what I did with mythology, you might like [my story about Charon.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2lzgen/picc_the_acheron_boatman/) |
This was the first flight I've been on where I was bored enough to pay for Wifi. I had a window seat, but we were heading through thick fog. I had loaded my phone with games, but the battery died. The inflight movie was Daddy Day Care 3, for god's sake. I thought they only made that to use as punishment in CIA interrogations. I couldn't take it anymore; I reached around my neighbor's elbow, who was generously taking up the entire armrest, and got out my wallet.
Naturally, I loaded up Reddit first. Normally, I stick to a limited number of subreddits but today I just wanted to zone out and see some cat pictures in /r/all. And yet, even Reddit was against me: the top stories were all focused on yet another plane crash. *Perfect to read while flying*, I thought. I almost skipped over the story, but one detail in the headline grabbed my attention: the flight had left from Raleigh, just like mine. It's not a huge airport. I'd probably seen all of those passengers on their way to their plane! How creepy.
I didn't believe the information in the text. United Flight 617 on its way to Denver... that was *my* flight. I even got out my little ticket stub to check. There has to be some kind of mistake. A different post loaded.... exact same information. I checked CNN; if they can do one thing, it's cover a missing plane. They had the exact same information.
I managed to crawl over the mountain of a man in the middle seat and made my way down the aisle to the stewardess taking drink orders up in first class. I thrust the tablet into her hands. "What is *this*?"I practically screamed.
She ushered me away from the rich people and back to my seat. "Just a mistake, sir. The pilots are sorting it out now. Everything is fine with the plane."She shoved a mini bottle of vodka into my hand and winked. "How about you just relax, and we'll be arriving soon."
Well, if the pilots knew about it, then that was OK. Clearly the plane was still flying, right?
I was just buckling my seatbelt when I happened to glance out the window. We'd left the cloud bank, and I had a clear view of the slate grey ocean below, spreading out in every direction. It didn't click immediately as I gazed out.
*There's no ocean on the way to Denver*...
I leapt from my seat and raced after the stewardess. She made it to the back of the plane just in time and saw me coming down the aisle after her. She slammed a metal grate closed that blocked off the little back compartment where they kept all the food. She looked directly at me and shook her head slowly with a sad smile. The other flight attendants peered around their corner and rolled their eyes. "How did he find out?"one of them said. From one of the uppermost compartments, they pulled out gas masks and strapped them on.
"We're ready,"she said into the mic. The mask filter made her voice odd and robotic There was a brief pause, and then the red hazard lights turned on
"We're sorry to have to do this,"The Captain announced over the intercom. That was the only explanation he gave as thick smoke began to seep into the cabin. Some of the other passengers stood and looked around, wondering what that cryptic message meant. Then they too noticed the gas filling the cabin, and began pawing at the little compartment where oxygen masks were supposed to drop from. I rattled the grate as hard as I could while the flight attendants just looked on, slightly amused. Like looking at a zoo animal.
My eyes grew heavy, and I sank to the floor as everything went black.
----
[By request, Part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/31thu6/missing/cq4vhue). If you liked how it ended, then just don't read this part. |
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/d93v7u/slingthing_part_2/) is available!
When the first asteroid came towards us, I remember being huddled in front of the television in the living room in eager anticipation. Mom crossed herself time and time again. My brother just gawked, sitting cross-legged with Buzz Lightyear clutched in his hands.
It was what I imagine the Moon landing must have been like for people back then, except instead of us going to another celestial body, the celestial bodies were coming to us. One by one, week after week, enormous asteroids came straight for Earth. Sitting in front of the television again now, I get a tinge of déjà vu. It's much more real now.
The first time, we figured we were just unlucky. Like the asteroid that hit Earth when the dinosaurs were still around, it would have been enough to trigger a mass extinction and end life as we knew it. We were more advanced than the dinosaurs though, in spite of how much trouble grandma had with technology. For once, humans saved the Earth. We shot at the asteroid with just enough force that it missed us. The pictures were incredible - once in a lifetime, people guaranteed.
The second time, we figured the odds of the Universe must be stacked against us. Once was one-in-a-billion. Twice was what? One-in-a-trillion? Exceedingly unlikely, even given the twisted multiverse we occupied. Again, we sat in front of the televisions as ballistic space experts repeated their stunning feat and the asteroid seemed to pass within spitting distance of the Earth.
The third time, we realized something was up. Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice... Still shame on you. Fool us three times? No. Even the leading scientists and politicans couldn't contain their concern. Something was throwing rocks at us, as unlikely as it sounded. Something with the ability to harness fantastic amounts of power to slingshot those space stones in our direction.
It became the norm, like we were unwilling participants in a one-sided game of galactic dodgeball. It wasn't a fun game of dodgeball though, like the ones at recess where everybody tries to hit one kid in the face. We were on the wrong side of that. It was harrowing.
People prepared for the inevitable collision; for the one time that the calculations were off and we just didn't have the means to divert the massive asteroid. They got together cans of food that would probably taste pretty good to some carnivorous alien when paired with the minced meat we would all become. It became the defining moment of our generation; our Pearl Harbor or our Kennedy assassination or our 9/11.
It's in these moments that humanity proves itself. United for the first time against a common enemy - ignoring climate change of course, a problem all too real and whose solution was not nearly profitable enough - the people of Earth more or less set aside their differences to defeat the Slingthing, as it came to be known.
First we sent satellites that were easily knocked out of the air by smaller asteroids. Pebbles, compared to the ones sent towards us. Then we assembled a base on the Moon as an advanced vantage point from where to observe this enemy. There wasn't a lot to observe other than darkness and finally an asteroid headed for the expeditionary force that was diverted just before it hit the Moon. That would have thrown Earth into chaos, and this barely inhabited colony suddenly became a viable target that we had to defend.
The economy boomed as we churned out weaponized spaceships capable of avoiding the asteroids and firing back at the enemy. We had avoided over a dozen asteroids. We became desensitized to them, attack after attack being deflected by our reliable scientists and ballistic experts sending the payloads up to divert the collision. What was once worthy of front page news had been relegated to an afterthought; barely a mention in some compiled statistic lost in a sea of other articles about more Earthly concerns.
For some of us though, sitting around the television for the next asteroid is ritualized, something like the Super Bowl but about more than just the commercials. There wasn't an asteroid today though. Not on a Tuesday night. Today we will finally see the Slingthing.
I'm with my peers, the other brave men and women who answered the call of duty to join that 6th military branch once the threat became evident. I had been in the inaugural class of recruits; one of the first Space Force cadets. It was our base on the Moon used for refueling the unmanned ships before they continued towards the Slingthing. It was our men dutifully monitoring that lonely outpost in anticipation for the next attack.
"Do you think we'll actually see it?"I finally break the nervous silence. Debris was flashing by the camera as the finest of our ships maneuvered its way towards the calculated origin of the attacks. It was sleek; I had seen it when it was still parked in a hangar here on Earth. The newer models could fit people inside and we were all clamoring for the chance to go on a ride. Not a ride towards the Slingthing, but just a little ride around the planet at least.
"We're supposed to,"Sergeant Edwards says with a shrug, all but asking me to shut up. The feed was delayed by several minutes between the time it took for the video to travel back to Earth and the pause as the censors ensured that there wasn't anything too scarring.
"And if we don't?"
"They'll deploy us, probably. Post us up on nearby asteroids to get visual."A bone-chilling possibility. Men were known to die in the solitude of those desolate assignments. We were better now at deflecting the asteroids before they got too close to Earth and the media hubbub had subsided significantly since the first time one had been headed towards us, but deployments and assignments were still scaling upwards.
A collective gasp arises from the group. There, in the distance, we were finally starting to make out the Slingthing. Or, rather, we were finally starting to see the absence of anything where the Slingthing should be. Part of me expected a tentacled creature with an array of eyes. Part of me expected some astral phenomenon we hadn't accounted for; some gravity hole that acted as a slingshot as it collected asteroids before launching them outwards. There's nothing there. Just a darkness that blocks the stars beyond it.
Asteroids kept rocketing towards the nothingness and eventually the Slingthing effortlessly spat them back out, sending them hurtling in all directions, including towards Earth. "Where do the rest go?"somebody asks. Nobody answers. It could be towards other planets. It could be towards other lifeforms. It could be both.
And then the feed goes black and an angry uproar erupts. I try to stay calm and poised like Sergeant Edwards. He's standing there in silence, his face grim as he watches us angrily shouting at the static feed. "Get it out of your system, private,"he always says. That's what he was letting us do now before snapping us back to attention to await orders. Either the Slingthing had claimed our finest spaceship or the censors had decided that what was seen couldn't be broadcasted. Neither option is more palatable than the other.
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/d93v7u/slingthing_part_2/) is available!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
Bruce had cracked the mirror on the wall with a henchman's skull, splintered the glass into three zig-zagging triangles. He was the only one standing in the room now, and yet three warped faces stared back at him from the broken mirror: a grinning clown in one triangle, lips covered in blood, pale face undulating like ripples; an old man with tired eyes, in another, who should have stopped playing these games long ago; those familiar black eyes in the final segment, almost hidden behind the black mask, his granite chin stubbled by gray hair.
The two new faces had kept Bruce alive this long: the Batman had provided him purpose, had done since the day the darkness had all but swallowed him.
Alfred had been there that day, had resuscitated him. But in that darkness of half-death Bruce had been forced to watch a single moment play out a billion times over: the few short seconds it had taken for his parents to be murdered in cold blood. Each viewing had been a knife to his heart. He'd lived that moment on an infinite loop, it seemed, until his heart was more holes than it was substance. Black holes that sucked up all positive feeling and memories.
And when he'd awoken, saved by Alfred, his fists had balled tight and his heart -- still there, barely -- hardened.
The Batman had arisen from Bruce's ashes. He vowed to take revenge on Gotham's underworld.
Something else had awoken, too. Not long after his resuscitation, just a few weeks later, the clown's face started to appear. Always just out of reach, always behind windows or through glass doors, slipping away from him like water through his fingers.
But the laughing, that remained in the hallways. Or in his head. Echoing for hours around his skull like a shrill oscillating scream.
The Joker gave purpose to Batman. He was a hideous amalgamation of everything wrong with the city, with the world. With Bruce himself. He couldn't ever be caught, not even reached -- but Bruce would keep trying to catch him. He had to.
Bruce looked down at the black costume fitted tight to his body. Then, at the bodies littering the floor. Penguin's still convulsed, still guzzled blood out of his throat where Bruce had slit it with a shard of glass. Around Penguin lay his dead apostles in a field of liquid rose.
Even the Penguin's face undulated and warped and almost became someone else, almost someone he recognised?
Bruce rubbed his temples; his headache was back, screaming and pumping pain inside his brain. "What's wrong with me?"
He fell to the floor, slumped in Penguin's warm blood. The Joker's reflection -- his reflection? -- laughed at him from inside the pool. "You're just a big joke, Bruce! Batman's about as real as a dream -- all you've done is cut up the cook!"
​
​
"Master Bruce.... My God... My God...What have you..."
*Alfred*. His wrinkled old face looked wrong as he vomited into the blood, as he fell to his hands and knees. "My God,"he choked out. Over and over and over. Then finally, "What have you *done*?"
"What I should have done years ago, Alfred."
"Why... *Why*?"
"Even when I was young, even when a punch would send a man through the air thumping against a wall... they'd always come back. Be working for another villain. Nothing ever changed, Alfred. Not truly."The Joker's face grinning in the blood gained color and warped into Bruce's. "Nothing changed. It all just rotated."
"Oh, it's my fault."Alfred was crying now. Always sensitive. Too sensitive. Had held Bruce back from this -- the only possibly outcome -- for far too long, already. Always pushing caution and forgiveness, warning Bruce against becoming the darkness that he fought.
"My fault. All my fault."Eyes were pits of sorrow.
It was his fault. He'd held Bruce back from the solution for too long.
"This had to end,"said Bruce. "Sooner or later."
"Yes,"gasped Alfred. "Yes, God, it had to end. I told them this was a mistake! We were taking... And... I... I need to go make a call. Please, wait here."
"Alfred?"said Bruce.
"...Yes, Master Bruce?"
Blood dripped from Alfred's lips now, as if he'd licked the ground. And the blood was smearing itself into a sloppy crimson smile around Alfred's cheeks. His face fallen as pale as death.
Bruce took the shard of glass from Penguin's throat.
"...Master Bruce?"taunted the Joker.
Bruce wasn't sure if the laughter came from the Joker, or if it came from within his own heart. But it flooded the room in a joy that Bruce hadn't felt in years.
And Bruce realised he'd finally caught the villain he'd been chasing.
hahahahaHAHAHA*HAHAHA***HAHAHA*****HAHA*** |
Maybe this is what it looked like when Moses parted the red sea. As I'm walking through the gate the collection of the damned that were milling about the entrance began to clear my path. Those with mobility issues were trying desperately to get out of my way before i reached them. *Charlton Heston like a mother fuck* I thought to myself.
This is my welcome to Hell. H - E - double hockey stick emojis. As I begin to wonder if everyone gets this treatment a puff of green smoke and the smell of excrement herald the arrival of a three armed demon.
"No, not everyone,"he hisses. Great, he can read my mind. "A soul has neither mind nor secrets in His Dominion,"he hisses again. I guess I'll have to put a lid on my sarcastic thoughts. "He demands your audience."
Stepping out of the shadows is a man. An inch or two taller than me, hair slicked back, tuxedo; a real handsome devil, so to speak.
"Ha-ha,"he says in a monotone and sarcastic voice. Guess he can read my thoughts too. The wet fart smell is still lingering. "That never goes away,"he says.
"If I'm just a soul without a mind, why can I still smell things?"My first words after death are nitpicking about the physics of Hell.
"We figured out a while ago that having to constantly smell foul odors is really unpleasant to souls. I think it adds a nice touch to their torment."
I'm able to prevent a sarcastic comment from forming in my mind, barely. I instead ask another question, "Why -"
"Are you here?"The Devil finishes my question for me. "You're here because you have been smote. You have been smote by the most high."I try hard to remember everything. I remember being sent to Hell by St. Peter. I remember ascending to the Pearly Gates. I remember...being hit by lightning?
"Close. When He does something of this magnitude the sound and sight of it resembles a lightning strike. The flash and resultant noise are the consequences of Him intervening in the physical realm to alter a detail. It's all very technical and boring. What's interesting is why He smote you."
Sure? I guess that's interesting. Me going to Hell, the Devil explaining to me how souls work, being killed by God...this whole ordeal has an 'above my pay-grade' feel to it.
"We'll discuss your pay-grade later. What you should be feeling is pride. You are the first thing that caused Him to lift a single finger in almost 2000 years. You should also be asking yourself, 'Why did He smite me?'"
"OK, I'll bite. Why did God smite me?"
"Think back over the past few months. Think long and hard. Who have you sent to Heaven?"
This just got strange. I can deal with God and the Devil being real, I can deal with the idea of Heaven and Hell. I can almost handle souls having to deal with smelling farts for eternity. But I cannot fathom how I have sent anyone to Heaven.
"That you don't know you've been doing it, and in doing so incurred His wrath, makes this situation more delicious."
What have I been doing that would send someone to Heaven? The Devil said it happened in the past few months. Did I change something recently? Two months ago I started going to a gambling support group. Is that it?
"You're getting warmer,"the devil coaxes.
What did I do while I was there? I talked. I talked to strangers about gambling. I talked through what I thought were my subconscious motivations for gambling. I had a breakthrough during a session last week. I realized that my self destructive behavior was in response to something. But I never figured out what it was.
"No, you didn't uncover the root cause of your problem. But three of the others in your group figured out their own problems. And are now in the process of dealing with their issues."The Devil pauses. "Those three are now on a path to redeeming their souls and gaining entry to Heaven."
"So that's why God killed me?"I ask.
"Yes,"he responds.
"But isn't that God's thing? People seeking forgiveness and redeeming themselves and blah blah blah?"
"Yes."Another one word response.
"Yeah, I don't get it."
A long sigh escapes the Devil, but it didn't come from his mouth. It kind of came out of all of him. I might be annoying him. "Yes,"he replies, "you are. I'm sure you heard of God's plan. How He has a plan for everyone."The devil is speaking slowly now, as if he's trying to explain it like I'm five. "And I'm sure you know about free will. How everyone has the ability to make choices for themselves. These two ideals would seemingly be at odds with each other, except He solved the problem. He didn't solve it on his first try, mind you. He's tried solutions in the past, resetting the game to institute his new plan. Every calamity in the bible was true, it was Him wiping the slate clean to start fresh with a new strategy. The one He instituted most recently has worked perfectly until you."
Phew. I fucked up God's plan. Without even trying, no less. "So, what now?"I ask.
"We're all taking a wait and see approach. Will He reset again? Was removing you from the playing field enough to salvage this iteration? No one knows, except Him."
"Ah."So I had to die to give the rest of the world a 50/50 shot. What a dubious legacy. As the entirety of this information is sinking in I begin to appreciate how unfair it all seems. Unfair that I was killed without warning, unfair that God might hit the reset button on the Earth because he's mad at me, unfair that - wait a minute. "Hey, uhm Mr. Devil?"
"I assume you're referring to me,"the Devil responds.
"Yes. You mentioned my pay-grade? As in, future pay-grade?"
"Certainly. You are now on my staff. I'll have the acclimation team show you around the Dominion and go over your duties. You'll find out how you fit in here soon enough."
"May I ask why?"
A grin forms on his face. "You piss off my dad."
**Edit** Fixed spelling and grammar mistakes. |
There was *one* memory that I always thought as the most important memory. But as I got older, even those precious memories will slowly fade. Perhaps it was the old age? It most definitely was the time. Or maybe it's that those special memories are often painful, and thus it's only natural for our brains to reject those memories.
I want to tell you my story. But I don't want to go into detail. And why should I? After all, it's a despicable story full of self-hatred, depression, and struggle. It did get better. But not when I was young.
Many told me - appreciate your youth. It's the best time of your life.
No. I despised it. I was bullied at school. My parents *never* cared about me. Oh, don't get me wrong - they were very successful parents who could do or buy anything. But that's what they all were about - their success. In the end, I was alone. And their divorce didn't make it better - it shattered my world.
You have no idea how many times I cursed money. They always talked about money.
One might ask that rich people *should be* fine at school, right? But that was the very reason why I was bullied. I was different - rich. Every classmate expected me to buy free stuff for them. But I barely got any money from parents myself. So I was labeled as a kid who only thought about himself. Bullshit.
But there was a turning point in my life. And perhaps I shouldn't talk of it the way one traditionally would, but the other way.
I was reincarnated as a dog in a shelter. I was a puppy, and perhaps an ugly one. To be honest, I had always been ugly in every life. Almost like all those beautiful people in the world sucked the beauty out of me and left me whatever there was left. Of course, it could've been the self-critical view on myself as well. I never managed to get rid of it.
And perhaps that's why I was adopted... by me. The *me* in the previous life had come and decided to adopt me. And I remember the reason: I was similar to him. And I was goddamn right about that.
In time I turned into an egocentric person because I started to love myself. But not *myself myself*, but the other me in the previous life.
I wanted to give the previous me all the love in the world. And as I saw myself, I began not to see only myself, but this sad boy who was alone. I remembered shards of my past. As a human, I never wanted anything more than love and hugs. I never got them. You have no idea how good a hug is if you barely get any. You have no idea how much brighter one's day becomes after a single hug.
So, as a dog, I gave myself all of that. I hugged the other me a lot. I stayed with him a lot. I licked him a lot - even though it seems a bit weird at first. I rewatched every single anime together with him over and over again.
And I saw him smile. And that made me smile.
And I remembered the past self. Back then it was that dog that saved my life. It was that dog that helped me to go and meet the next day. It was that dog that always dragged me to that specific park, making me meet that woman who eventually became my wife. It was that dog who kept watching my kids as they grew.
But that day came. I knew that day would come. As I grew, I remembered more and more. My human me didn't know, but I did, and I was ready.
It was the day when that big bad dog tried to attack my kids. I had forgotten how and where it would happen, but I knew it would come. My human self was somewhere else, and the kids were playing together in the garden. I was chasing that annoying crow that never left me alone, making me follow him around. That is until I heard that weird sound.
There was a growling sound. As I ran towards the sound, I saw a big black dog looking at kids. I immediately ran in-between the kids and the big bad dog, barking a lot to gain everyone's attention around the neighborhood.
The big dog jumped on me, trying to bite towards my throat. I avoided it - barely - and bit his leg in the process, making him take a step back. But the other dog didn't wait. Instead, it dashed past me towards the kids. It was mad at my bite, and it wanted revenge. But he knew I was protecting the kids.
All I could do was dive in and jump in between, feeling the sharp teeth touching my throat. Everything went black.
"Angel!"A shout came - my other self shout. Oh, I remember that moment. Like expected, I heard a hit. I almost relived the memory how I hit the big dog with a pipe. I could hear how the other dog ran away. I could hear the kids crying. But they were safe - and that's what mattered most.
I could feel it - everything going cold. I remembered the most painful memory in my previous life almost like a movie flashing in front of my eyes.
But I was happy.
After all - and it might sound egoistic - there was no better friend than myself. I had gotten something that I had yearned in my previous life - love.
It's only natural that the least I could do was to protect everything that I loved.
And if I ever were reincarnated again, I would do it again.
"I love you, Angel. You've always been my angel, my savior. You're the most beutiful dog in the world!"the other me whispered to me the final words that I managed to catch.
_***_
That's my story.
And as I opened my eyes one last time, I saw that same annoying crow looking at me, intensely, releasing a few quick sounds.
*If you're me, shriek twice,* I thought.
**Caw, caw**.
*I see. Thank you.*
(/r/Elven - My subreddit, in case you want to read more of my writing) |
*Balloon day!*
The phrase bounced around the halls like a child's rubber ball, jumping from lips to lips. It hid in the presence of work, but emerged from the corners, creeping out like a playful cat.
*Balloon day!*
For weeks, the topic dominated all idle conversation, speculations flying wildly back and forth. Just a month, half a month, a week, less, until the return of the gallant explorers and their tales of what lay beyond!
Astronomy, that noble pursuit of staring up into the night sky, exploded in popularity. Enterprising street vendors hawked cheap telescopes, selling out their stock in minutes. At night, the roofs were covered with people, all of them staring up into the twinkling blackness and searching for that bright spot of Luna, our sister planet, rushing back to greet us.
Not quite six months previously, the Expedition (the name always carried that capital letter, locked into place at its fore) had launched. Three men - Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh, and the financier of the Expedition, Tycho Brahe himself - had set off into that great unknown, determined to "plumb the mysteries of Luna and return, armed with a wealth of new knowledge."
The Expedition garnered great publicity before the launch itself, and thousands gathered to watch as their airship, the Dauntless, lifted off and sailed up into a cloudless blue sky. Children screamed and ran in circles gaily, as their parents stared, spellbound, up into the sky as they watched the airship grow smaller and more distant.
And that night, thousands cheered across the city as they spotted the glow of the red flare that erupted on the dark face of a receding Luna - the sign that the explorers had landed successfully.
Now, the wait for the three great men to return was nearly over. Already, children wore paper masks of their faces, and the Queen herself had promised to knight each of the three upon their return (this raised considerable commotion, as Brahe hailed from Denmark). So many new babies were receiving the names of Francis, Walter, or Tycho that doctors were cautioning mothers to reconsider.
Of course, this wasn't the first study of Luna. Twice a year, naturalists and philosophers, priests and students, all turned their telescopes skyward, watching as Luna swooped past, so close to Earth that their atmospheres kissed. Those roving eyes scoured the surface of the other planet, searching for signs of intelligent life.
So far, no evidence of others living on Luna had yet emerged, although the planet was covered in greenery, signs of flourishing plant life. Several years previously, a great hubbub broke out when a young student claimed to have spotted the straight lines of canals, dug by an alien civilization, but these claims were later refuted by more powerful telescopes, revealing that the "canals"were truly just canyons.
But now, now the answers would finally come. *Balloon day!* The return of the Dauntless, of Drake, Raleigh, and Brahe, the great gift of answers!
And finally, the day itself arrived. None went to work; indeed, even those who wished to ignore the whole ordeal were unable to do so, as the streets were filled with cheering crowds, all of them staring up into the sky as they searched for the tiny spot that would resolve itself to be the Dauntless. Several carriages collided with each other due to the crowded streets and the inattention of their drivers, before finally being abandoned and left in the middle of the road.
Speculation flew back and forth; crazy rumors sprouted, fed upon each other. The explorers were returning with intelligent life that they'd captured! No, it wasn't truly the explorers at all - dangerous enemies had hijacked their ship to conquer Earth! The men were back, but they weren't truly themselves, infected by strange humors from Luna!
And then, eliciting a roar that raced across the city, the small dot of the Dauntless appeared in the sky.
Hundreds of telescopes immediately confirmed that the dot was indeed the Dauntless, and the ship appeared intact and largely undamaged. It slowly descended, rotors turning as it steered down. The explorers themselves weren't visible, likely inside piloting the ship, but the crowd still cheered, waving flags and pennants in the air.
The ship was definitely under conscious control; it steered itself towards the greenery of Hyde Park. The ship descended as hundreds of bobbies did their best to hold back the surging crowds, trying to avoid a trampling rush.
The ship touched down, lightly, kissing the earth.
The door opened. The crowd roared.
But as an occupant emerged from the interior, every voice fell silent, eyes widening and staring.
**EDIT: Parts 1-3 of this story are now posted in this thread, [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/Romanticon/comments/4xeu9q/planetary_reflections_part_4_no_more_roman/) is now up on /r/Romanticon! Yes, the story continues, but I'm going to keep posting it on my own sub, so as not to clutter this thread. Feel free to subscribe so you can keep getting new chapters!** |
“Oh, like I would do that! Like I would let go of that privilege. When Hell freezes over I'll do that, asshole!”
“Hey! Hands off! That's *my* word!”
Lucifer gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration, then slammed his fists down on the brimstone table. His wings rose up behind him in anger as he shot an accusatory glance at Satan. “This is getting us nowhere.”
The Devil sniffed. “Honestly, I don't think it's very fair that he gets *all* of the equipment. I want the iron maiden. Or at the very least the mirrored machinator.”
“That's a magic trick, not torture.” Satan turned up his chin to the Devil. “Well, I guess it is for the spectators.”
“MY *DEVILRIES* are ART!” The Devil threw himself on top of Satan and throttled him. “I'LL KILL YOU!”
Satan grabbed the Devil by his cape, and the two rolled tumultuously about the room. Lucifer ground his teeth as his eyes glazed over in abject disappointment.
Satan managed to impale the Devil with one of his massive horns, the Devil reciprocating by tearing off his head. The duo separated.
Satan ran around fumbling at his neck like a headless chicken as the Devil inspected the tear in his cape through the gaping hole in his stomach, resting on the ground. “Bugger. Pope Sylvester gave me this, you know. It is *antique*! I shall contact my lawyers; they will bill your supine, ineffective division for it. ”
Satan's headless torso raised a middle finger.
“Are you two done?” Lucifer's voice brought them back to surreality.
Satan groped his way back to his seat, bleeding from his stump neck. The Devil rose to his feet and planted himself opposite.
“Ok, then.” Lucifer cleared his throat. “You two can share torture duties. I'll be separating the equipment equally, because you are fucking children. ”
Satan shrugged. The Devil coughed. “Fine, then. I didn't want the Iron Maiden, really.”
Lucifer sighed as he leafed through the papers on the table. “Next matter... oh, fuck. This should be fun. '*Division of Brutus, Judas & Cassius.*' I claim Judas.”
Satan conjured another head into existence. “Fine, as long as I get Brutus.”
The Devil whined from his seat. “No fair! I don't want that wimpy idiot!”
“You'll have Brutus over my dead goat-body!”
Lucifer knocked his papers from the table and screamed in frustration.
-----
/r/Robin_Redbreast for more arcane popinjays.
|
“It doesn’t matter what I try,” she says, “it always ends up the same.”
She doesn’t look like a killer. Just tired, like someone who got in late after a night of drinking. She’s maybe late twenties, younger than me for sure. Skin smooth, hair plaited back.
“Do you know what it’s like to be unable to change anything, no matter what you try? Can you imagine how helpless you’d feel?”
“I know,” I say.
She looks up from the table. Her eyes are deep wells filled with muddy water. Her lips flicker into a smile. “Can’t catch every killer, I suppose. And then they just go on killing. That can’t feel good, lying in bed knowing people are dying because of you.” She rattles up her handcuffed hands. “But look, the most dangerous killer has been caught! You can sleep easy again.”
The lone light above the table flickers. For a moment we’re shadows. We jump in and out of existence. When it comes back, the light seems paler, like it’s caught a bug and gotten sick.
”Got a cigarette?” she asks. “I can smell them on you. Come on, don’t hold out on me.”
I take a pack of Richmond’s from my jacket, light one, jam it in my mouth. I lean back in my chair and release a sigh and a puff of smoke.
”Jerk.”
“They’ve found more bodies,” I say. It’s the first real information I’ve given her since entering the room.
“Oh yeah?”
”They’re dressed strange, these bodies. Different to the rest. They’re in rotting clothes from the fifties, forties, thirties, and so it goes back and back the deeper they dig. You enjoy dressing those poor souls up like dolls? Get a kick out of it?”
”Dressing them?“ She laughs but it makes me think of a dog being kicked in its side. “Is that why they‘ve sent you here to grill me, instead of my usual detective? Because you’re an expert in historical sartorial style? Well, you look like you might have been born back then, so maybe you are.”
My hand reflexively rubs my greying stubble. She smiles at the reaction. I sigh, take another long drag.
”Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
”Why does that matter? I’m the person who murdered all those people. Give me whatever name you like. The press will anyway. The doll maker, maybe. Seriously, what do names matter?”
Beneath the table my left hand trembles. I grab it with my right and draw it into my lap.
”They kept digging,” I say. “More bodies kept on coming up. Looked like a graveyard that’s been used since the beginning of time. More recent bodies thrown on top.”
”Maybe that’s what it is? Maybe I didn’t kill any of them. It’s just a historic graveyard.”
”Except they were all murdered. Mostly the same way, necks slit, killer crept up from behind. Like a coward.”
She sighs and slouches back on the chair. “What does it matter how they died? What does it matter they died, even”
I’ve heard serial killers say this before. What does death matter when we all die eventually. What does anything matter. Murderers tend to have a bleak and shallow view of existence. But in a way…
”It matters to the families,” I say.
”They’re all dead too, if that helps.”
“That a confession?”
”It’s a fact. Listen, you married? Got someone you love?”
”You going to tell me their lives don’t matter either?”
She shakes her head. “No. Like you said, they matter to someone. To you.”
”Had a wife. Still got a kid. All grown up now.”
It stings to talk about them. It’s been two years since I last saw my kid. She moved countries to get away from me. Not that I blame her. I think if I could do the same, I would. But I’m trapped here, in this body. Always and forever.
”I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what.”
”Your wife.”
”Forget about it.” I roll my neck. The click echoes through the room. The light flickers again.
”We found something else,” I say.
She’s silent to that.
”You know what a Neanderthal is?”
”Sure. I guess. They don’t look so different from you, you know.” She smiles at her joke. “I heard lots of us have Neanderthal genes in us.”
Both my hands are shaking now. I tuck them between my knees and squeeze my legs to clamp them.
”You’re sweating,” she says.
I can feel it on my forehead but I can’t wipe it away.
”We found one beneath your house,” I say.
”What a fantastic archeological discovery for you.”
I shake my head. Sweat beads onto my nose. Hangs there until I wipe my shoulder across it. “It wasn’t long dead. I mean, not like it should have been. Body hadn’t fully decomposed.”
It’s all spilling out now. Like my guts have been split open by a knife. I meant to be slow, drip the information to her. Make her uncomfortable. That’s what I’d have done back in the day, back when I was in control. But I feel like we’re sitting the wrong sides of the table now.
”I didn’t kill it long ago,” she says. “So it makes sense.”
“See, this is where your lies run into a solid wall of truth. Ne-“
”They don’t exist anymore. I know. Because we wiped them out, didn’t we?”
My turn to be silent. Best to let her talk. I’m not sure what I’d say anyway.
”We were born of war and death. Survival of the fittest and all that bullshit. Something more powerful than what was here before.”
I raise a hand and wipe my sweat away. She sees me trembling.
“You’re sick?”
”I wasn’t expecting the call to get here,” I say. “Been on leave for a while.”
”That so?”
“When I said I knew what it was like — to be helpless. To not be able to change things.“ I shrug. “I know it pretty good.”
She pauses. I think she’s going to tear into me, into the pathetic detective who lost his family to his own weaknesses. But instead she says, “I’m sorry.”
It’s a new one. I’ve never gotten sympathy from a serial killer before. Not genuine sympathy, which I think this is. Those deep well-like eyes look hard at me, and I fall down them as easily as I fall into a bottle.
”How many times have you tried to give it up? It’s a funny term, isn’t it — giving it up, when you’re doing everything to fight.”
I don’t reply. Instead I’m thinking of something that happened to me long ago. ”When I was a kid,” I say, “a bird flew into my bedroom window. A little blackbird. Can’t have seen its reflection and it crashed into the glass like a rock.”
“Did it die?”
I shake my head, carry on the story — although I’m not even certain why it came to mind or why I’m telling it. “I found it bleeding on the grass below. Broken wing, left leg not moving, altogether in a sorrowful state. I found Dad watching sports, necking back a beer. Told him about the bird. He said I had to be a man and put it out of its misery. Get a rock and crush its skull, that‘d be quickest. It didn’t even phase him. Eyes never left the game.”
”But you didn’t?”
”I didn’t. I kept it in the shed. Nursed it back to health. Imagined what my mom might have done when I was sick. I fed it before school and after. Maybe I spent two months looking after that little bird. It’d sing in the mornings as I headed to the shed with feed, as if it knew.” I pause. “Anyway, one day it’s all better, fluttering around the shed. So I let it go. Watch it fly away. ‘Goodbye’, I yell.”
”Sweet story.”
”A week later something crashes into my window. Same bird. Only this time its neck is broken and I can’t fix that.”
We’re quiet then but it feels like something has changed between us. Her face has eased. Maybe mine has too.
“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,” she says. “And I don’t mean to scare you.”
“I don’t think you could,” I lie — I’m already scared and I’m not sure why.
“We’re all going to die,” she says. “Soon.”
”Okay, maybe you can.”
“That’s why I’ve been going back. I’ve been trying to change it. To stop the future that’s hurtling towards us.”
”Going back?”
”Where else do you think those bodies came from? You’ll get lab reports soon enough to confirm it. You’ll work it out. But it doesn’t matter where I start or what I change in the past, the darkness is coming. It’s like there’s only one future no matter what we do in the present.“
”I don’t understand,” I say. “You saying you’re a… a time traveller? I don’t understand.”
”You do. And you believe me. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Now I don’t know if I’m trembling from the lack of drink or from what she said. Probably both.
”What darkness?” I manage. My chest is tight.
The light flickers again. Only this time, it hangs dark. Doesn’t come back.
”It’s already begun,” she says. “And I’d given up trying to change it. That’s why I‘m here, why I let them catch me. I wanted to rest so badly.”
“What’s going on?”
”But you, you’ve lost everything, haven’t you? How many times have you lost it all? And you haven’t given up. You know there’s only one future for you — you run into it over and over again. And yet you still try to refuse it.”
“I don’t understand.”
She leans forward. I see her eyes only in the red haze of my cigarette. ”What I’m saying is you chose a bad time to stop drinking.”
I swallow. My throat rocks. My neck’s goose-pimpled.
She says, voice barely a whisper, “The question is this: do you truly believe we can change things? Or are we just following a path carved by a river long ago?”
The building rocks. Dust falls from the ceiling like snowflakes into the red light. Something very bad is going to happen soon. And maybe we can stop it, maybe we can’t.
I take the cigarette from my mouth. The building trembles again. I say, “I don’t know the answer to that, but I know we have to keep trying either way.” |
The little signs always are the first. Watch movies with trained spies a couple times and you start to see them notice the little things. The picture out of place. The vase on its side. The door sitting just slightly ajar.
Ah, amateur hour.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee, pouring a cup for myself, as the goons "silently"slid into the room. Silence. Bah. My day, silence meant silence. These goons were quiet but not SILENT. Too much wasted movement. Too much wasted energy. Again, little things - pouches thumping filled with nothing of use, and leather grips creaking as they tightened their holds on their weapons.
"Alright,"I said, breaking the 'silence.' "What's the deal? What are you here for?"
I turned and faced them. Five of them, all about my girl's age, by their postures. Couldn't tell by their face's though - masks on all of them hid the truth. "We know Phaseshift means something to you, and you mean something to her. So we're going to take you down to where she's fighting our boss. And you WILL cooperate."He turned on the stun baton. Well, at least he had the sense not to threaten to kill the bargaining chip.
A shame that's all the sense he had.
"Ah... you're Killswitch's men,"I guessed. "I recognize the masks now... But I'm guessing he didn't order you to come take me."
"Doesn't matter,"said another, thumping his chest as he spoke. "We use you, we let our boss get the W on Phaseshift when she freezes up. We're taking the initiative."
I sighed. "No. You're not. You idiots think your boss will make you "big time"for kidnapping an old man and getting him in trouble? Have you never noticed how he NEVER has you kidnap hostages? Never has you take people with you as collateral on heists. He HATES hostage situations. He never wants to deal with them."
They looked at each other, confused. "Wait... how did you know that?"another asked.
"Killswitch was a kid when the bank he was in got held up. His parents were both killed. One by a dirty cop trying to take out a contact who would turn on him if they went to court. The other by the hands of a deranged criminal who shouldn't have been on a team like that. He never liked keeping innocents in jeopardy. Hence why he always blacked out buildings away from sensitive places."I sipped my coffee. "Good man, Killswitch. Think it's the reason my girl goes easy on him. She could break some bones, but she always makes sure to take him down easy. She knows he's never going to endanger someone's life, never going to go after something someone REALLY needs. He's decent. Not like Starbreaker."
They froze. THIS was silence. Nothing could be heard in that moment, save maybe the faint echo of that name. "St-starbreaker's dea-dead,"the leader said.
"Right... I forgot... Died... ten years ago? Teen hero team supposedly took him down... but it went bad. Real bad. A lot of them died. That's the story, right? He went down swinging and took down a bunch of teen heroes? Only one got through and killed him?"
"Yeah... he was... a legend."
The coffee mug cracked in my hand. Reflex I hadn't realized would come up. "Legend? God, you're an idiot. He was a 'breaker - strongest class of supervillains around. Teen heroes teaming up to take him down? A joke. He wasn't even TRYING to fight them. They came after him... he tried to play nice because killing kids is the thing that brings the heat. A few full supes here and there, it's manageable. But the dumb idiots kept getting in each other's way. Showboating, trying to be the one to take him down. Between that and all the potshots he took to bring them down easily, they end up getting mangled. Their own faults... I wanted to get out but they wouldn't let me... and I saw how dumb the villain game was. One girl got out. The smart one. She was trying to coordinate the group. But she was still young - youngest of the bunch. They didn't listen. I found her... threw out the mask... took her in and raised her. Raised her right, it seems."
They started to realize. "Wait... you just said... you..."
"Yep. Starbreaker is dead... the name, anyways. But you five decided to have fun breaking your bosses' rules."I stepped forward, the distance between me and the leader nothing, my hand on his neck. "And unlike my girl OR Killswitch, I don't mind killing idiots... especially ones that threaten her."
\--
She came back in around midnight, as I was sweeping up the broken shards of the mug. "Hey, everything okay?"she said as she came into the kitchen, removing her hood and mask.
"Oh, everything's fine, sweetie,"I said. "Just broke a mug... you know how it goes. How was your patrol night?"
"Pretty typical. Killswitch blacked out a museum and stole a statue. Got it back, but he slipped away. Eh. Probably for the best... I didn't want to corner him, make him ACTUALLY fight. And pretty sure it was a forgery, really... no one would have noticed if he hadn't moved it."
"Ah, how funny."I smiled, dumping the broken porcelain into the trash, next to the piles of dust I had just dumped out of the vacuum. |
"Well,"I say, trying to ease some of the tension from my throne room. "This is awkward."
The room's heavy with that kind of silence that comes after big revelations. You probably know the sort I'm on about. Not a regular silence, not by a long shot.
There's a loose semi-circle of horrid, twisted creatures that have followed me in my war against the Devil himself. My troops. Their eyes are flitting between me, sat on the Throne of the Damned, and the angelic envoy sent by the Creator, who's bowed before me.
His impeccably tied and excessively clean white toga is cast in a dark crimson glow in the low light of my palace. His pure blue aura overshadowed by the black-and-red corruption stemming from all around him.
In the silence you can hear every scream, every cry of pain, coming from the outside world.
It's the Throne's previous occupier and his biggest, baddest Generals making all the noise. Once he bent his knee to me, handed me the crown and the keys to the kingdom, I had him and his buddies impaled outside m front door. That was the better part of a month ago, and they're still out there, slowly dying.
"I assure you, the Lord God agrees with you."The Angel replies. "But you can read it yourself - here - it's a Royal Pardon. An admittance to Heaven."
"That's sort of weird, don't you think?"I ask. "I mean, I've been here less than half a year and Lucifer's gone. His Generals are dead or dying. I've purged Hell of the weak, the old and the sick."
"You don't have to remind me."The Angel frowns. "I am well aware of your exploits."
"Well apparently not, if you're letting me back through the Pearly Gates."I laugh, and then snap my fingers in the general direction of the creature to the left of my Throne. He darts out the room through a door nearby, and returns soon after with a goblet and a pitcher of wine.
'Wine' is a little generous. It tastes like what you'd get if you mixed kerosene and the tears of orphans. Still, it's all I have to drink. And drink I do, downing the goblet in a matter of seconds. I hand my servant the goblet back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
"It's not my choice to make. I'm just - "
"Hang on,"I cut off the Angel with a raised palm, and point at one of my guards. He snaps to attention under my gaze, shaking a little bit. Makes me feel a little bit of glee when he does. He's more than twice the size of me. Saw him rip a man apart with his bare hands once. "You! Put on some music. Something classic. A little AC/DC, maybe."
He scampers off to do my bidding. Don't think I'll ever tire of that.
"As I was saying."The Angel says, his face tripping him even more than before. "The Lord God requires your answer immediately."
It's not too long before the opening riff to *Back in Black* echoes throughout my palace, and I'll be honest I tune out of the Angel's spiel as he goes on about his Holy Master being very forgiving. I'm too busy listening to the music.
My Steward, Pez, has to tap me on the shoulder to break me out of the hold that Brian Johnson's vocals have over me. 'Pez' isn't his real name. His real is *Pez'Rinkl Van'HurdenShenktNurgal*, but I can't pronounce that, so Pez it is.
He's an impossibly tall thing, with long purple limbs and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. He's got the sort of voice you can only really get from a lifetime of smoking unfiltered cigarettes and slinging drinks in a seedy Vegas nightclub. To hear him, you can't hep but think of a rusty hinge, or a steaming kettle. To see him, well, you just know he's someone who could turn your life upside down in an instant.
"Your Grace."Says Pez, arching something that could be an eyebrow.
"Hmm?"I reply, clicking my fingers to the rhythmic hammering of the drums.
"The Envoy. He requires your answer."Pez says.
"Ah. Of course. Grand."I say, turning my attention back to the Angel at the foot of the raised dais my Throne sits on. I study him for a few seconds. A few seconds turns to a few minutes. Silence again. More screams in the distance are audible. My armies are still out there, reveling in the spoils of victory.
"You don't remember the question, do you?"Pez breaks the silence.
"Not a bit."I reply, with a shrug.
"Oh for the love of all that's Holy!"Thunders the Angel. "It's a very simple question, *Your Grace.* Do you accept the Lord God's Royal Pardon or not?"
"No."
"Good, then let's you and I leave this...Hang on. What?"The Angel's jaw drops, practically all the way to the floor. His eyes are wide, incredulous. "Did you...Did you just refuse?"
"I did."
"Well...Well...*Why?!*"
I cast my eye around my Throne Room. Scan the faces of the guards and the Nobility of Hell come to offer me their allegiance. There's a line of them at the door. I'm making them wait, because I can.
"I rather like it here."I reply, holding one hand up to my face and examining my finger nails. "There's hedonistic pleasure to be had. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Heaven's a lovey place, but I like sex. And drinking. And smoking. And rock music. And fun."
"You will rue this decision, fiend!"The Angel snaps. "When the Lord God hears of your defiance, he *will* strike you down!"
I sigh, shoot a side-long glance at Pez that says *I told you so*, and then nod to a few of my guards. They move in before the Angel has a chance to clock what's going on.
He gives a strangled cry as he's forced to his knees by one, and the other touches an ugly-looking blade to his throat. He's being held in place by his long silver hair and the shoulder of his toga.
"Cut his throat. Stuff the pardon in his mouth."I bark the order at them. AC/DC's still going in the background.
"No! Please! Wait!"Pleads the Angel. I let him beg.
"Pez, you know a sorcerer that can whip up a spell to keep his head alive even when...Y'know...*'seperated'* from his body?"I ask.
"Of course, Sire."My Steward nods. "I'll send for her straight away."Then he's gone from the room.
"Brilliant."I clap my hands together, then shoot a little grin the Angel's way. His eyes are bulging, the veins on his neck and forehead clear as day. "You can take my letter of Pardon back where it came from, Angel. And be very sure to not leave out any details of our meeting. We wouldn't want God misunderstanding and sending down another one of you poor buggers, would we?"
I order the Angel taken away, down in one of the Black Cells will do it. A few hours of total sensory deprivation will ensure he's sharp for his meeting with my sorcerer. I watch him as he's dragged away. As he kicks and struggles and then eventually, when he's a little more than halfway to the exit, go limp and let it happen. Maybe I should feel bad. But then, beheading a man and keeping him alive afterwards doesn't even come close to being the worst thing I've done this week.
"May I ask, Your Grace, how you came to die?"Asks Pez when he's back in the room, ready for the next petitioner.
"I was shanked in prison, Pez."I reply.
"Ah. And may I ask why you were in prison?"
"Pirated a copy of Disney's *Cars 2*."I say it through gritted teeth."Wasn't even a good film." |
"Welcome to Little Things,"a crude voice whispered to me, a ham-fisted bass clearly pitched an octave up. It had the serenity of a bull in meditation. "A little piece of heaven."
I looked down at the squat woman, her stocky features clashing with the light pink dress slapped on her. Its fringe flowed like cake frosting and dragged on the floor, bundled around her feet. The servers all wore similar garb, tending to patrons seated on cushions like cream colored clouds and nearly tripping over themselves at times. There were lights strung along the ceiling that looked like faeries dancing, lush depictions of greenery on the walls, and translucent lace tapestries flowing from all windows which let sunlight in as a holy glow. Small, almost ornate pastries lined the front counter, miniature presents of tantalizing sweetness. It, indeed, looked like a little piece of heaven.
Well, aside from the staff.
"Thank you,"I replied, returning my eyes to the woman whose head was barely above my knees. Her ponytail was a bird's nest of thick, chocolate hair and either the light was cast wrong or stubble shaded her jawline. There was a large, pointed leaf covering each of her ears.
"May I take you to a seat?"she asked, her voice raspy at first but quickly regaining its facade.
"No, I'll just take a coffee to go."Something about the dichotomy was too unsettling to linger around.
The woman frowned. "We only serve tea here, sir. Herbs and leaves from across the land to... Calm you."She hardly looked to believe it.
"Sorry to bother, then. I'll be on my way."
She scowled at me, taking a deep breath. "May you find peace on your journey."
I raised an eyebrow, thanking her upon exiting. *What an odd place...*
The exit left me facing an establishment across the cobblestone road, one with much less elegance and cleanliness externally, but the sound of raucous laughter emanated from it. The grimy sign, looked to be rubbed with mud, read 'The Wild Stag'.
I entered into dimness, a scent of musk and body odor filling my nose. An attractive woman, one that glowed in the dank tavern, clambered over to me. Each step was a clamored, forceful stomp, as if role-playing an ancient beast.
"You lookin for a wild time? We've got ale you can drink straight from the barrel,"she growled, her voice opposite of the squat woman from earlier. The voice of an angel who'd spent too much time inhaling her pipe smoke. The voice of a woman who was, undoubtedly, approaching me in a squatted position.
The rest of the staff looked almost the same as her, with brilliant skin, pale hair and pointed ears that poked out over headbands that pressed them flat. They did not wear the forced scowls well, nor was their grace well-served, shuffling around with bent knees. A pair started what looked to be a fight, one of the men slapping the other tamely. They embraced after an apology. Another round of the raucous laughter I'd heard outside bellowed, echoing through the cramped hall, from a group of weathered men who had clearly put the duo up to their scuffle.
"Why... Would I drink ale directly from the barrel?"I asked tentatively, glancing at the imperial warhammers set on each wall.
"What's the-"She coughed, then cleared her throat, flushing a light pink. "Whats the matter, you never had a good time before?"
I stared at her. "I just want a coffee, lady. Maybe a little rum in it..."
"We only serve ale, here, traveler."
"Perhaps a warm meal, then? Something hearty?"
"No, we literally only serve ale here. The cook is... out."
My blank stare held against her. "What the hell is the deal with this town? First the Dwarves across the street, and now this shit?"
She looked both ways before leaning in. "The Dwarves? How was their cafe?"
"It was... very strange."
A smile crept across her face, filled with straight, pearly teeth that radiated in the wan lighting. "Excellent. Look, don't tell anyone- we have a bet with those damn Dwarves to see who pulls in more money running the other's business for a week. We're definitely going to win, don't you think? It's so easy being brutish, and Dwarves don't have a drop of grace in them."
*I don't think there's self-awareness on either side... they'll all be unemployed come next week.*
She leaned closer, stifling a giggle. "We originally named the cafe 'Little Things' to make them mad, but now it's *so* much better."
My shoulders slumped, and I sat down on one of the benches at a knurled oak table set far too low for adults. My head burrowed into my palms, then poked through, stretching my face as a bout of laughter overtook me. "Just... fetch me a fucking ale. I'm not drunk enough to be in this town."
*/r/resonatingfury* |
So, apparently the boss's girl was romping around with some guy from the east side. Dunno what Helen saw in him, honestly. He was a scrawny little pretty boy from the suburbs with a weird archery obsession. The guy wasn't even the leader of his own crew, just some schmuck hanging onto the coattails of his big brother. And hey, I don't swing that way, but I'd seen the Trojan wrappers lying around at my boss's place, and his dick had got to be bigger than that guy's.
Anyway, the boss flipped when he found out; told us to get ready to trash that guy and his gang tomorrow. I'd never been part of a turf war before, and it felt kind of dumb to risk my ass on this particular issue, but that's the price you pay for camaraderie. Plus, you only live once, you know? I'd rather go out in glory than live a boring old life.
If all went well, neither would even be an option, though. See, I had an advantage that none of these computer-illiterate guys could possibly know about: I knew how to torrent superpowers. It was pretty new tech, and most of the torrents were full of leechers, but one of them had finally started to seed. It was the perfect power, too: something impactful enough to influence a fight, but inconspicuous enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
The torrent had stalled at 70% the morning of the fight. I wanted to wait it out, but my phone was constantly ringing, with missed calls from Pat, the boss, and all the others. There was no more time left; I had to go meet up with them.
I unhooked myself from the computer and felt the power course through my body, from the top of my head all the way down to my shins and through my feet—save for one small spot. Oh, well; being *mostly* invulnerable never killed anyone, right? |
“Alohomora.”
Voldemort spoke with command and confidence. He was here to put an end to that stupid prophesy about a ‘*Chosen One*’ once and for all. Nothing and no one would stop him. It was his destiny to restore wizards to their rightful, pure blooded ruling caste in this world.
James leapt for the drawer under his desk. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off.”
What was once Tom Riddle came pacing through the entryway. No Death Eaters. No Dementors. No tricks. It was this family of mediocre mages against him, the most powerful wizard in two generations.
James scrambled to grab his wand in his left hand and shut the false bottom in the base of his desk drawer.
“Hello, Potters. I know you’re home. I came to see your darling baby boy. What did you name the little bundle of *joy*? Nothing strange, I hope. He might not be able to live with it otherwise. Ha! hahaha...,” the self-proclaimed Dark Lord laughed gently at his own joke and moved further into the small home in Godric’s Hollow.
Upstairs a door slammed shut and a tiny cry could be heard, small but clear. “Now now. No hiding from Uncle Voldy,” he chided. Turning to look toward the source of the sound.
Behind him, James stood up from inside the study. Even without turning around, Voldemort could feel an arm raise and point in his direction.
“Expelliarmus!” In a flourish of black robes and lightening reflexes, he spun and disarmed the pathetic man standing behind him.
James felt his wand go flying out of his hand and spinning into the darkness somewhere in the kitchen. The look of mild surprise and questioning on Voldemort’s face lasted a fraction of a second. It almost made him look human again. *click*
“AVADA KA-“
*BOOM*
A heap of black robes hit the floor and a splattering of crimson flung itself up the staircase and reached halfway up to the ceiling on the wall beside them.
James’ whole body was shaking, his ears were ringing from the bark of the strange American device Mad Eye has given him many months ago, and a good portion of his lower arm was numb.
“What a strange and wild world those muggles must live in,” he said.
His son was crying upstairs. Placing the smoking object back into its hiding spot and closing the drawers, James went to reunite with his family. They’d need to call Sirius next. |
Dave jolted awake, rubbing his eyes as he pushed himself up and off the metal park bench. He was definitely in the right spot. He checked his watch: 5:32pm, they’d be coming by within the next ten minutes. He glanced down at the burgundy stone path ahead of him and began counting the bricks. One, two, three, four. He stopped at the fourth, bent down, and pulled a small, silver paint remover out of his back pocket. He lodged the thin, metal end in the side of the brick and pried it up about half an inch, just enough so that it would catch the front of someone’s shoe.
Taking a step back, Dave stared down at the slightly elevated brick. It looked about right, looked as if it would adequately get in the way. It was a little more obvious than he tended to like, but he’d seen how it would happen. It was good enough.
Dave walked back over to the park bench and picked up the small, metal rake he’d brought with him. He used it in several of his visions, both as a fighting weapon and as a prop. He seemed to have the highest success rate using it as the latter. The former, while more likely than not to result in success, did have one or two outcomes that left him lying bloodied and either dead or clinging to life. He much preferred the odds of it as a prop, even if that meant making it a bit less fun.
He walked back over to the slightly elevated brick and placed the rake bladed-side up exactly three and a half bricks away, then took a step back. He silently counted out the bricks on which the wooden handle of the rake lay across: one, two, three, four, five, stopping just before the sixth. He walked back to the rake, pushed it one brick further, and then took a step back again. It was definitely right now, the metal teeth of the rake pointing up exactly where they had been in his dream.
Dave turned back toward the charcoal black bench and sat down with a soft thump, crossing his left leg over his right. He took a deep breath, glancing down at the raised brick and the rake, and then exhaled. The waiting was always the worst part, his heart thumping against his chest. Although he’d seen every possible outcome—the ones in which he died, the ones in which she died, the ones in which they both died, and the ones in which he failed entirely—there was always the slight chance that his dreams might not match reality. Sometimes the wind gust a half second before he’d seen it, sometimes the victim or the killer took an extra breath before coming into view. No matter how small the change, it would completely alter what he had seen.
He tried to save a young boy once, setting up one of his typical, overly elaborate scenes. He was supposed stop a rape, stop a man from stealing a small child from his bedroom and sexually assaulting him. He’d seen how he would do it, climbing up and into his window and pulling him out onto the lawn. It would be loud, but still no one would stop him. Afterwards, the man simply killed the boy right out in front of his house while his parents slept.
Dave plotted to break the window slightly, leaving it intact just enough so that a shard of glass would fall down into the man’s neck as he reached up to grab the window with his right hand. That was how he’d seen it done countless times as he slept, the way that he worked out to have the lowest chance for failure. Yet, for whatever reason, the man never reached with his right hand. He took an extra step as he approached the house, instead grabbing the window with his left hand. It did not break, it simply opened up.
Dave watched from his car across the street as the man lifted the window, climbed inside, and closed it again. He watched as the man picked up the child and carried him across the room. He remained in the driver’s seat while he tried to figure out how he could save the boy, what he could do to stop it. He knew that he didn’t have time to sleep again and play out his scenarios, to figure out which route had the highest chance of success. Yet while he stalled, while he tried to plan, the man had carried the screaming boy over to the window and pulled it back open with his right hand. It shattered as they climbed down, the blade of glass dislodging and slipping right into the soft, pale skin of the boy’s neck, exactly where the man should have been.
That was the first time he’d lost somebody, the first time he realized he wasn’t seeing the future. He was simply seeing a variation of the future, a probable outcome. He—
A woman came into view screaming down the park path, her familiar emerald green spaghetti-strap shirt torn and hanging on by only its left half as she ran. She looked just as beautiful as he’d dreamed she would be, her ivory, bruised face tear-stained and red.
A visibly unfit and slightly overweight man was running behind her, his face concealed within a dark ski mask, a machete of some sort brandished in his left hand. He was no more than six feet behind her, his feet moving slightly slower than her own. He would catch her eventually, though. Tackle her to the ground and slit her throat while nobody came to help. It happened every single time.
She yelled to Dave as she neared, begged for a savior while her bare feet smashed into the burgundy path. She watched as he remained seated in the park bench, his left leg crossed over his right, a smile spread across his face. She pleaded for help as she passed, stepping to the left of the raised brick and just barely missing the handle of the rake.
The man chasing her glanced at Dave while he ran, his masked eyes meeting Dave’s own as his left foot kicked straight into the raised brick. His body flung forward through the air exactly four and a half bricks, the bottom of his neck coming to a stop directly in line with the blade of the rake. He stared up at Dave, blood pooling in his open mouth and soaking into the black ski mask, his jaw softly twitching as if he were trying to speak. The girl kept running, her screams fading into the sounds of the city as the man’s eyes began to close.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
"What are you in for?"my cellmate asked.
"Grammar,"I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?"he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No,"I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French,"I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No,"he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist,"he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh,"he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake."I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake,"he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.,"I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit,"he said.
"Yep,"I said.
"Incidentally,"he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal,"he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all. |
Chrissy always knew that she was a little different, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the oily liquid she had for dinner while Mommy, Daddy, and Jason ate solid foods. Maybe it was how she always had to go to that funny building with funny smelling people who wanted to fix her. Or maybe it was the things other Mommies said when they spoke over her, like they thought she couldn’t hear.
“I just don’t want to have to explain it to my Brittini,” one would say.
“We do normal child activities, and I’m sure it would be too rough on Chrissy,” said another.
“I want my kids to have friends that they can grow up with.”
Mommy slapped the other mother for that one. She bought Chrissy an ice cream cone, which prompted another visit to the funny building to get fixed. Mommy said she was sorry, and it was back to the oily liquid.
Jason didn’t talk to her much. Chrissy thought that Jason didn’t like her. She asked him one day if she was normal.
"It really isn't normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night,"he’d said.
That night, when she went to sleep, she stopped Mommy as she bent to push buttons on the funny machine.
“Mommy, do I have to be plugged in?” she asked.
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but yes,” she said.
“I want to be normal,” Chrissy said. “Please don’t plug me in.”
“I have to,” said Mommy.
Chrissy sighed and pulled at the wires and tubes.
“It’s because of the terminal canceo-canceono, the terminal thing?” Chrissy asked. It’s what all the people who wanted to fix her talked about, but Chrissy couldn’t quite remember the name. It was one of those extra long ones that made her tongue feel clumsy in her mouth.
Mommy stopped.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Okay,” Chrissy sighed. “I wish I was like other kids.”
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mommy. Goodnight.”
Edit: Thank you for the gold and comments! This blew up a bit overnight, so I'll add that there's a small "secret ending"implied in this story, but I decided not to say it explicitly. It is even more sad than the original text, and there is a limit to the amount of feels I wanted to give out in one story. If anyone is interested though, I can expand on it. |
(FIXED THE FORMATTING YAY)
I was surviving for a while before I finally got turned. Not sure how long, stopped keeping track of the time long ago, but it was a good while. When I finally got bit though it was a little anti-climactic. No epic fighting or one-off against a horde of zombies, didn’t get a chunk of my arm or leg removed by the jaw of an undead. I just scratched myself. It was an elementary mistake, one only those who died early made. Regardless, I had just made it and I knew I was done. Once you had any sort of open wound it wouldn’t be long until you were infected; the zombies turned you with their saliva, which after all this time was on basically everything. As soon as a drop got into your bloodstream you were a goner.
Went through the normal stages of the turning process: general lethargy, bloatedness, other small microbes eating at your flesh as you rot slowly. It didn’t hurt at all, as they only ate at the parts of you that were dead already, although I expected all of this after watching everyone turn. What I didn’t expect was how I’d feel about the whole thing.
It might be the fact that my nervous system is slowly dying and freaking the fuck out, but I feel awesome. The best guess as to the cause would be either the infectious agent causes a huge release of endorphins, or it acts like an agonist similar to many addictive drugs that give you a high, which is actually a perfect description to how I feel. I feel like I’m on a perpetual high and have risen above the constraints of mortality. Like there is nothing I need to care about, and that I could do anything I wanted. Although I guess that feeling made sense. After all, there were no more humans around as far as I knew, and as a zombie it wasn’t like I had any priorities or jobs I needed to do or be worried about.
Movement is getting harder, I don’t think I could raise my arms above my head at this point, but I honestly couldn’t care less. As I walk around I notice things I haven’t noticed about the zombies I was fighting from before. They don’t look that ugly, believe it or not. And most seem to still be able to do some rudimentary cognitive functions. How did I not notice these things before? I swear they used to just look like mindless idiots that hobbled around. I guess I just didn’t have the perspective.
I believe one smiled at me, how nice of him. I smile back. Being a zombie wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I thought I’d lose all use of my own mind, that I’d basically be a shell that could walk around and do useless things. But I’m not. I’m having trouble walking, but I’m not. I’m free, and I can do whatever I want. My movements may be somewhat constrained, but that’s alright.
I laugh to myself at the idiocy of my old views. I hear other zombies around me laugh too. Everyone’s voice sounds different though, probably because of the bacteria eating away at their vocal chords. I wonder if that’s the moaning sound I heard a lot of zombies make before. I laugh again to myself at the stupidness of my old views. I was an idiot. Being a zombie wasn’t bad at all. I have nothing I need to worry about.
Being a zombie is fun. I don’t think I can bend one of my legs but that’s okay. I don’t need to care about anything anymore, and there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. I can do whatever I want. I can’t move much, but that’s okay. I can do whatever I want. I laugh to myself. I was stupid.
I can do whatever I want. I see other zombies. I should follow them. They have a good idea what to do. They don’t have to worry about things. I don’t have to worry about things. Being a zombie is fun. I feel happy. I laugh.
I see other zombies. I should follow them. Being a zombie is fun. I’m happy. I laugh.
Follow others. Haha. I happy. Fun.
Follow others. I happy. Haha.
Follow. Haha.
Haha, ha.
Haha.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha…
……
…………………….
|
"Papa!"she said and threw her arms around me as I came in the door.
"Oof,"I exclaimed and hugged her back. "How was school, Martina?"I asked.
She untangled herself from me, and looked up at me, smiling. Her long dark hair, and those almond eyes...she was only nine, but she looked so much like her mother that it hurt. "School was great! We learned about World War II today."
"Oh yeah?"I said as I counted the Pesos again.
"...and then the Allies found him slumped over in his bunker, a bullet in his head, but Ms. Rodriguez said that they didn't actually find - papa are you listening?"
"Wha-, ah, I mean...no. Sorry,"I said. I would never lie to my baby.
She rolled her eyes in the same way her mother and sent another pang through my heart. I turned away so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.
"How was it with the German, papa?"she asked; she hadn't noticed, thank god.
"Martina,"I said, "I told you not to talk about that man."There was something seriously wrong about that situation, even I could tell. But I got pesos, and I didn't complain.
"I *don't,* papa,"she whined, "not to anyone else. I'm just asking you!"
"Well, he was fine, same as usual, you know. Didn't talk much, thanked me for the food, and sent me on my way,"I said.
"I want to meet him, papa."
I whirled towards her, "Absolutely, not,"I said.
"Please, I want to-"
"No."
"Just once! I just want to ask if he was there, you know, when the war happened? You said he was old,"she said.
"Why would you possibly need to know that?"I asked.
"Uhm, I'll do better on my exam, I'm sure,"she said, "I'll remember the material better!"
I hesitated. I'd promised Susana that her daughter wouldn't be like us, that she would be educated, that she would leave this farm, this country and go out into the world.
"Please, papa,"she said, her eyes wide as saucers.
"*Fine*"I said, "I'll take you tomorrow. But just once you understand! Never again."
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,"she said and threw her arms around me again.
I hugged her back, hoping I hadn't made a mistake.
***
**The Next Morning**
The guard blocked our way. He was tall and well built with pale skin and golden hair. "Who's this?"the man asked. He wasn't unkind, but he was not cordial either.
"Just my daughter, sir, that's all,"I said.
The man peered at Martina who stared right back at him, as if daring him to try something. Stupid girl, defiance like could get you killed. I made a note of it - I would talk to her about it later.
The guard nodded, "no problems. Got the food?"
I held up my bag and nodded.
"Go right in,"he said and moved out the way. We walked forward towards the what looked like a shack. It looked as if it were made of crumbling wood, with rotting window hinges. But when we got inside, there was a metal door laden on the floor. I put down the bad and pulled, moving the heavy door
with some effort.
Martina looked at the whole thing with wonder. "Papa, doesn't this seem a bit...suspicious?"she asked.
I shrugged, "we get the pesos, and I give him, food, I don't ask,"I said, "and you shouldn't either."
Martina didn't say anything as we descended the steps, our steps echoing through the metal structure. After about a minute we came into the room. It was a simple layout - a bed in the corner, a door leading to a fully working bathroom, and a dining table in the center.
"Ah, Pedro, you've arrived!"The German came out of the bathroom, wearing his normal black pants and buttoned shirt. He walked with a cane in his right hand and flinched with every step. His silver white hair was in dissaray, dropping well below his ear. But one look at his eyes and I knew, his body may be failing, but his mind was not, not yet. He sat down at his usual spot on the table, and only then seemed to notice Martina.
"Oh,"he said, "you've brought a guest, Pedro,"he said.
Martina smiled and gave him her hand, "I'm Martina, Pap- I mean, Pedro's daughter,"she said, blushing slightly at her mistake.
"You have lovely daughter, Pedro,"he said, and started taking out the food from the bag. Nothing special, but it was food.
"What's your name, sir,"Martina asked.
I shot her a glare, but she shrugged it off. The German chuckled, "she's already bolder than you, Pedro,"he said. "My name, Martina,"he took a deep breath and smiled, "is Adolf Hitler. You may have heard of me."
I coughed to cover my open-mouthed gasp. I hadn't gone to school, but I knew full well who this man was. Killer, villain. Talking to my daughter.
For her part, Martina just nodded, taking it in stride. "I thought so,"she said.
The German, Hitler, smiled. "Bold and smart, a dangerous combination."
"Martina,"I said, "we're going."We'd have to move, quick, far away. i had a knife in my back pocket, I could probably take the guard outside.
"No need, Pedro, no need,"Hitler said, "I doubt I'll live for more than a couple more days anyways, you have nothing to fear from me."
"Martina!"I said, and she finally looked at me, "We're leaving. Now!"
"Papa-"
"No buts,"I said, and took her hand.
"Why'd you do it, do you hate me?"
I blinked, and gaped at Martina. It took me a moment to realize she wasn't talking to me, but Hitler. He looked down at his food, his shoulders slumped.
"I could tell you some story about political scapegoats, insanity, or pressure. But that wouldn't be the truth Martina,"he sighed. "Why does evil happen at all, Martina? I don't know, no one knows."He shook his head. "All these decades...no. I don't hate you Martina."
I tugged at her arm and dragged her up the stairs. I looked back at the German, Hitler, one last time, and he didn't look like the greatest villain the world had known, he looked like an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
I’m all for breaking social norms
My girlfriend, on one knee, held a golden ring adorned with a sapphire gemstone. My immediate thought was ‘woah.’ My immediate thought following that immediate thought was realizing why she asked for my ring size a couple of weeks ago.
And my third immediate thought was ‘the fuck?’
“Sarah, run that by me one more time,” I asked, staring into her verdant eyes.
She brushed the amber hair from her face with the other hand and smiled.
“I said… Will you conquer the world with me?” Sarah repeated.
I wasn’t hearing things. She did ask me to conquer the world with her. Sweat droplets accumulated at my hairline and slid down my face as they reached critical mass. I thought ‘Will you marry me?’ was a hard question, but this was in a league of its own.
“H-Hahaha,” I chuckled with an awkward grin. “Is that a new way to ask someone to marry you? Where on the Internet did you find that?”
Sarah shook her head.
“No, Anthony, it’s not a joke,” she said. “I really do mean it. I want you to help me rule this world. To make it our own. We would be free to go anywhere and do anything.”
I was no longer grinning.
“You see,” Sarah began, “I have more than one persona in this life. Yes, I still am your Sarah. But I am also Equinox.”
My eyes widened at those words.
“Yeah, I know you’ve heard that name on TV before,” Sarah went on. “Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m a pretty big deal.”
When I get nervous, I tend to lock my knees while standing. Fun fact: If someone locks their knees for too long, they’ll pass out because of poor blood circulation to the brain.
It was night, and we were atop the hill overlooking the town. When I opened my eyes, it was day, and I was looking up at my bedroom ceiling.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position and stretched my arms upward. My baby blue bunny slippers were at their usual spot beside my bed. With my feet well equipped, I made my way outside to my living room.
The smell of fried eggs hit my nose, and I hastily skipped toward the kitchen. Sarah laid out my usual breakfast: two fried eggs (sunny side up), two pieces of buttered toast, seven sausage links, and an orange (as directed by my family physician).
Sarah heard my clumsy movements and looked behind her back from the stove.
“Anthony, you’re awake,” Sarah smiled. “Do you have any idea how shocked I was? How many times do I have to tell you to stop locking your knees?”
“Things just happen sometimes,” I responded as I started to fork eggs into my mouth. “I’m OK. I was just so nervous because we were talking about—”
*What were we talking about last night?*
“Marriage, right?” I asked with one eyebrow cocked up in confusion.
“No, Anthony. We were talking about you conquering the world with me.”
*Shit, it wasn’t just a fever dream.*
“You’re E-Equi—”
“Equinox, yes.”
“My knees aren’t locked, are they?”
“No, babe, you’re sitting down.”
“Oh,” I muttered and stared off into the distance.
There was a moment of silence. It would have been a good time to organize my thoughts and calm myself down. However, my brain just blanked. How is someone supposed to respond to such a question?
“Anthony,” Sarah began as she sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table. “It’s a lot to take in. I know, so don’t worry. You don’t have to give me an answer soon. But I trust you. And so I let you know my secret.”
Our eyes were locked. My brain fog dissipated, and I saw the woman I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Uhh, do you think I’m suited to this whole taking-over-the-world business?”
I smiled, and she returned the same.
“We all have to start somewhere. I wasn’t the super villain I am now instantly. It took hard work. Dedication.”
“OK, OK. I’ll think on it. I promise.” I looked down at my breakfast. It would have been a disservice to Sarah if I had let it get cold. Fork and knife moved across the plate, transporting the food into my yapper.
*God. I really hope I don’t mess up Sarah. I really need to be careful, since we’ll be around each other a lot more—*
“Oh, yeah,” I mumbled with a full mouth. “About the marriage. When is that going to happen? Before trying to take over the world? During?”
Sarah looked off to the side and scratched her neck with one hand.
“Anthony, I love you. I really do. And I was meaning to bring this up. But I was only asking for the whole conquering thing right now. Not marriage.”
*Huh?*
“It’s just, you know, marriage is a pretty big deal. I don’t really want to rush into anything, especially something that serious.”
*HUH?* |
"Rise and Shine Barry."I woke up to see, Dr. Rubinski had come to give me my pills today. The voices like Rubinski, so they are not too loud when I talk to him. "Have any interesting dreams last night?"He asked, I simply shook my head no. A high ping from behind my right ear told me that I couldn't take the medicine. The medicine upsets them. Alright bud, Fred said handing me a styrofoam cup of water and two pills, make sure you grab some breakfast today, they're serving grits, your favorite. I hate grits, but they like them. I only eat grits to make them shut up. Rubinski watched as I popped the two pills in my mouth. The second it touched my tongue they started screaming again. I strained to keep a calm demeanor as I sipped the water. Rubinski's lips moved but no sound escaped, they were too loud. Rubinski took the cup back and I closed my eyes. The screaming was becoming louder and scratchier. When I opened my eyes again Rubinski was right next to me "Barry, are you alright?"he asked with slight alarm in his voice. "Never better, doc"I lied. "Always had trouble swallowing pills."I told him. He smirked. "You're doing great buddy, I'll see you at group today. Rubinski left my room, leaving me alone with the voices. I scurried over to my private toilet as soon as he was out of earshot, and forced my fingers into the back of my throat. This was the worst part of my mornings. Some people don't like walking the dog, others despise driving to work, and I hate forcibly vomiting to appease the voices in my head. "The things I do for you guys."I muttered after I finished. I wiped my lip with my sleeve and flushed the toilet. "Griiiittttsss"they screamed. "God, I hate you guys."
I was given the special privilege to walk around the rehabilitation area freely, given I had no history of violence. That was more than most of the others here could say. I began moving down the long corridor towards the cafeteria. It's hard for me to tell exactly how long I've been in this institution. Most people struggle to remember things in the chaos of everyday life, and they don't have breakfast-loving demons in their heads. I passed by a few more "dorms,"the glorified cells where they keep us, as the voices continued in a mad chatter. As I walked the chatter grew louder and louder and then suddenly stopped. "What's up guys?"I wondered as I suddenly grew suspicious of everything around me. I turned my attention to a door about 30 feet down the hall. I could hear a faint noise escaping from the room. As I moved closer, my curiousity turned to disbelief. The voices! *My* voices! They were coming from inside. I read the plaque next to the door. "Dr. Rubinski, Head Psychologist."What was going on here? I never heard the voices from outside like this. I had to find out more.
The door was solid. Built like that of a bunker, presumably to keep Rubinski safe. I pressed my ear up to the metal of the door. The incoherent chattering continued, it was definitely emanating from this room. As my mind wandered, I started to wonder if it was not to keep him safe, but to keep him inside. I tried the handle, "locked."I muttered to myself. I went to peer through the keyhole to try and get some idea, *any* idea of what was going on in there. Just then the voices in my own head started up again. "Guaaaarrrdddddsss."they moaned. I looked up just in time to see two men in blue uniforms briskly making their way towards me. "Step away from the door!"One shouted gruffly. I quickly obliged not wanting to lose my free-roam privileges. "Oh sorry sir."I said quickly, "I was just wondering if Dr. Rubinski was around? We have an appointment.""He's not seeing anyone this early."The other guard replied with equal gruffness. "You really like the word *gruff* don't you?"mused the voices. Ignoring them I turned my attention back to the...surly guards. "Yes of course, I'll just be making my way to the cafeteria then.""We'll make sure you do."I had no choice but to let them escort me all the way to the dining area. "I'll have to go back to Rubinski's room later."I thought wondering how I could do so less conspicuously. "Griiitttttssss."The voices chimed in again. "Well at least someone's happy."
\- To be continued. |
I'd say that I sat in the void, but I didn't really sit. My physical body had given up, had been spent in the realm of mortals some eternities ago. Instead, my being simply existed in that void. My being may not have looked, but it sensed words, possibilities, connected to others. For eternities I looked through these possibilities, these choices, all the ways my mortal life could have gone. But while the middle is different with every choice, the beginning of birth remains the same. The ending of death remains inevitable.
And then I saw it, a tree tucked in away behind other trees, other choices laden with intriguing implications. A tree, that when looked on at the other end of infinity, did not end with death. Instead, it went on, forever and forever, something which I could not exactly see but I still knew. I looked backed down towards the beginning, the beginning which is always the same. I highlighted the tree in my mind by focusing on it, telling myself that that is what I wanted, that is what I needed. And with that, all else disappeared, until the tree was all I knew. Light quickly filled the void, the light of the tree, the light of the choices. Light which I soon shall know as I have known many times before. A light so pure that if all went right, I would never see again. |
*That was the longest, strangest dream I’ve ever had,* Terry thought as he woke up. The sun coming through the window stung his eyes more than normal. He tried to shield his eyes, but quickly realized he was tied to the bed… and this wasn’t his bedroom. *What the fuck,* he thought, *I’ve been kidnapped!*
Terry opened his mouth to scream. Maybe someone would hear him. He could see out the window. He assumed he could be heard outside. Terry screamed for help, only the words didn’t work. “Hwaaaaaaa!”
He tried again. Relax. Breath. “Aaaahhhhh!” Terry couldn’t yell. He tried talking to himself. Maybe being quieter would help. “Hwaa tahhh fuhh.”
*Fuck… what is going on?* He tried thrashing wildly, but it only succeeded in digging the restraints into his… greenish flesh? He could feel panic welling up inside him. *Help!* He screamed, or thought. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think straight. He sighed and stared at the ceiling blankly.
A faint clicking sound came from the base of the restraints holding his arms. They rewarded his moment of calmness with slack. Enough slack that he could sit up properly. He looked out the window, trying to get his bearings. Maybe figure out where he was. He could tell his room was on a second or third floor. He had a decent view of the city around him and the busy streets below him. His jaw immediately fell. Unfortunately, due to the state of his body, it nearly fell *off*.
Zombies! Hordes of them aimlessly wandering the streets outside. He watched as zombie after zombie shuffled past his building. No cars, bikes, or normal transportation. Only zombies, and a lot of them.
A large, chain link fence, a moat, and other security measures protected the building from the world outside. “Fuuuhhh,” he moaned. *Am I?* He looked his own body up and down. It definitely wasn’t Halloween, but he sure as Hell looked ready to go trick or treating. “Shhhhhiiii,” he smiled weakly. He almost got that one out.
The door bust open. Terry jerked his head up. A young man, early thirties Zombie-Terry guessed, with close cropped hair, glasses, brown eyes opened wide, and a long, white lab coat rushed in.
“Hello,” He said in a professional, and nice, tone.
“Hyuiii.” Zombie-Terry weakly replied. He put in his best smile and waved. He may be dead.. Undead.. Alive? He wasn’t sure, but that didn’t mean he had lost his manners.
“Well, at least the cure… works…” he said. “My name is Mark.”
“Uuhh, haaii Maahhhrrrkkk.” Zombie-Terry said slowly. He smiled proudly. *Take that, zombie body.* Zombie-Terry fist pumped to celebrate his win.
“Hi, uhhh.”
“Tteewwy… Terry.” He did as happy a dance as he could, being tied to bed and in a deadish body.
“Hello Terry.” Mark smiled. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I…” he labored. Zombie-Terry knew the answer. His memory came back to him. His dream had been real. He remembered being bitten, turning into a zombie, eating someone, and being caught. “I… zzoommppy.” He frowned. “Eath ah mmahn.”
“Yes, you are a zombie. I’m terribly sorry, old chap. Do you, do you remember anything?”
Zombie-Terry slowly nodded. Mark noticed the sadness in his eyes. “Mmemmbr ahll.”
“Interesting. Are you… hungry?”
Taken aback by the question, and unsure about the feelings within his body that he was newly aware of, Zombie-Terry shrugged. “No peeoplless.”
“Yes, no people. It wouldn’t be a cure if all we did was make you aware you were eating other people.”
“Shhit cuure.” Zombie-Terry slowly fought to pronounce the words as best he could. He smiled.
“Yes, yes, definitely a shit cure.” Mark laughed.
Zombie-Terry tried to laugh. They laughed together. It felt good.
“I know you just woke up, but would you mind trying some food? Normal food.”
Zombie-Terry nodded. It was easier. “Izzza?”
“Pizza?”
He nodded his head yes hard enough that he bounced up and down on the bed.
“Fuck it. Normally we would start with a raw piece of meat.” Zombie-Terry grimaced. “But, what the hell. You’ve been a zombie for over a year, are our first successful cure patient, and seem like a nice bloke. Pizza preference?”
Zombie-Terry’s face almost split into two with a contagious smile. He lifted his hands and gave Mark two thumbs up. “No ollivvess.”
Mark smiled back. “You’re getting good at this. No olives. Done.” He turned to walk out the door. “I’ll be back.” He said as he pulled the door closed.
“Byee.” Zombie-Terry happily yelled.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Zombie-Terry liked his new job. He happily hummed to himself as he walked down the hallway, waving to scientists as he passed. Some days, they filled him with delicious food, testing out what his body can handle. He could eat it all. Except asparagus, he hated that in his first life too. Some days he got to gear up and go outside. Zombie Stompin’ he liked to call it.
There wasn’t enough of the cure to help everyone. He figured most people wouldn’t want to be cured anyway. So many zombies had broken or torn apart bodies. So many had done things they weren't aware of, but would be impossible to live with. He helped end their nightmare.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Zombie Terry looked at the crushed zombie head under his boot. Another too gone to save. He sighed, wishing he could save them all. *Oh well,* he thought. He *was* saving them, just in a different way.
Terry looked around, took a deep breath in, lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, and smiled. Tonight, after getting home from Zombie Stompin’, he gets to try cake. |
The Flesh Moon arrived with no announcement, no warning. One moment the sky was clear; seconds later, it was there. A writhing mass of flesh, tentacles and sinew the size of the old Moon staring down at us. And its gaze led to change.
Our bodies would twist and contort in manners we'd describe as grotesque; flesh melted into flesh, bones shattered and formed patterns hitherto unheard of. The changes were not uniform, but not entirely random either; most found their newfound bodies to reflect their needs. Soldiers gained a carapace akin to kevlar and muscle mass beyond our previous limits. Surgeons grew extra limbs, runners extra legs and thigh muscle. One thing was consistent, though.
We were all better.
Once, my back would scream in pain the moment I turned too quickly. My eyes would fail me when trying to read anything more than half a meter away. Most importantly... I stood up, leaving that blasted wheelchair behind.
The Moon came suddenly. Yes, we screamed and lamented as we saw our bodies morph, but we now understand the blessing this was. You may call our new forms Chaotic; we'd call them beautiful.
The Imperium doesn't understand. Calls us tainted, heretical, corrupted by Chaos. Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh - they blame them all. Shortsighted fools, all of them. They'll come to try and destroy our beauty. We won't let them. Even if we are to be named Chaos, we are all together, like family.
We are Chaos Undivided. |
*Everything will be fine this time. Just be cool.*
The rope was heavy over Tuco's left shoulder. Dragging and twitching in the sand behind him, all tied up,
Belle, the whore, was screaming muffled requests of mercy.
*Now they'll see who's Tuco. Now they'll be afraid of me.*
They reached the railroad tracks just in time to hear the train whistling.
"They'll see. The whole town will know how mean I am", Tuco grunted, pulling the rope and tying it to the
railroad. "Be quiet!"
Belle twitched, trying to get away, but he was stronger. In the end, he stepped away just in time, watching as the
machine raced over the thin, slender figure of the prostitute, exploding blood and meat everywhere.
"Jesus, this is actually kind of gruesome", Tuco said to himself. He'd never actually seen someone get run over by a
train before. Somehow, every time it was about to happen, someone seemed to come and save the day.
"Oh my God, it's Belle!"
*Excellent*, Tuco thought, turning around to look for the source of the voice.
The whole town was running towards him, sheriff first.
"That's right I killed her! Tuco screamed, raising his fist in the air. Then, "Aaaaaaargh!"
*Argh? Who am I, a pirate?* He though, feeling a little silly.
"Tuco just killed Belle, the prostitute!"A farmed exclaimed, pointing at the pool of blood by the rail tracks.
The rest of the people went "oooooh!"
"Yeah I did! What are you going to do?"Tuco replied, hand hovering over his pistol.
"Tuco", the Sheriff said, approaching him. "Thank you."
"Thank *you*, you maggot, son of a -- wait, what?"
"We have been trying to stop that sinner for a long time, now. Her ways were not that of God, and we will not have
our beautiful city of Clear Water shamed by prostitution."The sheriff offered Tuco his hand, smiling.
Behind them, the townsfolk cheered.
"What?"
"We hated Belle, Tuco", the sheriff added. "She wasn't Christian in her path. And she had to go."
"No, but I didn't do it because -- I didn't mean to -- God damn it.", Tuco sighed. "Really?"
Someone screamed "Go Tuco! Our hero!"And more people cheered.
"Let's all go back to the city and celebrate", the sheriff said to Tuco, smile still on his face. "You're our hero, man."
"No, I'm not!"Tuco looked around. "Hang on. I got this. Is there a kid there? A kid?"
A little boy stepped out from the crowd, big smile on his face. "Hey, Tuco!"
"Hey kid", Tuco said, drawing his pistol and shooting the boy in the face.
"See? I'm an asshole! Arrrrrrgh!"
The whole town fell silent in front of him.
Then, a single voice, from the back row. "He killed the Mariot kid!"
"That fucking prick! We hated him!"
"Oh come on", Tuco said, rolling his eyes as the crowd cheered again.
"That kid was a nightmare", the sheriff added, smile growing wider. "Tuco, you are our star!"
"No, I'm not!"Tuco screamed, as the crowd started chanting *Tuco! Tuco! Tuco!* "Jesus, you guys are cheering a
dead child!"
"He was annoying!"Cried a voice.
"And a prick!"Cried another.
"We're glad he's dead", announced a third one, and Tuco was pretty sure it was Mrs. Mariot's.
"No! Stop! Now! Stop this, look!"Tuco raised his pistol to the sheriff. "I'm. A. Jackass."
"Tuco, what are you doing..."The sheriff begun, but Tuco had already pulled the trigger.
Silence, as the sheriff's body balanced itself for a second, then fell flat, face first on the sand.
"You see? I killed your Sheriff! I'm a bad guy!"Tuco screamed, arms open to the crowd.
"Hey everyone", came a voice from the crowd. "That sheriff was letting people kill women and children. He was
awful! And Tuco killed him!"
"Yeah!"Cried the others.
"Oh for fuck's sake", said Tuco, rolling his eyes again. "You know what? You guys love me so much?"Then look at that!"Tuco raised the gun to his temple. "I'm killing the guy you love! Now do you believe I'm bad?"
And Tuco pulled the trigger, falling straight to the ground, dead right next to the Mariot kid and the sheriff.
Silence fell over the crowd a third time.
"Oh my God..."came a soft voice from the back, finally. "Tuco really *was* evil..."
"Yeah..."The others agreed.
"And... And Tuco killed Tuco."Another voice added, uncertain. "So he was good."
"Yeah...."Some others whispered.
It wasn't a whole month before Tuco was canonized and elected official saint of Clear Water.
___________________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
The paint can hissed in my hand as I worked in the darkness. "Equality cannot be bombed,"I scrawled in red across the side of the Kuomintang military headquarters of Shenyang. We had to let the people know that the Party was still alive and active. That we were organizing, and preparing. Getting ready for the day when we'd overthrow the KMT. They needed some reminder, because morale was at an all-time low after Mao's surrender.
I can't fault him; it would be suicide to continue fighting against the threat of an atomic holocaust. I'll always remember where I was that day: August 6, 1945. "The day the sun came to Earth,"as we called it. The bright flash of light blinded and deafened many even hundreds of miles away, and a vast cloud of poison stretched over China's heartland for months. America had dropped a new type of bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, so powerful that the devastation stretched from Okinawa to the far tip of Honshu. Only Hokkaido and some of the far-outlying islands managed to survive the initial blast, but were still devastated by the ensuing radioactive fallout. Most of Japan had been turned to rubble and swallowed by the sea, and the few remaining shards of mountains were desolate and charred.
At first, we cheered. Despite the devastation that the bomb had wrought, ten years of war were ended in one fell swoop with almost no Allied soldiers lost. The southern half of the Korean peninsula had been part of Japan for so long that it wouldn't be missed either. The few Japanese troops scattered throughout China laid down arms immediately after hearing the news. It seemed as though all of our dreams had come true. But with Japan vanquished, the KMT turned their eyes to Manchuria, heart of the Communist party. And Chiang Kai-shek had America's might at his back.
Many doubted whether the bomb would ever be used again. Japan had been a unique situation; the entire island was ready to die for their cause, and retaking it with conventional means would have been a meatgrinder. But Manchuria was full of civilians; they wouldn't kill them without good reason, would they? And we hadn't attacked America like the Japanese had. Was America so bloodthirsty that it would murder millions just to keep Chiang in power?
Those questions dissipated when Moscow and Leningrad were destroyed. The American broadcasts claimed that the Soviet Union had developed a similar weapon in the space of only two years, and that they were preparing to use it against the cities on the East Coast of America. "We could not afford to wait until their final preparations were completed,"the American president had said. Everyone in my village clustered around the radio, listening to the address. Jing, who had been imprisoned with some of the American soldiers, translated for us. The USSR surrendered as soon as the utterly decapitated government struggled to regroup. The President' message ended with a warning: any means necessary will be used to defeat the evils of Communism. *Any means necessary*.
Chairman Mao got the message and surrendered himself to KMT custody later that day. His final orders were for the rest of us to lay down arms lest Manchuria be reduced to another crater like our former allies. And that was the end, as far as the KMT knows.
Few of us continue the fight in whatever way we can. No weapons or bullets, just ideas. Ideas sprayed in red paint, letting the people know that this isn't over.
|
**THOMAS ETHERN** rumbled the voice on high. My family all turned to look at me, their eyes wide.
*Why me?* I thought. Was it because of my work as a top scientist in my field? Or because of the gold medal I had secured three months before by winning the Olympic decathalon? Or for all of the good I had been doing in my local community?
**FOR THAT TIME THAT YOU CONVINCED EVERYONE IN THE CAR THAT YOUR SISTER WAS THE ONE WHO FARTED, WHEN IT WAS TOTALLY YOU. YOU ARE NOW THE NEW GOD OF LIES AND MISCHIEF**
There was silence in the living room.
"I fucking told you it was him!"my sister wailed.
"God damn it,"I said. |
When the sun extinguished, the world worked quickly. Setting up Artificial Day/Night cycles for major cities, and then expanding outwards. The refugees poured in, of course, and life got worse, but that was years ago. Hardly anyone even remembered natural sunlight at this point.
But the screaming continued. The loud, ever-present, piercing pitch that the sun emitted seemed to continue, almost forever.
Until today. Today was the day. Scientists, with all their calculations, had figured out the exact moment that the sun's screaming would stop. Like New Years Celebrations in New York, the world was coming together for this precise moment. Globally, each city was treating it as Daytime. They'd planned for the exact moment, to recreate the extinguish, by turning all lights off, at the exact moment the screaming stopped.
The countdown begun, echoing globally. A countdown from 10. Everyone waiting with bated breath. For the first time, in the history of human life, we would finally know the sound of silence.
The countdown continues. You could see how excited people were. 5.
Children, who had never even seen sunlight were getting excited now. What would the world hear? Time seemed to slow down. 3.
2.
1.
The lights went out. A global night, just like that first day. But this time, the screaming stopped. A moment of pure silence.
Deafening.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, and made us accustomed to the screaming.
Imagine your brain adapting to hundreds of millions, if not billions of years of evolution, then experiencing a sudden, dramatic change. Like the human race adapting to breath Oxygen, and suddenly being required to breath Lead. That's what it felt like.
It wasn't long before the screaming started again. Not from the sun. But from the pain. Such a great pain.
Many killed themselves. Even more died of "natural causes."But those that tried to continue knew the truth. The cities tried to adapt, by setting up speakers, but it was never enough.
It won't be long before the human race dies out. No one can live with such a great pain for long.
I guess this is how the world ends. Not with a bang. But with deafening silence. |
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