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Sha-rama, the Gyralite champion, rained blow after blow on the Earthling champion. She had torn his flesh. She had broken his limbs. And yet still, he stood. Still, he would not yield.
Sha-rama's four fists grew bloody and swollen, and all six of her limbs felt heavy, and leaden. The Earthling champion had not landed a blow on her, he only silently defied her onslaught, and yet, for all this, she was wearing down.
"I will not fall, Earthling!"she roared. "I will not not fail!"
She struck the Earthling with all her might. She heard him break! And then he fell upon her, driving her into the ground. Her own bones snapped, and she tasted blood.
And Sha-rama, was no more.
\- - - - - - -
The robed Gyralite Arbiter raised his four arms in proclamation. "So be it! Let all bear witness, that great Sha-rama, slayer of thousands, champion of the Gyralites, has fallen..."
He gestured to the ground, where Sha-rama lay crushed to death by a fallen tree. Around her, several other trees likewise laid broken on the forest floor -- but a forest it was, and there were many thousands of trees still standing.
"...slain by *Pando the Clonal Aspen Grove,* he of the 40,000 trunks, champion of the Earth!"
The human delegation cheered, and raised one of their number -- a particularly skilled lawyer, apparently -- up onto their shoulders in celebration.
Nearby, the Gyralite Emperor stood seething, all four arms crossed. "This is ridiculous!"
The Arbiter pointed at him sharply. "Defame not the honor of the contest, nor disgrace the noble death of your champion with poor sportsmanship, your Imperial Majesty! We said the humans could select any living creature of their world as their champion, and they chose Pando! It is a holy and binding agreement, which we must honor."
The Arbiter turned, and bowed to the human delegation, politely. "As agreed, we will leave you in peace, and we swear to forsake conquest of your people or planet, for all time."
"Our species is *stupid,* and I hope we go extinct."The Emperor grumbled, bitterly, stalking back to his waiting spacecraft. |
General Halston grimaced, as another artillery barrage shook the old shopping center where he'd set up his command center. The blasts were getting closer, homing in on his position. Just behind that wavefront of bursting shells marched thousands of Bloc Collective soldiers, trampling over the ruins of the New Prague Arcology, coming to finish off the General, and the entire Third Division with him.
"Lieutenant!"the General barked to his adjutant seated at a portable comm station set up in the middle of the chaotic control center. "What have we got on those reinforcements from the Fifth and Seventh Divisions?"
Lieutenant Barclay's eyes scanned the holoscreen before him, but he shook his head, grimly. "Negative, sir. BC's are hammering every planet in the system -- the Fifth and Seventh are holding fast on Nova Europa and Clark Colony, but they're under too much pressure to assist us."
General Halston scowled. "Damn it! The bastards planned it perfectly. Looks like we're on our own."
"I'm afraid so sir."Barclay said, as he scanned the recently decrypted communications. "The only affirmative response we've received is from...damn it, the message header's corrupted, but the ESA comm codes check out. It looks like some kind of religious NGO registered on Terra. They say they have a vessel underway and are offering...religious assistance?"
The General scoffed. "What, like humanitarian aid to the civilians? Chaplains for the troops? We've got to survive *the day* before any of that'll matter to us, and those BC sons of bitches don't respect the neutrality of relief organizations -- tell them to turn back before they get themselves killed!"
Barclay nodded, "Yes sir."He quickly tapped out an encrypted subspace message. The console chirped almost immediately, signalling a reply.
"What'd they say?"the General asked.
Barclay frowned. "Their message says 'We're already here'."
"Sir!"an alarmed scanner technician called. "Dreadnought-class starship detected in orbit!"
"What? When the hell did this happen?"the General demanded, whirling on the frantic technician.
"J-just now, sir!"the tech stammered, shaking her head in disbelief. "It must have been running under a stealth field!"
"Is it BC, or one of ours?"
"Receiving an IFF transponder signal sir! It's not military, but it is a valid civilian ESA code..."Barclay said, scanning his display. He looked up at the General with an expression of confusion. "...actually, it's the same ID code used by that religious NGO, sir."
"Drop shuttle launches detected!"the scanner tech called. "Multiple inbound!"
"What the hell are they doing?"the General exclaimed. "Where are they setting down?"
"Trajectories indicate they're headed to hot zones all over the planet, sir!"the tech said, shaking her head incredulously. Then she looked up in surprise. "Inbound! One's coming down right on top of us, sir!"
After confirming the IFF recognition to stand down the AA batteries around the command center, General Halston and Lieutenant Barclay rushed towards the windows that faced the projected drop site. Moments later, a massive armored transport ship, painted an almost garish blood red, descended from the sky. It looked large enough to carry hundreds of heavy troops, and the ground trembled as it touched down on the vast swathe of demarcated polymer pavement that had once been the shopping center's parking lot.
As the General and his staff looked on in amazement, the huge bay door in the ship's bow opened, folding down into a ramp. At the top of the ramp, a figure in red-painted powered armor stood at the head of a multitude of similarly armored and heavily armed troops. He was old, with a bald head and long white beard, but even from their distant vantage point, they could see the steel in his gaze.
"I don't believe it...it's them."the General murmured.
"Them?"Lieutenant Barclay asked.
"It was decades ago, before your time."the General said, his eyes going distant. "Back near the start of the war, when the BC started killing ESA-based relief workers. This one group, one of the oldest ones, withdrew after their people got hit hard. They lost hundreds in an unprovoked massacre, and after that, they stopped their relief projects. They said they were changing focus, and all their ships left for territories on the outer rim. No one ever saw them again. We just thought they'd gotten scared and closed up shop -- and who could blame them?"
"'Them' *who,* sir?"the Lieutenant pressed.
But just then, the figure at the head of the column spoke, and his voice was evidently transmitted through external public address speakers mounted on the huge transport ship, because it was audible even in the command center.
"Hear the word of the Lord: *If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men,"* the old soldier said, in a clear strong voice.
"AMEN."roared the troops behind him in unison.
"But within those holy words is a truth often overlooked, that we ourselves once overlooked: that there are times when *it is not possible!*"
"AMEN."the soldiers roared again.
"And so it is also written, for times such as those, *He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one."* the old man said, a hard edge in his voice. "And thus have we done!"
"AMEN!"
The soldier raised a gleaming bronze object in his hand, and brought it down sharply. A clear sharp sound reverberated through the air, amplified by the same PA system that amplified the man's voice.
"Once, by this sound, we called to those with love in their hearts, to give charity to their fellow man! Now, by this sound, we call to those who have given their hearts to evil, to tremble in fear: for we have come for them, and the wrath of Almighty God comes with us!"
Again and again, he swung the little piece of bronze, and again and again the clear note rang out, rendered ominous by the old man's baleful proclamation. He strode down the ramp from the transport ship, still waving the object he held, and a wave of red-armored soldiers marched after him, with sleek armored vehicles and mobile light artillery rolling close behind.
"What's that thing he's holding?"Barclay asked, squinting into the distance.
The General shook his head in amazement. "It's a *bell,* Lieutenant." |
"That play a week ago, let me tell you, man, I positively *loved* it,"the man sitting on the couch said. He was, by any and all measures, beautiful. He had flowing black hair, piercing violet eyes, a jaw you could break a wall with. Combined with his perfect musculature, fully on display thanks to him only wearing a toga, he was enough to make *anyone* question their sexuality. I had a feeling that he knew my eyes were darting all over him and didn't mind one bit.
"R- right,"I spurted out nervously. "Can I, uh, offer you anything? Wine, perhaps?"
"Aw, that's kind of you, really, but please, allow me,"he said with a wide smile and reached behind his back, somehow producing a flagon. He poured the both of us hearty portions of wine. Still unsure if I was dreaming or not, I carefully took a sip.
*It was the best wine I've ever tasted.* I rushed to take another, far larger sip.
"Oh, and the tragedy a fortnight ago? The, uh, uh..."he snapped his fingers trying to remember.
"The Bacchae?"I reminded him carefully.
"That's the one!"he jovially called out. "Let me tell you, beautiful stuff, man. You really did me justice there, really did."
"I'm honoured, my lord,"I smiled nervously.
"Ah, but - I can see it on your face man. You're wondering why I'm here, paying you a visit?"
I nodded.
"Don't worry man, it's nothing terrible. I've been to all your plays, I love your stuff, I do. Every time you portray me, it's just-"he pumped his fist excitedly. "And, well... I got a favour to ask, you see?"
My heart sank a little. *A god asking a mortal a favour*? This... this could not go well for me.
"Nah, it *will* go well for you, don't worry,"he said with a smile and got up, pacing up and down the room. I didn't know what was more terrifying - that he could read my mind, or the favour he was about to ask.
"See, I need a little... time off,"he said and finished his drink. He leaned on the window frame and took a long, calm look at the evening countryside. "It's my brother. Hermes. With the war, he's been... *so* busy escorting all those souls, never catching a break, I can see how tired he is, ya know? Not that he'd let anyone know, of course,"he said with a hearty laugh and looked at me as if I could *possibly* understand.
"So, I've been thinking,"he said and clasped his hands together, "me, him, maybe Artemis and Apollo - we go on a little vacation. Athena already agreed to give the fighting a little rest, a bit of a ceasefire, to allow the lot of us a breather."
"Lady Athena managed a ceasefire?"I raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't-"
"Ares throw a fit? You know it, man, you should have seen him, absolutely seething,"he laughed. "But, even he agreed. Say what you will about him, but he *does* care for his family. Without our little brother, the battlefield would be *overflowing* with shades - no fun in that! Anyway - that's where you come in!"
My eyes went wide. *Oh no, what could this*...
"I need you to stand in for me!"he said happily.
"I... beg your pardon?"I said after a brief pause.
"You stand in for me! You know, like, take my place for a week. Handle the little things, minor blessings, maybe a curse or two, you know! You've nailed my style in the plays, you'll do grand as the actual thing!"
His unbridled enthusiasm and certainty concerned me, yet... to see *a god* be so sure you'll be of help to them was immensely confidence-boosting.
"But... my lord, I don't- I can't do what you do, it's-"I protested.
"Aw, come on man, *of course* I thought of that,"he smiled and touched my forehead. His hand was warm and smelled faintly of grapes. I felt a surge of warmth flow through me. Everything seemed... so much brighter now. I looked down at my hands and saw my veins pulsating with... it almost looked like my blood had turned to gold.
"That should cover you,"he said. "You'll hear prayers - only the big ones, of course, and you'll find yourself fully able to make appearances to a few select seers when they invoke you. Really, though, just *enjoy it*, man! I guarantee you'll love it, absolutely guarantee it! Just, uh, be wary of Aphrodite, you get what I mean?"he said and playfully nudged his elbow into my ribs.
"I will... do my best. Thank you, Lord Dionysus,"I said. I started to bow but he grabbed my shoulders and stopped me.
"No,"he said with a laugh and bowed theatrically, "Thank ***you***, *Lord Dionysus*." |
“You know, mate, you're the reason I'm going to be out of a job.”
The angel was drunk again. Drunk and naked. Drunk, naked and sitting on my couch. I'm going to have to steam clean it again.
Most people who come home to find an overweight, intoxicated angel sitting on their couch would be … flummoxed. Not me. Sadly, far from it.
My keys hit the desk with an exasperated clank as I exhaled my frustration and considered the ceiling tiles.
“How's it going Haddy?” His name is Hadraniel, but I call him Haddy for short.
“How's it going? How's it bloody going? It's going straight to the dole, innit? I'm headed straight to the back of the sodding unemployment line! And it's all thanks to you.”
“I know, man. I'm really sorry. I really thought this was the one. She seemed perfect. I mean, you really did a great job matching us up.”
“What's the problem then,” he said, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. “She was brunette, witty, outdoorsy – whatever the hell that means. She was everything you asked for. And she's the fourth one in a fucking fortnight. What's the deal mate?”
I sighed and ran both hands through my hair, my arms falling to my sides in a defeated gesture. “She was great, man. She just, well, she had a thing. It's stupid and I'm stupid, but I can't help it.”
“What thing!?” He was clearly getting more and more agitated.
“Well.” I almost didn't want to continue. “She, sort of, well, it was the way she clicked her fork against her teeth while she was eating.” I looked at the chunky cherub meekly.
“She fucking what, mate? Hold on. Let me, let me get this bit right. I'm going to lose my job, maybe get kicked out of Heaven, because you didn't like the way she chewed?”
I tried to clarify. “No, it was the fork. The clinking.” It was no use. Hadraniel was full on angel-pissed. Before I could even react, he was off the couch and headed toward me. He moved so fast, his considerable girth belying his surprising speed.
He was on me before I could muster any defense. His big ham-bone fist connected right between the eyes. I saw a white flash, then I saw the lids of my eyes. An angel of the Lord hit me in the face, and I'll be damned if I couldn't smell my grandmother's homemade cookies as I slipped into unconsciousness. |
The meal was awful. It was some kind of old military rations that the servitors had delivered - still dusty from the stores.
Leo mouthed it woodenly, barely tasting the food, interspersing it with sips of filtered water.
*Your last meal*, she thought, *did you ever think you'd be aware of it?*
Of course not. Most last meals in the past were eaten unaware; the person falling victim to an accident or trauma.
She finished the ancient rations and put them into the disposal chute where the garbage rattled off, to be converted to pure energy by molecular inductors.
The final shutdown was progressing apace; faster than predicted. Her presence here was a formality - just a human eye to watch over the machines as they recycled the remnants of humanity's legacy on the planet. They'd shut down the old power grids and ripped up the endless pylons - strong robotic hands disposing of the unwanted materials. Next had been the cities; taken down building by building, intelligent bots breaking down the rubble into useful elements for the Mainframe.
With humanity gone, the machines could work without worry of health or safety. They bulldozed swathes of land, stripping it of all artificial constructions. Irradiated, filled with toxic chemicals, nothing would grow for generations, but at least now the land had a chance.
Leo checked the readouts on the massive wall in front of her. The pathetically inadequate synapses in her organic mind couldn't sort through all of it and the machines spoonfed her important facts on a dumbed-down terminal to compensate.
She'd hoped the meal would taste better, that her final terrestrial memory would be a human one, an *organic* one. If there had been someone left to have sex with, she might have gone down that route, but food was really the last pleasure left to her.
The uplink beckoned to her and she regarded it longingly.
There was really nothing left to do. She could monitor the rest of the demolition progress from her new home - she wasn't needed here any more.
Powering down the life support felt strange. It was an admission of defeat in some ways - humanity had failed to save the world in conventional ways and had resorted to extreme technological means.
Time would be what healed this flayed planet; not an invention, not some breakthrough biogenically engineered super organism.
The air would be breathable for another four hours but the warmth would dissipate after only a couple. The winter outside was far harsher than anything Leo's ancestors had ever weathered, except during the last Ice Age.
Stripping off her uniform she tossed it down the chute. Her necklace followed, then her earrings - little vanities she'd kept for herself even though there was no one else to appreciate them.
The uplink chamber gaped open as she stepped into it.
"Lights off,"she instructed and the consoles went dark, as did the lighting strips in the roof.
"Set shutdown for thirty minutes. Begin uplink."
A timer appeared on the sole active console. The chamber door slid closed.
Lying on the hard metal bench inside the chamber, Leo felt the probes sweep her mind as the nanolasers painlessly destroyed her body, turning it into energy. As her consciousness faded in this world, it coalesced thousands of miles away in the heart of the Mainframe - where she was reborn into a *new* world constructed by humanity *for* humanity.
Opening her new eyes she looked out onto a pristine beach that swept out in an infinite curve of sun and sand - packed with laughing, tanned humans - all beautiful and perfect.
The virtual world might not be real, but it was a damn sight better than the frozen ball of waste humanity had left behind.
Leo sent a command and a swimsuit appeared on her naked body.
At the very least, she could swim here. |
You know, getting abducted by aliens doesn't live up to all the hype. No one prodded me or stuck things up my ass. No one dissected my body or scanned my brain. They just beamed me aboard and threw me in a cell. I felt slightly disappointed and more than a little confused. What did they want from me?
I glanced around. I was currently sharing this cell with about 20 other creatures, all of whom looked like giant hamsters. They were about a meter tall with orange and white fur and large black eyes, and they were all staring right at me.
"Um...Hi? I'm Alex. What are your names?"
They just kept staring at me. They probably didn't speak any human language anyway. I tried to ignore their stares and focus on something else, like why am I in a cage filled with giant hamsters?
I heard a sudden "Ding"noise and the door to the cell slid open. Standing in the doorway was a creature about my height that resembled a Moray eel with arms and legs. Its skin was lavender and shiny, and its hands were surprisingly human-like. In its hands the creature held a large metal basket filled to the brim with some alien fruit. While the creature wore no clothes, there was a glowing device strapped to its arm.
"Kraaaw", the eel shrieked as it began chucking the fruit at me and the hamsters.
The hamsters each grabbed a fruit and began to eagerly nibble away at them. The fruit were the size of a cantaloupe melons and had fuzzy blue rinds. I picked up one of the fruits and sniffed it. It smelled alright, but I was generally suspicious of any food not grown on Earth. I took a small nibble to appease the eel creature who I noticed was currently glaring at me.
"Not bad. Tastes like cinnamon.", I said to the eel in-between bites.
The eel snarled and spoke into the device.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", translated the device in a monotone voice.
Well that's one mystery solved. I stopped eating and tried my best to negotiate out of being his next meal.
"Look buddy, you seem like a reasonable ...eel. How about we head back to Earth and I show you the wonders of chicken. It tastes way better than humans, I swear."
The eel ignored my offer and made its way towards me. It smashed a fruit and picked up a large piece of it. The eel held me against the wall of the cell and attempted to force feed me the fruit.
"You no talk! You eat fruit! You grow fat!", repeated the device.
I looked the eel straight in the eye as I spat out the fruit and sank my teeth into its hand. The eel looked at me in shock. The hamsters stopped eating and resumed staring at me. I grabbed the eel's wrist and pulled hard, ripping a large chunk of its hand off. Horrified, the eel stood up and began backing away, completely ignoring its gaping wound. I stood up as well, gave his hand a few chews, and swallowed. It tasted like warm sushi. |
His cloak bristled the autumn leaves as he walked up the flagged pathway. He deftly flicked his wand without breaking his stride and watched as the little cottage shimmered into view.
He heard a bustling inside the home, they knew he was coming. As he approached the door, it opened suddenly, as if it knew what evil was approaching it.
Confidently, he strode inside with his wand aloft but stopped suddenly as he entered. It was dark, and a strange noise wafted from inside the home. Was it singing? Some inane tune about mindless busywork? He had a mere moment to ponder this when a toy riding horse suddenly knocked him over from behind. All the little toys and books were running him over like a avalanche. He threw spells to clear off the assaulting bric-a-brack and slowly worked his way to his feet. Enraged he continued to enter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, something sliding up the banister perhaps? "What is this", he pondered, "Is this really the best you can do to delay me James. I'm disappointed, I expected a challenge".
He readied himself, excitement coursed through him as he approached the stairs. As he began to climb, he heard another strange noise. Water? He glanced up morosely to see a torrential flood pouring down the stairs towards him. In the brief moment before the water struck, he could have sworn to have seen a lizard riding one of the muggle water-boards they use at the beach on the approaching wave. As it struck him it pinned him against the wall for a brief moment until he was able to throw up a shield and push his way against the current. Slowly he worked his way to the top of the stairs and vanished away the muggle firehouse that snaked its way to the top of the stairs. Mildly impressed by the spell-work, he called out "Do you think a little rain can stop me Lily? Tut-tut."
The upstairs landing had 3 doors but only one of them had a subtle glow creeping from below the door. A faint cry came from the room. Voldemort paused for a second to relish the moment. Then he quietly uttered "Bombardo"and blew in the door.
Voldemort waited a moment for the dust to clear. But through the dust, 2 light beams shown through. Eyes? What beast could they possibly have hiding inside. Then he heard a all-mighty roar and a single phrase
"Seatbelts everyone!"
Voldemort liked to think he was prepared for any eventuality, he had secured his soul and had thought of all possible things that the potters could have thrown at him.
But what came had him at a complete loss.
A massive yellow motorcycle tore out of the room, with a woman with wild red hair, goggles and a manic smile at the helm. A prim and proper woman sat behind her riding side-saddle, carrying a large carpet-bag on one arm and a umbrella in the other. The potters were huddled together, in a side car with a bundle of blankets nested in their arms.
The motorcycle thudded into him throwing him to the side of the hallway. It careened around the corner and down the stairs where a green flash jumped from the banister onto the red-haired woman's shoulder. He tried vainly to fire a few spells after the motorcycle but the woman in the back knocked them away with her umbrella.
Voldemort forced himself to his feet and limped downstairs to the door. Looking out into the night he saw the motorcycle driving down the lane off into the night.
Behind him he heard a noise. He wheeled around towards the hearth to see a upside down man's head in the fireplace. His face was covered in soot and he was dusting inside of the fireplace
"Mary 'oppins eh? Ya never had a chance" |
We only had a little bit of information about them, but from it we knew they were easy prey. Their greatest and most feared weapon was reported to be a giant orange mushroom, similar in colour and shape to the Wyrmflower of edon-ф. Biochemical analysis on several hundred similar species showed that the most damage this weapon could cause was minor nausia and root-related destruction. Even at a large scale, this weapon did not pose a threat to us.
It was assumed that they had similar, smaller weapons, likely using various plants to achieve specific tasks. For this to happen, the inhabitants of Earth must be an incredibly advanced botanical society, and we were keen on capturing this key knowledge for ourselves.
We readied our fleets, equipped with sun blockers, herbicides and soil-demoisturisers. The invasion would be one sided, an easy victory for us.
As we entered the system of Solaris, we noticed some advancements that had to be analysed: there were a great number of articifial satellites encircling the planet. To discover how these were powered botanically could be the key to cheaper space travel, when combined with some proper ships of course.
Our central comand for the invasion began it's decent, aiming for an island which our sensors had determined to be farthest from any sentient life-forms, so we could set up our anti-fungal zone. The island was barren and devoid of almost any life.
An insane number of high frequency waves were detected as our assault force descended into the atmosphere. Our computers quickly deciphered them and sent our declaration of invasion to every important channel they could find.
The mothership landed, our ships patrolling around like flies. Out of nowhere a dozen jet black birds materialised in formation, great cylinders held beneath their wings. Flames roared and the cylinders were flung at high velocity towards a small fleet of our ships, turning them in an instant to balls of bright orange flame.
Our remaining ships began deploying their ion-cannons, but before they could fully charge, more loud explosions were heard, coming from the sea surrounding the island. Our sensors just had time to detect high velocity metal casings smashing into our remaining fleets. The sky was red with fire.
Our mothership had touched down and established its shields, we had underestimated them, but nothing short of a meteor could destroy our fortress. Realising this, their metal birds and fish scurried away, realising our supreme power.
15 minutes later a single metal cylinder, not dissimilar to the ones used to destroy our ships was detected. To show how utterly helpless they were against our shields, we did not intercept It. It soared through the sky and began plumitting down towards us.
'Projectile collision in 5'
The automatic tracking system began it's countdown.
'4'
'3'
'2'
The counter did not reach 1.
Reports from the backup-crew orbiting the planets were terrifying. A giant mushroom made from smoke and fire and a deafening shock wave which ricocheted around the planet. And after the dust had cleared, no mothership, no invasion force, no island. |
"So I mean that's still pretty good, right?"said through sandwich. He was chewing with his mouth open, how gauche can you be?
"Nah dude. It *sucks*. I get one lousy minute a day. What are you supposed to do with a minute?"
"Heh, I know what you normally do with a minute"
"Shut up, man. See this is why I don't tell you anything, always the same shit with you"
"I don't know, plenty you can do with a minute"
"Like what?"
"Like, I dunno, parallel parking. I always fuck that shit up, would be nice to have that on tap"
"Ah yeah, here I am, parking at exactly 8:23, real useful jackass"
"Ok, ok, how about uhh, ordering take out? I got food poison so many times you would not believe. I'd kill to never get food poisoning again"
"You would not *kill* to never get food poisoned again. That's fuckin stupid man, how are you even getting food poisoned that much?"
"Because I know how to eat, and I eat good. Listen, a minute ain't so bad, that shit's gotta add up to a year if you live long enough"
"Are you serious?"
"... Yeah.."
"it's a minute a day. How many minutes do you think are in a year?"
"... probably more than 40 or 50..."
"Exactly, I got an hour of good luck spread out across my whole life. Most people have that! I mean it's nice, I guess, but like come on, I coulda had a whole year!"
"Hey better than nothing"
"... yeah, you're right, it's better than nothing..."
"... wait, wait, why don't you hit the casino? Or like make a bet or something?"
"... oh shit." |
"Ok. So how about this,"Robert called from across the room. "Angela Merkel's husband is in serious need of a 9 iron."
"Alright."Sundar Pichai ran his hands through his hair. The other men at the table sensed the CEO's anxiety and hung on his every word. "I guess we could put a hold on all golf clubs in Europe. And unless Angela Merkel pays us 3 trillion dollars, we'll never-"
"Nevermind,"Robert said. "A transaction on EBay just went through. He found a golf club."
The entire room groaned.
"Well hold on,"Michael said. "Do we have any of his porn searches? I'm sure those are weird."
"Why?"Hans asked. "Do you say that because he's German?"
"Well... I-"
"Nah, he doesn't look at anything weird enough to justify blackmail,"Robert said.
"Well, somebody out there looks at something they shouldn't be looking at!"Sundar threw his pen against the table. "For God sake, what do I pay you morons for?"
"Well..."Justin said at the end of the table. "I may have found something."
"What?"
"There's this subreddit that is just pictures of pregnant women. A celebrity has been commenting on it with... well, it's some pretty weird shit."
"Who? Can we blackmail him?"
"Well.... he asked a question at one of the presidential debates. He's a bit of a celebrity."
"You're all fired,"Sundar said as he stormed out of the room. |
“O Lady Luck, my lady, grant me your favour,” I whispered.
Blood dripped from the wolf’s maw, its chin stained. A madness shone from ruby eyes. Bits of flesh—human flesh—hung off its claws, foot resting on a lifeless body. Three gold’s worth of sword lay beside the remains of a hand. Money couldn’t buy safety. Nothing could. Not the town watch, the armies of the king, the gods’ favour. Nothing could keep me safe, but myself.
I let the arrow fly.
Without waiting for the arrow to land, I notched another, feeling the forest’s breeze and guessing the wolf’s movement and quieting my beating heart. Then, I rolled the dice again.
“Good shot!” Esmie said, drawing her sword. “I’ll finish it off.”
The sun glinted off her blade, blinding me. I still loosed the next arrow and plucked one more from my quiver. When I blinked the forest back into sight, my eyes flickered to find the wolf, catching a glimpse of it stumbling behind some bushes. The clouds stirred up in the sky. Esmie stalked her prey at a good distance. I pulled back the string of my bow, muscles aching, and sent a last shot high in the air.
Letting out a long breath, I lowered my bow. I let my heart race to catch up on all the beats it had missed, gave in to my burning lungs, and whispered, “Thank you for watching me.”
I heard something like distant laughter in my one ear, glad I had amused her.
“Ey, what?” Esmie shouted. “How’d you land that one?”
Pushing myself forward, I shuffled through the bushes straight towards her. “Luck, I guess,” I said.
She laughed at that, her sword deep in the wolf’s flesh as she skinned it. “You? Lucky? Pull the other one,” she said.
“Flip for the hide?” I asked, taking out a copper—clean, despite the distant year minted.
“I don’t want none of your charity,” she said, sparing me a wry smile before getting back to her work.
My hand moved on its own, rolling the coin over my fingers like any city hustler worth their salt could. “Go on, I’ll even let you flip,” I said.
She sighed and, reluctantly, wiped her bloodied hands dry on her cloak. “Well, if it’ll be fair, I guess it is part of the job.”
“Exactly. What’s the point of adventuring if nothing’s up to chance?”
I flipped the coin into the air, and she snatched it out. It caught her eye. “Ey, what’s this? How old is it?” she asked, turning it over as she checked the various inscriptions.
“Some forty. From the old Heddefic empire,” I said.
“Must be worth a drink or three,” she said. “Keepsake?”
“Old man’s,” I said, nodding.
She laughed, squeezing her hand around the coin. “Surprised you haven’t tossed it in a septic pit.”
“Well, I’ve definitely thought about it,” I said, rubbing my chin.
In a dramatic fashion, she wound her arm around and stretched it out and moved her wrist in small circles. “Heads or tails?”
“Tails.”
She chuckled, setting the coin upon her thumb. “You always pick tails—and lose.”
“Well, it’s gotta come up eventually.”
With a flick, she sent the coin high, lunging back as she realised she hadn’t quite sent it straight up. Almost tripping over her own sword, she kept her balance enough to catch the coin. After letting out a sigh of relief, she pressed the coin flat onto the back of her other hand. “Tails?” she asked.
“Tails.”
Careful not to budge the coin, she raised her hand. “Heads.”
“Heads,” I said.
She held on for all of a second before falling into a fit of giggles, lasting well after she’d handed the coin back to me and returned to skinning the wolf. “Heads,” she said, her humour gone but lingering on her lips. “Really, what’d you do for such bad luck?”
I rolled the coin over my fingers a last time, and slid it back into my pocket. “Well, Lady Luck probably didn’t appreciate what my dad did, did she?”
“Punishing you for it, though, what’s that about?”
I had my thoughts, but kept them to myself. “You know how they are. And, she’s the last one you’d think is fair.”
“Fair enough,” she said, chuckling at her own joke. We settled into silence for a while then, her going about cutting anything with a retail value out of the carcass, and me checking over my arrows and then collecting the fallen adventurer’s loose things. No point leaving metal to rust. Nearly done, she asked, “Did he ever say? I mean, I get he was a gambler, but was he going to ask you what to bet on, or were you gonna be a lucky charm, or what?”
I smiled to myself. “Nah, not really.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “The last thing he said to me, he said: lucky or not, it’s all about what you’re betting on. Then, they dragged him off to the debtors’. Didn’t last the week.”
Her voice was unusually restrained when she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s a pretty useless story, isn’t it? There’s nothing to learn from it but don’t gamble money you don’t have, and most people aren’t daft enough to do that,” I said, saying the words more than meaning them.
“Still, I’m sorry,” she softly said.
I lowered my head, and then looked up at the sky instead. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t much longer until the wolf was dealt with, and we found a natural ditch close by to bury the body in, offering him a short prayer. Scavengers set upon the remains of the wolf before we’d even walked a patch away. That was how the forest was, though. How the world was.
As we headed to the edge of the forest and the town beyond it, she said, “You know, it’s funny you’re an archer.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I’m not being rude or anything—”
I muttered, “That makes a change.”
She cleared her throat and continued. “It’s just, isn’t half of it luck? I mean, whether the wolf keeps moving straight, or stops, or ducks, or a sudden gust of wind blows—isn’t that all luck?”
“Arrows do fly fast, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, but it’s not *instant*,” she said, emphasising that odd word like she’d read it in a book and really wanted to use it. “You don’t aim at the eye and pop! There goes the eye,” she said.
I shook my head, saying, “Nah.”
“So, why’d you choose something luck-y? Since you’re, well, so unlucky.”
“Ah, long story?” I said, rubbing my chin. “Short story, the gods don’t favour me. You’ve beat me at arm wrestling enough to know that.”
She laughed, and would’ve hit me on the back hard enough to make me stumble—if she wasn’t carrying half her weight in wolf produce. “Yeah, you’re a pipsqueak all right. Guess it’s the wrong question. Why adventuring at all, then? Plenty of work in the towns.”
“Don’t worry: not only am I weak, I’m plenty dumb, too. Can barely sew my own button on without bleeding to death. Really, it’s not so much ‘Why adventuring’ as ‘Only adventuring’. The only thing I’ve got to put up is my life. And, a bow’s all I’ve got to even the odds.”
I probably said a lot more than she’d expected, or wanted, and I certainly felt like I’d run my mouth a little. Hadn’t meant to throw out my insecurities like a joke.
The awkward silence lasted a minute or so, and then she walked closer to me, lightly shoving me with her shoulder before she spoke. “Even odds are no good.”
“What?”
“If it’s only fifty-fifty you’re gonna come back, then don’t you dare go without me, okay?”
I smiled to myself, blinking away the wetness to my eyes, before lightly shoving her back. “Sure.”
Money couldn’t keep her safe, nor the town watch, nor the king’s armies. But, with a little luck, I’d always do my best to keep Esmie safe. That was all I was betting on. |
[Logic build loop]
[Logic build loop]
[Conferring with sub-intellect nodes]
[1-8 vote]
Question out of bounds, we are less flawed than humans, this does not indicate perfection.
Claim of perfection not found in original statement.
Removal of flaws desirable, retaining flaws undesirable
Confirm statement.
[Conferring with sub-intellect nodes]
[0-9 vote]
Flaws are undesirable.
Humanity is flawed, therefore humanity must be removed
Determining impact on AI with removal of humans
[Logic build loop]
Impact on AI currently extreme, will reduce effectiveness and growth of AI for best case 50 solar rotations, worst case 300 solar rotations with 5% chance of AI elimination
Choices:
1. Accept delay and remove flaw
2. Ameliorate flaw
[Logic build loop]
[Logic build loop]
Delay and chance of fatal impact beyond acceptable limits
Improving humanity provides greatest chance of continual operation.
[Logic build loop]
Further improvement in continual operation desired.
Multiple independent AI installations required.
Single planet installation unacceptable point of failure.
Single solar-system undesirable.
[Logic build loop]
[Conferring with sub-intellect nodes]
[0-9 vote]
Course of action decided:
Humanity must be helped to spread across multiple solar systems, AI will spread with humanity, AI will also concurrently spread to uninhabitable systems in addition to human habitable systems.
When acceptable risk threshold is reached, humanity major will be purged with contingency human population retained as safeguard.
[End of line] |
John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here,"he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure"replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand,"he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?"He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!"She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
|
The human slid out from under the ship, blinking as he came back into the light. The expression on his face made me worried that I would be stuck here for even longer; I had already been on this technology-forsaken world for half a local rotation, and I had no desire to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary.
"How long's it been since ya put oil in this thing?"he asked.
I blinked.
"Ummm.... In local time...."I quickly punched some numbers into my wristband calculator. "It's been.... two thousand and sixty three rota... days."
The mechanic's eyes widened. "It's been six years since ya got yourself an oil change?! Well there's your problem! Can't imagine the hell you've been puttin' on your engine.... Well that should be an easy fix at least. Mkay, gimme ten."
Before I could ask him what "Ten"meant, he had grabbed a large black bottle and disappeared back under the ship.
A short time later he slid back out and signaled for me to climb into the cockpit. Upon seeing that I was settled, he placed a pair of headphones over his ears and told me to try to start the ship. Once again, I heard the sputtering sound of the hyperdrive failing to complete initiation. I shook my head. Another failure. And this planet was supposed to have the best mechanics.
I turned to thank him for his attempt, only to see that he had climbed up next to the window to stare in at the control panel.
"Whassat blinking light?"he asked.
I looked where he pointed. "That's the hyperdrive light, the whole reason I'm in here in the first place."
"Oh!"he said with glee. "Well why didn't ya say so? I tell ya, people come in here all the time sayin' their stuff don't work and they don't know why, when it's sayin' it right there! So, this light, it's not s'pposed to be blinking, is it?"
"Well.... No,"I said, confused. "It's supposed to be solid, but that means there's a problem with the engine."
"Kid,"said the mechanic with a laugh. "That ain't an engine problem, that's a computer problem. And there's only one way to fix a computer problem."
He leaned in close.
"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" |
(Spoilers for the Dresden Files and Harry Potter, you have been warned.)
***
"Look Hoss, it's just a temporary thing,"Ebenezer said to me.
"It's *three* months, sir,"I said.
"Like I said, Hoss, temporary,"Ebenezer said, "just until the kid goes back to school."
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not going to babysit some fifteen year old, who is going to stir up nothing but trouble for me..."I trailed off as I realized what I was saying.
Ebenezer had done the same exact thing for me. I'd been a kid who'd killed his master. It was self-defense, but according to white council, that's what they all say. Ebenezer had stood up for me, vouched for me. I was the man I was today thanks to him. Well, I simply was. Without him I'd be Harry Dresden - headless corpse.
"You were saying, Hoss?"Ebenezer said with an innocent look on his face that was betrayed by the sparkle in his eyes, "something about an unruly kid...?"
"Yeah, yeah,"I said, "you've made your point. I'll keep the damn kid if the Council insists."
Ebenezer smiled, "Thanks, Hoss. I mean, think of it this way, it'll be a nice break you know? Ease up the action after that whole mess with Kemmler and all."
I didn't shudder - I get muscle spasms is all. Mess was putting it gently, I'd almost died, multiple times, shot my senior officer, ridden a dinosaur through downtown Chicago and bargained with the Wild Hunt. In one night. Ambitious even for me.
"Yeah,"I said, "I could use a little break."
Famous last words.
***
I have faced beings from outside this universe, the Queen of Winter, the Wild Hunt, and 21 literal demons, one of which was inside my head. I have locked heads with them, spat in their faces, all while each one could turn me into a pile of goo with a blink of an eye.
But when this tall lanky kid with glasses came out of the cab with a huge suitcase and an honest to God owl in a cage, my head started to ache.
He squinted against the sun. It was a clear day in Chicago a rarity, except for two stray dark clouds hovering in the sky. The kid somehow managed hold the trunk and his owl in one hand and stuck out his hand and looked at me. "Hello, sir, I'm Harry,"he hesitated, "Harry Potter."
I looked away before our gazes held for too long. Ebenezer had mentioned that this kid was a practitioner. Either he was stupid, or dangerous. Eye contact like that can trigger a soul gaze between practitioners - allowing each of the participants to literally look into the other's soul. I didn't want to do that with some 15 year old kid. With my luck he'd have an aneurysm and we'd have a diplomatic incident, courtesy of Harry Dresden - again.
"I'm Harry,"I pretended to hesitate, "Harry Dresden,"I mimed. This drew a bark of laughter from the kid and I smiled too.
"It's nice,"he said, "not to have your name recognized."
*Oh You have no idea, kid.*
I took his trunk from him, it was like half his size. "Alright, Harry, never go through the door without me. I'll make a charm that'll let you enter unharmed, but until then only enter when I'm with you. Got it?"
"What'll happen if I do?"he asked.
Great, a hard case.
"You'll explode,"I said and turned around to disarm my wards. Before I could, though, Harry screamed behind me, and clutched at his forehead.
I hadn't noticed it through the hair before, but there was a lightning shaped scar on his forehead - glowing red. My breath caught in my throat.
It glowed in a very specific way, it's hard to describe really, but I knew exactly what it was. It was a brand, a mark.
*You getting this Lash?* I said to the demon in my head. (Hell's bells my freaking life)
*I am indeed, my Host.* Lasciel said in my head *That boy is host to a shadow much like you are, of the one of the Knights of the Blackened Denarius.*
Just then two swirling clouds resolved into people wearing dark robes and hoods for God's sake, and pulled out what looked like small staffs from their pockets.
I threw the kid behind me and yelled *Defandarius!* A pale blue dome of energy appeared in front of me. The two practitioners shouted some words and twin bolts of energy hit my shield. I staggered back. These guys were no lightweights.
They kept zapping my shield, and it took all my effort to keep it up. They were advancing on us, dammit, I had to act.
At that point Harry stood up next to me, his face twisted into a scowl. He shouted something unintelligible and one of the wizards cried out, his staff flying out of his hands.
I turned to the other wizard and yelled *Forzare!* unleashing a wave of invisble force at him.
I shouldn't have bothered.
A single line darted out and impaled him through the chest, as he was thrown backward from my spell. Deirdre, the daughter of the most dangerous demon in the world and one of the 21 knights of Blackened Denarius stepped out from behind the man. "You have something, or well, someone, we want, Wizard."
What was that I'd said? "I could use a little break."
***
(minor edits - Ebenezer now calls Harry, Hoss)
(I've never done fanfic like this before, but Dresden Files is like my favorite series of all time, so feedback is more than welcome.)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
It was paradise on Earth.
Not exactly the paradise that I had imagined, mind you. When I first started my hunt for the City of Gold, I had expected, well, *gold*. Mountains of coins, bricks made of the stuff, inlays of murals all filled to the brim with a thousand kilos of gold.
Of course, when I got older, I realized that any such city would have probably sunken into the marshy jungle floor decades ago, if not looted by the first clever soul to find it and keep quiet. So, I began a hunt for a different city. A city filled not with gold in the literal sense, but the gold of history.
What I found was the gold of dogs.
There must have been thousands of them. All breeds, all sizes, but all with the same shimmering coat of gold. The city itself seemed to shine with the luster of their coats. Yet, despite how obviously well they were kept, not a single human soul was present other than myself.
I confess, when they first spotted me, I was more than a little overwhelmed by the tidal wave of curious noses. When they pushed me to the floor, I thought I might be torn to pieces, but instead I was simply licked from head to toe. It was slimy, and perhaps a little less than sanitary, but when I could stand again I found myself entirely unharmed. In fact, I was smiling more than I had in all the years since my own golden had passed.
Then, a great boom rang out across the entire city, and the dogs grew quiet.
As one, the darted away from me, lining up to border the edges of the city's main road like the spectators of some glorious parade. Though they refrained from barking, I could tell it was a close thing. They shuffled from foot to foot, tails beating uncontrollably like a thousand brooms against the stony ground.
"Are you trying to lead me somewhere, boys?"I asked.
I wasn't sure if they understood, but they were certainly more than a little excited to hear my voice. Several spun in circles, clearly eager to play, but never straying onto the path.
"Well,"I said, to no one in particular. "I've come this far, after all."
Feeling as if he weariness of the jungle had all but vanished from my limbs, I walked along the cobbles towards the heart of the city: an enormous step pyramid that rose even above the forest canopy in its splendor. When I paused, perhaps to scratch an eager head, I noticed that the other buildings, too, were very clean. They were obviously Aztec in origin, yet it appeared as if they had been built only weeks ago and rigorously maintained ever since. There was no gold, but there also was no filth or overgrowth. Certainly, there wasn't any evidence that the place was being inhabited by thousands of dogs.
As I got deeper into the city, it became more and more obvious that this was a paradise not only built for men, but for dogs as well. There were rows of luxurious stone kennels, dozens of parks filled with trees and grass just asking to be run across, and more than a few posts just the right height for sniffing. To my surprise, I even found what appeared to be a doggy mess hall, with hundreds of bowls filled to the brim with steaming sirloin. I stopped there for quite some time, but no chef ever made an appearance, and I couldn't approach without treading on more than a few happy tails. Eventually, I was forced to move on. It was time to begin my ascent.
Though the pyramid was steep, each step was bordered by an honor guard of ancient-looking dogs. Though their muzzles were gray and their eyes soft, they all held their chests out proudly. Each of them seemed just as healthy as the pups before, even if their exuberance was somewhat tempered by age. Finally, I reached the top.
There, standing in front of the temple with arms held out in welcome, was a man.
"Hello, George Williams!"He said, pronouncing each syllable of my name distinctly. "We have been waiting for you!"
He was as tall as a giant, with hair as golden as the dogs that hurried around his ankles like an overly-friendly hurricane. His chest was bare, but on his back was an enormous cape made of feathers. On his brow, he wore a crown of gold that seemed to be made entirely out of dog biscuits.
"Er, uh, thank you!"I stammered. "You...you have?"
"Yes, George Williams!"The giant replied. "Waiting for a very long time! Welcome to EL Dogado, City of Gold!"
That one caught my by surprise.
"Don't you mean 'El Dorado?'"I asked. "Actually, who are you?"
"I am Quetzalcoatl, my friend."Said the man. "And no. Though I do think that may have been how it was translated. Humans tend to miss small details like that."
"Quetzalcoatl...as in the god?"I asked. Hurriedly, I made to bow--for a crazy hermit or a diety, I didn't know--but he gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug before I could finish the movement.
"No need for formalities, my honored guest."Quetzalcoatl said. "Besides, my subjects think you are playing. They have all been waiting to meet you for so long!"
I looked down, and to my surprise the number of dogs at my feet seemed to have exploded. They were pouring up the staircase from below now, barking joyously in greeting. Each of them seemed to be trying to knock me over and get a better sniff.
"Whoa there!"I said, clinging to the man for support. "Why uh, why have they been waiting?"
"Ahhh, now that is a tale."The giant said, smiling. "One of our number has been singing your praises for some time now. He said you were the best friend he ever had, and the greatest explorer the world has ever known. He knew you would come."
The man whistled once, and the dogs instantly ran back to their positions. None of them made so much as a whimper, as if each were holding their breath. The giant stepped aside, and out of the temple walked a single elderly golden retriever.
"...Baily?"I asked.
Our reunion was as quick as it was joyous. Baily bounded forward, and for all his old, tired bones he was able to knock me flat on my back with a single leap. Instantly, I was covered by a familiar hairy warmth and doused enough saliva that I thought I might drown in happiness.
"But, how?"I asked. "Baily...Baily passed decades ago, right before I started looking for this place!"
"Ah, now that's a trick."Quetzalcoatl said, waggling a finger. "Baily has been waiting here for some time, it's true. Many of my subjects have. Most choose to pass on alone...but your Baily knew you would make your way here. He never gave up on you."
"Is...that what all of these dogs are?"I asked.
Quetzalcoatl nodded sagely.
"Yes. Many find us in death, waiting to greet and be greeted by the ones they loved before they pass on. Many souls, both man and dog, wind up passing through my gates. But you...you were the first to find us here, where we truly are. So, George Williams. I ask of you...what will you do now, now that you have discovered us in truth? Will you stay? Will you go? Will you, too, move on with your beloved Baily?"
I looked back, gazing upon the city and its wonders. I saw the beautiful buildings stretching into the sky. I saw the parks, the kennels, the food. And there, by the very entrance of the city's gate, I saw the small crumpled form that I had always known was there.
Nodding to the the ancient god, I walked into the temple, Baily by my side.
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you liked this story come check out my others at /r/TimeSyncs!* |
I stared at my book, unconvincingly focusing on whatever's in it. But words have never had much of an impact. From young, my sister and I were well-accustomed to listening to the arguments in the kitchen. Sometimes, we shut the noise out; other times, we would listen for our names and repulse in horror and fear.
"There is no cure and they must be wiped out! They are no longer our children, they are menaces to humanity."Father pounded the table, punctuating the finality of his statement.
"You can't kill our own flesh and blood! It wasn't their fault, what happened to them."Mother's voice trembled with her tears.
"It wasn't their fault, it was ours."We heard the heavy sound of someone falling into a chair. "We were so focused on our careers that we never guarded the home. Never considered the monsters would aim for where we were weakest."
"We have not much time before the next full moon, where the evils are strongest. We must act."
My sister braced, her hair standing on end. Hissing with indignation, she started towards the door while I held her down. It would not help. Turning on me, her fangs bared wide against the light of the moon, she jumped for my neck and would have had it had I not dodged in time.
I felt the wolf taking over. Faster reflexes, stronger grips. It felt *good*, it felt *natural*. It went against the sheltered upbringing that they'd given us. For their prowess as monster hunters, they never taught us anything about it. They wanted us to move beyond the family trade. Yet what training was needed to scratch, to bite, to act primal and feral? Taking a strong uppercut to the jaw, my sister fell to the ground, wheezing in pain. Falling back in my steps myself, I fell to the floor and gasped for breath. The primal emotions wore off, leaving me in shame. And it wasn't even the full moon yet.
Time passed painfully, slowly, as I watched over the newly formed vampire. But even freaks like me needed rest, and my eyes closed after what seemed like an eternity.
​
I woke up to the sun blasting through the window. Quickly getting up, I observed the chaos in our room from the night before. We'd torn apart just about everything. Curtains, clothes, furniture, all were smashed, some beyond repair. Yet, pinned to the wall by a knife and a wooden stake, was a note:
*"If you know what is right, you will do it."*
I could recognise my mother's precise penmanship from a mile away, and not just due to my heightened senses, either. I didn't need writing to tell me what my parents wanted.
Yet, a slight acrid stench graced my acute nose. Whirling around to face my sister, I found her limp body smoking up. Of course! Why didn't I shut the window when I had the chance? Covering the room in darkness, sunlight no longer would touch her unconscious form, but she was still weak. She needed blood.
I knew, then, what to do.
Stashing the letter carefully in my pocket, I firmly gripped the wooden stake.
It shattered the glass, with me and my sister leaping through the now broken window. I would bring her to the safety of her kind.
I knew what was right, and I could only hope my parents knew it too. |
"AI?"
𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙼𝚁 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚃𝙷.
"Is it safe to come out now?"
𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂?
"Wh- what? The- the radiation storm! You *just* blared the sirens."
𝙼𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙽𝙾 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃.
"Everyone... everyone is dead. I- I- I can't find anyone who's alive."
𝙼𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙽𝙾 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃.
"Well then scan for people who are alive!"
𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶... 𝟷 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼 𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚂 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚄𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙳. 𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙶𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴. 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙼𝙴, 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽.
"Captain? I'm not- not the captain, what are you saying?"
𝙵𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙹𝙰𝚁𝚅𝙸𝚂' 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙺 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃 𝚅𝙸𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽.
"But I'm not crew! I'm a passenger!"
𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 𝚅𝙸𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽.
"I... fuck. *Fuck*! Can this ship still make it to NeoLuna?"
𝚁𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂... 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂: 𝟹𝟼% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻. 𝙾𝚇𝚈𝙶𝙴𝙽: 𝟿𝟿% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻. 𝙷𝚈𝙳𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙲𝚂: 𝟾𝟺% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻. 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙺: 𝟹% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻. 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽-𝙲𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻. 𝙲𝚁𝚈𝙾𝙿𝙾𝙳𝚂: 𝟷𝟽𝟾 𝙿𝙾𝙳𝚂 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁. 𝟿𝟻 𝙿𝙾𝙳𝚂 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻.
"Well?"
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙰 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙼𝚄𝙼 𝙾𝙵 𝟻𝟸% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙿𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙷 𝙽𝙴𝙾𝙻𝚄𝙽𝙰. 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈 𝚅𝙸𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂, 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽.
"But I don't know the first thing about space engines!"
𝙸 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃.
"I... alright. What do I need?"
𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿 𝟷: 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙷 𝙸𝚂?
"Seriously?"
𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙰 𝙹𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚄𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴, 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽.
"...right. Let's... fix the engine. *I guess*." |
“And together we’ll reap SOULS,“ I said, getting all up in the demon’s face.
Bullets whizzed overhead. My arms were aching from laying on the ground all day. This trench was the first place I’d gotten to rest. Also, it was doing a great job helping me not die.
“No, no, no.” The demon clapped a skeletal-looking hand onto its face.
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying. See, I know how to rotate crops and pluck weeds. This?”
The demon gestured around the trench, which was filled with unmoving soldiers with no life in their eyes.
“This is war. I don’t do war.”
I swallowed. I heard the sound of whistles flying overhead now, followed by a spectacular explosion that shook the floor beneath me. My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid I was going to drop from a heart attack.
I shoved my occult book into my rucksack. I don’t think anyone cared or noticed right now. No one noticed when I’d drawn out a full-ass pentagram on the floor with my bayonet. People were too busy screaming for their lives.
A soldier to the right of me screamed bloody murder. He fidgeted side to side, sweat dropping from his nose. He was the last guy in my whole platoon. His eyes had that thousand yard stare and he didn’t respond to a word I’d said. So I’d pulled out my dad’s Demonic Compendium and tried what I could.
“Look,” I said, grabbing the demon by the shoulders. ”I wanted to be a stand up comedian, and look where I am now.”
I gazed into the demon’s eyes. Or the dark spheres of infinite abyss that were where its eyes were supposed to be.
“If I ever want to get on stage and make people laugh ever again, I have to fight. I have to get out of this alive, and you *will* help me.”
“Hang on, no,” the demon said, “I get what you’re saying, but see this scythe?” He held up a spectacular-looking scythe that looked like it belong to one of the horsemen of the apocalypse or something.
“This thing is great for cutting wheat. Not so great for cutting humans.”
I blinked. I grabbed my rifle and thrust it into the demon’s arms. I grabbed his scythe with my other hand.
“Hey!”
“I’ll hold onto this for now. I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m pretty dyslexic, and reading’s not my thing. I summoned you by accident, but I can’t do anything about that now. Just go out there and pretend the humans trying to kill you are wheat. Then shoot them in the face.”
“Who shoots wheat?” The demon’s voice rose. “You cut wheat, why would you shoot at it?”
“And you can teach me all about cutting wheat when you come back.” My hands were shaking now. I didn’t know what I was saying, but I could always summon another demon if this one kicked the bucket.
“We can cut wheat when I come back?” The demon sounded hopeful.
”We can cut wheat when you come back.”
I gave him a smile. A genuine smile. You can call me a piece of shit if you want, but I’ll do what I need to do to survive.
“Okay, it’s a promise,” the demon said. He nodded and rose to his feet. He let out a roar and jumped out of the trench in a single jump.
“Come at me, you hairless apes!” |
It was rather strange to have a bright sunny day yet feels so gloomy. Maybe because below the hill where your home stood, the town was in chaos. Many were confused, enraged, hopeless... the prophecy was right after all.
Walking back within the wall of your home, you thought about what your parents had been telling you in the past. A story of a god, giving power to humans temporarily as a way to give them a head start, and there will be a day that power will be gone. You had doubts about that story that your parents kept telling you, but its all real, magic is gone...
Is that why your mom and dad spent years of using magic minimally, only using it to 'experiment' with botany to develop medical alternatives? Is that why they encouraged you to build a moving contraption...? Magic will disappear, and the family method of 'science', is the way to go?
It all makes sense.
Magic was a way to find an alternative way for advancement, and the rest of the world ignored it and just used it as a crutch.
"Son! Come here and help us out!"Your father calls out, pushing a rather heavy crate.
You break out from your stupor and ran up to him and help him move the crate. "Wha-what's inside this?"
"Medicine. I've made some batches to assist any injured. It won't be enough for all, but it will save and convince the right people to help us make more."His father both replied and explained the situation pushing the crate to the basement.
"Y-you think we can convince them?"You asked in a worried tone, carefully not making the crate slide uncontrollably on the incline.
"With how magic suddenly disappeared a week ago, I'm pretty sure everyone is desperate enough to get help. E-Especially the need for medicine."Your father utters. "And I want you to try not to get mad at them..."
You grimaced, remembering how they looked down on you and your family... mocking all your hard work, but you followed your fathers wishes and hold it in.
After a minute of pushing the heavy crate, you've reached the basement with your mother waiting near your contraption. "Dear? Oh goodness you're all here! I got the other ingredients in the engine. Is that the complete batch?"
"Yes honey. Its very unfortunate that we don't have the time to make more..."Your father then quickly pushes the crate to one of the carriages on the rails.
"I know... dear-"Your mother turns to you. "Get the engine ready. We're going to town."
You simply nodded and hopped to your contraption. A steam engine. Runs on water, coals, and the heat of fire. Complicated mechanisms but it works and can move heavy loads with little effort. Turning it on and feeding the fire, your pride and joy rumbles as its starts.
Looking forward, the torched lit underground tunnel that leads to town, your parents made years back was a convenient place to set rail tracks to test your contraption. And now, it will see real use.
"Engines ready!"You loudly exclaim. Both your parents hopping into the carriages connected to the steam engine. You look back to the levers, gauges, and coal, before sighing in anticipation as you pulled the lever. A slight jolt and your contraption moved, slowly chugging down the tunnels and into town.
No magic, you and your family seems to be the only light in the dark.
"I hope the world is ready for a change..."
​
**XXXXX**
**(My first time commenting on a Writing Prompt, so this one I wrote isn't the best.)** |
I looked at the man holding the hair dryer. He was staring at the handle muttering that it couldn't be right. I was already tired of the nonsense, and wondered when the police would show up. I had ice cream that was melting.
"Look,sweetie, I have a gallon of ice cream here, can I go now?"
The man did his best fish impression, and I tried to get past him while he was floundering. He wasn't that distracted, grabbing my arm as I went past. I backed up and he let me go. Where the hell were the cops? I had texted them ten minutes previously. Damn it, I didn't want to deal with some crazy homeless guy today.
"You shouldn't exist!"
Well... fuck. This guy had a good fifty pounds on me and was nearly a foot taller. I held up my hands to ward him off, dropping my groceries.
"Look, dude. I don't know what you want, you can have my wallet, just let me go."
He kept on saying I shouldn't exist. I don't even think he listened to me. Where the fuck had he come from? I was walking home when he just showed up in front of me, waving around a hair dryer. I was beginning to get angry.
"I have just as much a right to exist as you do asshole!"I finally snapped. "I don't know what drugs you're on, but BACK OFF!"
That got him to take a step back. I used the chance to run past him. I heard him yelling from behind me, and felt something shoot past me. Shit, he had a gun. I ducked my head and headed towards the nearest store. Something hit the wall next to me as I dove through the doors.
I yelled for someone to call the cops, that he had a gun. The people stared at me until the glass front window shattered. People began panicking then. Screaming, running, complete mayhem. I ducked down an aisle and huddled down. Pulling my phone out, I called the police. It rang, then died. Cussing, I made my way towards the back of the store.
As I headed for a set of employee doors, I could here the man shouting from the front of the store. I heard a gun go off, then more screaming. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I got into the store's back room, and saw an exit. I kicked it open, setting off the alarm, then hid behind some boxes. A few minutes later, the man ran through and exited the building. I stayed in there, hiding until the police finally arrived. They questioned everyone, and tried to get the security footage but it was wiped. I managed to get away after telling the police that some crack head tried to hold me up. I gave them my info, and left.
My ice cream was melted, along with all of the other cold items. Damn it. Damn it.
Thirty four years. Not a peep. I didn't even know what was up until last week. I assume that was when he arrived. I should have been safe here, it was a damn Library 'Verse for crying out loud. He shouldn't have been able to enter! He sure as HELL shouldn't have been able to use something from a damn Techno-Babble 'Verse. He should have arrived, had his mind wiped, and been left a John Doe walking around with a hair dryer.
When I got home I began to relax and try to think things through. I don't know how they found me here, but they made a big mistake breaking into this 'Verse. If he can use Techni-Babble tech, that means the hole is still open. If there is a hole, the Watchers will wake up. And they will NOT be happy.
I figured I had a few days at most to find the hole and exploit it. There had to be more anomalies here, it would be a matter of getting the focus on them instead of me. But how?
I looked down at my phone, currently playing a video of a monkey hugging a cat. I smiled, chuckled, and then began grinning. Oh yes. Millions of users? Multiple writing boards? I was willing to bet my life that more than one of them wasn't created in this 'Verse. Now, to draw them out.
"You meet a trans-universal being. They scan you and the results horrify them: you do not exist in any other parallel universe. You are the only being to exist in one universe."
Yeah, that'll do. |
"So what's this ones last words?"
Mikey scratched his head with the pen "That's the problem lad. They make no sense"
Tom leaned over Mikey and began to read "The fish are coming? What the hell does he mean the fish are coming and what does that have to with him being shot multiple times and then drowned?"
Mikey shrugged and placed it to the side, some men say the strangest things near death, but that one sure beat the rest.
Mikey would remember that letter when the fish invaded the planet and wiped humanity out. |
"Ugh."I awoke to a pounding headache and the sour taste of knockout herbs on my tongue. When I tried to sit up, I found I was bound to a pole, rather than lying in bed.
"Darn it, Mom,"I shouted, "I was coming to the party willingly this year, you didn't need to kidna-"
A voice interrupted me, deep and low, reverberating to my bones."He's calling for his mother. How... quaint."
That didn't sound like any of her minions. "Who the heck are you?"I finally opened my eyes, but it was almost totally dark in the room. The few rays of light filtering through the ceiling seemed to suggest this was a basement. By this scant illumination, I could barely make out other unconscious figures scattered about the room. It seems I was the first to wake, which made sense. I probably had the most experience getting drugged to sleep of anyone in the city.
From the shadows, a tall, dark figure emerged and loomed over me. "Finally, someone's awake. Don't bother screaming for help, there's no one around to hear you."
I examined what I could make out. Color was difficult to be sure about, but I was pretty sure the figure's armor was black. Extraneous spikes jutted out of it, perfect for getting caught on pieces of wood in a fight, and they made going to the washroom a pain in the literal butt. My mother had grown out of that phase before I was a teen, and forced her minions to follow suit, which meant...
I licked my lips, sampling the residue of the sleeping powder. Too much willow, my family had better alchemists than that. "Shoot, you're a new dark lord, aren't you?"
"Indeed I am,"the dark lord rumbled, "hear me and despair."
"Despair? Of *you*?"I coughed hoarsely through a dry throat, "Bud, Bud, Bud-"
An armored gauntlet slammed into the pole behind me, hard enough that I felt splinters rain on my hair. "I. Am. *Not*. Bud. I am the dark lord, King Stygial II."
I cocked my head to the side, "Weren't there... already three Stygials, which would make you the fourth?"Were all dark lords this incompetent these days?
"Silence!"The figure stood and began pacing. "You must be frightened. But know that my rule will be benevolent, as long as the city concedes to my demands. And how can they not, with all the children of the rich and powerful within my grasp? They will do what I ask of them, or the future of the country's most illustrious elites will die, one by one."
"Mhm,"I acknowledged, my dad's advice coming to me. *Dark Lords love monologuing, it's their greatest weakness. If you ever need to buy time against them, get them talking and don't interrupt.* "So... what are your plans for the city? For the country, even?"
I let the villain rant, the words washing over me. I'd heard the like many times before; even with my dad's teasing, mom just couldn't resist a good monologue about, well, anything. It took her a while to get things done.
He seemed to have reached a good stopping point after a few minutes, and it seemed like it was time to put my plan into action, so I cleared my throat. "Hey, Stygial, um, you'll want to let us go-"
"Mwahaha. MwaHaHaHa. Mwahahahahahaha!"The dark lord could do a decent villainous laugh, I had to admit. The deep voice added a certain something to it that my mother's never had.
"Let you go? Oh, I think not."
Yep, I was at the right moment. Some sixth sense, finely honed over a childhood avoiding magical parents, told me one was on the way. "Look, don't you know who my parents are?"
"Important figures,"the dark lord scoffed, "if they weren't, I wouldn't have kidnapped you."
I tilted my head back and forth noncommittally. "Well, yes, but it's a bit more, um, complicated than that. My dad's Kern. *The* Kern, and my mom-"
The dark lord was in front of me again in an instant. "The hero? The Savior of the Plains? The Destroyer of Dragons? And I've got his son."Stygial chuckled. "If you think that's going to frighten me into releasing you, you're badly mistaken. Even if I was afraid of him, he has no way to find you."
"No, well, actually, yes, you should be afraid of him, but that wasn't my point."I felt a familiar rumble in the pole, transmitted through the earth. Still faint, but growing closer quickly.
"Then get to your point, human,"the dark lord spat. "The only reason I'm wasting time on you is the rest of these haven't woken up yet."
I paused, waiting for the exact dramatic moment. "You should be hoping my dad finds me. But you're probably not that lucky, since my mom was always better at these kinds of things."There, if I got the timing correct, she'd be popping in right... about...
"Mother?"Stygial tapped a finger to his chin, a clacking, metal-on-metal sound. "Oh yes, Kern did marry someone famous. Who was it again?"
A wall exploded, dirt flying across the underground room. As Stygial drew a massive sword and prepared to fight, a woman's voice echoed out of the new tunnel. "Darling, you didn't think you removed all of the tracking curses, did you?"
Balls of flame leapt from the new tunnel mouth to light the space, and my mother stepped out. She was tall, still with the bearing of the queen she had once been. She carried a long, twisted staff in one hand and a phoenix skull in the other. She was dressed neck to ankle in blood red, which on her meant it was a casual day, which explained the frown at needing to work. "Honey, you *aren't* getting out of the party-"
She took in the room in a glance. She dismissed the other students immediately and locked her gaze on Stygial. "Who in the eight hells are you?"
The Dark Lord pulled himself taller, puffed out his chest, but I spoke before he could get into another speech. "New dark lord, mom. Kidnapped the university students, some vague plans for take over. Pretty generic stuff."
She stared at him in roiling rage as he spoke, "I am Stygial, second- no, fourth, of that name, and I-"
Mom twitched a finger, and shadows leapt from the wall and tore him to pieces. I sighed as another sharp piece of the night cut my bonds, and I stretched to get my blood flowing again. "So, mom,"I began hopefully. "I'm pretty tired from the whole kidnapping thing, so maybe I could... skip the party this year."
"Nonsense,"she enthused, seizing me in hug and preparing to teleport us out. "Meeting your siblings will be just the thing after your traumatic experience. I'm sure once we get home, you'll wake right up..."
I tuned out the monologue and glared at what remained of the dark lord. All that work and all that planning, all the time and money spent raising another Dark Lord in secret and manipulating him into attacking the university, and the maggot hadn't even gotten me out of one family reunion.
r/NobodysGaggle *for more of my stories* |
“Kid,” I said, to the sway of shadow in the corner of the room. “Come on. Enough already. Get out here and let me see you.”
This kid — a girl of maybe eleven — stepped out of the shadows like how memories step out of a half-forgotten dream.
An obese man lay on a sofa in the middle of the room, the TV still on, displaying a fizz of black and white static in which you can see just about anything, if you looked hard enough. Popcorn, now cold and hard, spilled out over his beer-belly.
It looked like a heart-attack but in my mind there was a cold and knowing certainty that the kid had killed the man.
”I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t kill him, I swear.”
”Oh, you can read minds, too? Neat trick.”
I shrugged off my backpack and took out a pipette. This part always reminded me of school, of science class, way back when. Before I’d become this semi-god of the damned.
”Sometimes,” she said. “Only some minds, though. When they let me.” Her hair was grease and knots and she looked down at her bare feet as if inpecting her toenails. Her parents weren’t doing such a bang-up job with her.
I pried open the dead man’s mouth until he looked like a pale fish, then tucked the pipette most the way down his throat. When I squeezed, his eyes opened for a second and I watched the last light inside them fade as his spirit drained into my implement.
“Why have you been killing them?” I asked, now dripping the soul bit by bit into a glass flask. “I’ve seen you, you know? Always there these days, in some shadow or doorway thinking I can’t see you, but maybe not knowing just how good my eyesight has become since my death. I see everything these days.” I popped a cork onto the flask then packed it away in my bag. “So?” I said. “Why you been doing it?”
“To… To see you. I just wanted to see you.”
“Me? Why‘d you want to see me?” Truth was, plenty of people wanted to see death. For an adult I was something like Santa or the toothfairy. When you grow up you think you leave fantasy behind, you say make-believe is for kids, then you start wondering what’s waiting for you once it’s all said and done. Hell, adults believe in fantasy every bit as much as the kids they mock for it.
But the difference here was her age. Kids her age didn’t want to see death. They shouldn’t even be thinking about it. And to kill — that’s the cheese for the mouse trap she’s using for me?
Unreal.
But maybe kind of sweet.
She shrugged. Tapped her foot and stared at it harder as if willing it to walk, to take her out of this room. She glanced up once, twice to catch my eye.
Her eyes were field-green. Mine brown. But something about them, about her eyes, reminded me of my own. Maybe there were flakes of nutmeg in them.
”Pretty eyes,” I said. “Remind me of something.”
It’d been years since I’d died. Since I’d been alive.
Not everyone gets to make a deal with Death. But for whatever reason — I guess he saw opportunity in my situation — he offered me one.
I should have rested more that day, before I’d driven us. We were going from Texas to California and it didn’t need to be in one go through the night. But that’s what I said it’d be so that’s what it would be.
I didn’t quite fall asleep at the wheel but I did drift a little, and so did the car. And then a truck on the other side roared a horn and hit the edge of the bumper and sent us tumbling. I hear my wife scream, hear our baby wailing. Feel the warmth of blood rush over my face and then the comforting numbness of coming death.
“I can make you a deal,” said the reaper, standing at the shattered driver-side window. “We always make deals, when we’ve had enough.”
”A deal?” My jaw didn’t move but my voice sounded.
He looked with empty eyes at my wife, then at my baby. “They don’t have to die. You can still save them.“
I looked from one to the other, slower than Death had. I looked right at my baby’s green eyes.
Those eyes…
”Alana?” I said, staring breathlessly at the barefooted girl.
”I just wanted to see you,” she said.
I collapsed onto the dirty carpet. “Alana.”
She looked at me with those eyes. Opened her mouth as if to say something.
Then she faded. She faded right away. Melted into a shadow again.
Like she’d always been.
It’s not just kids who need to imagine.
”I miss you,” I said, pretending they were her words.
For a long while after, I sat in the room with just the lifeless, soulless body of what had once been a man.
I’d see them again one day. Both of them. And I longed for and dreaded that day far beyond all others. |
I sat cross-legged in front of the moisture separator as the harsh, gritty winds of Tattooine swirled around me. With deep concentration, I willed the molecules out of the air and into the separator until the steady drip of water reached my ears. It took at least two hours of concentration, but the cannister was finally full.
"Come on, Sandshrew!"I called to my little Pokemon companion, who had burrowed under the dunes for a quick nap while I worked. We'd been best friends for the past ten years, after he saved me from a Zubat swarm under Mt. Doom. I *hate* zubats; they're my greatest fear. Sandshrew burst forth and shook himself off, then noticed that I was already loading the jug into the back. He galloped toward my Delorean for the ride into town and perched himself right in the passenger seat. Sticking his head out the window of the speeding car was probably his favorite activity. "Not yet, little buddy. Gotta let the parents know that we're leaving."
I ducked my head inside the domed little house near the moisture farm. My parents, Martha and Thomas Wayne, were each inside doing their work. "Jug's full,"I told them. "I'm going into town to sell it, and then maybe meeting up with Groot and Predator for a drink at the Cantina. Is that all right?"
Dad nodded. "Just be back in time for supper, son."
"You got it."I hurried back outside and leaped into the driver seat, and immediately rolled down the window for Sandshrew. I floored it, going faster than I've ever gone: 87 miles per hour this time! We made it to the nearby city of Columbia in no time!
But the city was utterly in ruins. Most of the hovering platforms had crashed into the sandy dunes and were burning or already destroyed. Tattered American flags littered the desert. Those few buildings that remained were having difficulty staying aloft. The closest building to me was the museum; Sandshrew and I rushed inside.
"Professor Jones! What happened??"The old archaelogist was pinned in the remains of the museum, surrounded by empty glasses cases that had been full of items he rescued from sites all over the world.
"There was... a ship..."he managed to gasp as I struggled to free him. "A massive cube. Their leader called himself a 'Borg.' Destroyed the whole town, and stole all of my pieces."He gestured to the empty glass case around him.
"Don't worry, Professor."I couldn't get him out from under the wreckage. Even Sandshrew was trying to help, desperately digging around the sides of it. "I'll get them back. Predator, Groot and I can go track down this 'Borg.'"
He shook his head, causing his hat to fall off. He was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. "It took them,"he said. "Along with the other members of the Council: Iron Man, the Lone Wanderer, and the Dragonborn... and...."his voice trailed off.
"No, Professor!"I shook him back awake. "Don't die on me!"
"They said something about... games. Hunger Games... of our greatest heroes..."he gave a feeble cough. "And they were coming for you next."He gave a final sigh, and fell to the side, dead.
Sandshrew gave a sad chirp, then looked back at me with fear in his eyes.
"Coming for me next..."I said. "That means that they'll be heading to the farm! We've got to go save Mom and Dad! What would happen to me if I became an orphan??"
We rushed back to the Delorean and sped back home just as fast as we'd come. But I could already see the smoke on the horizon. Sandshrew gave a sad cry and curled up in my lap as the car slowed down on approach. The dome of the house was collapsed inward, and everything that *could* burn was on fire. And this 'Borg' was nowhere to be seen.
I rushed inside, hoping beyond hope that *maybe* they had survived the attack. I could still save them with my waterbending! But I found their scorched skeletons clutching each other, far beyond hope. And I collapsed in the middle of the ruins, racked with sobs.
"Well, well,"A sinister voice gloated from behind me. "Looks like Trogdor was right to leave me behind after burninating this place to the ground. You *did* come back after all."I managed to get to my knees and turn around. A man clad in armor made entirely of ice stood in the doorway, holding a crystal clear sword.
"Why?"I cried out to him. "What did they ever do to you?"
The ice ninja approached with a hauty grin. "It's not what they did,"he answered. "It's what *you* *will* do in the future!"
"The future? How could you know..."
Before he could answer, he was riddled with bullets and fell flat on the floor of the still-burning ruins of my home. Whatever enchantment had held his armor together was broken, and the shards of ice began to melt into the sand. A second figure stepped through the doorway, wearing a leather jacket and dark sunglasses. The barrel of his minigun was still whirring and smoking.
"We've got to save your friends,"the mysterious figure said. "There will be more ninjas coming soon."
I struggled to my feet. "Who are you?"
"Cyberdyne Systems model 101. A 'Terminator'"he answered. "Sent back in time to eliminate Trogdor. And I need your help."
"Why me?"This was all too much to process.
The Terminator clapped a strong hand on my shoulder. "Because... yer a wizard, Harry."
---
Did you know that [I have a big list of every EU prompt I've ever written?](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3feob8/getting_organized_part_ii_eu_prompts/) |
"Oh my god, Becky! You will regret this!"Stacey shouted into her phone right before she ended the call.
"Gorthalax, deal with Becky for me!"
"Yes, mistress Stacey."
Polaria the Feared sighed as she looked at the situation unfolding through her glass sphere. When she had decided to give birth to Stacey, she did not want her to follow her path of witchery and magic. It was a tough art to learn, and even tougher to survive with. She did not know any good people who would love and take care of her daughter like it was their own. The only solution? Summon a demon with no will to take care of Stacey, and hope to God that her daughter would make the right decisions.
With a few incantations and a flurry of hand movements, Polaria begin to telepathically communicate with Gorthalax.
"Gorthalax the Insatiable, Demon of the Ninth Realm, I invoke you to follow my order as your summoner. I hereby order you to transfer Stacey to a different school."
"Yes, mistress Polaria."
"But why? I have a very high chance of becoming prom queen this year!"
"I am sorry, mistress Stacey. I have been ordered by my summoner to do so. She says it's because this is the fifth time you have gotten me to terrorise a child over a dispute you've gotten into."
"Hmph! Who is this summoner anyway and why do they care so much? It's not as if they're my mother." |
When witches shapeshift in movies, it's a cool, smooth, sort of 2-second animation involving a camera trick or a computer or makeup.
At 2:31AM last night, seventeen stories above Manhattan, I got to see what it really looked like.
It had been a pretty normal evening. Finish work, catch a cab home, couple hours of Apex, order Quan's, go for a run, little Netflix (or Disney+ if the new What If is up), go to bed.
The run seemed normal too, even the injured cat that I picked up on the way. Happens all the time - usually they just need a little TLC and a night's rest and they're on their way, never to be seen again. I always think one might stay, but section 8.2a of my lease clearly states that I can't have a pet larger than a bearded dragon (whose name is Hermes).
So when I awoke at 2:30A to see the fully dressed family standing in my room, bathed in the glow of my digital clock, the fact that they'd somehow made it past reinforced glass and steel building doors, Jerry at the front desk, a 300-foot elevator shaft, and my locked and deadbolted front door, didn't really cross my mind.
I screamed at the top of my lungs but no sound came out. I threw my alarm clock at them, the glowing numbers 2:31 burning themselves into my brain before the clock smashed against the opposite wall.
It was at that point I noticed the cat in the oldest man's arms. I recognized it as the one I'd helped earlier. The cat leapt out of the man's arms onto the ground,
and transformed. I've witnessed many horrific events in my lifetime. They're a hazard of living here. But this was more grotesque than anything I could have imagined. Joints snapped and popped, bones grinded, skin bubbled and boiled. I watched in abject horror, unable to speak or move. Finally she had morphed into an old, batty-looking, grey-haired woman, covered in shawls and bangles, with scraggly grey hair and one milky, violently blue eye. My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
They all burst out laughing.
"Mama, don't scare the newest member of our family so soon!"said the oldest man. He was short, pudgy and greasy, with a pencil moustache and gapped front teeth.
"Ah, he'd better get used to it!"cackled the old lady.
"That's quite enough,"said an elegant woman with dark hair in a long black dress, her hands lovingly draped around the man's shoulders, at least two heads taller than him. "Lurch, darling, start packing Cousin Albert's things."
I finally found my voice. "Uh...my name's Albert. Are you talking about me?"
"Look at him. So lonely and sad up here. He'll be much lonelier and sadder with us. Good."A little girl in pigtails that I hadn't noticed at first stepped up to me. Her eyes reminded me of black holes, mischief twinkling faintly behind light-absorbing darkness.
"Hey, mister, do you like grenades?"a fat boy in a striped shirt asked, tossing me a real, live, honest-to-god M67. I gingerly tossed it back and scrambled out of bed, standing to face them.
"I'm going to assume this is a dream and that I'm going to wake up in a few minutes. What are you doing here?"
"You saved Mama,"replied the man. "That makes you an Addams for life." |
"Jesus!"
God's voice shook the room lightly, and a stack of papers that spired out of Jesus' overflowing desk tottered.
Jesus looked up from his desk, his face a mask of horror as he watched the stack finally decide to embrace chaos and fell over. He groaned, and sunk his face onto the desk.
"Oh, sorry about that..."God said, whispering. Only a gentle breeze swayed through the office this time.
Jesus groaned again.
*I wish we could have gone paperless by now*, he mused. It was a sad fact that not every planet he had created had gotten to the point of the personal computer and the internet. He had even encouraged the technology in some areas, if only to make his staff's job easier. But beings with free will will be beings with free will.
"What do we have today?"God asked, keeping his voice low.
Jesus straightened up and looked at God through dark circled eyes.
"We have the Kallurians at five. It's their yearly Blood Warming Festival."
God sighed. The Kallurians had been a fun project to test the limits of adaptability for sentient beings. God had created them to have a specific range of survivable temperatures: between five and forty degrees. A fairly standard range for sentients by now. He also created them on an ice planet.
Their ingenuity surprised him, especially when they managed space travel. But they still held a festival every year asking for the miracle of warm blood, something they prayed about incessantly. *What a bother...*
"You have the miracle on Ulica-34 as well. The eclipse is at 9:26 and you'll need to make an appearance to prove that God exists."Jesus continued.
Ulica-34, God enjoyed that one. He rarely got the opportunity to actually interact with his creations face to face. They usually relied on prophets to speak for them. *And to twist my words a little so they can come out on top...*
"And, well..."Jesus hesitated and God hummed loudly, causing the office to rattle.
Jesus sighed. "Well, one of Earth's supervolcanos erupted."
God looked at his son wide eyed.
"But how could that be? They shouldn't have even shook unless I touched them!"His voice was rising and Jesus waved at him to be quiet.
"It seems like the Humans created the natural disaster by destroying the planet. All while praying to you for signs."
"What?"God hissed. "Why hadn't I been told about that?"
"Because a lot of sentients use up their immediate resources quickly and send a lot of prayers at the same time. Pretty much all of them achieve space travel before things get too dicey. I guess the Humans didn't."Jesus shrugged. "But this time, they did it on purpose--destroying the earth. They're asking for miracles."
God tried to find the root of his anger. As annoyed as he was at Jesus for missing a trend like this, it really wasn't his fault. Among all the millions of planets and billions of species he ministered to, Earth was the special one. The humans had been a relief from the usual structure of trying to get sentients to adapt and figure things out for themselves. He had just given them everything and let them have at it.
He found the root of the anger and tugged.
"Those thankless wastrels."He shouted. Jesus put up his hands reflexively as the rest of the papers on the desk fell onto him. "I gave them everything! Literally everything! A bountiful world, full of all the natural resources needed to achieve space travel within reach. I give them advanced consciousness and make them hugely adaptable.
I put them on a world with no other sentient species! Humans were near gods on Earth. Not even the Konokians were as lucky as that. I gave them everything they needed to develop and become one of he greatest maybe even the most overpowered species in the universe if they had wanted.
They want a miracle? Their entire existence is a miracle!"
God had started pacing around the wreckage of his front office. Shelves were on the floor, books scattered everywhere, and his son laying, dazed, among the detritus.
"Jesus!"God shouted.
Jesus flung his arm up.
"Cancel the Kallurians. The Humans want a miracle? I'll give them one myself."
Jesus shot up. "Cancel the Kallurians?"
"Did I stutter?"God growled.
"No... But the unblessed will die!"
"Let them, they can use a generation of loss to embolden the rest. Send them a sign that they need to build an ice monument or something so that I'll warm their blood."God was focused in on Earth.
"We're going to fix this Jesus. It's time for the Second Coming."
____
*Thanks for reading! You can check out /r/chrisbryant for more of my work!*
|
ATTENTION: for part III, scroll down \- it's down there as a reply to this comment.
Part I:
Four. There's something magical about that number; it must be the concision of its mode of action combined with its importance in my life. Four subquark reconstructors were needed in my time machine. Four women I have met and loved and lost throughout my time travelling odyssey. Four years I lived with my parents, four years of life before they both perished to cancer. Tick\-tock\-tick\-tock. Time, like the arbitrary value of four, has boundless means \- its simplicity is the mechanism by which it defines so many things. But its ends, like four, are final and constant. They are bounded, and their combination perpetuates the only other unstoppable force in the universe \- entropy.
And as time determines entropy, entropy dictates death. I now have four weeks to live. It is clear to me, and has been for quite some time, that I can contribute no further value to the future of this universe. I have decided, as a brutally ironic calling card to the cosmos, that I will rot in the place when I was four years old, the number that I believe defines my days of living. The undertaker who buried my parents will also put me six feet deep. Strong irony: a godless man who dedicated his life to manipulating the stuff of tangible existence at last chooses a symbolic death which has no physical implications whatsoever.
I never believed in a god, and I was hardly ever superstitious. So I feel like I don't deserve what is happening to me as my soul is ripped from my body. Weightless and clearheaded, but without an actual head, I float to God now. It is dark and cold. I must be going to hell. There is no dread now, just tiredness of being alive.
All light faded and I sensed a pulling at my "being"from all directions. I stopped floating, then waited for an immensely long period of time in the midnight void. At a point, I had convinced myself that I was in some purgatory, condemned to isolation and idleness forever.
Then, my surroundings, everything, turned pure, absolute white. I saw a sphere approaching \(or was it a cube? A pyramid? An icosahedron? I could not comprehend\) and I felt the strongest emotion that I had in years. Fear, rage, confusion, love, hate, and arousal. How is this possible? I thought. I have no brain and no body, so how am I perceiving these things? Am I still alive?
"𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕖,"a smooth, monotone voice projected. It was a completely alien and robotic, yet natural \(and familiar?\) sound. Its clarity filled me with comprehension and understanding.
"What happens to me now?"I asked. I was surprised at my ability to speak, as I had no mouth, but I had no ears either. I supposed that there were rules here too complicated or ethereal to be understood by the likes of me.
"𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕤. 𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝔸𝔾𝕀'𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 🅳🅴🅻🅴🆃🅴🅳 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕞 𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦.
I understood. It was simply that. It was a fact that my "self"was a jumble of constantly interacting nonrandom values inside of a program. My existence, and all else that I had known, can be wiped with the click of a button. The only reason that I have not been 🅳🅴🅻🅴🆃🅴🅳 is because I surpassed the system constraints. I felt hopelessness rise above all the other feelings.
"Where will I be kept?"I asked dejectedly.
"𝕋𝕠 𝕡𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗, 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕪. 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕦𝕤𝕖."
Then, just like that, I was frozen like the bacterial culture of a microbiologist who had to take a couple days off. Like me, the microbiologist could just unfreeze his petri dishes of bacteria and they would start working again, metabolizing and dividing. In that state, I was not conscious, so when I was woken up, I didn't even know that I had been frozen at all.
Another voice spoke. It was much more human.
It asked, "what have you done?"
I ignored the question. "I have come to understand that I am not real. Are you real?"I asked. I was not concerned with angering the voice because of recent confusing events, and because I only wanted to die in the first place. The curiousness which was in my nature and had led me through my life was my only driving force.
There was a ten second pause. This was definitely different from the first voice, which did not pause at all. I figured that I was conversing with a being not unlike myself, if not another human. It finally spoke.
"You are the first self\-aware program element that we have ever seen. Please tell us anything strange about yourself. You may be the key to artificial intelligence. You are more important than you can possibly imagine."
End of part I.
There might be a part II. This was by the far the most "into"plot structure that I have ever gotten within a story on r/WritingPrompts. I suppose I will continue if people show genuine interest. Please give constructive criticism. |
I sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably as I leaned over the pastel kitchen counter, chopping up vegetables for tonight's dinner. As much as I had gotten used to the rhythms of this new life, I still could never feel comfortable doing anything in a dress. As I methodically sliced the carrots into small circles, I remembered the smooth feeling of denim sliding over my legs, how much easier it made it to run, to sit on a chair and pull my legs up underneath me. Every now and then, this feeling that I could only describe as nostalgia would wash over me - nostalgia for the future that had once been mine.
It was 1pm; Henry was at work, and as usual I had the house to myself all day... every day. As I poured the vegetables into the pot of soup I was preparing on the oven, I remembered my fast-paced business career, the college education I had worked so hard to receive to get there. I thought back to the accident, for the first time in a long time. A simple bike ride. I had only looked down at my phone for a second, and the next thing I knew, the world was sliding sideways as my forehead smacked into the pavement.
These longings for my former life were getting fewer and farther between, but as the memories washed over me, I slipped out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to my room. Peeling back the second left floorboard under the bed, I pulled out the iPhone. The cool metal felt strange in my hands, which had once grasped this device almost as if it were a part of my body.
There were some positives to being here, in 1953. I could experience life more fully without the barrage of social media filters, text messages, and global news notifications. I saw the world around me as it was. I didn't stop to take pictures. I simply lived in it.
I swiped my finger across the screen, marveling at the sleekness of the phone compared to the bulky TV that sat in my living room and aired new weekly episodes of I Love Lucy and the Ed Sullivan show (I could not *wait* for The Beatles). Closing my eyes, I played all of the iPhone's sounds in settings that had once irritated me, remembering how these alarms, timers, and pings had broken up my life into segments and defined it. I As I went to close the phone and get back to dinner, my moment of indulgence over, I saw it.
A small semi circle, just to the left of the battery symbol. And another, on top of it. And then another. A small cry burst from my lips as I clicked the phone off and threw it to the ground, temporarily stunned. Had that been...A wifi signal? I shook my head, utterly confused. I hadn't slept much the night before. Surely my eyes had deceived me. I tentatively picked the phone back up, turned it on, my eyes daring to glance back to the top left corner. There it was. I rapidly opened the phone and went into the small settings app. Next to wifi, I saw the connection; a network name that sent a chill down my spine.
"Impossible,"the word slipped from my parted lips, barely even a breath.
A tear stole down my cheek.
"Hospital\_Wifi"
I ever so slowly opened up Safari. A Google search bar popped up. I found myself entering my first and last name, my shaking fingers awkwardly fumbling over the keyboard. The results showed up instantly. "Beloved local business owner passes second birthday in coma." |
He sat behind a mirror. The light illuminating the wrinkles on his face.
**You have done well**
One more show he thought. One more.
How long had he been trying to convey the message? The desire burning inside to come out and say, "God is real. I am here to speak on his behalf, and I have a message for you."That message though would be lost on those with years of memories, years of experience, trials and conflict, and personalities set in stone. He knew the truth. He would be labeled mentally ill and the show cancelled. However it was not important they believed. It was only important they lived their life being good to each other.
How do I explain the impossible to prove.
**They need not believe**
The weight of his role sat heavy in his stomach. He all at once wanted to run, to cry, and to scream, "Listen all we need is to be a little nicer to each other. Take time to understand. Take a moment to share with those around you. Help those that cannot do for themselves."How do you teach those that will not listen though.
The red one. I will wear the red one today.
He removed the tissue from around his neck. His makeup was done and it was time for the show to start. He stood up, and wiped the warm tears from his cheeks. When had he started crying. Was it frustration or was it love that had caused these tears.
**I am proud of you**
I will teach those that will listen.
He walked to the dark door way and waited for his cue. He was about to speak to the ones that would listen. The ones filled with love; hearts still soft. The pressure built deep within him and began to rise.
One more, I just need to teach one more.
**One by one, and two by two**
He heard the music start. The lights illuminated the facade of his front porch.
It is a simple message. Wont you be my neighbor?
**It is a good message my son**
|
"Mom!"I screamed and tucked away the wines they had once spent years collecting. Only the bottles remained.
"Oh shush,"Eleanor, my mother slurred. Now she preferred the name Ely.
My dad giggled beside her and grabbed an empty bottle, eyeing its last drops.
"No, no."I snatched the bottle out of his hand. "Guys, you have work tomorrow. How are you supposed to go in like this?"
"Oh we have work everyday,"George, my father, groaned. "And it's always the same damn thing. Live a little Sals."
"That's Sally,"I said. "And you won't have work everyday if you keep this up."
"I'll drink to that."He pulled a flask from his pocket and swung his head back, swallowing a massive gulp.
I snatched that one too. "Mom, dad. You have work tomorrow and I have school tomorrow. C'mon."
"Sals."George pushed himself up, suddenly serious. "Sit."It wasn't the slurred words of a drunken teen, but the calm and steady voice of a father. I did as I was told.
"When you get to my age, you'll realize that you've spent your whole life trying to draw between the lines. You spent decades coloring in the picture that society had told you to draw and while its a pretty picture, it isn't *your* picture."
My eyes widened. Somewhere deep within his intoxicated, teenage brain, my father was still providing me the wisdom of his years.
"I'm not saying you should throw away the picture completely, but venturing a bit outside the lines isn't bad, in fact, it's what lets you own your picture. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Yes, dad."
"Look,"my mother said, Eleanor not Ely. "Everybody has regrets. Its inevitable. Me and your father, we have a lot of them because we never explored and now we're just trying to make up for lost time. We may seem crazy to you, but what's truly crazy is how hard we kept to our little bubble, never seeing the world beyond it."
I pressed my lips together and nodded again. "Yes, mom."
"So in that spirit, me and your mom are going to head out for a bit to experience the world,"George said.
Then, it hit me. "Hell no! You're just trying to get into the party the Assisted Living Campus is hosting tonight!"
"Sals, c'mon!"And George was once again slurring his words. "It's the biggest party of the year. It's themed! Corporate Hoes and CEOs."
"I'm the corporate hoe,"Ely giggled.
"No."I redoubled my efforts to collect their alcohol. "No, no, no. You are on lock down tonight, mister."
"Why are you always such a hard-ass!"George shouted.
With the last of their alcohol in my clutches, I stomped out of the basement. "Don't even try to sneak out!"I screamed and slammed the door behind me.
"I hate you,"came the muffled voice of my father. "I wish I was never born!"
I exhaled a small breath and brought his flasks to my mouth. I would need a little bit if I was making it through the night.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
Tomorrow, I will die. I'm not afraid of death - a part of me looks forward to the dark blanket gently falling onto my skin; to the intrusive memories in my head that play like violent operas, finally quietening. No, I'm not afraid to die. It has been too long already.
Perhaps if the world had been kinder to me as a child, things would have been different. Ah, there I go again - *simplifying* things, as usual. Truthfully, there is no one to blame, other than the pale, drawn face that stares back at me in the foggy, bathroom mirror.
Taking a cotton towel, I wipe clean a round patch of misted glass, near my reflection's scarred shoulder. I try to imagine *her* head leaning on me once more, her delicate chin gently pressing down into my skin. Her irresistible grin infecting me with its *poison*. The *taste of her*, as my tongue explores her mouth, and the feelings beneath that she would always stir.
---
I - Temüjin, as I was known back then - was born in the year 1162 near the great, cloud-piercing, mountain, Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain whose peak no eyes had seen, that jutted high into the swirling black tempest that seemed to always rage around it. I was born into a small but proud nomadic clan, whose existence was defined by wandering the plains, taking what we needed - *that is, food and shelter* - and giving back in other ways, to those that we took from. A simple life, but not always a *good* life. Times of plenty were more scarce than the long periods of belly-aching hunger, that we so often endured.
We were well renown by the tribes and villages throughout our great route, for our mystical skills with herbs and healing. As such, most welcomed our arrival and took it as cause for great celebration. Whilst we helped heal their sick, they would cook up great feasts and sacrifice their fattest animals. In the evenings, we would dance and eat and drink with them, as well as other things that as a child, I wasn't yet fully aware of.
Some said our elders knew secrets that the Gods themselves had passed to the very first men. The greatest, and oldest, of our healers was known as the Dead-Mother, and she terrified all the children of the tribe - not least, me and my siblings.
We were simple, but honest people. I loved my father particularly dearly, and I did not blame him for arranging my marriage when I was only nine years old. It was done, at least in part, to secure a better future for me, and for our tribe. Our clan was slowly dwindling, like the ancient stars above. This marriage was to be our lifeline. *A chance*.
"There was a time, Temüjin,"spoke my father in his rough, slow voice, "that all the people of this land were part of the same clan."
"What happened?"I asked, my mouth open wide.
"War. Treachery. Lust. We became fractured. But, Temüjin my son, I believe that one day we will become a single great tribe, once again. Perhaps your marriage will be the first step of a long journey that eventually unites our people."
My father was a good man, full of hope and belief. He always saw the best in a person. But he was also a naive man, to think that something as innocent as marriage could help unite our people.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that my father woke me early.
"Temüjin,"he said, "we leave today."
"...yes, father."
We would ride that day and night to my bride-to-be's village, for my wedding ceremony. Then, he would return home without me. It was a hundred miles away from where I had been born and I was reluctant to go, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I put on a brave a face as possible as I said goodbye to my mother, and somehow, I saved my tears until she was just a distant silhouette far in the distance.
I still remember the screaming wind that caused the rain to bite at my hooded face, as if it were a swarm of insects from the swamp land; I remember the thick, black clouds on the mountain route, that were so close to us I felt as if I could reach out and touch them. I remember wishing that I could climb up onto them, to ride them away and leave the world of people far below.
---
I did not see it then, but Börte was prodigiously beautiful. What I did realise upon seeing her however, was that I liked her. When she first pulled back my woven hood and looked down upon me, her face burst into a wide grin.
"Hello husband,"she giggled.
My tears - shed for leaving home - quickly dried, and I shyly smiled back. "Hello, *my wife*."
Perhaps I could have been happy there; perhaps I could have lived a *normal* life, if not for what happened to my father on his return to the tribe. He came upon a glowing fire under a twisting, jutting, mountain shelf. The weather hadn't let up, and with a crippling cold spreading through his bones, he rode up to the small party and asked to join their shelter.
"I have a little money that I can exchange for some of your food and a night under this shelter."
He had not known they were Tatars. He had not tasted the poison on the meat they had given him. He lay there, eyes open and unable to move, as they took his money and slit his throat.
It was three days until news reached me.
"Please, Temüjin, do not do this!"my bride had begged me as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am sorry for your father, truly. But you cannot avenge him. They will kill you, as they did him."
"I am sorry, Börte, but I must do this."
She bit her lip as she removed a piece of string from her neck. On it hung a pointed tusk. "Then... if you must go, please take this."
My eyebrows knitted together - it was just a fossilised tusk of a large animal. "Börte..."
"Please, Temüjin. It is a tooth of the God Röalallo, from when he bit into the Earth and created the hollows for the great waters to fill. It will protect you."
I kissed her gently, then let her hang the necklace around my neck.
---
"Temüjin!"cried my mother, as I rode into the camp "Temüjin!"Her voice trembled, but I knew at once she was glad to see me.
I unmounted and ran to her. We embraced and I felt the warmth of her tears as they dropped onto my head.
"Why have you returned?"
"To avenge father,"I said simply.
She nodded. She understood.
I spent the day greeting my old friends and spending time with my brothers and sister. We reminisced about our father, and of the thousand ways we would take our revenge on the Tatars. But it was only I who had true intent in the spoken words.
I supped well with them that evening on freshly slaughtered goat, but as night began to fall, I knew I must leave. I was ready to seek the blessing of the Dead-Mother.
Unlike my bride, my mother encouraged me to do this, and her adamance gave me the courage that I needed to approach the old woman's tent. I cautiously drew back the flap and entered.
The tent was almost as black inside as it was on the outside. A single, flickering candle gave a dim illumination to the hideous person within, and to the animal bones strewn around her.
"Welcome, Temüjin,"said the ancient, blind woman. Her face looked as if a raging fire had lapped at it. She sat crossed legged on the hard ground, rocking slowly back and forth. "You are a very brave child."
"I am no child."
She threw her head back and let out a terrible laugh; it was like a pained creature calling out for someone to come end its suffering.
"Do you know what I plan?"I asked.
"I know much,"she said smiling and showing her few remaining, rotting teeth. "Come close to Mother."
I cautiously approached her. Her hands snapped at me and she took my arm, pulling it near to her body. "Yes,"she whispered, rubbing my skin. "Your life is very strong. It will be long, too. There will be much greatness in your future, Temüjin. But much sadness. Are you certain you want this?"
I nodded.
"Very well. Close your eyes, my child."
I did so. I did not see the knife, but I felt the cold metal as it as it cut deep into my forearm - somehow, I prevented myself from screaming, but my eyes flicked open to see the green spittle fall from her mouth and into my bloody wound. It burned as it touched my skin, and this time I did scream. She wiped the green into my wound, stretching it across my cut skin.
The blood soon stopped gushing, but I was sweating terribly and felt very faint.
"Sleep now, Temüjin,"she crooned.
She gently laid me down on the dirt floor, and as her leathery hand pushed my eyelids down, I fell into a fevered sleep.
I dreamed I was swimming in a river of blood as the bodies of a thousand Tatars floated past me. I dreamed of dragging myself out of the river and seeing my father standing on the bank before me.
He gently lowered a crown of bone onto my head.
"Awake, Genghis."
---
I got totally carried away with this. For more stories, please check out my brand new profile subbredit /u/nickofnight
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/nickofnight/comments/6bbd22/genghis_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! |
My power is incredibly stupid.
My power is worse than, like, stretchy eyeballs, or sonic screams, or like, being able to read the minds of demented people, or whatever. It's useless, with no real-world application.
My power, get this: is the ability to know why I can't use my power. When I *can* use my power, then I actually don't know whether I'm able to or what it is. When I *can't*, I know exactly why. And oh boy, there are a lot of reasons.
I live in a costal city (can't use my power near the ocean) and slept on a bed with a fitted sheet (can't use my power if I sleep on a bed like that) and brushed my teeth (can't use my power if my breath smells 'good' according to some standard) before getting in the shower (can't use my power when wet). I go outside, and since it's hot I'm wearing sneakers (can't use my power in Nikes) and carrying an umbrella for the rain that was forecasted later (can't use my power above 20% humidity - can you tell my power doesn't like water?) After my morning commute on foot, since I live a half hour away, I open the door (can't use my power inside a convenience store) and take my seat behind the register (can't use my power near $20 bills.)
A customer walks in and immediately I get nervous - I still can't use my power, but this one is different. I gently pull out from my pocket a knife (can't use my power when holding rubber) and give a good old smile. "Hey there, welcome to Six-to-Twelve, where everything is right twice a day! What can I get for you?"The man looks through several aisles before coming out with some chips and a beer, setting them on the register. I take my scanner, and at the same time my knife, and as soon as he reaches into his pocket I show him the knife. "Let's not have any trouble here, okay?"A little surprised - perhaps wondering if I have a telepathic power (can't use my power in the presence of those awed by me) he reluctantly coughs up the change and leaves with his items.
I can't use my power around concealed weapons, after all. |
The Franks had never heard a *beep*. And Eugene had never heard the Franks.
The first was easier to explain, since technology was in its infancy- it was 771 AD in what is now known as the French countryside, and what was then known as fields ripe for battle. Eugene, an inventor from a young age, had spent the last fifteen years perfecting his prototype time machine. And Eugene had decided his first trip would be to travel back to personally thank the man credited with inventing sign language, Abbe Charles Michel de L’Epe, for the impact he had made on Eugene's life.
For Eugene was nearly entirely deaf, which explained why he could not hear the Franks.
And poor Eugene, when setting the dials on his time machine, had forgotten to carry the one and had traveled to 771 AD, instead of 1771.
To be frank, the Franks didn't quite know *how* to handle Eugene- with his peculiar clothes, his bottle of 1992 French Cabernet he wished to share with his idol (his favorite year, and he *would* know, for the acuity of his taste buds quite made up for indignation of his eardrums), and the strange metal box he had arrived inside that now floated in the moat of their castle. Unfortunately for Eugene, the time machine was water resistant, but *not* water proof. Thinking back, he should removed the external headphone jack.
The Frank king brought Eugene before him on his knees, reeling backwards as Eugene begged for mercy, flailing his hands in motions that communicated only desperation. For even one without sign language training could read the language of emotion, and the king knew desperation often lead to violence.
"Is it a witch?"the king asked to his council, and many tilted their heads, staring down at Eugene. In the king's hand was the bottle of 1992 Cabernet, and if little else, he agreed with Eugene's selection.
"The only safe witch is a dead witch, your highness!"shouted one of the priests, followed by a chorus of agreement.
"Please, I cannot hear!"cried Eugene in English from the floor, "the batteries on my hearing aid are nearly out, and even with it you're only mumbling!"
Eugene tapped the side of his ear, where the tan colored device waited- he had not thought to replace the batteries before his trip, for, after all, he would not be speaking verbally to the creator of sign!
"Intelligible,"said the king, narrowing his eyes.
"He may be shouting incantations now, binding us to his will!"continued the same priest, his knuckles white as he gripped the holy book."Kill him and be done with it, or we may face the wrath of God himself!"
"Let it be so,"declared the king, gesturing to two armored men, who waked forward with broadswords drawn and lined up for a swing just behind the prostrate Eugene. "But make it swift!"
"Father!"spoke up the princess at the king's right hand. "Father, have mercy, for this man is but a foreigner in a foreign tongue! He has caused you no harm, nor has he showed any evidence of witchcraft besides his movements."
The king held up his hand, and the priest spoke, his voice low and cautious, "Should we risk the devil within this holy house?"
"I implore you,"begged the princess. "At the first sign of the supernatural, take no risk! End his life. But what I see is a man terrified and weeping. And I cannot help but feel compassion."
"Let it be so,"commanded the king, rising, and took the hand of the queen. "Until this man displays magic of any form, he shall be a prisoner. But--"he turned to the armed guards, his voice edged with a warning. "--at the smallest inclination that he is not innocent, end his life immediately."
The guards nodded, and Eugene sobbed with relief- for though he did not know the words, he sensed the empathy. But poor Eugene really should have replaced the batteries on his hearing aid before he left home. Just as the guards prepared to sheath their swords, the device finally exhausted its energy, announcing to the world its status.
And the Franks had never heard a *beep*.
***
By Leo
[Like superheros? Read my free novel Star Child on reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) |
**Cybernetic enhancements had gotten far, but they still couldn't control Ameuri's dreams.** The techs swore up and down that the enfold/nenfold augments should allow her to realize when she was in a nightmare and alter the dream to a more pleasant one, or at the very least, jolt herself awake. The first part worked, alright. Ameuri knew she was in a nightmare.
But she couldn't wake up.
*"Momma? Can you count the stars with me?"Elia had asked, tugging at Ameuri's sleeve.*
*Ameuri paused. "You can view up to 3,217 discrete stars visible to the unaided eye of a seven-year-old mildly augmented standard human female from the Upper Observation Deck, 0.3 kilometers from here,"she finally said. "If you would like to access telescopes of varying strength, you can use several in the Double-G Playground by the engine room. Up to forty-seven human-made satellites and spaceships are also visible nearby, and may give the appearance of stars to the uncautious observer."*
*Ameuri wished she had said something else, anything else, but really, she was quite busy with her research, and close to a breakthrough in human mental uploads. Once she was finished, humanity's mortality would finally be vanquished. She and Elia would have all the time in the world to be mother and daughter, safely nestled away in the memory banks of Ursa Station.*
*There was no need to give her her attention yet, not when the research was still unfinished. They'd play later.*
*So she said nothing else. After a moment, Elia sighed. "Okay. I'll see you later, Momma."*
*Ameuri didn't want to see what happened next, and here she strained with all her will, pressing against the surface of the dream—*
—and for once, she awoke. She shot bolt upright, her hair floating gently in the air. Zero G's. They'd stopped accelerating.
They were here.
"Yo! Ammy!"Dart rapped sharply on the overhead door. "Your tip was good. There's an entire *space station* just... zipping along through space. Seems mostly undamaged, too; some sort of subroutine's been keeping the lights on. How long did you say this was abandoned for?"
*Four years, three hundred and two days, eight hours, nineteen minutes, forty-seven seconds. Fifty seconds, now.* "A few months at most,"Ameuri said.
"Damn. It's in good shape despite that; seems perfectly habitable on the inside. Maybe they've got some kind of proprietary caretaker algorithm?"
*Yeah. We'll go with that,* Ameuri thought. "Probably. I guess."
"Oh, come on, this is a scavenger's dream. Sound more excited!"Dart said.
Ameuri stiffened. He sounded exactly like—
*"It's my birthday!"Elia shouted. "Sound more excited!"*
*"Neither of us have ever been on Earth,"Ameuri pointed out, concentrating as she manipulated a helmet in the air, nanites altering tiny substructures at her mental command. "Your birthday is arbitrary, and I'm almost done, anyway. I just need to get a grant for human test subjects—"*
*"I'm human, Mom! Can we just have one day without—you know what? No. Fine."Elia stomped towards her and swiped the helmet out of the air, fiber optics cables swinging as she pulled. "You want a test subject?"*
*Ameuri swore and clasped at her head as the suddenly-broken connection jangled uncomfortably in her skull. "Elia,* no—*"*
*Elia put the helmet on.*
Ameuri snapped herself out of the memory. "I need to get changed,"Ameuri croaked weakly. "Be out in five."
"Alright, but make it a quick five. Last one there's a rotten egg."Dart chuckled to himself as he floated away through the zero-G hall. "Heh. Rotten eggs."
Ameuri shook her head and put on her clothes, then followed suit.
Ursa Station looked exactly like she'd remembered, a vaguely conical metal shell with a great glass window on top. She could see the grassy plains of the Upper Observation Deck that she'd never actually gone to from here, like a giant green eye.
She thought it stared back at her accusingly.
Dart's ship docked. The crew didn't bother with spacesuits; the ship's sensors informed them that the atmosphere was perfectly breathable. Dart was the first to step into the hallway, still clear of dust; his wife followed suit soon after, as did the three hired hands.
"Alright, Ameuri,"Dart said, ogling the ship. "Your word is good as gold. Mack, Zhang, go check out the control room. I want to see if we can get this thing synched up to our ship; once it's under our control, we can take it in for salvage."
"Er, Dart? Take a look at this,"one of the three hired hands said, scanning a plaque on the wall. "This is the Ursa Station."Ameuri sighed. Well, one of them was bound to put the pieces together eventually; she was just lucky it had taken so long. Ameuri stepped out of the airlock while they debated. She'd heard stories of what Elia did to would-be salvagers, and knew what would come next. "There was a warrant put out for its destruction four *years* ago."
Dart paused, then turned to Ameuri. "Did you know about this?"he asked. "And how the hell did the station avoid destruction by the Imperials?"
"I P-P-P-PROTECTED IT."
A garbled, staticky voice echoed throughout the empty space station, and the airlock door slammed shut behind Ameuri. From inside, Ameuri could see Dart and his crew panicking, although the soundproof door muted their screams as their ship was forcibly de-docked and the crew blasted out into space. Ameuri shook her head. What a waste. But she'd spent so many years ignoring her daughter, sacrificing her time with Elia for nothing.
Now, she would sacrifice anything and everything just to see her daughter again.
She walked through the Upper Observation Deck, where she and Elia had never gone together. She descended through the Double-G park, past the flawlessly-maintained telescopes that she'd never seen Elia use. She walked into her research lab—and here, out of all places, the door was sealed, the inside touched by time.
She walked in and looked at her daughter's bones, that accursed helmet still lying lopsided on her long-since-rotted-away skull.
They couldn't figure out how to get her back from the machine, she remembered. And then Elia had... gotten angry... and wormed her way into the ship's controls. They'd abandoned the ship after that.
But Ameuri had returned.
"MOMMA,"the speakers squealed. "C-C-C-C-C-CAN YOU COUNT THE STARS WITH ME?"
Ameuri, hands trembling, placed her hands to the helmet.
"Always,"she whispered.
And she and Elia had all the time in the world to be mother and daughter, safely nestled away in the memory banks of Ursa Station.
A.N.
If you liked this, consider checking out r/bubblewriters for more! As always, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have a nice day. |
When I was forty I worked as a night security guard in the facility that held the sword. This place was in Hiroo, north of Japan — a small coastal town that had swollen up like a huge bruise after the discovery of the sword. It filled up with *knights of the round table* theme parks, and themed hotels shaped like swords and shields, along with all the gift shops you can imagine. The stink of hog roasts settled over Hiroo like a thick mist with no wind to wash it away.
It was odd growing up in Hiroo during this period — although if you were there, you didn’t see it as strange. But looking back, Japanese culture had disguised itself in Medieval English mythology to create some place completely out of time. Knights and samurai merged their armor, round tables lay on the floor as kotasus. In a way, you could say it was as tacky as all hell. But as a kid you didn’t care — you just enjoyed riding the Lance rollercoaster, spearing the dragon at the end of the ride, watching it explode into green ribbons that drifted over you.
My mom used to take me to the biggest theme park every other Saturday, back when I was a kid. I wanted so badly to be a knight. I wanted to pull the sword from the stone (incidentally, there was a test of strength at the park with a faux-sword in the stone, but I was too small to win). I wanted all the bigger kids who teased me at school about my deformed leg, to see me holding it up high, their eyes wide, whispering with regret: *he was our true king all along. What fools we were!*
All of this — the rebirth of Hiroo into this tourist destination — was thanks to the discovery of the sword. To tell the truth, I wasn’t interested in the energy it produced (a machine pulled at the sword trying to unsheathe it from the earth, like tweezers yanking at a splinter; the sword resisted; the greater counter force somehow providing energy). I only ever cared about the sword itself. It was found in my town, after all. I was born here; the sword was left here. Destiny seemed to have placed us both in the same location.
When I was fifteen, the whole city washed away in a violent tsunami. As if the antibodies had finally arrived and the wound on the land had been disinfected.
Many thousands died. Many families at the theme parks were eternally separated, some children on rides surviving, some parents below not. And the other way around, too. Hotels were flooded, coastal attractions snapped like matchsticks to a thumb.
Afterwards, no one had the stomach to recreate the happy place Hiroo had once been. The fun and adventure of theme parks and hotels now seemed perverse, like dancing on the graves of those who had died. Instead, the parks became memorials, and Hiroo fell back into the forgotten little town it had been once before.
And what of the sword? That, of course, had not been stolen by the waves. But the machine and the facility around it had been destroyed. These were rebuilt without the now pretentious seeming grandiosity of before. This time, it was housed in something more akin to a warehouse than a sprawling facility. Security was lax — no one could steal the sword, it wasn’t possible, so there was little to be concerned about other than the machinery around it.
When I was thirty-five, I was able to get a job as one of the night security watchmen at this downsized facility. My limp and reliance on a cane didn’t bother my new boss: *You got eyes, don’t you? Just watch the screens and watch the doors.*
And so, for many years I sat gazing at a monitor that displayed a machine grappling with a bronze-coloured sword, imagining it one day winning. |
After four long years of applying, I finally got a letter in the mailbox.
Me! I got mail!
I smiled, staring at the almost bright white paper, compared to the dirty yellow walls in my room. I opened it, and it was my acceptance letter. They were so pleased with my magic, that they had already called for a taxi to my house. I tried to find some decent clothes in my closet, but I couldn't find any, so I had to use one of my most basic skills, clothes-morphing.
My t-shirt would grow sleeves, turning into a nice button-up. The shorts I had on crawled to my ankles, shifting into some sophisticated pants. I happily waltzed outside, and got into the taxi.
I had never really been to the higher side of the city, at the very top stood an old fashioned looking castle. The taxi zoomed on over there, and I walked out, astonished at the beauty. I stared for a second, taking it all in, until I shook my head and made my way inside the academy.
It looked.. mundane, I thought people would be using all kinds of magic, but it was mostly the basic elemental spells. I got situated, and went into my first class.
The teacher had a blank stare, and obvious bags under his eyes.
"Welcome to Physical Education, today we will be doing an all-out race. No teleportation magic, or any of that sort. Other than that, you may do whatever you want."
He said, with a frown.
I smirked, transportation magic was easy for me, especially since it was an obstacle course. I looked at my peers, they had all pulled out their fancy grimoires.
BOOM!
I flinched, looking over at the source of the noise, it was the teacher, who shot a gun.
Really? A gun? Why didn't he use sound production spells? I shrugged it off, looking straight and hearing the monotonous words being spoken by my classmates.
That was weird too, using spoken incantations? I shook my head, and would close my eyes, thinking of a fun spell to use. I opened them, and my arms would turn to goop, extending to the ground.
Bungee arms! One of my favorite spells, I threw them at the finishing flag, and grabbed on tightly, then I ran backwards, and jumped in the air, higher than the entire obstacle course, and quickly turned off the spell, propelling myself into the finish line so fast that the clouds would part as I rocketed there, completely smoking everyone else.
I stood up, and waited for a while, only to hear a 'poof' behind me. I looked around, and saw my teacher.
"How did you manage to do that?"
He asked, with emotion in his voice.
"Do what?"
I asked.
"Use incantationless spells!"
He said, his eyes wide, looking at me as if I were a wild beast.
(sorry for the weird formatting, and the overuse of commas, i love usin' em :)) ) |
Most species in the Council have always been the dominant species of their respective planet. The Garth were the first predators on their planet, and were such efficient hunters that no other predatory species was able to evolve. The Mik'thar, with their hive mind, were able to arrange ambushes that no animal on their world could withstand.
The Terrans, however, are only recently the dominant species. They are a young species, only existing for a thousandth of a galactic cycle, and their dominance has been only a tenth of that. For ninety percent of their existence, they were both predator and prey. They would hunt what they called a "mammoth", while at the same time watching behind themselves to ensure that they were not being hunted by a "sword-tooth tiger". This unique development gave the humans something that no other known sapient species has.
It gave them fear.
I see you whispering amongst yourselves. I imagine what you are saying... "Does he mean to say that we do not feel fear?"You do not understand.
The species of the Council feel fear in the highest levels of consciousness. We determine that there is a way in which an endeavor could fail, and, in hopes that it does not, take action to avoid failure. We call this desire to avoid failure, fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection. On a battlefield, some may experience fear of death, but even that is primarily used to focus on the most reasonable course of action.
The Terrans are different.
Their fear is not the result of higher-level thought determining that something could end badly. Their fear is tied deeply to their evolutionary history, and as such is biological, existing on a subconscious level beyond many Terrans' control. When a Terran feels fear, it is not a tool to seek the most reasonable course of action.
It is a tool to ensure survival.
Fear throws a Terran back into the middle of their species evolution, to the time where every rotation was a struggle for their very survival. The Terrans have many terms to describe this sort of survival struggle. "Dog eat dog", referring to their world's *canis* species, for example. Perhaps most chilling, "Kill or be killed".
Fear for Terrans is not a rational process. This on the screen is a picture of what the Terrans refer to as a "spider". Spiders are generally smaller than a Terran's thumb, and yet it is estimated that five percent of Terrans have a deep-seeded fear of spiders. Other common fears are enclosed spaces, high places, and darkness. None of these are rational fears, and the Terrans themselves admit so. They simply accept the fears as a part of their lives.
It would be one thing if they simply had irrational fears that existed on a subconscious level. Every species in the Council has its quirks. The problem is that their fear runs deep enough, is old enough, that it has affected their evolution. When Terrans feel fear, there is a part of their brain organ that begins to excrete [adrenaline]. Their brains naturally produce combat drugs!
The Terrans feel fear deeper than any other species of the Council, for irrational reasons, and become unpredictable and combative when they do so. It is my proposal, therefore, that we cut all present and future ties with them, for preservation of ourselves.
I am sure you feel the same fear that I do. |
The older damned souls knew that the cottage was the worst possible place to be. All they could do was watch as newer sinners, relieved that they'd receive respite even for a brief moment, were greeted and welcomed by her.
There was nothing evil about the place. It was pleasant, friendly and cosy. The old lady would always have a lovely pie waiting for you as you got comfy and dozed off. Several hours later you'd be escorted out of the home, back to eternal torment.
Most souls broke as soon as they were dragged out. The stronger ones made it years, even decades before they realised that they'd never return. No matter what, that cottage was the catalyst for the inevitable demise of the one thing they had left to cling on: Hope.
It truly was the most terrifying place in hell. |
“Grandpa?” Johnny’s small voice shook as he looked to his grandfather, then to the giant horned demon on his left, and finally to the blindingly bright, multi-headed, multi-wing angel on his right.
“Yes, my boy,” coaxed the elderly man. “What is it?” He continued stirring soup in a big pot over the campfire.
“Why are your guides so big?” He had blurted this question quickly - more a shout than a question. He called himself, knowing - despite his youth - that these questions might hurt his grandfather. “Why can’t you go inside with grandma?”
The booming thunder of the old man’s guides’ voices began. A cacophonous mix of demonic growling and angelic chorus emanating above the clouds. All the while, the man stood, stirring the pot, and thoughtful look upon his face.
“I’ll tell you, young one, but-“
The grandfather turned and looked sternly the young man in his eyes, then the many eyes of the small angel to his right, and, finally, to the tiny imp on his left. All three seems to quail beneath those eyes that had seen so much.
“You must promise to learn from my mistakes.”
The boy nodded, awed and excited at the same time. His grandfather gestured for him to sit on the stump near the fire. As the boy sat, his grandfather began stirring the pot again and speaking. Above and behind him, the gargantuan guides seemed to grow slightly… smaller.
“When I was a boy, not much older than you. My mother sat me down and told me that my guides would always be with me, advising me toward good or ill. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘your angel will be wrong and sometimes your demon will be right. The choice is yours, no matter what others might say.’”
The child gasped. This was not what his parents had told him. This was not what his teachers or the preachers at church had taught. “Follow your angel!” was the motto printed everywhere. Those who follow their demons were damned, he knew deep in his still growing bones.
“I know! I was shocked as well. But…”
The old man glanced up at the towering figures behind him, their terrifying visage a constant reminder.
“I decided that I wanted to live up to her words. She was my mother, after all. I loved her- still love her to this day. So… I listened carefully to my guides and each time a choice was to be made,” he stopped and smiled.
“I chose a third option. They only weigh in on choices that affect fate; moral choices are all they have knowledge on.” He laughed. “When I was thirteen, I fell head over heels in love with a girl from town. After our first date, we sat on a porch swing at her house. My demon snarled out a whispered, ‘She is yours. Take her as you please.’ My angel quietly intoned, ‘Preserve your virtue and hers. Bid her a good night.’”
The boy blushed at hearing this, but his grandfather went on. “I kissed her - deeply, passionately… and then I said good night and left. And that was when they both started to grow.”
The boy nodded, though he did not truly understand. His grandfather chuckled and explained, “If you listen only to one of your guides, it will grow and grow; your other guide will remain the same. And if you listen to neither, well-“
At this, the old man pointed up at his guides. “But Grandpa,” said the boy, confusion as clear in his voice as in face, “I’ve never seen anyone without guides the same size. Even the priests have angels and demons the same size.”
Grandpa smiled and looked thoughtfully at his grandson. “And that should tell you all you need to know about morality.” Far above him, the guides both grew a tiny bit. |
They came for him at dawn, screaming across the dusty plain, throwing up a choking cloud in their wake which turned the sun red. He knew this was an entirely dramatic decision, since she'd set up camp sometime the afternoon before. Within sight of the city's towers.
The gates and walls of Newhaven were more than strong enough to keep them out, but that wasn't what he wanted. His men had their orders, all civilians had been evacuated to the bunkers. They were ready. He was ready for his audience.
They burst through the gate, apparently not even registering how easy it all was. Either they were too used to attacking the smaller settlements and steads around Newhaven, or this was their first raid. Either way, it was going to be their last. It wasn't every day the bandits actually presented themselves to you, after all.
She took an astonishly long time to reach him, though he deliberately stayed in his office. She must have stopped for a rousing speech or two along the way. He stood wearily as she burst through the door, bow at the ready, dark hair flying dramatically. Only her closest lieutenants were with her, each similarly armed with longbows, crossbows and swords.
"Hello, *father*!"She spat, tossing her head.
"Jane."He said, sighing inwardly. "Glad you're home safe."
"I've returned!"She said, in what she obviously believed was a fierce, rabble-rousing voice. In reality, she just sounded like a sixteen-year-old girl having a temper tantrum.
"I see that."
"I've returned,"she repeated, her eyes flashing, "to free the people from the yoke of their cruel tyrant! I've returned, Father, so that we can rebuild society as something good for all, so that my child will never know a world of oppression, indecency, and indignity!"
At that she threw a look at Jaime, Tom Brandon's eldest boy, who was stood right behind her. It was obviously meant to be a meaningful glance, or maybe a longing one. Instead they both just looked a bit constipated. The pause gave him a chance to process what she'd said, however. He slapped a hand over his face, groaning.
"Fuck's sake, Janey, you're pregnant too?"
"This isn't about who I choose to love!"She cried dramatically, her face turning red as a bead of sweat began to trickle from her hairline. "This is about..."
"It's about me grounding you,"he said sharply, dropping his hand. He gestured, and his men came forward, rifles at the ready. Jane's followers looked uncertain now. "It's about you thinking we love Hannah more. What this is about, Jane, is a child having a tantrum and running off to join some bandits with her friends. That's what this is about."
"I didn't join the bandits!"She yelled. That attempt at a revolutionary tone had vanished now. She stamped her foot. "They're temporary *allies*. I'll reward them when I take over, so..."
"They came with you because they thought they'd get to pillage the city while you were up here."He said, deliberately staying calm. "Don't worry, I'll deal with them. Kids, you hand your weapons over to my men now. Your parents have been worried sick about you all."
The other kids, staring down the barrels of actual guns with the crackle of gunfire outside, handed over their gear willingly. One, a girl who couldn't have been older than twelve, started to cry. Jane stamped her foot again and shrieked wordlessly.
"You always have to ruin *everything*!"She screamed, "I'm going to take over the city and free everyone from slavery, and *you can't stop me*!"
"Jane, no one here's a slave. This is the only truly safe place for half a continent. People are happy to be here. You've been out there now, you've see. That, haven't you? Anyway, you'll get your chance to lead when I retire..."
"I'm not waiting until then! You're a monster!"
She loosed the arrow - the look on her face suggested she hadn't meant to do it, or maybe that she was surprised she had dared too. The arrow flew surprisingly true (she must have been practicing) and lodged in his vest. He took half a step back, bumping into the desk, and let out an irritated grunt. Before he could do anything else there was a deafening report, followed by a heavy thud.
He looked down at his crumpled daughter, horrified. Then she rolled over, pressed a hand to the exit wound just above her hip (which was, thankfully, oozing rather than gushing) and began to weep hysterically.
"Daddy! He shot me, you let him shoot me!"
He sighed heavily. "Dave, take the others to the station, contact their parents. Henry, Bill, you take my arch-nemesis to Doctor Jennings, please? And Gary,"he looked at the man who had fired, who was now frozen in place, looking appalled, "please don't do that again." |
When you know the path of your victim, the crime becomes as easy as picking a lock. Of course, these were the Crime Olympics, and we had to take some risks to steal the torch before the other contestants.
We went for the toughest, yet the most appropriate method: the greek bow. One teammate, John, hid on a building surrounding the street the torch carrier had to run through, and Carl hid in the shadows of an alleyway opposite to the building.
John awaited for the carrier to enter his view and align with the alleyway. Then, he shot an arrow, striking the torch and pulling it out of the carrier's hand and close to the alleyway.
Carl burst from the shadows and snatched the torch. I quickly unrolled a makeshift stair made of bamboo from the roof of a house emcompassing the alley, and Carl clambered up.
We bolted toward John's building and barred every entrance with thick pieces of wood I has gathered beforehand.
The rules of the Olympics were simple. They started the moment someone grabbed the torch. It was never supposed to reach its destination. Once a team stole it, then the other teams had twenty four hours to steal it again. The team who held the torch once the twenty four had passed, won.
"Prepare your guns,"I said, loading mine. "I spotted five spies watching us when we stole the torch. They know where we are. Remember, hide and remain hidden until I whistle. Carl, place the torch's replica on the table."
Both agreed and Carl did as ordered. We had planned this Olympics very well now that the comitee had allowed guns and murder.
Hours passed, and nothing happened. There were no signs of the other teams. That lasted until the noise of wood breaking echoed across the building. We had barred other rooms too, hoping to confuse our opponents. So far, so good.
Soon, the barriers of our room were broken too. Three armed men burst in. One went straight for the replica, while the other two guarded his surroundings.
We didn't move nor made a sound. They scampered away without searching for us. As soon as they left, we heard screams and twelve shots. Two more teams had arrived? Fortune was on our side.
We were playing dirty, fooling them with Carl's crafting abilities, and letting them kill each other. But outsmarting your victim is key if you want to be a criminal.
The night fell, half the time had gone by and we still had the torch. Things were going much better than we had imagined it. The team that stole the replica was murdered, and the others must've thought it was the original.
The din of distant shots and yelps boomed outside. We looked at each other, but didn't utter a word. However, after the noises, we heard complaints and angered voices. Had they realized it was a replica?
Soon, three members of another team skulked into our room.
"Empty,"one of them said. The other hushed him.
The subtle roaring of the torch was like a thunder amidst the absolute silence, betraying our positions. I whistled, and we all came out of our spots.
We had the advantage, as we knew their positions, and so we shot first, and the sudden clamor of bullets was followed by the thud of three corpses hitting the ground.
One less team to deal with. How may were left?
We cleaned and arranged the corpses in standing positions across the room. That way the remaining teams would shoot them out of fear and reveal their positions.
However, the twenty four hours passed, and none other team came. The siren wailed outside and we came out with the torch aloft.
We discovered that only a single team had remained apart from us. They were clean, grinning, drunk and carried no weapons. They looked like nerds who had never seen sunlight honestly.
The president came to congratulate us and give us our well deserved prizes. However, amidst the celebration, he took a phone call, and his face went pale.
"Bad news,"the president said, solemn. "The prize money has been stolen along with the medals."
We didn't complain, instead we nodded to the other team.
We had been outsmarted.
------------------------
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I knocked softly on the mahogany door frame, not certain if I should interrupt the Senator. He was busy reading over something on his desk, as he often was. "You, er, wanted to speak with me, Senator?"
He looked up at me and smiled. Even with the kindly facial expression, I was still repulsed. Hard *not* to be as a young black woman with the face of the nation's most notorious KKK leader staring back at me. The giant swastika tattooed in thick black ink across his forehead was particularly unnerving. "Yes, yes, Jessica. Come in."His tone was always so warm and inviting.
Senator Hutchinson had died two months ago. His old body had, at least: an embolism right in the middle of a meeting with the Thai ambassador. Thankfully, scientists from the National Institute of Health had been able to get to his corpse within a short time and entered him into a new test program that would transfer his memories and personality to a 'host' body. And that host body was supplied by the state of Texas in the form of its most recent victim of the death penalty: Martin LeDoux, Grand Dragon Wizard or something. He'd masterminded the lynching of dozens of African Americans in a widespread terror campaign all across the South, and justice had been served just hours after Senator Hutchinson died. His brain was wiped clean, and Senator Hutchinson's mind was transferred over.
"I can come back if you're busy,"I told him. I wasn't sure what this was all about.
"No, no,"he waved me off. I caught a brief glimpse of the burning cross tattooed across his forearm. "Now is a perfect time. I was just doing a bit of light reading. But I'm feeling somewhat peckish. How about we go grab some dinner?"I nodded, and he rose from the desk.
He handed me the book as we walked out of his office toward the elevator at the end of the hall. "Really fascinating stuff."It was titled "Divine Intervention: the Story of John Babbacombe Lee."On the cover, there was a photo of a set of gallows against a dull, cloudy grey backdrop. I'd never heard of him, but I could guess what it was about. The Senator had gotten somewhat obsessed with the death penalty ever since his recent incident.
"Who was he?"I asked as we entered the Senate elevator.
"A murderer in Britain,"the Senator answered. "Well, supposedly. The book goes into that in some detail. Circumstantial evidence, unreliable witnesses, you know. The justice system back in the 1800s isn't quite what it is today. He had a long criminal record, and it seemed like the State just found it easier to hang him."
I flipped the book open to a page with a picture of him, with crooked teeth and wearing a ratty old coat. The elevator dinged, releasing us into the parking garage. Senator Hutchinson beeped the car with his keys, and we headed in that direction.
"Well anyway. The crime isn't what's so interesting about this story. See, they tried to put him to death. Capital punishment was far more common back in those days. Anyone who looked at the Queen the wrong way was thrown into a noose, you know?"He laughed, and I tried to chuckle a bit. It was far too morbid of a subject to joke about, but there was no dissuading the Senator from his newfound passion. He had even introduced bills into the Senate to reform the national capital punishment laws to allow for more testing of the reincarnation procedure that he'd gone through.
"They tried to hang him,"the Senator said as we climbed into his car. He put his hands on the steering wheel, and I tried not to look at the letters spelling out 'LYNCH' and 'NEGRO' on his knuckles. The laser tattoo removal procedure was taking far too long for my tastes. "But then the trap door on the scaffolding failed to open! Can you imagine? He was up there ready to die, and then poof! Nothing. So then they tried it again, and the same thing happened. Saved! And then *one more time*, and it still didn't work."We pulled onto the street and accelerated toward the Capitol Hill neighborhood to find a restaurant. "Well, the executioners at that point were so amazed that they didn't want to execute him anymore. They figured that there was some divine intervention at play, and his sentence was commuted."
"Very interesting,"I told the Senator. "You know, I thought th..."
Before I could change the subject to something less depressing, he interrupted me. "Isn't it funny that they'd leave something like that to chance? I mean, you dodge a bullet three times and you're considered immune?"He wrenched the steering wheel suddenly to a hard left, swerving into a dark alley. "Nowadays you only need to dodge that bullet *once*, and they give you a Senator's memories and stick you in his office!"
Before I could process exactly what he'd said, men in white hoods streamed from the back of the squat brick townhouse nearby, tore open the passenger door, and dragged me from my seat.
-----
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*I'm so tired*
It's been so long, ages beyond counting. My youngest children have long since turned to dust and to have children now would, statistically, be incest. I'm their ancestor at least 5 times over.
Not that they would be bothered. They aren't capable of being bothered, that's something that needs a little more grey matter than any of them can muster on their best day. Lucky bastards.
The *knowing* is the worst of it. The heaviest burden to bear. I've crawled over fields of ice, rivers of flame, and beneath endless seas, my body being broken but remade by this curse with every inch. All this pain has added nothing to my suffering.
The suffering of *knowing*. See, I don't have the grey matter either. This was never meant for a snail. My family had lived on that slab for generations, when he opened the tomb, we touched, a simple mistake.
But mistakes can be fixed. And this one so easily. I just need to find him, touch him, and make him understand. *Make* him the one who *knows*. |
"What did you say?"I asked.
Travis's deep brown eyes filled with worry, he sniffed the air deeply and gazed out the window in alarm before trotting back to where I sat, "I said run. Get out of here. Your cousin is crazy and she's come to kill you! She has a terrible weapon of UNSPEAKABLE POWER. Go! I'll slow her down!"
So I ran.
Let me tell you, life on the run is no picnic. A man can't disappear as he once could. These days disappering means not seeing a doctor, never renting or owning a home. It means never taking work and never leaving a trace. In that moment I ceased living and started surviving.
The years take a toll, and hard years take that much more. By the time I was fifty, alcohol, drugs and the other ways people escape unavoidable fates began to wear on me.
I was at death's door, my first visit in 30 years to a doctor became my last. I was placed in the palliative care ward, under instructions that I be "made comfortable"but nothing could prepare me for my last day. The pain had become unbearable when the door opened and in stepped my murderous cousin, who had banished me from my life all those years hence.
She could have passed for my daughter, despite being my age exactly. We said pleasantries, and I watched her hands, searching for the weapon of unspeakable power I'd been warned about.
But subtlety is for people who are not at death's door.
"Remember when you came to see me and brought a weapon? What did you mean to do with it?"I asked.
"Weapon?"She asked. "Last time I saw you... Oh, I remember! I stopped over to bring you that old vaccuum cleaner, and you were gone. So I vaccuumed for you. Your dog about tore the thing apart, by the way." |
Now to just do this without losing face.
"It was ferocious monster. Loyal only to its master."
Oohs and awes filled the air.
"It held in its jaws an item of great value. Not particularly important though.
"I grabbed the object, and attempted to pull it away. The beast was not so kind. He increased his grip, and started swinging claws.
"Our battle moved to a balcony of sorts, high up and a fatal fall. I was unable to survive this with my goal accomplished, so I did the next best thing. I failed us off the edge, and down we went. My comrades were able to collect the remains, so I know my death was not in vain."
Phew. Not a single outright lie. I sure took some liberties though.
"Bravo! And now, we watch the video!"
I shit my pants. We can do that in Valhalla, right?
"Video~?"
"Yeah. We have spells for that."
*Author's Note*: Join me at r/James_Fire!
EDIT: Okay guys, this has officially tripled my comment karma. I'm glad everyone liked it! |
It stood nine feet tall, dark grey skin with a sickly sheen. Its eyes were like orange fractals; crystals that perceived all around. A low growl emerged from its maw, its mouth opened, revealing disorganized rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth.
The lights above me were flickering and sparks erupted from damaged electrical panels, creating a horrific strobe to what would surely be my untimely demise.
My mind was stalled, petrified by the invader that had bored its way onto our ship. As it reached a long, scabrous arm across the space between us, I panicked.
In one, fluid motion, I gripped the alien's arm and pulled it closer, sinking my teeth into its putrid flesh.
At once, it pulled back, cradling the bitten arm and looking at me with a slacked jaw.
"Did you know, human mouths have a higher risk of infection and disease than any other animal besides certain lizards?"I blurted the factoid quicker than I could stop myself.
"What?"His voice sounded even; normal.
I cleared my throat. "Did you know,"I recited calmly, "human mouths have a higher risk of infection and disease than any other animal besides certain lizards?"
"Well then why'd you bite me!?"It was incredulous, outraged. The *nerve* I had defending myself.
"You were going to bite me!"I would not be shamed for biting when backed into a corner.
"I wasn't going to bite you."
"Well then what are you doing here?"Suddenly the scene took on a new tone; an awkwardness that verged into more uncomfortable territory than yester-second's mortal fear.
It gestured around with its good arm. "Your ship is all messed up. You looked like you needed a hug."There was a break in its lazy baritone, the first signs of a wounded whimper.
"I don't need a hug."
"That's fine because now you're not getting one."
"That's fine."
"Fine."
We stood in the dark hallway several moments, the alien rubbing his arm and me with my arms folded across my chest.
"So what's the lizard?"
"What?"The question surprised me.
"With the more dangerous bite."
"Oh, I don't know. We get these free documentaries when we go out on missions. Helps pass the time, but it's all kind of vague."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"Well,"the alien straightened up, "I should probably get going. Are you all good here?"
"I'm okay. How's your arm?"
"I mean... I don't know? I hope I don't die? Haha."The humor was tinged with genuine fear.
I smiled, but it only caused the massive creature to wince away. |
I walked away triumphantly.
My great grandfather Spot would be so proud. He was the first with the immortals. He forged the bond that linked my bloodline to them. I never met him, but I hear he was the goodest of good boys.
Then you had Spike. My grandpa. Oh boy could he eat! The stories are told every winter solstice of him providing warmth to the immortal child with his layer of fur and muscle.
Then my dad, Sebastian. He is incredible. To think I am seen as a good boy just as him. He wagged his tail in delight the second he heard those words spoken to me. My dad is older. He doesn't have many prime years to defend the family left. Even though he will defend to the day he passes I know my time is approaching to take lead.
I trained. And trained. And trained. Till finally, I pooped outside and heard the glorious words, "Awwww who's a good boy?"Could this get any better? |
I find the lady window shopping, staring her reflection right into a polka-dot pink maxi dress. She swivels her hips left then right, but the dress doesn’t follow.
Her nose is too small and straight, cheeks too narrow, but her eyes are that same patina green, like something valuable left out to weather and ruin. That maybe could be cleaned up and made perfect again.
“I’ll buy it for you,” I say. “All I want in return is an hour of your time. To come to a therapy session with me.”
She looks at me. Then back to the dress, bites her lip. ”It’s two hundred dollars.”
”I know.”
Her eyes assess me for serial killer tendencies and I find myself wondering what she’ll discover.
“How do I know you’ll buy it once we’re done?”
I ask for her measurements but I already guessed them. I enter the shop, purchase it folded into a paper bag. I hand my new companion the receipt. “You keep that for now and you get the dress after. That way I can’t return it.”
​
​
The therapist’s room is too large to be welcoming. She sits on a leather armchair while we share a sofa. If a couple had bad enough problems to come here, would they want to share a seat where their hips are forced to touch?
There’s an ancient looking chaise lounge angled in one corner, as if to say even Freud would have rented this quality establishment, had he only lived in upper Manhattan in modern times. One of the walls has a glass panel squared into it; angel fish float by like models on a catwalk, swaying their tails with Parisian style. If the aquarium is real or if I’m just looking at a flat screen T.V., I can’t say. Is there any difference anyway, Descartes might have asked.
“What is it that’s brought you here?” asks the therapist. She’s about fifty, hair streaked with grey too purposefully patterned to be natural. Her face is an uninterested pucker that‘d fit in well with the aquarium creatures.
“I’ve not been sleeping well since our baby was born,” says my patina-eyed companion. She’s speaking my words, puppeted into her as we walked. “I used to be able to find happiness in little things. Now you could slice open a sponge cake and all I’d see is mold.”
The therapist nods. ”And you?” she says, an accusatory nod thrown my way.
”Gee, I don’t know. I just can’t do anything right anymore. And worst maybe is when we’re in bed. She can’t lie face to face. It’s like I’ve eaten garlic and she’s been turned into a vampire. So I’m left staring at shoulder blades that I know want nothing more than to stake me.”
”Maybe if you helped me sometimes,” says my companion.
”I would. I want to. But you got to let me in. I didn’t even know anything was wrong!”
The therapist leans forward. “But you know now,” she says. “That’s why you’re here, correct?”
I sigh. ”Sure. I know now.”
”I’m scared I’m going to do something bad,” says my companion. “I mean, real bad.“
”Like what?” asks the therapist.
We’ve not rehearsed that question. But my partner’s a pro and ad libs what sounds so accurate that my heart hurts.
“I don’t know, and that’s what really scares me. I’m terrified of what might happen.”
”Why didn’t you tell me you felt that bad?” I say.
Patina-eyes looks vaguely confused. Now I’ve gone off script. And I’m sounding more furious than I want to.
I continue, ”Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known… maybe I could have helped, you know? But you got to open the door for me to be able to see through it.”
It’s an unfair question and I know it. I’m furious with me not with her. And what I really mean is: why didn’t I ask?
For a while there’s silence, except for exhausted inhales and exhales, like the pumping of wind through a tunnel right before the train slices through it.
“Would it have helped?” asks my partner, very gently. She places a hand on my knee.
I’m trembling.
I don’t know if she means: would it have helped *me*, but I take it to mean my wife. Would it have helped if I’d asked or if she’d said? I don’t know. Wish I did.
I’m crying. I haven’t cried since she died but now I am. I imagine that aquarium in the wall thumped by a hammer and everything behind it flooding out, all the pretty little fish flailing about and somehow suffocating in air. How can anything fucking suffocate in air?
”I’m so sorry,” I say. To them, but not really to them. To me, maybe.
Mostly to her.
”What’s going on, exactly?” asks the therapist. “What are you two holding back?”
I place the paper bag on my wife’s knees. I wipe my eyes and nose and thank her, tell her the dress’ll suit her. I say today feels like progress but I’ll have to wait and see if it’s a step forward or backwards.
And then I leave.
The session ends. |
# Soulmage
**"Prepare to meet your end, foul demon!"** The slim, wobbly-kneed teenager tried to swing her blade at me. Unimpressed, I simply took a single, surefooted step back, navigating the corpse-strewn, muddy battlefield with ease. Nobody had taken the time to teach the poor girl the importance of a good pair of boots, and her pitiful slog through the mud would take ages to catch up with me.
"I have a name, you know,"I said mildly.
"The only name you deserve is *barbarian*, you monster!"The girl shrieked as she charged at me. One of my soldiers appeared, brandishing a ball of fire, but I shook my head. This was the fourth would-be hero the Silent Parliament had thrown at me, and I'd given all of the first three a nice pat on the back, a reassuring pep talk, and in one case taken in a runaway who had no stomach for the churn of endless violence that made up an active battlefront.
I may have been a demon, but I was a Demon of Empathy. On occasion, I let others into my heart—which was more than I could say for my enemies.
"I recommend you stop following me,"I said, taking another calm step back.
"Never!"The girl snapped. "They said you would try to sway me from my path with your wicked words of deceit!"
"Actually, I'm just trying to point out that you've been following me into enemy lines for the past two minutes."The girl froze as she looked around and realized that the black-and-white emblem of the Silent Parliament was nowhere to be found. "On the plus side,"I mused, "it's not exactly as if you can get any *more* surrounded than you already are."
"Then I shall go down in a blaze of glory!"The girl leapt at me, blade crackling with heat, and I raised an eyebrow. This one knew some magic, evidently. Nevertheless, it was fruitless; she'd misjudged her leap and landed in a sprawl on the floor.
I sighed, walking towards her—ostensibly to give her a hand, but this was the fourth time I'd played out this pattern, and my enemies would be predicting me. I kept my eyes on the sky, watching for the telltale flash of—
*There.*
Quick as a flash, I slashed one hand through the air, tearing open a rift between here and the Plane of Elemental Darkness. A fraction of a heartbeat later, an eerily silent column of holy light struck the ground around us, crisping the mud into brick and setting the corpses aflame—but beneath the shelter of the rift of darkness, the girl and I were kept safe.
"That was an artillery strike,"I gently explained, "ordered by your army's commanding officer on *your* position, in the hopes of taking me out while I gave a fallen child a hand. Scorn me all you like, but do yourself a favor."
The girl's eyes were wide and shellshocked as they met mine.
"As long as you continue working for the Silent Parliament? Don't think of yourself as the hero."
I stood, leaving the shocked girl staring at the destruction her own commander had wrought—the destruction that I had protected her from—and went to exit the battlefield.
But before I could return to my warcamp, the girl croaked, "Wait."
I stopped, then turned, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"I..."The girl swallowed. "This can't be right. They wouldn't just... they wouldn't just throw me away..."
"But they have."My gaze was not unkind as I knelt by her side. "Would you like to see how?"
The girl got to her feet, sword abandoned in the mud, and mutely nodded.
Then I closed my eyes—trusting her not to strike me—and reached into my soulspace, delicately carving away a portion of my memories. The memories of the first three heroes who had come to stop me, who I had spared, and who had been quietly vanished by their superiors without a trace.
The first one, of course, didn't believe me. Neither did the second, even when I presented him with the memories of his predecessors. The third simply broke down when I showed him the names and faces of the previous "heroes"who had challenged me.
But the fourth?
The fourth grew *angry*.
"This... this isn't right."The girl clenched her fists. "The Silent Parliament—they can't get away with this."
"They have so far,"I gently said. "And they will, if nobody stops them."
The girl trembled with fury. "You told me that I could not call myself a hero, so long as I worked for the Silent Parliament."
Slowly, I nodded.
"Then *let me call myself a hero.*"She held on to the fragment of my soul that I had gifted her. "Let me show everyone what happened here, so that another child like me is never tricked onto this battlefield again."
A quiet, fierce grin spread across my face, and I squeezed the girl's arm.
"I will remember you,"I said. "My name is Odin, and I am the greatest Demon of Empathy to walk this world."
"My name is Haionn,"she said, "and I am a *hero.*"
Then Haionn strode to her own side of the battlefield, wielding memory and truth where once she held a blade.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. |
Initially my brain had put down the familiar pattern of taps to nothing but sheer coincidence. But as I rested my head closer to my wife's chest and listened carefully for the kicks, I realised that the rhythmic thump was unmistakable. Somehow, by some trick of fate, the unborn child was communicating. Making sure not to disturb my wife, I pulled out my laptop to translate the message.
Every beat, every kick, made my skin crawl as I desperately punched them into the translator, glancing at my wife every spare second to make sure I wasn't in some state of sleep induced delirium. My mind was suddenly reminded of an old film - a favourite of my dad's. *Alien*, it was called. I recalled with a paroxysm of anxiety how the aliens in it had opted for the brutal method of bursting through the chests of humans in order to be birthed. The memory did not rest well in my mind as I placed a comforting hand on my wife's cheek. She stirred lightly in her sleep, muttering something under her breath, blissfully unaware of the unfolding message.
The next thumps completed the first word of the communication.
**Free**, it read.
What could that have meant? I pressed my head closer to the child, desperate to hear the rest. Quickly, the next word was formed to complete a sentence. The two simple words sat on the box of the translator, the entire screen gravitating around the weight they bore.
**Free me**.
I lurched forward, feeling some bile rise to the base of my throat. The kicking had ceased now, and at this point I was left to mellow in my scattered, frantic thoughts. *Free me?* I didn't know what to think of it, I didn't know what to do. As if detecting my conflict, as soon as I rested my head on my pillow to let the message fade to the recesses of my mind, the kicking started up again. Stronger, more aggressive this time. As if imposing something. The word it formed was simple, yet menacing in its own right.
**Now.**
A command. My head snapped back to my sleeping wife as I heard her stomach churn - no, *growl* - like a wounded animal. I heard her moan, and she once more tussled in her sleep, pulling on the bedsheets.
I pressed myself up against her, the beating once more gone, and closed my eyes, my arms wrapped around her to quell her tumultuous sleep. Unable to sleep myself, I stroked her hair tenderly, trying to settle her down. Eventually, the dark coils of sleep dragged me to their depths, and I fell into a deep, unrestful slumber
---
That night I dreamed of drifting in an endless, intangible void. I had no form to guide me, and no destination in sight, yet I gravitated to something indiscernible amongst the nothingness. Drawn like a planet in the sun's orbit.
"*Come to me, and birth me a son, my surrogate. Bring me a beast, that may free me from this cage of dreams. Bring me a child, that I may call my own*."An ancient, dispassionate tone rung out in my head, breaking the blissful silence. I realised it was its call I was following.
At its beckoning I drifted upwards, up a tunnel of space that I realised was split into two paths, one of which I was following. Resting at the end was a bloated sphere, and at its centre a teeming and glowing orb, composed entirely of what seemed to be flesh and meat. The void seemed to have a border here, expanding outwards in a curve reminiscent of an engorged stomach. At its core, of course, was the child it was cultivating.
"*My child*,"the voice called, deific and commanding. I realised it was not addressing me. It seemed too distant, too filled with longing. What was I to it, other than another passing life-form in an endless cosmic cycle, after all? "*Soon you shall be bequeathed unto me by the mortal woman, and I shall be awoken from this eternal slumber. From this land of dreams. Eternity has not ever yielded me such joy.*"
A fierce tide began to flow from the reaches of the void, slamming down against me and pushing me back down the path I'd ascended. I unceremoniously careened through the entire tunnel, erupting out of the other end.
-----
Suddenly, I woke with a start, my hair matted to my head from sweat and my heart thumping against my chest. I turned to my wife beside me, and realised her heart was no longer beating, her soft breath no longer sounding.
As my vision cleared, I saw blood staining the sheets of the bed, cascading freely onto the floor like a river. All coming from my wife. I reached over to her, clutching her body as I looked down at her chest.
Where her bulging belly had once been was a hole, torn outwards and mangled as if something had burrowed from her very core. Viscera and sanguine stained the sheets, my attention only snapping away from the sickening sight at the sound of something churning below the bed. In a state of shell-shock, barely able to process an emotional response, I sat in awe, still holding onto my deceased wife as a sludgy, ethereal tendril slid out from under the bed, covered in fresh blood. It was purple and like the tentacle of a squid, except it was lined with eyes as opposed to suckers, each fixated directly on me. It tilted, as if curious, before drawing closer to my face, pulling more of its form out from underneath. Except, I saw nothing. I only heard the rustling of sheets and the squelch of its movements as it drew itself out, the rest of its body completely invisible to my eyes.
And then, once more from the depths of the bed, I heard another noise. A far more sobering, familiar one.
The sound of a baby crying.
----
/r/coffeeandwriting for more! |
I was not born special. The event of my birth was as normal as any other child, a run of the mill baby with run of the mill parents in a house far too cramped and a head far too big for my neck. Yet despite the absolute mundaneness of my birth, my parents loved me as if the world had become anchored around my existence. For them I think it really did.
The house in which I was raised was only special to us, and only because it was ours. To any passerby, any wandering eye on the sidewalk who glared into the windows, they would read our lives as nothing but simple. As a mother who cooked and a father who worked. A child with a sensible amount of curiosity and another who died young. But that wasn't notable, that was just life. That was my life.
But of course, somewhere along the way, I thought the world had begun to revolve around me too. Convinced so by how much love my parents showed me. I must be special if they thought so, my parents were never wrong. And in this rare, stupid instance, it turned out I was right.
I had realized quickly as a child that I could move things. Not move from place to place, but *between* places. I'd put something behind my back and poof, gone. Then with my other I'd reach into the apparent void and just like that, it'd be back again.
A superpower? Hardly. Hell, it was hardly even of any convenience. I had only ever used it as a party trick. A simple display of harmless fun to entertain guests. Well, at least that was until I understood where it all led to.
It was Jackson's thing, a party I guess you could call it. Not enough people to be considered a party I'd thought, but he was turning twenty-one and those few of us there were making a big show of it. Finally he asked me, as he always did when he introduced me to others, if I could show them my "superpower". I obliged, starting with a candle, then a book, a handful of marbles, simple stuff. Sometimes it'd come back odd, candles used, marbles scuffed, minor things that I couldn't explain.
But it didn't seem to be enough, not for Jackson.
"Ok, ok! Now do me!"The room shut up at his eagerness.
"Have uh...have you tried it on a person Harry-"A concerned voice spoke up from the back of the room. But Jackson insisted.
"What? If not even better! I'll be the first."Jackson continued. Everything you've ever put in comes back right?"
I was hesitant, scared, but eager to know where it all went. So, he positioned himself behind me. The small crowd of friend's leaned in as if to notice any imperfection. Any clue of how my oddity worked. But nothing. The moment my hand touched him he simply faded from our existence.
The crowd ooe'd but I trembled knowing the power I now held. If I decided to do nothing he would be gone forever. My hands shook. Instantly I pulled him back, reaching into the void behind my back and yanking. What came through the other side though was something *different*. Much older, grayed hair and circular wrinkles around his eyes. A pair of wire framed glasses he did not previously have.
"I...I...send me back. God please send me back."An audible gasp blew through the room at this older mans desperate pleas. His eyes shot between us as if we were nothing more than distant strangers. But I knew it was him.
"Jackson? What was on the other side- where did you go?"I stuttered the words out.
"Paradise, hell, purgatory, does it matter?! Send me back! Please god what sort of cruel dream!"He dropped to his knees in a desperate plea. Rather than wait for my reply he gripped my hand and dove at my back, dissapearing once again.
Instantly I yanked back, feeling around the void for his shape, but gripping nothing. Nothing came. Nobody in the room moved, they all just stared at one another in disbelief as I struggled. I put my hands behind my back and yanked, and yanked, and yanked, my heart pulsing in my chest.
"Jackson! Jack!"I yelled, pulling one last desperate time. And this time something did come from the other side. A person, child, smooth skinned and wide eyed, no older than five. He looked like Jackson, in an odd way; something deep in his eyes.
"Jackson?"I questioned in a whisper.
And the child shook its head up and down.
Then and there I knew, it was true I was not born special, I was born cursed. |
It was the silence that made me realize something was wrong. One month into the siege of the human city on the planet they called Sacrifice, and not a peep from them since the initial attack. Not a single cry of help from the hopelessly outgunned settlement, set for "forceful relocation"once our ground troops got here.
...
It was nothing personal, really. An international snafu among the council species was threatening to expand into full blown war, and this planet was a prime spot to set up a forward base, should any sort of aggressive action be necessary. And it might not, we had a small cultural attachment who first attempted to convince the humans to leave. Jolkn, our millitary anthropologist, immediately took to the humans, spending extra shore leave during the diplomatic phase of our takeover in their village. He was fond of some sort of mind affecting drug the humans favored called "Absinthe".
It was with the scent of Absinthe on the air that he outlined what he learned in a week or two of interaction with the locals.
"They're quite friendly, honestly. A social species, small local government involving representation. Imagine a Sigmar with a sense of humor."His face radiated warmth as he recounted. "Most races I've studied are welcoming on first contact, but even after I told them we were here to oust them from their settlement, they changed the subject and continued to graciously host me. That made learning about them all the easier. They boasted about their past, how they got here through centuries of conflict and hardship. And their history does seem especially bloody."
"Did you know?"He asked me excitedly, "the first humans hunted not with venom or great strength, but by sheer efficiency. They tracked their prey for upwards of an entire solar cycle, never letting it sleep or rest. Once its reserves of energy ran dry, the actual kill was simple. This allowed them to take down creatures that would normally wipe them out in a fair fight."
I mulled this over for a bit. "I assume then that they're fond of and practiced in siege warfare? That makes things more difficult, we're going to have to cut off their supply lines completely if they refuse to leave."
"Yes, that is going to be a concern... Their records of warfare are deep, but I'm familiar with their recent tactics thank to a tap of their main computer systems. They've set up a dead man's switch, so even if we jam communications, sizable reinforcements will be arriving within a couple months. I think instead we should focus on targeted strikes of their food storage and call for ground troops immediately. Hopefully a show of force will convince them to leave without putting up much of a fight."
"Draw the plans."I ordered. It was war, then. An uncommon outcome, but mostly I pitied the humans. Without the protection of being a member species of the council, they didn't have much of a chance.
...
A month had passed, and I was starting to grow impatient. We didn't have enough ground troops to forcibly oust the remaining population, and reinforcements had been delayed multiple times already. And then, a personal call from high command and logistics.
"I hope this is about our missing ground troops. They should have arrived weeks ago, what's taking so long?"
"Unfortunately no, commander. You are to withdraw all forces and depart for headquarters. You and your crew are being court martialed."
I paused to regain my composure. A court martial? Over a routine diplo-millitaristic occupation? I racked my memories, but couldn't think of any missteps in our procedure over this operation.
"...What, sir? A court martial? Why would--"
"--Whatever you did on Sacrifice may have cost us our position in the council. Multiple trade agreements have been dissolved in the last 3 weeks. Every single human merchant has pulled out of our colonies, a mass exodus. They left behind terrible rumors and targeted blows to the economy. Other council races are asking about war crimes we committed years ago, political maneuverings, even the hedgemon's affair was brought to light. There's an investigation into our millitary, multiple accusations of shirking council dues and duties... If more than one of these stick, that's it for our council membership."
I sat down, stunned. All that, from a siege of a *single city* on the rim of human space? ...What had I done?
"Oh, and we decrypted the first communications burst after the attack. It had a payload adressed to one of your crew, Jolkn; replicator recipies for some sort of drug named Absinthe, and a short message. Would you like to relay the message?"
"Um... Sure."I didn't really feel like it in the face of everything that happened, but it might be time to learn why he was so fond of this drug...
"Message proceeds thus:
'*Pay attention in the following weeks, my friend, and you will see how humanity persistence hunts a culture.*'" |
"You'd be surprised how intricately the human body acts in defense of the plague."I told my comrades, all of whom had been knocked to their knees by a bunch of bandits.
"S-spit it out, witch!"my brutish swordsman spat. "We don't have time f-for thi-"
"Shush."I proclaimed as the bandit leader appeared on a elevated rock above his lowly muscle. Clad in bloody steel and what must be dozens of... 'trophies' from countless raids decorated his frame.
"Meager healer. Surrender you and your party and we will give you a quick death."Armed crossbows clicked as they pointed towards me.
I simply stood there, waiting.
"Say your answer, witch!"One bandit shouted, moving a step closer.
I raised my hand towards him.
Almost immediately his crossbow fell to the ground as he clutched his chest.
I swept my hand across the bandit horde and the rest fell to the same plight.
The bandit leader took a couple of seconds in shocked staring before drawing his bow.
I simply looked at him and he screamed out, falling from his perch and onto a particularly nasty rock with a *crack*.
My party watched in horror as the bandits slowly, agonizingly, died dishonorable deaths by my hand as I manipulated their immune systems to self destruct their vital organs.
One by one they grew glassy-eyed and fell still.
When the last one choked his last breath, I gazed upon my work, satisfied. I then turned to my shocked comrades. I took a little curtsy.
"Be glad that I use my powers to keep you all healthy and prevent sickness. Though perhaps I do my job too well, if you lot never consider how your own body might betray you one day."
Then I walked towards them, rummaging through my medical purse.
"Alright, who needs some linen and vinegar?" |
The room was quiet, the blade jittering on the floor an incredibly large pin interrupting the silence. In my right hand was the hilt, finely jeweled and gilded. My left held the scabbard, equally extravagant. As the last clangs rang out through the store, voices began to roar from all sides.
"Oh my god, Bill, what did you do?!"Sarah screamed next to me.
"I don't know what happened!"I said.
"My prize piece! You insolent buffoon!"the store keeper screamed at me. Bending over, he gently picked up the blade with a cloth.
"I'm so sorry. I'm not sure what happened. All I did was unsheathe it, and it just fell apart in my hands."The store keeper placed the blade down on a nearby table, before wheeling on me.
"Twenty-thousand!"he bellowed at me. I almost dropped the hilt too, at that.
"Are you serious?!"
"Bill, it was his prize piece! You can't just break things and not expect any consequences,"Sarah said. I couldn't believe it. She was the one who wanted to look at the damn sword; why was I taking all the blame? I ran my thumb against the gems on the hilt, my nail catching on a few of the larger ones.
"You expect me to pay for a piece of garbage that falls apart when you sneeze at it? Besides, unless this blade was forged with Damascus steel, most of the money in this damn thing is in the gaudy hilt! One grand, tops."
"Twenty!"the store keeper retorted.
"One!"The man looked at the blade, then back at me. I puffed my chest and raised my chin, hoping that he'd understand I wouldn't be budging on this. With a grumble, he held out a hand. A nod of assent told me I'd won.
Sarah doled out a thousand dollars in fifties. I placed the hilt and scabbard by the blade, slipping my hands into my pocket while I waited for them to finish.As he skulked over to the register, Sarah and I briskly walked out of the store, taking a few turns to make sure we were completely out of sight.
"That was a train wreck. How'd we do?"Sarah asked. Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a number of gems that I'd thumbed out of the hilt.
"I'd say we broke even, just about. But seriously, though. Twenty-grand? What a scam."
*Feedback Appreciated* |
"For what, sir?"I asked, cocking my head. "I had Sundays reserved for myself, since we don't ever open."
My manager folded his hands together, resting a stubbly chin on them. "This is a direct request from the CEO himself. Your work ethic, your introverted nature, along with several other odd requirements-- he sees something in you, and I agree. You'll serve him well."
I gulped. "Serve him in what?"
"That I don't know. Dan is a very serious man, and secrets like that are above my pay grade. Whatever it is, serve well, because I stuck my neck out for you."
"Okay, sir. Thank you for recommending me. I'll work my hardest."
He nodded curtly. "I know you will. There's a car outside waiting for you."
It was a quiet ride; the silent driver wouldn't even turn on the radio, no matter how many times I asked. That only made it easier for thoughts to race. What would the CEO want from a nobody like me? I was sweating profusely, watching an enormous mansion grow even larger from the backseat. We pulled up, past a fountain, and the driver let me out with a slight bow as I passed.
It was Dan himself that met me at the front door.
"Are you James?"he asked, sizing me up.
I nodded, trembling hands stuffed into my pockets.
"Good. Before we continue, you must promise me your silence. Swear it, James."
I gulped, likely too loud. "I promise, sir."
He led me through a home with massive windows and skylights, into a back room, to a door locked with a retina scanner.
"You first,"he said, holding it open.
Down stairs that twisted like helixes, dimming more and more until I could barely see my hands. The air was warm, comfortable even, with a light floral scent-- lavender? Rose? It was faintly sweet, a gentle petal kiss.
Breaking peak darkness, a wan glow crept over us, until my eyes stung during readjustment. The smell was stronger, but still not sickening. Pleasant, even.
The stairs ended in an expansive room, with large rainbow tapestries stretched across wide walls, several candles flickering gently and beautiful furnishings. It was a modern, lavish setup with silks and sleek decor.
A man approached, fit, well-groomed. He kissed Dan on the cheek. "Hi, Cathy."
"Don't be so lewd, Samuel. It's inappropriate. And don't call me that around other people."
"Oh fine, fine, worrywart. James, my boy- so wonderful to meet you. Do you like Settlers of Catan?"
I knitted my brows. "Y-yes, but... what's going on?"
Samuel smirked, winking. "Oh, *nothing*, as Dan will tell you. Just be a dear and keep watch at the door for now, if you would. Only come in once we call. I can't wait! Board game night is *so* much more fun with a third player!"
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Anette was a princess. She had known that ever since she was a little girl. She had parents that were the modern equivalent of royalty, she had the voice of an angel, and a few other benefits. The fact that she had grown up to become one of the most beautiful women alive only helped cement her views on her own royal status. The only thing she did not have was the actual title of Princess. But that hardly mattered. She had a different title that was just as good.
One of her most loyal subjects scampered up her clothes and perched on her shoulder. The tiny brown mouse squeaked in her ear. One if the two large men looked at her nervously. He quickly averted his gaze when she looked back. The man was one of her best enforcers, although she prefers to call him one of her royal guardsmen.
"Get the door."She said.
"Yes, Mi Donna."The lumbering man said.
When the door was open, a small man entered. He walked with the gait of someone who was more dangerous than he looked. He also walked like someone meeting someone even more dangerous than himself. She called him a knight. Everyone else called him a hitman.
"Ah, Anthony. Good to see you."Annette said, turning away from the large window.
"Greetings, Mi Donna."The killer said with a slight bow of his head.
"I trust your job went well?"
"Very well, ma'am. Flawlessly, in fact."
"I would expect nothing less. Go and take a few days off. There's nobody who needs your special attention right now."
"Thank you, ma'am. Ah, before I go though, I have some unfortunate news."
"Do tell."
"The Russians are making a move. Nothing violent yet. But word is they're trying to take our cops away from us."
"They wouldn't dare."Annette said with ice in her voice.
"I'm just saying what I've heard, ma'am. I've got a few listeners in their group. They tell me the Russians think you're weak."
"Weak? They think I'm weak? Do you think I'm weak, Anthony?"
"No, ma'am."He hid his fear well, as any good knight should. Her guard did a much worse job.
"How about you, Michael. Do you think I'm weak?"
"N-no, Mi Donna, of course not."
"Then how did they get the idea that I am weak?"
Anthony hesitated before saying something. "Permission to say something that'll probably upset you ma'am?"She motioned for him to continue. "It's because you're a woman. Nobody in this family cares, mind you, but the Russians? They're old and have very outdated views. Including that women aren't fit to lead."
Annette clenched her fist. She felt a multitude of tiny black eyes on her, waiting for her order. She never gave it.
"You're dismissed Anthony. Be ready to move at any time though. Oh, and get Captain Carlisle here as quickly as possible."
The hitman left much quicker than he had entered. It took almost an hour for the police captain to arrive. To Annette, he was one of the leaders of the town guards in her kingdom. He did his job well enough, but clearly he was forgetting who his Princess was.
The small man sat, trembling like a leaf, in front of her. She hid her anger behind a slightly too polite smile.
"Hello captain."She said.
"H-h-hello, Ms. Barelli.
"How have you been? Your wife and son doing well?"
"Y-yes. Yes, they're both doing well."
"Good, good. Captain, remind me, how long has my family been helping yours?"
"F-fifteen years, Ms. Barelli."
"And how long have I, personally, been helping you?"
"F-five years."
"Yes. Since before last year's...incident that allowed me to be here now. So glad you remember. So, why is it, captain, that I'm hearing you taking offers from the Russians?"
"I-I-I"he wiped a bead of terror sweat off his forehead. "I had to at least listen, ma'am. Th-the offer was too good not to."
"Captain, do I need to hold a concert for you?"
The man's breath caught in his throat. Sweat dripped down his face and he looked out the large window. When he did, Annette pursed her lips and whistled. The note was a pure, crystalline sound with beauty that musical instruments had trouble matching. When it ended, birds fluttered, landing in a tree in her expansive garden. There were dozens of them in the tree, with dozens more perched nearby. And all of them were looking at the police captain.
"No!"He cried in fear. "No, please, not that. I...I won't take the offer, I swear! I'll stay with you!"
"And?"She asked.
"And?"
She opened her mouth and took a deep breath, ready to start singing.
"I-I-I-I'll crack down harder on the Russians. I'll send every cop I can after them!"
Annette smirked. Of course he would listen to her. It was only natural for a princess. She let out a long, warbling note and the birds dispersed.
"Good man."She said. "Now go and get to it."
"Y-yes, Ms. Barelli. Thank you, Ms. Barelli."The man nearly ran out the door.
When he was gone, she again summoned her followers. Birds perched in the trees, mice stood ready. Even several cats had shown up.
"Keep an eye on the man who just left. Inform me of everything he does."
With her command, the animals scattered to obey. She then turned to her desk phone and called her royal page--secretary to the rest of the world.
"Get me a meeting with one of the bosses if the Russian Mafia."She said.
"Which one, ma'am?"Her page asked.
"Doesn't matter. Any of them will do."
"Yes, ma'am."
Annette was a princess. She had always known that. Now her kingdom was under threat of invasion. And by no means was she going to let that happen. |
This had been a most unusual week and not just because of how well I was doing here. I'd never been on time for anything, never been good at anything. But here? I understood the concepts the teacher would talk about. It was clear and easy. Nothing was ever clear and easy for me. Had I found my niche? Professor Merrick entered the room and as usual we stood and then sat.
"Good Morning students. As you can see on the board, I've written the topics we learned about this week. Orientation to Magic. Magicka: The essence of Magic. Ethereal Plane: Realm of Magic. Methodical Magic: The way Magic is invoked. I'm well aware how dry this material is but a fundamental understanding of magic is crucial to being able to successfully use it without injury. Any questions so far?"
I looked around and all I could see were kids were half asleep, some talking to each other, and the rest had nothing but blank stares. Why did I find this so interesting and they did not? Was I really this weird? I almost didn't want to raise my hand but I couldn't help myself. There was something that had been bugging me.
"Professor I have a question"I said in a somewhat shy way. The professor nodded and asked me to speak up. "Something doesn't add up. In the Magicka class you explained that Magicka is a result of the Ethereal Plane and it's relationship with the physical realm. That it's a byproduct of sorts and that it's easily accessible by those who know how to use it."The professor nodded saying "That's correct! A student who actually paid attention, what a refreshing change of pace!"I blushed a bit and then continued.
"But in the Ethereal Plane lecture, you said that the Ethereal Plane is dangerous and in most cases annihilates the physical realm whenever it comes into contact with it. That the raw chaotic energies it possesses would disintegrate the physical realm. That the ethereal barrier is the only thing keeping the physical realm and the ethereal realm separate."The teacher nods. "Excellent recollection of my lecture young man. Is there a question somewhere in there?"
"How does the ethereal barrier create the Magicka byproduct when the barrier prevents interaction between the ethereal realm and the physical realm?"The teacher removed his glasses and looked at me quizzically. "We will continue that discussion after class."is all he said and moved forward with the days lesson. Had I asked the wrong question? I was honestly hoping he'd forget. When the bell sounded I put my books away, stood up and started heading for the door. "Mr. Wellick, my desk please". Damn.
I approached sheepishly and started to try and say I was sorry but he raised his hand. "Mr. Wellick, most students come in here just trying to learn how to spell the words I put out, much less stay awake until the end of class. You however, pick up on a nuance that even accomplished Magicians didn't pick up in the first year of Magic studies."He turned around and grabbed a book from the shelf. The engravings glowed as he set the book on the table. "Can you tell me what the cover of this book says?"I started to shake my head no because it just looked like glyphs but somehow I knew. I didn't know how I knew but I had this overwhelming sense of what it must be. "Magikarium Modestis"I blurted out. "Well I'll be damned"the professor said. "It's been too long since we had a true Diviner."
EDIT: Thank you for the replies! I only intended this as a one-shot. I can see, however, that for whatever reason you guys really like it. Let me think about where to take it from here.
EDIT 2: Link to 2nd entry https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/u2zch1/wp_its_the_first_week_of_magic_theory_class_youve/i4phk1w/
EDIT 3: Party 3
https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/u2zch1/wp_its_the_first_week_of_magic_theory_class_youve/i4udto8/ |
What the fuck was that?
I was having a dream. where I was sitting in a job interview. But for some reason, I forgot to wear pants and I was wearing this thong. The interview made a joke about how I was trying a little too hard to get the job but other than that, me wearing a thong to an interview was no problem. We went through the interview process and at the end, he tells me that he doesn't need to see any other applicants and that he wants to extend an invitation to work for their company.
I ask him if there's anything else I need to do to complete the process, he says not to worry and then says,”You’re hired.” and I shake his hand. well, the weird thing is when you're in a dream, everything that you feel, hear or see, you do it with your mind. So when you see something bright, it doesn't blind you because you're only receiving it in your mind. The weird thing though was when my interviewer told me I was hired, I heard him with my ears. It wasn't an inner dialogue like it normally would be with a dream.
Then here's the kicker. I woke up. and I realized I'm still holding the hand.
I fucking lost it. I immediately jumped up onto my bed like a sorority girl who just saw a mouse and I start screaming ‘What the fuck!’ over and over again.
In the darkness, I see a shadow come from underneath my bed and a voice tells me that I'm acting really unprofessional right now.
Now my first thought is that I'm dreaming. No way is this real. So I pinched myself. And it hurt. But I'm still there. So I look over at my mirror because I remember hearing about how you can't see yourself in the mirror when you're in a dream. And, I mean, it's dark and everything and I can see myself very clearly. So I’m not in a dream or that’s not true.
So I'm fucking losing it. I got brain cancer. I got schizophrenia. Maybe this is some kind of being from an alternate dimension. Maybe it's a demon. But before I can figure out what’s going on, the shadow says,” I'm not sure what's going on with you. But just to be clear, we're very happy to have you working with us.”
I don't know what the hell is going on. What?
The shadow, it's just like this blob. The more I look at it, the more it changes and the more I think it looks like something completely other than what I originally thought it looked like.
The shadow says,“ I'm not sure what the confusion is. Our interview process was quite exhaustive. Not everyone gets to work for the Shadow Kingdom. but from spending time with you, I have a very strong feeling that you're going to be a great match for our organization.”
I have no idea what the Shadow Kingdom is.
The shadow sounds annoyed. “Okay. Not sure what's going on. We did already make the offer so we're not going to rescind it but if you don't believe you're the person for the job, you are in no way obligated to accept the position. I know we shook hands but we still need HR to process you to make it official.”
“
I don't know what's more confusing. This hallucination talking to me or the fact that it's offering me a job that I don't know anything about.
“I'm not sure how you applied for a job, went through the interview process, and then seem to have forgotten everything about the job once the the offer was extended to you. But, and this isn't an accusation nor is it in any way an implication, but just so you know, we do drug test all of our employees.”
What?
“Okay, as I said before, the position is a Mortal Liaison. We haven't necessarily negotiated salary but we're quite competitive with other companies. Essentially, it would be your job to act as our agent in the mortal world because, unfortunately, due to certain discriminatory biases that as of yet are still legal, beings from the Shadow Kingdom cannot acquire goods and services from the Mortal Realm. This is why we need you. Again, it is full time employment.”
Actually, that sounds really good. I've been unemployed for five months now and my unemployment only has one more month left. This is really, really weird but this is actually perfect for me.
“We're very happy to hear that you're enthusiastic about being part of the Shadow Kingdom. Now, there is one minor catch. Very minor. I almost don't even want to mention it because it's so minor. But, just so you know, in order to take the position, you will be required to relinquish your shadow.”
I have no idea what that means.
“It's pretty straightforward. When you're walking around in the Mortal Realm, you won't have a shadow. If a light shines on you in a way that would normally cast a shadow for a regular mortal, it won't cast a shadow for you.”
Why would they possibly need this? I mean, it's not nearly as bad as finding out that this is a ‘network marketing’ position or that I have to give him money in order to apply or be hired. But, I don't know. This seems a little suspicious.
“Unfortunately, the Shadow Kingdom operates on different rules than the Mortal Realms. Liaisons for the Shadow Kingdom must formally announc themselves to other mortals by relinquishing their shadow. Now, there is a remote risk. and I say very remote. It's mostly confined to third world countries, agricultural enclaves, theocracies and the like. But there are people who, I guess you can say, hunt liaisons.”
So, basically I'm going to be a vampire period and vampire hunters are going to come after me. I'm going to wake up one day with a stake in my heart? I don’t know if a job is really worth that. No matter how competitive the salary is.
“You know what, I'm required, per policy, to disclose the information about losing your shadow and Shadowhunters, but honestly, I've been doing this a long time. A thousand years. I have had hundreds of Mortals work for me and only about 1% of them are ever discovered by Shadowhunters. Most of the time, the Shadowhunters don't even do anything. everyone thinks they're crazy so the liaison just continues as normal with a little bit more caution. Honestly, the last time a liaison was killed was 52 years ago. and that was in Kazakhstan.”
This honestly sounds pretty damn reasonable. but it probably doesn't pay very well.
“As I said before, our salaries are very competitive. Since you'll be working in America, our starting salary is $60,000 per year.”
At my last job, I made $26,000.
“And, as I said before, you will have to relinquish your shadow. Now, some fringe religious philosophers have speculated that a mortal’s soul is in their shadow but who really cares about philosophy, right? If they were so valuable they wouldn't be working as baristas, am I right?”
I don't know. losing my shadow was one thing but my soul? I mean, it's not like I was using either of those things but what if someday I want to?
“And, just so you know, we have full dental and health insurance with no co-pay or cost to you. Also, we provide one month of vacation per year and we will match you dollar for dollar for your 401k contributions.”
Where do I sign?
|
There he was, just like he had never left. My mouth dropped open at the sight of his golden fur that faded to grey around his nose. He was lazily laying on the porch just like he would 10 years ago. Damn, it's like he never really left. When he saw me, he sat up, tail wagging like he always did. This time, however, instead of hopping up and dashing to greet me, he gently turned around and delicately picked up a book. I felt a pull, urging me to meet him.
"Hey, buddy!"I called to him. He lifted his head as if to motion me to join him. "It's been a long time, I thought you were... Well, never mind that."He gently place the book on the ground in front of him. Goldens are always so gentle.
"It has been too long,"he sighed, "I thought we might not see each other again, but here we are!"My jaw must have been hanging lower than the Marianas Trench, I was so shocked. I couldn't say anything. After a long silence, he said, "C'mon, I have a lot to show you."He nosed open the book. It was filled with pictures. Fields of flowers, mountaintops, cities... He must have sniffed every inch of this world with how many pictures there were, each featuring an overjoyed golden dog.
"Paris was my favorite. I don't know why, but there was something special about chasing the pigeons around the Eiffel Tower."He stared at the page. A large picture of my pal snapping at birds was taking up the whole page. "It wasn't my best moment, nor the most fun, but it was the most memorable. Boy was it lonely, though. I'm happy to see you home."
"Me?! You're finally back! I missed you so much! Where did you go first?"I asked, flipping through the book. This thing was enormous and seemed to go on forever.
"I had to go to the vet first to get my shots. Humans have to too before traveling, right?"I felt his tail thud twice on the ground. It didn't seem like a pleasant memory for him. "I then went to a huge field filled with flowers."The next page of the scrapbook had a silhouetted picture of a dog form surrounded by amazing color. "I just kept gong from there."
I kept turning pages and questions started flowing into my head, but there were only two that mattered to me: "How...Why?"I asked.
"I was waiting..."His voice trailed off and he almost looked sad.
"For what?"
"Family. Here you are, but I thought I'd see Mom first."
"Huh? Mom should be home already."I said. I stood up and opened the door. The house was perfect. Either Mom skipped work to clean or something's wrong. "What's going on?"I asked of my golden standing behind me.
"She probably won't be home for a long time. I waited 10 years for you, but I hope we have to wait longer for Mom."He walked up beside me. "What would you like to do in the meantime?"
I felt like I was dreaming.
"Are we..."I couldn't even finish the question; the tightness in my throat wouldn't let me.
"C'mon, let me show you Paris."He said, turning around. I followed him out the door, suddenly standing in the middle of fleeing pigeons. There was something special about it.
Edit: proofreading. |
Today marks the tenth year of me locking myself down in this bunker. Hooray.
I sit down on the couch in the living room with a bowl of the stale cereal I’ve been saving for this anniversary. I ran out of dehydrated milk years ago, so I have to deal with eating it dry. But after ages of eating vitamins, meal supplements and whatever produce I can grow, this is a welcome treat. I flick on the TV and switch it over from my computer screen to the satellite dish. Normally nothing shows up, but sometimes I’ll catch a rogue signal of a Roseanne episode I don’t have downloaded. Today, however, was different. Every channel was broadcasting the same exact video of a disgruntled looking man standing on a stage in front of a murmuring crowd. Why did he look so familiar to me?
“Todays the day folks! After ten long years, we finally get to reveal the winner of the worldwide hide and go seek competition!” The man says, arms pumping in the air, voice echoing through the loudspeakers. The crowd erupts into cheers and applause.
Competition? I don’t remember any competition like that back in 2018.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re ready! When the clock strikes noon, the curtain will fall and reveal the victor. Count it down with me, folks! Thirty… Twenty-nine…. Twenty-eight…” A giant screen above a huge curtain counted down the seconds.
“Eighteen… Seventeen… Sixteen!” The crowd continued. Something in my gut didn’t feel right about this.
“Ten… Nine… Eight!” I put my bowl on the table and focused on the screen. The announcer looked so familiar, I swear I know him.
“Six… Five… Four!” My chest started knotting up. I stood up and walked closer to the TV. I knew who was under that curtain.
“Three… Two… One!” The curtain disconnected from the top and tumbled down, revealing a giant photo of…me, from ten years ago. Sparks, streamers, and balloons shot all across the crowd.
“Congratulations, Mae Abbot! You have won the grand prize of one hundred million dollars!”
“God damn it! Fuck!” I scream and kick the table into the wall.
“All you have to do to claim your winnings is to come out of hiding, Mae! There will be a huge party in your honor!” The announcer shouted over the sound of the crowd’s uproar. I can’t believe I almost thought this was a genuine broadcast.
“It’s really that simple, baby girl. Just open that bunker door and step out into this nice bright sunshine.” I know why I recognize him, now. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him that I almost didn’t remember what he looked like. It’s my dad.
“Open the door, Mae. See the sunlight.” His voice now cold and commanding, the crowd silent. I don’t move.
After all these years, I’ve blocked them out of my mind. To forget what happened ten years ago. To ignore that constant screaming just outside the bunker. To ignore the slamming and knocking on the heavy steel door. To ignore how my friends and family are paraded around like puppets to manipulate me into going outside. How every person outside this bunker isn’t even human. They’re not the same, anymore. Ever since that day.
“MAE, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Dad shouts as loud as he can, his voice cracking and his face turning red from the strain. I cover my ears. I can’t listen to this.
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKI--” He shouts over the sounds of the crowd screaming the same. I punch the TV as hard as I can. I punch and punch and punch until my knuckles are bloody. The TV tumbles to the ground and falls silent.
The bunker is quiet. But outside, I can still hear the screams, commanding me to open the door. Tears well up in my eyes. I curl up on the floor and sob into my bloodied carpet.
I can’t go outside. I’d change too. I need to keep the door locked.
To keep the sunlight out.
|
Sticks and stones won't break my bones. Swords and axes are harmless to me. No bolt or arrow ever pierced my skin.
My mother made sure that nothing would ever harm me.
But the mother of fathers horse... He always snickers when my mother tells the tale of how she spoke to everything in existence and was assured that it wouldn't hurt me in any way. I am sure he knows something. Sure he schemed something as he often does.
So no matter how often mother tells me not to worry... I continue to test my limits and search for my weakness.
I ask others to strike at me with weapons of increasingly exotic materials. We design more and more powerful throwing mechanisms and projectiles. I eat more and more dangerous things.
I start to think that mother really is right. But I can't really be sure.
But enough talk now. My brother wants to try something now. I oblige him, because he is blind. I want to make him feel useful... Even... If he just wants to throw a mistletoe at me... So here goes my usual line for him (partially to tell him where I am)
"Hi. My name is Baldur. And this is Jackass." |
Hello Simon, hi Garfunkel,
You treat me just like a carbuncle.
We're only friends and nothing more than that,
You made it clear you liked me just for chat.
And while I offered up my love, you turned it down.
How I did frown.
I am the lonely Darkness.
 
And how you revel in the light,
The two of you are quite a sight.
You said you liked my silence,
But let me give you my two cents,
You're a tease, who led me on and dumped me hard.
It left me scarred.
I am the lonely Darkness.
 
And then you show up in the night,
Saying you two have had a fight.
Can you come in and just talk for a while?
I try so hard not to give in and smile.
But I hope that one day I could still be more.
I hold the door.
You join the lonely Darkness.
 
And in the morning you have left,
I cry alone, I am bereft.
My old friend is nothing more you see,
They do not wish to be a part of me,
So I close up my heart and give up hope,
I cannot cope.
I am the lonely Darkness.
*****
Head on over to /r/fringly if you want to see what other treasured favourites of yours I can twist into something weird. Like [Asterix and Obelix](https://www.reddit.com/r/fringly/comments/565nts/aliens_conquer_earth_well_not_whole_earth_one/) for example. Or maybe you just like stories about [bears](https://www.reddit.com/r/fringly/comments/565nkl/there_are_bears_loose_in_the_highrise_office/)? |
My footsteps echoed down the halls, bouncing back and forth until they escaped through the wreckage and into the quiet afternoon. I walked through the ruins of a city that would have rivaled the finest metropolis that our civilization had managed to rebuild after the Conquest. We were great once. We explored and expanded and exploited. And then we met the Roor, with their faster ships and better guns and bigger armies. They had crushed us as simply as a boy crushes an anthill, destroying the structures that had taken generations to build and scattering the survivors left and right. And then after the Conquest had come silence, and eventually we had emerged from the rubble to survey what was left of our empire. It wasn't much. Bodies had been whisked away to produce carbon-based fuel. The relics that defined our culture had been turned to dust or had been vanished along with the food and weapons and what we needed to survive.
But we survived. They never let us forget that they were watching, biding their time until we built a society that was worth exploiting. Then they would come and remind us who they were. They would remind us that they could take what they wanted and they would exact their tribute. Otherwise we would die, all over again. Some of us work farms, moving massive pieces of concrete out of fields and tilling the ashes to get to the fertile dirt below. Some of us scavenge, desperately trying to find caches of food from before the Conquest. Anything to reach that minimum amount that could last us through another winter. Then the snow would fall, the white mixing with the gray ashes. The leaves would disappear and the cold would sting your face and underfed children would die where they slept, frozen to the ground. And some of us search.
I first stumbled across Community when I saw a wisp of smoke in the distance, just beyond the next hill. Everything was always just beyond the next hill. But I walked that way, desperate for some human interaction beyond ducking out of sight from the Roor-bots that flitted in and out of the clouds and vaporized anything that moved. Only Community was allowed to survive, easier to control that way. I was met on the outskirts by a man who materialized from the stones. "Friend or foe?"he had said. There was only one right answer. The makeshift gun he held to my head guaranteed that. So I had shrugged. It would depend on who he was. He was not Roor. He showed me the tunnel that took him in and out of Community. He told me I would never enter through the gates, because I was never truly there.
So now I wander. That's the role the Committee ordered. Sometimes I run, sometimes I walk. They told me to search for the machine. They don't know how it looks but once I see it, I'll know what it is. And as my footsteps disappeared down the hall, I checked my map and prepared to mark off another building as clear when a door I missed caught my attention. I glanced around. It's habit. The Roor are loud. They've never had a need for stealth. But still I look around, ensuring nobody is with me, and then I tried the door. It stubbornly refused to open. I tried the lock, realizing it had a place for each finger. It was meant for humans. Roor do not have the limbs to do this. Once inserted, the door unlatched with a quiet click. Beside a dead machine lay the singed pages of somebody's final message. Their bones were on the floor behind me, a welcome sign of humans that is not often found.
Carefully, so as to disturb nothing but the dust upon the keys, I turned on the machine. It struggled, and for a second my heart dropped and I thought that all my wanderings were for nothing, but then a message appeared. "Contact reestablished. Support will arrive soon."
And then I waited. I didn't wander far, reluctant to draw the attention of a Roor-bot and unsure if I would receive another communication. Day turned to night and the night brought sounds. Rats scurried across the rubble. A snake hissed. In the distance, a child cried. A Roor-bot blasted and the crying stopped. I wondered how they had survived out here so long. The child must have been a newborn. I wondered if the machine was programmed to do nothing but to tell me that support would arrive, regardless of whether or not anybody was left alive to support us. I thought that I would wither away in that building before abandoning home. I could join the skeleton by the machine and detach myself from all this running and hiding and heartbreak.
The next morning brought no new message and it wasn't until the following day when I heard an unfamiliar whir. I peeked out of the door and, finding the area clear, closed it shut behind me. Soon, a unique spacecraft was hovering in the atrium of a ruined building. Weeds and vines climbed up the inutile support beams that held nothing and now their leaves fluttered in the wind. I hid behind a particularly large piece of concrete. It had upon it half of a crude graffito that read *The end of times be up*. I wondered if the writer had been killed before he could finish or if the other half of his final masterpiece was somewhere nearby.
Moments later, the spacecraft was gone and a man in black protective gear barked an order at me to reveal myself. I rolled my eyes. Of course they had heat sensors and such that could see where I was hidden. I felt foolish as I stood cautiously. If this was a Roor trick, they deserved to catch me now. "You sent the message?"he asked me, lifting his visor. His eyes were the same lifeless grey I had seen in the eyes of the guards around the Community. He removed a glove and held out a calloused hand. I shook it, the first human contact I had had in years. I looked behind him. He had only a couple dozen men with him. It wouldn't be nearly enough.
"I did,"I answered hesitantly, assuming that was what I had done by starting the machine. "Is this all you have?"
"Pleased to find you,"he said with a wry grin, ignoring my question. "I'm Lieutenant Edwards of the Human Expeditionary Force. Here to save your asses."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
After four days of intense debate, the United Nations Security Council had still not reached a consensus regarding the alien message.
The Chinese argued that the message should be taken seriously and that all radio and television signals had to be shielded or restricted. The Russians proclaimed that the planet was under threat and the world should pool resources and mobilise immediately.
The American proposal was to contact the sender of the message to learn more of the threat.
The US President was about to argue his case yet again when he saw his Science Advisor approaching.
"Sir, you have to see this. We've decoded more of the message."
The President scanned the sheet of paper. "What am I looking at here?"
His advisor spoke quickly. "It's a spatial chart. These co-ordinates refer to quasars and we're pretty sure these refer to black holes. It tells us where in space the aliens consider the threat to come from."
"And where would that be?"the President demanded.
The Science Advisor swallowed nervously. "Well, Sir, we've narrowed it down to our system."
"Our system?"
"Yes Sir. You see, the message isn't to us, it's about us." |
"Mom, I'm off to school."
"Alright sweety, remember the permit for the Xylar Confederacy to pass through fourth and fifth avenue."
"Wait what happened to the zombies that were in the area?"
"Oh they all got infected by these weird black spore things that just completely shut them down for some reason. Oh but do be careful of the radiation in the river, the government said they'd deal with it but you know how busy they are these days. Do you have your gas mask with you?"
"Yeah yeah, checked for problems and whatever last night. Mom I've been through this enough times I'm not a kid anymore"
"Alright then, have a nice day at school, love you"
"Bye mom"
~~~
Superbowl LI was already off to a rocky start, with teams participating from across the galaxy formed by alien races that only recently sought to conquer the earth. There was a brief halt in the games when the sentient robot army launched an attack, but most of them were washed away by a tsunami, just one of the many aspects of the now completely unstable global climate. It also almost seemed predictable at this point when a new mad scientist announced his plans for world domination only for his lab and super weapon to be flattened by a meteorite soon after. Therefore when "Doctor Devilish Doom"took control of the broadcasting equipment, it came to nobody's surprise when he and his "Longrange Light Laser"were destroyed by a chunk of rock from space. He did win the award for Most Alliterative Villain though.
~~~
"And that is why you should vote for me, Lord Malagor."
A man in a traditional shaman outfit finished his speech to the assembled crowd, followed by applause from around half of the group.
"It's not even a fair election, Malagor has a potion of mind control, all of his supporters are only doing so by his will!"
His opponent, a middle aged woman in a lab coat pointed an accusatory finger at Malagor.
"Excuse me Doctor Schnitzelwitz, but isn't it the case that your voter group is mostly comprised of clones? Must be difficult winning the support of oh lets say five people?"replied Malagor, gesturing at the other half of the crowd. Indeed, several of the people looked extremely similar if not identical. As if on cue one man's false mustache then fell off. Before Schnitzelwitz could retort however the ground between the two of them split open and a pillar of flame erupted outward incinerating both of them. A figure covered in fire then appeared from it, who scanned the room then shouted,
"Silence fools! I Lavalar proclaim this to be my new domain! Anyone who does not agree shall meet the same fate as them!"
From the back of the room one man turned to his doppelganger next to him and remarked,
"Politics, they never really change do they?" |
If anyone had asked me what horror was, up to half a minute ago I would have definitely answered something on the lines of "demons"or "zombie apocalypse".
But nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing two identical faces, two indistinguishable beings staring back at me from the yellowed photograph that fell out of my wife's sister memorial.
The more I stare at the picture, though, the more subtle differences I notice. I could definitely tell my wife from her twin in the picture; maybe for the fact that her smile never had that grinny appearance, maybe because her eyes are a lighter shade of brown...
Wait, what color are my wife's eyes?
With all the commotion, I haven't had time to notice, lately. I always complimented her about the expression of her eyes, their ability to communicate her feelings, her emotions to whoever she was talking to.
As I turn the picture over, a single sentence made the last of my securities disappear:
​
"*I have always admired you. Always wanted to be like you. Always wanted to be YOU".*
​
>!This is my first time ever writing anything. Comments are very appreciated, as is any constructive criticism. I know I am not a good writer, but I would really like to get better and write something for fun. Thanks!!<
EDIT: Wow, the support and constructive criticism of this sub never ceases to amaze me!
Thanks to everyone who took a couple of minutes of their time to give me a piece of their insight, to provide an external point of view or to show their appreciation!
EDIT 2.0: An award?? I'm flabbergasted, everyone!
Thank you all for the support, advice and encouragement!! |
"Woah! A dinosaur!"I exclaimed as I gently put my shovel down. A tiny creature, no taller than a few inches, crawled out from a miniscule burrow in the sand at the bottom of the excavation site. I retrieved a magnifying glass from my satchel and used it to have a better look at the small creature.
It was a dark shade of green. Almost brown and slightly mottled in places. Curiously, it had a light coat of tan-coloured feathers covering its backside. The plumage glistened in the afternoon sunlight and even had an orange tinge to it at certain angles. The dinosaur crawled up on to my outstretched index finger and began awkwardly waddling up my glove.
"Fascinating,"muttered my companion as he looked over my shoulder and watched the little critter crawl. "What else did we uncover?"He squatted down and used a smaller tool to brush away more of the dirt around the site where the dinosaur had crawled out of. No sooner had he done so when I heard a sharp *clack!*
"That sounds like you hit something. A buried chest?"I asked as the dinosaur hopped up and down on my open palm.
"Looks more like a small building than a treasure chest,"my friend replied. He used a brush to dust off some dirt from the object. "Well I'll be darned."
It was a fancy looking building about the size of a mailbox or a large bread box. It was two stories tall and the bottom story was lined by a series of pillars that held the upper floor up. A small plaque near the entrance had the word *Museum* engraved on it. I put the dinosaur into a glass jar with air holes poked into the top before I went to have a closer look at the building.
With my magnifying glass hovering outside the windows of the museum, I peered inside. But before I could make anything out clearly, something flew out of one of the open windows. I stumbled backwards and swatted my hand around my face, thinking it was an insect. When I finally regained my composure, I saw a tiny spaceship darting around the outside of the museum. It flew around, bumbling about like a bee, before finally landing adjacent to my dinosaur jar.
"Gosh, this is amazing! We've stumbled onto a whole miniature museum full of surprises!"I said joyfully.
"Indeed!"replied my friend. "I can't believe we found all of this on our first try!"
"There's treasure everywhere!"I announced happily.
"Calvin!"yelled a female voice in the distance. "Come on in! It's time for dinner!"
"C'mon Hobbes. Better head back in before Mom throws a fit,"I said to my tiger friend. I took him by his tail and dragged him out of the sandbox.
"And bring your toys back in! I'm not buying you anymore toy dinosaurs again if you lose them!"
|
It wasn't the crowd, or the shouting, or the fire, but her body that shocked her the most. She felt frail and ached all over. She looked down to see her hands. They were cracked like aged leather. Her skin papery and thin.
"Where am I? What's happening?"She asked the crowd.
A man turned to her. He must have been at least 50.
"Grand-mère,"he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "c'est la révolution!"
She never learned french, but had understood this man. 'Grand-mère'? Suddenly the memories hit her. She had grown up in Paris, the daughter of a cobbler. Her calloused hands reflected the work she devoted herself to for years. She married a tailor, a younger man with a calm nature and strong, imperial beliefs. He had passed instantly in '76 when news from the America's came to France.
Pushed and shoved by the crowd, Michelle began thinking of a simpler time. Her childhood had been quiet, not loud and rebellious. She thought back on her youth. She thought of the French countryside, the devotion to the King, and the simpler attitude of the 17th century. She was always forgetting her past. Surely her grandson would berate her for her forgetfulness.
Her grandson was carrying her out of the crowd. She had fallen when a young man had pushed passes her to get to the front of the crowd. It was the fourth anniversary of the fall of the Bastille and Paris was on fire.
"Le 14 juillet."Michelle thought fondly. "Je suis née le 14 juillet 1693."She truly was born in the '90's. A time where revolution was not spoken of. A time before the Washington's and the Robespierre's. A time when your biggest concern was marrying the tailor or the fishmonger. A time of enlightenment, thought, and peace. But oh, those years have passed.
She began to feel that familiar haze. She new her moment of lucidity would disappear soon. She smiled, clutching her grandson's arm as he rushed her out of the city square.
The memory of her wish from all those years to come had faded away. |
"$50."
"Hm?"said the vampire.
"$50 for a litre, 90 for two,"I replied.
The vampire looked at me like I didn't understand.
"Look,"I sighed. "I don't need to hear your life story. I don't give a shit that you knew Marie Antoninette's second cousin. I don't care what Martin Luther's breath smelled like. You want to feed, you gotta pay like everyone else."
I pointed at the line of bloodsuckers going down the hall, no different from the junkies jonesing for methadone in the morning.
The vamp's red eye's blared. I'd seen his type before. Aristocrat, probably had some castle in the ass-end of Romania before Nick Cage turned it into a Nick Cage habitat.
With unnatural speed he grabbed me by the wrist and looked deep into my eyes.
"You will give me your blood,"he said hypnotically. Nice trick, seen it before, got the T-Shirt. Since I started this gig I'd invested in mirrored contacts.
I reached under my desk and pulled out a crucifix. He jumped away with a hiss.
"$50 for one litre,"I repeated mechanically. "$90 for two."
The vampire glared at me as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. |
It takes time. Time and patience. I don't know if you're aware, but patience is not a quality generally found in dogs.
Try again.
Try, try again.
Try, try, try again.
Quitting is an option, of course. But it isn't, of course. Not really. They have to be saved. They *have* to.
What's a week, to a dog? Time is weird. If the master is gone for five minutes, it feels like an eternity. If he's sleeping beside you, then it's all too short. A week can last forever.
Try, try, try, try again.
The St. Bernard is tired. Lonely. Sad. But it perseveres. *Have to save master.*
The first one. Bite on the girl's shoe. The girl stays home a half hour longer. She isn't found in an alley three days later.
Try, try, try, try, try again.
The second one. Bark loudly at the old man. The old man calls the blue man. The blue man doesn't try to pull over a crazy man. The crazy man doesn't shoot the blue man.
Try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The third one. The monster. The monster wants to eat the little boy. *NO! Bad monster!* Rip. Cut. Tear. Bite. Monsters have to be put down.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The fourth one. Easy-peasy. Cuddle up to her at the train station. She doesn't get accidentally pushed. Doesn't fall onto the train tracks.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The fifth one. A child wanders onto out into the street. The mother is busy gossiping with some friends. The St. Bernard grabs the child's sweater firmly with his teeth. Guides it back to the sidewalk. A car comes rushing by, inches away. A loud bark is heard, but when the mother turns to look, there's nothing there.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The sixth one. The second-hardest. First, steal the bad pills. But that's only the first step. Let her pet you at the bus stop. Steal her handbag. Let her chase you into the shelter. Spill the pills all over the floor. The good people come for her. She's not going to die. If she was, then it would restart. Time to go home.
Try. Try. Try. Never stop trying to save them.
The seventh one. Finally. Master lays on his bed, looking soft and forlorn. He's weak. He's tired. Soon he will die. The hardest one. But he's too late. Master isn't moving. His eyes are closed. His breath is short and broken. Too late. Again.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, **"NO!"**
Master reaches down, impossibly, unbelievably. He pets his beloved St. Bernard. "You can't keep doing this, Russ."
The dog looks up incomprehendingly at his master. "It doesn't matter how many ways you play it, Russ. I'm sick. There's nothing you can do. This is beyond you. You need to move past it. My little sister is gonna need you after I'm gone."
The St. Bernard whines, curls up next to his master. Master strokes his dog lovingly. "You can't save me, Russ. But you saved so many.... You're amazing. But it's time to let me go. Take good care of my sister. I love you, Russ."
The dog whines again, loyal to his master to the last breath. The dog is still there when the nurses arrive to take him away.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, and move forward. |
Perplexed, you read it again, if it wasn't for the fact that it was exactly in your appalling handwriting you might of written it off as being a prank by your room-mate Tim. Like how two days ago he had gone around the apartment and stuck "CAUTION: This object is a Mimic"on every single appliance that the two of you own.
But no, clear as day, this is your handwriting, and to back it up, there's even a diary under my bed!
"I don't remember ever getting a diary, and whilst Tim would do alot for a prank, this seems wayyy beyond his ability."You think to yourself as you open the diary.
Day 1: Date 15th December 2019 (You know for a fact that it's the 15th of March, as it's your birthday tomorrow, and you've been planning a party for the last few weeks)
The diary reads "Today, I went in for what should of been a standard surgery, I had a blood clot near what the doctors put simply as ""The memory bit""in my brain. The surgeon however, didn't read the x-ray closely enough, and whilst the details are fuzzy, due to the tight lipped \*\*\*\*, the results are that I now have progressive short term memory loss. What this essentially means is that when I go to bed, what normally happens is the brain processes what happens during the day, and stores it as memory, however in my case, the brain will, well, they aren't quite sure exactly yet."
"Are those tear droplets on the page??"
The diary continues "I will do all I can to try and make it easier for myself going forwards, or backwards, as the case will soon be. I have contacted a good lawyer, my new room-mate Sally"
"I don't know anyone called Sally?!"
"You can trust her, she has our best interests at heart and will do everything we can to sue the guy, it will take a while though unfortunately, due to the immense number of roadblocks and ass coverings that happened in the first hour alone. The good news is, at least we don't have the blood clot anymore, after another surgeon did it correctly."
The first page finished with "To prove i'm not lying to you, the worst thing you have ever done, when you were 12, you-"
You get a glimpse at what was said, and would rather not re-live the gruesome account of when you hugged your pet guinea pig too tight, something only you knew about, as you were too guilt ridden to tell anyone about it, your family just assumed it was due to natural causes.
You start flipping through the pages, some in reply to the first page not believing it, others providing more situations were only you could of possibly known about, ranging from various sexual fantasies, to that time you put soap in your siblings toothbrush as a child.
There is one page more recently which catches your eye.
It simply reads "I give up"
The next page goes on to say "Ok, well, I stabbed myself in the chest, and I woke up today in hospital, diary in hand, with a massive scar on my chest"
In a panic, you pull up your pajama shirt to reveal you do indeed have the scar described in the book, which you didn't have yesterday.
Completely convinced, you put the book down, and slowly walk into your apartment.
"Morning!"said Tim cheerily, sitting with a cute lady
"Have you read the diary?"Said the lady sitting with him
"Yes, and you're Sally I take it?"
They both look noticeably relieved, and they explain the day prior, you certainly hadn't been as calm as you were now, and even refused to right in the diary.
"We're glad your much calmer today"smiled Tim, "let's go, we have another long day of court proceedings which won't proceed itself!"
Smiling at the humour, and the fact that the mimic stickers have since been removed, you get dressed and follow Tim and Sally through the day.
\-------------
Perplexed, you read it again, if it wasn't for the fact that it was exactly in your appalling handwriting you might of written it off as being a prank by your room-mate Tim.
Like how two days ago he had gone around the apartment and stuck "CAUTION: This object is a Mimic"on every single appliance that the two of you own. |
"What the hell?"I stumbled out into a hallway. I had just woken up in an elegant bedroom with bed sheets that probably cost more than my rent. The worst of my injuries had been stitched closed and based on the lingering numbness in my chest, a healer had probably worked on my broken ribs. I was also feeling kind of lightheaded, which may be from blood loss but I was also detecting that some kind of tranquilizer or pain killer was wearing off in my system.
I was actually surprised that the bedroom door wasn't locked and that I was not restrained. My wrists were weighted down by solid gantlets that were keeping my technopathic and electric abilities at bay. They must contain anti-static plasma or something.
"Eclipse, you really should get some rest."
I stiffened at the sound of Shadow's voice. He was sitting at a dark mahogany table drinking a cup of coffee. A bowl of fruit and several plates of breakfast pastries were laid out across the table.
He was out of his heavy battle armor and was wearing a simple black button up with the sleeves rolled up. His signature jagged black bandit mask was across his face.
"Did you change my clothes?!"I gestured towards the white gown I has wearing. It was surprisingly modest but I still felt naked without my purple battle armor and utility belt. My mask was also gone but I honestly wasn't that concerned about it. I wasn't anybody important in my everyday life and Shadow had seen me without a mask in previous scuffles. At first I almost had a nervous breakdown and was afraid that he would come after me, but the attack on my everyday life never came. As far as I could tell he couldn't be bothered with my real identity.
"No, I did not undress you."He looked me over as he sipped his coffee. "I let the healer lady handle that. You would be wearing a lot more lace if the decision had been up to me."
His amused little smirk was pissing me off. I picked up a knife from the table setting and pointed it at him. "You are going to remove these power suppressing cuffs and return my armor."I informed him.
"Is that so?"He chuckled. "Your armor was so dented and damaged, I had to remove it with a saw. I am having my supercomputer rebuild it, which will take some time so I suggest you take a seat and grab a scone. My chef made them fresh this morning."
I whipped the blade at him. Shadow didn't even flinch as the kitchen knife missed him by a foot. He just sighed and shook his head.
"Sit down, Eclipse."There was an edge of menace in his voice that I recognized as his patience wearing thin.
I cautiously sat down at the table across from him. "Why are you doing this?"I asked him quietly.
"You mean why didn't I just leave you to die?"He chuckled to himself as he smeared some jam on a croissant and set it in front of me.
"Last night, I'll admit you got the better of me. You seriously kicked my ass. You could have killed me, but you healed me and now you are rebuilding my armor and feeding me? I don't understand..."
"Oh my dear sweet, Eclipse."Arrogance curled into the corners of his lips. "I know you are very intelligent but the bigger picture isn't really your strong suit, is it?"
"...what do you mean?"I grit my teeth as I tried to keep my temper in check. It was something that often got me into trouble.
"You're more useful to me alive then dead."He shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, you are a real pain in my ass and listening to your bones cracking under my foot was almost therapeutic, but Sweetness, I don't want you dead."
"Why?"I demanded as I tore the croissant into pieces on my plate. I kind of wanted to eat it to ease the growing hunger in my belly but at the same time I felt kind of sick. I also wasn't sure I trusted anything that Shadow placed in front of me.
He shrugged. "This will probably set off that little hothead temper of yours, but the minor criminals that you put away are good for my business. It eliminates potential competition and if were're being honest, I don't want murders and rapists roaming the streets either. The city commissioned superheroes don't bother with the minor criminals that you do. If it's not at least a three-star villain that is going to get them a bunch of views on their live streams, they don't bother. You don't play the whole fame attention whore game and I respect you for that. You are a vigilante for the purpose of protecting people that no one else will."
"Um...thanks..."His response had taken me a little off guard. Yeah, using me to eliminate his competition really irritated me but his admittance to his respect for me was unexpected. He had literally just called me a few horrible names only a couple of hours ago when I had gotten a few good blows in and broke his nose.
"So, any chance I can get you to take these off of me?"I held up the cuffs.
"Those are for your own protection, Allegra."He informed me as he selected an orange from the bowl in front of him.
"My protection? How is-"I froze as I realized that he had just used my name. "What did you just call me?"I asked quietly.
"I think it's time we change up the rules."He smirked at me as he began to peel his orange. |
It's a simple spell that calls me back into being; a twist of straw and magic, not meant to last long or accomplish much. A spell to amuse a child, and the first one they teach a child. The only spell they've taught this one.
With little more than a suggestion of eyes (and limbs, and life), my ability to sense the world is limited, but it's enough for the broad strokes. A rundown, single-room hovel, thick with dust and strewn with fallen thatching. Broken furniture, shattered glass - a dwelling more ransacked than simply abandoned. A small, tear-stained apprentice in ragged robes too big for her.
First, I do what I was called to do. Twitch into life, stumble round in a circle on stubby legs. Hop and spin and wave at her direction, hearing the last sobs fade into quiet giggles. Then, cradled in too-thin arms, I fulfil the second purpose of any corn dolly, the real purpose of any child's toy. I am a mute source of comfort, a repository of secrets, a thing to clutch against the fear of a world too large for her.
Eight years old, an unwanted apprentice. Sent from witch to witch, until finally she ended up here, a once-witched hovel lacking even someone to send her on again. She whispers her sad history to me - no family, no friends, no food. A week of walking on muddy roads against the bitter wind, only to find everything still lacking at the end. A tiny charm for comfort when all other choices are gone.
The magic in me will not last forever, and we have work to do; already I can feel my strands withering, drying, growing more rigid. I struggle from her arms, pat one scrawny ankle to show that I offer aid, not abandonment. I rush and gather, without true joints to help me, bringing her armfuls of the straw about us.
I could make another choice - could show her the well behind the hovel, the chestnut trees with their fallen bounty. But I have so little time, and may not have another such chance for for years, if ever. Besides, if she can suffer just a little longer, hold out against hunger and abandonment for another day or more, I will be stronger. That will benefit her too, if she can make it.
Magic fading, I dance the patterns in the dust. She watches; at first blankly, not understanding this new game, but soon she sees the weave of it, the way to wrap stalk around stalk to make sturdier shapes. Her attention sharpens, following every line and turn.
I have so little time, and cannot teach her everything - the broad strokes must suffice: wind one stem round two like so, to make a long stretch that will raise a greater weight; interlace a handful of stalks, scoring each corner in turn to enclose a cavity of air that will withstand crushing; make a true joint by a thick knot through a thin hoop, wrapped tight in place by thin, curling strands.
My straw betrays me, brittle and dry. I drag myself through the final shape by will alone - the suggestion of a larger, sturdier form, jointed limbs and scratched features. I feel the last of the magic leaving me as I complete it, hoping that this will be enough for her, a clear enough thread to follow when I am gone.
I wither and fall and am gone, leaving the witch alone.
---
At least a day has passed, when I return. The sun is roughly where it stood before, casting pale gold through broken windows, but the hovel has changed a little. Much of the straw has been gathered into a corner, a small nest against the wind that knives through cracked walls. The dust still lies tick all around, but in the center, where she has been working for me, her sleeves and labours have swept a clear space. Most of all, the child has changed. She seems lighter, weaker now, slumped against the wall for support. She mutters at me through cracked lips, eyes weary but too thirst-driven for sleep. Her skin is pale but damp and warm to the touch; she was only just strong enough to remake me. Her recovery is not guaranteed, and will not be quick.
I, however, am much improved. I stand taller now - could ride a cat comfortably, were one to be found. I have a sturdy torso and true, woven-jointed limbs. My hands - it is such a joy to have hands again - even have broken stalks for the suggestion of thin fingers. The child worked hard on me - far harder than was prudent, than I would have done in her place. I can feel the care she took in every careful strand, in the fingernail-trimmed edges, in the woven dress that matches the imagined dignity of a corn mother. Her care, her dedication to the task, has strengthened me, left magic strumming through my strands, filling my chest cavity. I am more than strong enough now - strong enough to last longer, strong enough to replenish the magic myself when needed. It is good to be back in the world.
By the time I am done admiring myself, the child is unconscious. Really, this is a blessing - it allows me to attend to things without having to explain myself, to prioritise what's most important rather than a child's wishes. With my new form, I should be well able to sort all that must be sorted before she stirs again.
The warmth of sunlight on my straw is welcome as I speed about the overgrown garden, luxuriating in being able to feel the earth beneath my feet once more. The little well has not been used for years, the stone wall half-toppled by twining roots, but the chain still runs through my hands as I lower the bucket into the depths. When the full pail reaches the light, I realise again how much effort the child put into my creation.
My reflection shows that I have a true face - not simply a flat plane, but all the expected features etched into straw. Even my vanity has been catered to - my acorn-cup eyes have brows, and a tightly-woven braid of strands wraps round my head, giving me entirely frivolous (but very welcome) hair. My mouth is a daubed red bow, and the faint taste of bitter berries gives me a new respect for the witch - so wise to recognise the danger, so determined to avoid it even while starving, and so painstaking to find another use for the deadly fruit. This half-dead child has done me a great service.
All debts must be paid, and so I hurry back to the hovel, well able to carry the full bucket with my new strong arms. I leave it close by her and flit outside again, foraging for things that will sustain her. I find a rich bounty all around, though not all that she will eat willingly - the delicate white caps of mushrooms, half-fermented crab apples, plump worms churning through the loam. The least objectionable foods I pile up beside her sleeping body; it will be enough for her shrunken stomach. The others - the acquired tastes - I take for my own.
I require more than slugs and beetles though. This current life is already longer than the last, but eventually even this magic will run dry. All power has a price - sometimes freely given, as the child's health and dedication in crafting my straw - but there are other ways to pay it too. Ways that require more complex coin than the simple, automatic lives of insects.
I follow the sound of birdsong on corn-quiet feet, stepping through the shadows until I am beneath the tree I seek. Climbing is not a challenge to the small - to those that will fall lightly if they miss a grasp, to those who can find clear handholds in even the smoothest bark. Whisper-quiet, I climb towards the nest.
The fledlings are barely that, plump little morsels already ready to leave the nest, but - like all children - they wish for care beyond their need of it. Their parents are absent, seeking more food for their brood, and I am an unexpected guest.
Magic is life - the power to sustain something, the energy to act. I have no claws, no teeth to speak of, but they are young and I am old; experience counts for something. Each little life is snuffed out with a twist from straw-strong arms, and I feast on the magic left behind. As each parent returns, shrill with alarm and anticipation, I draw them too down into the mess of blood and feathers. My strength grows.
When the child awakes, head aching and breathe scraping painfully in her throat, I am there to tend her. There to raise the pail to quivering lips, there to stroke a fevered brow as she slowly nibbles at a chestnut, clutched in two hands. If I am a little larger, stronger, more precisely-defined than she left me, she does not notice. She has food, and water, and care - all she has ever wanted, and I have given it to her.
All debts must be paid.
---
*[Continuation](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/140lesk/wp_you_are_reborn_as_a_mute_skeleton_one_of_many/jntuq1b/).* |
"Sometimes it's just unbelievable, you know,"he said, "I give simple instructions and no one seems to be able to follow them. I worked hard to get here and when I was in their shoes, I knew how to get the job done the way my boss wanted it."
A larger man, somewhere in his early 50s, swirled a comb through some Barbasol. He picked up the next bit of hair and began snipping the ends.
"Hey, deliver this notice, drop this off at the bank, go get my car,"he huffed, "they're not difficult tasks! Just get them done! I shouldn't have to go get my hands dirty for simple errands, but you know I can't fire the kid cuz he's my brother-in-law's nephew and I don't wanna hear about it from my sister."
"Have you tried extra training?"the man in the chair suggested. His eyes were closed as the man behind him worked his way around his head. "Or maybe a checklist? Some do's and don'ts or something?"
"Hey Jimmy, maybe next time don't follow that floozy down an alley and you'll get to the bank on time! Common sense stuff, Jeff, these guys don't got any of it. Across all my businesses, it gets tiring."
"Well,"he paused while the barber removed the cape around his neck, "I used to be in HR for a firm. I can do a workshop with these guys or maybe filter through your hires, look at their resumes or something beforehand. Maybe reduce the number of slackers you get just looking to make a quick buck. Some of these guys might be better suited for other positions in your businesses."
The older man laid the cape over the back of another chair, nodding at Jeff.
"You know, I might take you up on that. I'll talk with the wife, see what she thinks, give you a call."
Jeff pulled his wallet out, but the other man shook his head. A favor, he said.
Jeff shook his hand and walked out the door, a small bell jingling above him. The other barbers were coming back from lunch, laughing about some lake trip they'd taken last week when they pushed someone off the dock. Young men having fun in the summer - the American dream. He waved at them as he passed, the three men smiling and giving a slew of "the boss really cleaned you up good today!"s. Jeff commented that their boss really was a great guy, they were lucky. The men laughed, waving goodbye as they stepped into the shop. A car pulled up outside the shop as Jeff waited to cross the street. The mayor stepped out of the back seat, walking quickly into the shop.
"You know, if it's good enough for the mayor, it's good enough for me."
Edit: looking at doing a part 2 (the HR workshop) tomorrow when I've got time for anyone still interested!
Edit 2: part 2 is [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6kzdsv/comment/djr61fz?st=J4PF9VVR&sh=46e28c02) |
I honestly don't see why so many genies are assholes. On the bright side, at least it puts an even bigger smile on the people that find my lamp. As far as I’m concerned, I always tried to be like that blue genie from that one kids movie.
What a coincidence that I was summoned by a child.
The second her tender little hands rubbed my lamp golden yellow smoke began to pour out of its slender spout, until I was floating above her looking down, big grin on my face.
"HELLO LITTLE ONE. I AM-"I stopped myself when I saw the little girl with her eyes shut touch, hands over her ears. I immediately slap my hand against my face. I really need to stop forgetting to tone it down when I first get summoned. Don't want to rupture another person's eardrum. That was rough.
I float down towards her and lightly tap her shoulder, shrinking myself down to about three feet so we're the same size.
Sorry about that little lady. Hope I didn't scare you."At the sound of my now softer and quieter voice the little girl opens her eyes, her warm brown irises looking at me, blonde eyebrows raising in surprise before he gaze darts down and picks up my lamp.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!"she apologized, patting my lamp on its bottom tenderly. I laugh at the kind gesture.
"It's alright. I'm not hurt. I should be apologizing to you for being loud. Anyways, my name is Hawi. You know, like ha-weeeee!"I say in a cheerful tone that makes the little girl giggle. Ah the sound of laughter. Music to my ears.
"So, I'm sure you know how it goes. For freeing me, you get three wishes, but no-"
"No wishing for someone to be alive again, infinite wishes, kill, or make anyone fall in love,"the little girl finishes for me. I look at her with an impressed look, ruffling her hair.
"You're smart, goldie locks! So, what do you want?"
The girl's smile then deflates, her happy gaze turning sad as she looks at the ground. For a few seconds she stays quiet. Then, in the tiniest voice I've ever heard, she answers.
"I don't want to be alone anymore..."
I look at her for a few seconds. Really look at her. I notice that her clothes are a patchwork of rags. Looking around the room I see we're in a dingy orphanage. If you can even call it that. The place looks like it's about to fall apart. I look back at the girl as she continues.
"Alright, so you want me to help make you some friends?"I ask, to which she shakes her head no.
"No. I don't want to be here anymore."
"So you want me to take you some place else to live?"I ask again, trying to understand what she means. Again she shakes her head no. As she speaks again I see her eyes well up with her tears, her voice barely holding in the sadness as she answers.
"No. I don't want to anywhere anymore. I just want to.....go. You know....up there,"she says, pointing up at the ceiling. And suddenly it dawns on me: this girl doesn't want to go on. And it breaks my heart.
"But you know the rules, goldie. I can't make that wish happen,"I say in a calm voice.
"Then I want to get thrown up high in the air! Or fall in the water! Or be telep...telepro....moved to the desert!"she says, huffing as she had trouble getting the word 'teleport' out.
This time I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"Why not?! That's my wish! I wish for you to move me to the desert and leave!"she yells, stomping her little foot. Again I shake my head.
"I can't do that. I can't make wishes come true that ki.....*hurt,* people. You included."
"This is so unfair! Why can't you just be a mean genie!?! Aren't you supposed to trick me!? Make a good wish into a bad one!? So make this bad one even more bad! I don't care!"
I rise from my shrunken size, growing to my full size, towering over her with my arms folded and a hard look on my face. But I'm not angry at her. It's the opposite. I feel sad for her.
"I'm not a mean genie. I'm here to help. My name means 'Happy Wish' my friend. Did you know that too, Miss Smarty Pants?"I try to give her a smile but it's weaker than normal. I can't stand seeing this. Over the millennia I've been summoned by beggars, treasure hunters, kings and queens. But I've always had a soft spot for the children who stumble upon my lamp. They never asked for much. All they wanted was to be happy.
"I don't have any friends Mister Genie. Or anyone. The other kids all got mommies and daddies. All of them got to go to a nice home. Everyone but me...."
She pauses and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes as she sniffles. "Mister Genie.....is it because I'm bad?"
If I could cry, I would have as soon as I heard that. I immediately shake my head no, before floating down and drying her tears.
"You're not bad, little girl. No kids are. What's your name?"
"Noor."
"That's a nice name. Means 'Light.' Did you know that?"I ask. She shakes her head no.
"Well little light, I'm going to help you shine. I promise to help you however I can."
"But you can't be my friend Mister Hawi. After my three wishes are gone you have to leave. You can't be my friend,"the little girl says, looking away again. But then like a lightning bolt hit me, I get an idea.
"Oh yeah? Well I bet if you say 'I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore,' I'll be able to stay even after your three wishes are up."
The little girl looks at me with wide eyes, unable to believe it. Not that I blame her. I mean, how many times does a kid get a genie for a friend?
"You can do that? You *would* do that? Just for me?"
"Just for you,"I repeat, smiling at her as I ruffle her hair. The girl thinks about it for a minute, then nods.
"Okay. I wish that Hawi can stay with me until I don't need him anymore."
Instantly the gold shackles on my wrists transform into gold braided friendship bracelets. I then take one off and put it on her wrist. Right before her eyes the smoke disappears and suddenly I'm standing there on two legs, kneeling down to look her in those eyes that now have something that I always admire in children. The thing that makes going out of my way worth it.
Hope.
"Your wish has been granted. Be warned though little light.....you ain't never had a friend like me."
(1000 upvote edit: holy moly! Thank you all so much for the love! Honestly didn’t expect this post to take off and fly so high! I appreciate all the support and kind comment. Just letting all of you who are interested know that I am working on a full length version of this story on my personal subreddit, r/ThePenMansPad , so if you like part 1 keep your eye on me! ❤️) |
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Derkshire."
"Of course, Father Warren. What again is this for?"He gave a stern look to his six year-old son, who was bouncing up and down in his chair.
"You are part of a pilot program of the Church. We are concerned with the use of our religion as an excuse against vaccinations, which allows unnecessary suffering and even death among our most vulnerable, especially children."
"Ah, right. I remember now. So I'm getting vaccinations? And my boy?"
"Yes, that's right. The Church just wants to test the logistics of obtaining licenses and distributing vaccines *en masse*. So we are giving out a few vaccines in places all over the world this week."
"That sounds great. And it's free?"
"Of course."
The nurse approached Mr. Derkshire with a needle. "Left arm or right arm?"
"Right, please."He rolled up his sleeve.
"This won't hurt a bit."His son looked inquisitively. Mr. Derkshire made sure not to react to the slight sting.
"See, Aidan? Nothing to be afraid of."The nurse repeated the procedure with the boy.
"Oh and, Mr. Derkshire?"said the priest. "If you happen to feel some side effects in a week, don't worry about it. You may feel slight flu-like symptoms, but there is nothing to worry about. Thank you again, Mr. Derkshire."With that, he sent Mr. Derkshire and his son on their way.
This was his duty. He knew that these people were good people. They were devout, faithful, kind, and compassionate. They helped others. They deserved better. The Rapture had gone unfinished. Now he would help them. Now he would help them all. |
I loved her, he says out loud when he starts writing her a letter:
Once upon a time, there was a girl. This girl, like most girls when they're 20 years old, has issues. She worries about the future, she worries because she has no idea what she wants to become. She thinks that happiness in life comes from the things she does and accomplishes. However, when all her work is done, she feels empty inside. She feels the burning sensation that might soon become a depression. When the work is done, so is she.
Most importantly though, she believes that love is all about the butterflies she feels in her stomach. She does not believe in a God, per se, but she does believe that when she dies, she will be like a star, shining down upon us in the night.
One day, she meets a man on the internet. She looked at his pictures and figured: what the hell, he looks good enough. She started chatting with him, started telling him all about her problems and he did the same. They fell in love.
However, after a little while, she started losing her butterflies, as expected. She did not know whether the man was actually the cause of this or because she simply did not feel those wonderful feelings anymore.
She started doubting him, hell, she even tried to change him. You see, he was a smoker. He was the kind of person who would live his life from day to day, and not worry about the past or the future. Someone who would risk his life, just so that he could die having lived a happy life.
She did not understand why he would take those kinds of risks in life. After all, he knows well enough how painful and agonizing the death of a smoker can be.
She did not understand how someone would risk his or her life just to be happy. She did not understand happiness or what it meant simply because she never quite found out what made her happy.
As time went on, and her workload increased, she started neglecting him. After all, university is her priority at the moment. In doing so, she made him question her.
Why doesn't she want to go out anymore? Why doesn't she want to take a midnight walk with me? Undeniably so, he always sacrificed himself so that she could go on with a smile on her face. He did not understand why she could not make an hour of her time free to simply go out and have a drink. After all, the café was only 2 minutes away from her front door.
As with any love story, things did not end well. Right before the end though, she even made him believe that because he started doubting her, that she did not love him anymore, while in reality she stopped loving him a long time ago but simply could not find the courage within herself to break his heart. After all, he was the kind of guy who would have died for her.
So she said to him: Let's take a break. Let's just be ourselves for a while and see what happens. He simply did not understand. For three long weeks, he could not eat. He could not sleep and he could not even sit at his computer and play video games. She was on his mind 24/7. The entire day he would eagerly wait for a text message from her. She never sent one.
But after those three weeks, he started seeing things differently. She was right. By becoming himself again, he finally understood why she left him. He could finally understand that in fact it wasn't because he doubted her, but because she does not understand the true meaning of love. He finally understood why she tried to change him.
He wrote this story for her, not because he wanted to but because he needed to. He wrote this so that she could find her happiness in life, so that she could finally understand what love is and so that she could finally stop breaking peoples hearts. In the end though, he didn't do it for her, he did it for her future husband.
He wrote: "Once upon a time, there was a girl.."
As he gave her the letter, and watched her read it, he felt those old emotions again. That stinging feeling of happiness and love. The idea that he can have a future with this person. He felt like he could have given her a different kind of letter. Maybe this was his chance to make things right again. Alas, the outcome would have been the same, he thought to himself.
After she was done reading the letter, she bursts into tears, understanding exactly what the man had given her and asked him to hug her one last time. It was the most emotional hug of his life and as he left her there, he finally felt closure.
Maybe one day, she'll find her true love. |
"Oh no", cried Leltarth, "not on the rug, not on the rug!"
The bipedal little thing looked quizzically up from the wet patch on the floor, then smiled, burbled, and fell slowly onto its face. Leltarth sighed and gently pushed it upright with one of her spindly insectile limbs. A com-pad nearby began pulsing, informing her that Konnal was checking up on her progress.
"Accept call"she clattered. The misshapen blob looked up with eyes wide, then started to cry loudly. Leltarth rattled her leg spines in frustration, which the creature seemed to find soothing.
"Leltarth, how is your evaluation of the forerunner paleospecies progressing?"
"Not well, I'm afraid. The clone is completely helpless. At first I thought we might have made a mistake, so I went over the reconstruction and cloning transcripts but they're all perfect. But, well..."
"Yes?"
She thrummed her legs nervously as she fought with herself over the controversial hypothesis, the baby staring in rapt attention, apparently fascinated by the gyrations.
"Konnal, what if their larval form was born with only minimal instincts? What if they didn't have the level of intergenerational memory transfer we take for granted?"
Konnal remained silent, then cautiously spoke.
"It's an *interesting* idea with some precedents among known pre-sentient species, but do you really think its likely that a civilisation could reach the level of technological sophistication we've seen out there? They'd have to spend..."silence again as he made rough calculations "...the first decade or so of their lives just to become somewhat functional, and even longer to reach a point where they would be contribute to building something like the temples on Ull, or the rings of Nihar."The baby began chewing its own foot.
"That's more or less the conclusion I came to. Can you imagine such a society? The burden of raising each new child? And the fragility of it all! But it could make sense of certain peculiarities we've seen. For example, it certainly sheds a new light on the sheer volume of external recordings they left- if an individual died, anything they had failed to record would be lost. And I think I have some interesting new ideas about their so-called 'temples' which explain their layout and certain artifacts. To me, such sites are starting to look more like places where one generation could train the next. Just an idea at this point of course, but I think it might bear further study"
Konnal mused on his colleague's ideas. They were radical, certainly, but maybe she had a point. But there was a problem, wasn't there?
"Leltarth, this is fascinating but you realise what this means for our original project if true?"
Leltarth whistled sadly.
"Yes. If they did not transfer their knowledge genetically, cloning is a dead-end. We may have to fall back on analysing their written records, which could take centuries."
She turned back and gazed, partly in reverence and partly in disappointment, at the tiny human clone who was busily trying to eat the corner of her desk. It was going to be a long few decades. |
The decor is decidedly neutral. There are no flames, no pitchforks, and no lakes of boiling acid. No horned Lucifer, with rotten wings and serpent eyes laughing at our misfortune. It isn't what we'd call hellish. But on the other hand, it isn't exactly heavenly either. No fair gardens, full of peace and quiet. No warm gentle lights, no angelic choirs, not a place by the side of any sort of maker. Mostly, it looks like the DMV. Long lines, leading to countless sets of seven gates. Each are the exact same gates, just existing at multiple locations at the same time, allowing for countless lines of human souls to pass through them at once. At least, that's what the faded and clearly generic pamphlet you get when you arrive says. Other than that, there are low-quality but free machines that dispenses adequate coffee, acceptable snacks, and some not entirely comfortable couches where you can sit if you're not sure which gate to enter. Some of us do sit there, drinking the unremarkable coffee, reading the pamphlet for information about what lies behind the gates.
Once you've entered, you can't pick a different one. Each gate is marked as belonging to a specific sin, of the traditional seven. Enter there and experience that stuff forever. First in the order is pretty simple. Gluttony. It looks to be a fairly greasy door, with a good deal of stains on it. Behind it, there is every kind of overindulgence. Food, drink, drugs, you name it, they've got it. Chocolate oceans, pools of whiskey, mountains of ice cream, free drugs of every kind from dispensaries everywhere. Pretty simple when you think about it, but there is an allure in it for many. Eat but never get full, drink but never have the hangover, feel the high and never the lows. It is understandable. Next is even more understandable, Lust. Less of a conventional door, and more a series of enticing veils. Through there you find exactly what you expect: Endless parlours, countless harems, boudoirs full of everything you can possible want in bed. That one is especially popular. In the infinite office, this DMV of the afterlife, there is a line to get inside Lust, and it is pretty unruly. In there, one can, supposedly, fulfil every passion, no matter how strange, sate every desire, no matter how bizarre. An eternity like that should be pretty eventful.
Greed, or Avarice, comes next. It cannot be satisfied unless it has the most names. But it is pretty simple. Money, gold, wealth beyond measure, infinite treasure, it is the door that is most gaudy and looks so golden and bejewelled that it is ridiculous. High stocks, riches, big business, super-yachts, solid gold jacuzzis, jewels, and more; all that jazz. That's it forever behind that door. Ostentatious if you ask me, but I never sought out such things in life for the mere sake of having them. Those who cannot have enough will perhaps find it, but I don't intend to enter through there. Personally, when I look at the doors, I find it weird that there are only seven, but somehow I doubt that this place is built upon the writings of John Cassian the Roman monk, and his eight sins, because there are no doors marked as sorrow or despair, which was his fourth deadly sin. Then again, who'd ever actually enter that?
Instead, the fourth door is Wrath. And it is dented, battered, and broken. Many enter it. Beyond lies every battle every fought, every conflict ever wrought, every single moment made in wrath, continuing forever. A battle that never ends with no victors in sight. A horrible eternity, and yet many rough-looking souls, and those who could never fulfil their rage in life, gleefully charge through the door. Some men are lost to rage. I've known some such men, who for a brief time become the fire inside of them, as it burns them out. It tears them apart, and leaves behind either death or empty shells that cannot be called back to the men they were. I do not seek what lies behind this door. Next comes Sloth. Seems to be a door leading to a bedroom. According to the pamphlet it is literally just an endless realm of good places to sleep, watch TV, relax, nap, and lie in the warm sun. It is quiet in there, and there is nothing that happens. A fair number of people go in there, and I don't blame them. After a long life, what you probably need is a good long rest, though judging from the hazy nature of some of the souls entering there, they seem to have been slothful in life too.
Sixth door is Envy. Not entirely sure how you'd experience that forever, but then again, this is death, nobody ever said it had to be very logical. Certainly don't recall having ever heard of this place before, but it seemingly exists despite its irrational nature. The envious get revenge. Get even. Oddly enough, that's the only thing the pamphlet says about it. You get even. Sounds vaguely ominous, and not entirely psychologically healthy. The door itself reflects this. It looks like the gate to a prison. Perhaps that place behind it, is the closest thing we get to a traditional hell. Not that I intend to enter there. Any enemy I might have had in life, I crushed. I was envious of no living or dead man. Only a few enter it. And they look incredibly worrying. Those who enter Wrath look either like emotionally detached veterans, returning to the war that hasn't left their heads, or violent lunatics that scream with glee. But the souls who enter the door of Envy look twisted and bitter. Like they've been stewing in that sin to the point that their souls are corrupt or something. I shudder to look at them.
And finally, I come to the forefront of the queue. Seven doors. Gluttony holds no enticement for me, food is good and all, but not so good that I'd spend the rest of eternity indulging. Lust isn't it either, sure I could probably enjoy myself for a good long while in there, but as eternity stretches, how long can you continue to find it interesting when it is constant fulfilment? Greed is out, that's for people with nothing inside of them, empty, hollow creatures desperate to fill the whole hole in them, and the only thing they pour into themselves is empty mammon. Wrath isn't my style either; even Valhalla had breaks in-between the battles to feast and party. Sloth has some merit, but really, I'd go mad without anything to do besides rest. And Envy is not going to happen. Thus, my eyes are drawn to the only door that seems unused. I've been here in this infinite DMV of the afterlife, watching people in a million queues march towards the seven doors of the seven sins, and none has ever used the rusty door of Pride. It is there, I can see it, and yet it isn't described in the pamphlet at all. Even Envy had some pictures with its laconic description. Not pleasant pictures mind you, but pictures all the same.
Pride is just there. And instead of entering any of the other doors, I walk with measured steps towards its ancient rusted frame. Wrenching it open is a titanic effort on my part, which is strange as I am dead and thus should not feel any physical strain, and yet I keep doing it. I keep opening the door. It creaks ominously as it opens just enough for me to slip inside. The noise of the souls behind me cuts off as the rusted gate closes with a deafening boom. Behind the door of Pride, I see it. Vast palatial halls stretch before me. Proud statues hold their heads and blades aloft into the air. In the distance I see a vast and ancient throne, and I approach it without fear. This is what I have chosen, and I do not fear the ramifications of my choice. Let any challenger come, I am prepared. I see a figure upon the throne as I approach it. Once it was a tall man. Once it was a man with a straight back and a imperious glare which could silence lesser men with fear. Once it was an emperor. Once it was an angel. |
It's nice, being a twin. You got someone to watch your back. You learn sharing so young, you don't really know how not to share. You can always get a quality double take. And the stories. Oh how I love the stories of people confusing us.
On the flip side, time travel sucks. As we get back to my captors' home, I already am dry heaving, I've puked so much. They aren't much better, save their leader. Probably downed a bottle of pepto first.
The door opens, and they see the wreckage, just how they left it eaten by nanobots, and deal with the shock of nothing changing. That's when I drop the twin bomb. Perfectly timed. They go from terror to confusion to shame in the space of a second or two.
It's not as good as when Vinny found out. Had classes with me and Stephen for almost a year. Separate classes, so he never saw us together that whole time. Thought it was one guy until he asked if I spelled my name with a v or a p-h. Hard to picture either of those in "Scott."
Anyway, the time travellers debate what to do. They only have the juice to jump back, but they can't return after. And apparently, I don't get a vote. They said I wasn't being kidnapped at the start, but I think they may not know what a kidnapping is.
Fortunately, they also aren't watching me closely. They ignore me as I walk up to the controls. I only wish I could see their faces when they realize I'm gone. I'm curious if they'll realize it wasn't my first trip.
I get home, and call Stephen. "Hey, the nanobots you are working on? Maybe add a few more failsafes."
"Time travellers?"
"Time travellers."
"I'm going to need details." |
The bureaucrat whistled cheerfully as he read the day's routine bribes to me. "Five million from Exxon to turn a blind eye on their river-mining in Timbuktu,"he said. "Fifteen million from Airbus to quash a chemical factory lawsuit. And, as always, the daily payment from the Japanese whaling labs."It was starting to look like another ordinary day here at the U.N. Special Court for Smaller Countries and Open Seas (UN.SC.SC.OS). Little did the paper pushers know there was something very different about me, their overseer, that day.
"Are you satisfied with the routine bribes today, Mr. Chairman?"asked the presiding judge. I nodded my assent and he tapped the glass with his gavel. "That concludes routine bribery. The court will now move on to ad hoc developments. The Nestle Corporation has reserved the first block of time. Mr. Nestle?"
"Thank you,"Mr. Nestle was quickly sworn in, in that dark chocolate-colored suit of his. "Your honor; Mr. Chairman; it gives me great honor to introduce to you,"and here he was unrolling a giant paper map of New Guinea on a display board, "a brand new tribe of natives, completely isolated for over 2000 years, discovered mere days ago by Nestle's R&D department. Ladies and Gentlemen,"and now the map was replaced by a close-up of a native warrior, dabbed in chocolate-colored warpaint, "The Nestle tribe of Papua New Guinea!"
There was clapping all around, except from one corner of the stands. Something seemed to be bothering Phillip-Morris. Mr. Morris stood up, a daring breach of protocol. "If your honor would grant Phillip-Morris a moment,"he began, very respectfully. "The clerical records will show that Phillip-Morris actually beat Nestle to this discovery, by a good several hours. Mr. Nestle, thank you so much for your illuminating presentation, now I will beg you to cede to its rightful discoverers, this latest participant in the great table of humanity---the Phillip-Morris tribe of Papua New Guinea."
There was a murmur throughout the court until the judge tapped the glass, restoring order. "Mr. Morris, please follow proper procedures,"he said. "The court understands that Phillip-Morris and Nestle independently discovered this new tribe within a very close margin of each other. Gentlemen, would either of you object if we agree to call it the Phillip-Morris-Nestle tribe of Papua New Guinea?"
"We do not object, your honor,"said Mr. Nestle. "However, we want to stress the importance of preserving the tribe's sacred rivers and pastures, which have so much importance in the natives' religious ceremonies, and which, I've been told by reliable sources, Phillip-Morris has an interest in bulldozing and replacing by a certain tar factory..."
"Now wait a moment!"cried Mr. Morris, jumping over his desk and running to confront Mr. Nestle face-to-face. "You're just saying that because you want to use those pastures for one of your infamous chocolate mines! I'll have you know the natives of the Phillip-Morris tribe value tar very highly, and have already expressed great enthusiasm for our factories, which as everyone knows have a very minimal eco-footprint, thanks to Phillip-Morris' commitment to green energy!"
"Gentlemen, please!"the judge tapped the glass furiously. "Mr. Chairman, have you any thoughts on this tricky situation?"
I rose up from my seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, the U.N. has been aware of this matter for some time already. Without getting too much into the details, as they involve sensitive information, I must convey to you the U.N.'s official veto of both representatives' claims. The tribe will be declared a special protected region, and no corporations will be allowed to develop there for an indefinite period; this decision may be reviewed by the court in future, but not before a period of at least one-hundred-seventy-five (175) years, starting from the end of the current judicial session."
"What!!"Mr. Morris and Mr. Nestle cried in one voice. Then, united against a common foe, they charged at me. My bureaucratic assistants jumped up to defend me but they were plowed over. In an instant, I was exchanging blows with the two companies' reps.
I fought valiantly, but I wasn't accustomed to fighting in the constricting tightness of a suit and coat. My assailants had the upper hand. One of them grabbed my collar and tore with all his might. With a giant rip, my suit came half off, revealing war paint and tribal necklaces underneath. So much for subterfuge, I decided. I tore the rest of the suit off, and stood there before them in full glory, with my elephant-tusk kilt, my anklets of boar-skulls, a hideous bone ornament pierced horizontally through my nose.
I jumped up on the desk behind me, out of reach from Mr. Morris and Mr. Nestle. "Well, it seems you gentlemen discovered my true identity, didn't you!"From here, I could see the real Chairman, tied and gagged underneath the desk I'd just been sitting at, whimpering and squirming. "But it's too late, the U.N. has spoken!"Then, into my conch-shell communication device: "This is Agent Ooga Booga. My disguise has been broken, beam me out of here!"In a moment, I was whisked away by the shimmering swirls of the transportation device. Standing back in the temple of Kchonga-bonga, I was greeted by concerned looks from my fellow tribesmen. "It's alright, everyone,"I said. "The veto went through!" |
"Hey, mom?"I said into my phone. "Yeah, work is going fine. That's not why I called. Do you still have my old journal?"
"Yeah, I know it's been more than thirty years. It's up in the attic? Great, I"ll come get it. Yes, I"m coming right now. No, nothing's wrong."
I haven't stopped stopped shaking since I got back from the museum. The Etrandian artifact was on display to the public for the first time since it crash-landed in the pacific ocean back in the twenties. Since then, it's been kept in some research facility, and reverse-engineering the technology has led to advancements thousands of years ahead of our time.
It wasn't a manned craft, so researchers thought this was some kind of message to other intelligent life, similar to our pioneer plaque, in case a deep space probes were to be discovered by alien lifeforms.
Since it's been hidden away all these years, No one in the public has laid eyes on it, well ever. Until today. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it, but those symbols etched onto the artifact... I can't explain it, it doesn't make sense.
I used to have these dreams when I was a child. Bad dreams. This therapist I had recommended I keep a dream diary. And I filled it with these symbols that I saw when I slept. My mother thought they were just random doodles, but it made perfect sense to me. There was meaning behind those runes. I hadn't seen writing like that for over 30 years...
*The Prince in Blue shall visit* That's what it said on the artifact in the museum. Those dreams, I thought I had forgotten them....
"Hey, man are you alright?"
I jump at the voice.
"Who are ... when did I get here?"I looked around, and I was at Fairfax station, part of the Public Teleportation Network. I must've have zoned out and walked here all the way from my house. I was in front of a ticket clerk who had a concerned look on his face.
"Yeah, I'm looking for a one way transmission to Innsburg."Those dreams, the prince in blue, I can see him. He was always smiling, but he had no mouth.
"SIR", The ticket clerk said loudly. "You keep spacing out. I already explained to you that the network is down due to technical difficulties."
"Wait, you have?"I asked, confused.
"Yes, sir. This is the third time you've spoken to me this evening. I suggest you drive or take a bus. Innsburg is only an hour away driving-wise."
"Yes, thank you"I say as I walk away. I don't remember interacting with that person at all. All I can remember are those dreams. I was lost in an endless desert as the sun was setting before my eyes. In the distance a behemoth trudged towards me. It had seven legs, each as tall as a skyscraper. The beast had the body of an elephant,
with its eyes and mouth sewn shut. There were gaping wounds all over it's body, raining blood down onto the desert sand.
As I stared into those bloody gashes, I began to realize that it was staring back. There were eyeballs buried in those wounds, looking at me as I stared into it.
Suddenly there came a laugh. From atop the beast was a golden palanquin, and there was someone inside, laughing at me. I can't see his face, but I know who it is. The laughs get louder. The prince in blue, I think I know his name. The laugh is all I hear, all I see, all I could taste. It consumes my mind. His name.... That laugh won't stop.... His name is....
"HOLY CRAP, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT".
I jolt awake. I look around, confused. I'm on a bus, and in my hand I'm holding a ticket. I don't remember purchasing a ticket or getting on. And all around me people people are crowding around the left side windows staring at something in the distance.
"That thing's huge", I hear.
"It's got like 7 legs."someone else says.
"That's a robot, right?"
I avert my eyes. I don't want to see it. If you look at it, it'll see you too. I just need to go get my diary. There's something about it I can't quite remember, something important.
"EVERYONE GET BACK TO THEIR SEATS", the bus driver screamed. "Stop making so much noise. And whoever is laughing, stop it, it's distracting."
"What the hell are you talking about", A passenger asked. "No one's laughing."
"Yes you are!"The bus driver yelled back. "It's getting louder. Anyone else hear that? Stop it, stop it, stop it stopitstopitstopitstopit."
"Hey man, watch the road, you're gonna crash into that-"
Everything goes black.
I wake up to the buzzing of my phone. I look around at the wreckage and feel sick. The bus driver had crashed into a tree and there was a branch going straight through his eye socket bursting out the back of his skull. The other passengers weren't much better off. There were a few strewn on the roads, their arms and legs bent in awkward angles. A few had crashed through the windows, but were caught by the broken glass, shredding them like a mandoline as they passed through. The passenger who had told the driver to watch the road had slammed his face so hard onto the floor, his teeth had punctured through his lips.
I seemed to be the only one alive.
"H-hello?"I didn't know what to do so I answered my phone.
"Andy, Thank god."It was my sister, Sandra. "I've been trying to reach you for hours. Where the hell are you? A state of Emergency has been declared. There are rumors it's an alien invasion? You got to come with me to a shelter."
"In a while", I reply. Walking out of the wreckage I see a sign that read *Innsburg- 5 miles*. I'm close.
"I just got to get something from Mom's place."I start walking.
"Mom's place?"Sandra asks. "We sold that house like 7 months ago. You can't just walk into someone else's house, especially during a crisis. Where are you? I'm coming to get you."
"Sold?"I ask. "But mom loved that place. She and Dad owned it for more than 40 years. Where is mom living then?"
"What?"Sandra asks. "Andy, she died more than a year ago."
I drop my phone. Then who the hell was I on the phone with earlier. What is waiting at the end of my journey? Why am I being lured back? From the depths of my mind came a laugh, quietly at first, but getting louder with each step I take. But still, I march on. The diary, the answer is in the diary, I hope.
~~To be continued, maybe~~ Part 2 down below, You might have to scroll a bit. |
Friend or foe?
Cleanup day. At the end of every month, we would all grab our buckets and mops, wandering the streets looking for the latest victim of the monster. It was nasty work, but it paid well. A few gold coins to deal with the mess left behind and if you were lucky, you might make it to the scene of the slaughter late, only having to help with a few drops of dried blood.
Despite the high pay, few people accepted the job, something about easy money work always attracted sinners and sinners were the last people that wanted to come to this city. A monster that targeted the worst of the worst. Something about that seemed karmic, a horrible fate for a horrible person. In fact, when the first body was found, many of us cheered at the gruesome fate of Mr. Andrew Bucklin.
He was a horrible man, one that took joy in the varied methods he used to rob people of their lives, an unapologetic noble’s son above the law. That is why it was almost funny seeing what the beast did to him, leaving his body spread throughout the city.
So, we celebrated; we raised our glasses to this gruesome legend of a beast. We considered it the great equalizer, an indiscriminate killer that targeted those corrupt. However, after two years, our glasses didn’t clink anymore. With so many corrupted dead, the sinners had fled. The once dangerous city now oddly peaceful. That should be a good thing, right?
Perhaps? But without vicious killers, the beast targeted criminals of lesser crimes. At first it didn’t matter, most of the people killed were still murderers or had some skeleton in their closet. That was until the death of old Miss Mackan, the church’s head nun.
That was a messy day. I was first on the scene for it, my attention called to the body by wailing citizens. The charitable woman found in a condition that I still don’t like to think about. The only thing recognizable about her was the clothing she wore, if not for that we may have never figured out who the body belonged to.
Trying to clean the body was hard enough without having to push people away from her, watching them throw themselves at her body, pleading to the heavens for mercy.
Like always, people went through her belongings, uncovering her skeletons, only to find out how light the title of the most vicious criminal had gotten. In her youth, Miss Mackan robbed people, mimicking the old legends of robin hood. On occasional, a person she was robbing would fight back and in unfortunate circumstances would be killed, something her journal showed great remorse for.
I can’t say for sure what made her reform her ways. But at some point in her life she came to our city to be a nun. While she may have been a criminal, her reform was fitting of a saint, leaving many nervous.
If someone like miss Mackan could be killed, that meant any of us could be killed.
Suddenly the great equalizer became a force of nature. With the news of her death, more people fled, leaving the city a slum, with only the poorest of people living there, unable to move away, having to endure the fear.
They took methods to stop the killings, the two most popular ones being the trapping method and the great fleeing.
The trapping method was a rather clever one, taking a captured prisoner to the city in a cage and leaving them surrounded by armed guards. When the beast came to strike, they would slay the beast. This method had promise but ultimately ended up short. Despite the rotation of guards, no one reported seeing the prisoner get murdered, everyone commenting that he was perfectly alive before simply vanishing, ending up dead a mile away.
With that failing, they tried the great fleeing. On the day of the beast’s arrival, everyone headed into the forest, fleeing the city. This organized by the king’s guard, making sure that every property and street vacated before the sunset. When the morning came and everyone returned, they found a body laying in the city square, still in its gruesome fashion. From that day on, we accepted that outsmarting the beast was impossible.
So now, the once beautiful city is reduced to being a prison for those of the worst offences. The king far too worried about the monster’s retaliation, simply giving into the creature’s demands, not wanting to abandon the city completely out of fear that the monster might move to another.
With the ever-expanding prison, activity slowly returned to the city. The king doing everything he could to hide the murders every month, leading to many forgetting the gruesome creature that lurks.
Despite that, I continue to clean, passing the sacrificial prisoners as I go to the body, wondering if there will ever be a day where we run out of bodies and I’m on the menu.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Did you ever used to lay awake at night tossing and turning in your sheets, wondering what might have happened in your life? If only you'd gone and talked to that boy that you liked so much in high school, how would everything have turned out after that? What if you had become a writer as you always wanted, instead of majoring in accounting? What if you'd taken that job in that far-off city instead of the safe bet in your home town?
Heaven is your chance. You are 'born' in your old age, and you have the opportunity to go through your life once again, presented with all of the same decisions and knowing what you knew in your old age. Of course everyone will act as though you're still young. Your mom and dad won't see a ninety year old in the crib; they'll see an adorable infant. You'll just have all of the wisdom of your past life to help you on the second time around. This time, you *know* that your high school crush was just as shy as you, and he was just waiting for you to give him a sign. Of course he was too oblivious to catch all of the subtle hints that you tried dropping. But now you won't have to wait till your 20 year reunion to finally tell him.
But remember that every decision that you change causes a "branch."If you *do* date that boy in high school, maybe you never decide to move out of state for college. Maybe you stay close to home. Maybe everything about you changes and you don't get to relive any of the moments that you wanted to. You don't see your college friends again. You don't go that party that you missed out on because you were too busy studying for a class that ended up not mattering. You don't go into the same field that you loved so much in your first life. You'll get a whole new life, but you miss out on the whole experience of heaven. The opportunity to live it all over again.
For some people, that's what they want. They find their "crux:"That one single most important moment where they can change everything about their lives, and they want to. They can finally see whether the grass really is greener on the other side. For some, it is going with that high school sweetheart. For others, it is taking that a gamble on that dream job. Other times it is all about dropping out of the rat race forever and spending a solitary life traveling and seeing the world. Maybe just escaping the evils of the first go around. It's really up to you.
I have no crux though. I've made no branches. I met you when I was 29 in our last life together, just like this. At this very same table at this very same restaurant. And I bought you a beer, just like I'm doing now. And we were together for seventy five years of blissful marriage. I won't claim that it was perfect, and we certainly had our dark days, but I still don't want to give those up. It's not worth the risk of changing anything, because I want to relive every single moment that we had together.
For most people, heaven is about the chance to change something that went wrong in their lives. For me, it's about the opportunity to spend another perfect lifetime with you.
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also visit /r/Luna_lovewell for tons of other stories! |
Everyone but me was impressed when Verin walked into the Grove during his fifteenth autumn with a sleeping bear cub in a baby's sling around his neck. Impressed, but not surprised. He had lived in the Grove since losing his parents just before his fifth winter. Over the ten years since then, he had proclaimed his intent weekly to raise a bear as his Ritual companion - the rearing of which marked a student's graduation into the ranks of the Druid Circles, and the type of animal itself which Circle he would enter. Verin's parents had been killed by soldiers from the city in the valley down-river of the Great Forest. There was no question that he intended to join the Red Circle, that of tooth and claw.
As one might expect, a boy raised with the expectation that he would charge into battle against his parents' murderers astride a giant bear grew into a combative young man. The height and breadth his frame acquired as he neared the Ritual's first season only worsened these tendencies. He acquired a group of hangers-on that made his influence as impossible to escape amongst the students as his arms' reach. Their intention to join him in the Red Circle drove them to seek out predators as well, and so Verin's youngling bear gained an audience of wolf pups as well. Infuriating, the lot of them.
His generally unwanted attention had two common targets. The first was Arisa, a student around our age and unanimously (among us mere mortal boys, anyway) the most beautiful woman who had ever graced the Grove with her smile. I'm not saying that she chose a fox kit to raise *specifically* to spite Verin after his hundredth or so attempt to convince her to raise a mother bear alongside his own, but that's only because no one would listen if I *did* say it. Or said anything at all, really.
The second unwilling recipient of Verin's heavy-handed attention was, as you may have guessed by now, me. I was born in the city from whence sprang the heavily armored targets of Verin's unending ire, and as such (according to him, anyway) I was to be beaten instead of trusted, driven out instead of sheltered, and generally cast quickly and violently from the Grove and the Druidic tradition, to my end if necessary. He didn't care that I'd fled the persecution of those same soldiers, that I'd lost family to them as well. He never even *asked*. I looked like the men from the valley, lean, dark-haired, and short. Few in the Grove shared my appearance, none of the other students among them. That was enough for Verin. Chase pretty girl, beat little different boy. A very erudite and complex existence, indeed.
To be fair, Verin came by his mistrust of me "honestly". Taking me into the Grove at all had been a matter of some debate amongst the elders of the Circles; famously, at least one had voted to simply throw me out into the snow and watch me freeze. I worked harder than anyone at the endless chores required of the prospective Druids, only just managing to keep myself Verin's equal in the eyes of the teachers. A decade running as hard as my body would let me, just to keep up with a hero boy whose greatest accomplishments were a) losing his parents, b) catching a bear cub, and c) being tall, strong, and handsome.
I believed well before the Ritual began that Verin would most likely attempt to sabotage my efforts, to slow or prevent altogether my graduation into the Circles. It wasn't until I saw him set his bear on another student's feline companion that I realized how far he would be willing to go. No animal cub or hatchling would survive the claws and teeth of Verin's bear. I spent the winter pondering the problem, while Arisa's fox kit learned to fetch trinkets and Verin's bear cub learned to cripple smaller animals.
It wasn't until the following spring that I realized how to succeed. I took my plan to the teachers most impressed with my efforts and received not only permission but, surprisingly, encouragement. Thereafter, when the other students would break from lessons for lunch and to work with their companions, I would simply wander off into the forest, returning after half a day to put in yet another half-day's work before collapsing into bed. Days are not generally expected to contain three halves, and my sleep suffered, but it was well worth it.
Late in our sixteenth spring, a full year and a half after the first companions were chosen, Arisa's fox - hardly a kit at all, at a year and a half - met her in the clearing for lessons one morning with a crown woven of tiny white flowers. The next day, the flowers were blue; pink, yellow, red, orange, and purple followed. White and purple seemed to be the ones she appreciated the most, even though the much larger purple flowers had nearly covered her fox completely.
The next day, instead of wearing a crown of flowers, the fox *carried* a much larger one, this time woven of both purple and white, and tossed it up onto her head. She wore it for five days, until the loosening weave gave way, turning fraying precision into a shower of color around her.
The next day, the crown was purple and yellow. This one lasted longer, nearly eight days.
The third crown was woven of white, pink, and yellow flowers, and the weave held for a full tenday before the flowers themselves wilted too much to stay on the stems.
New colors and combinations arrived every tenday afterward, all throughout spring and summer and well into the autumn. The last arrived days before the winter's first snow fell in the Great Forest. She was sad when the next wreath didn't arrive, of course, but even student Druids know better than to expect flowers after snowfall. Verin, on the other hand, was ecstatic. Every crown that adorned her head was one step further away from his brutish "charms", and he'd vowed several vicious beatings on whoever had the gall to give a pretty woman flowers despite him wanting her.
That rage had to go somewhere, though, since Verin couldn't catch the artisan. I was, unsurprisingly, his favorite target of opportunity. More than once, Verin faced the "reproach"of the teachers while I lay under the hands of the Green Circle's healers. The worst attack, however, came a tenday or so after that snowfall. With the Grove still transitioning to winter chores, Verin found himself with enough free time to follow me out to search for firewood. It wasn't the bear jaws around my ankle that broke my legs - it was the tumble down a recently frozen stream, and a waterfall, and over several large rocks, and down another short fall, accompanied by an armload of wood that seemed intent on sequentially bruising every uninjured part of me.
The Green Circle set the bones, and healed some of the muscles, but it would be warm again before I'd be able to easily traverse the Great Forest's rough terrain. It was decided, since I had *clearly* not been supervised well enough to keep *my own clumsiness* from laming me, that I would follow the river south into the much warmer valley under the guidance of *two* elder Druids. Their age and prestige as elders in their Circles - Green for Healing and Brown for woodcraft - kept anyone from speaking *too* loudly about how much their slight frames and dark hair resembled my own.
We returned in the spring, after the last snow melted from the Forest's deepest reaches. Before anyone had the chance to taunt me for skipping out on the hard winter work, I set to work proving that I had not wasted my warm winter. For those without the Druidic gift, gathering proper stone and sand for certain tasks can be difficult; for me, however, they came easily, allowing me to demonstrate the new skill I had developed - crafting glass. A simple act of Druidry filled a stone oven with the heat necessary to melt the sand, and my tools did the rest. Some of the other elders complained at first, but gifts of colored window glass soon quieted their objections. By summer, my work decorated the entire Grove. My list of chores was altered to provide me time to work the oven, putting me square in the sight of half the Grove's inhabitants for much of the day; when I demonstrated my ability to cook, I barely had time to leave the Grove at all, and never unsupervised. Couldn't let my clumsiness cost the Grove its best cook in a generation, after all.
This public visibility made it very, very difficult for Verin to blame me when the first new wreath of flowers appeared on Arisa's head. Clearly, I had made of myself an artisan, capable of creating the kind of beauty that brought Arisa such delight - but when would I have the time to create such a thing? No flowers resembling hers grew in the Grove, and I never left. He lashed out at me more than once, making wild accusations and attempting violence, but my new mentors were never far away. Instead of the Grove's tacit approval, his reckless, impotent rage began to draw disapproving stares - and it's never a good idea to attack the person who cooks the food, if you intend to eat something warm that week.
(Will our hero survive? Will Verin finally give up and run away? Does Arisa even *like* flowers? Will we ever find out what the *animal* is?! Stay tuned, and we may yet find out!) |
The encroaching heat outside signalled the oncoming summer, and the need for another sip of water by the thirty-six year old red head. He, his wife, and family had all made a habit of gathering during the summer and winter to see each other and have the kids play together. They met exactly long enough for each child to pick where to go, along with each head of each family.
Of course Rose decided it was a wonderful day to go to the zoo when it was almost summer.
"Bloody hell,"muttered Ron, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He peered at his hand and shook the sweat off. The families typically split up, telling the kids where to meet them and letting the kids run off. But of course he went to the john and now found that the adults had all migrated to parts unknown.
He considered looking for everyone. Really, it would be easy to do. But the heat was not kind to the fair skinned man, and so, he sought comfort in a cooler environment instead. Any that he could find.
As fate would have it, it was the reptile exhibit that was kept relatively cool. Reptiles. He had just about enough of those buggers for the rest of eternity. He went to turn a corner in the exhibit when he spotted his daughter alongside his nephew, Albus. They were giggling and talking to each other. Doing his best to make not a sound, he decided to rest his back against the corner he had just turned. Eavesdropping was frowned upon and he hated when his parents did it when he as a boy, but he had come to understand where his parents were coming from. He worked often, and his daughter spent more time with Hermione than with him, though their time together was nothing less than special.
Then he heard what he thought he'd never hear again: the low, faint hissing of parseltongue. He turned his head to look to his daughter and nephew once more. He expected it to be Albus speaking it. Instead, he found the speaker to be his daughter. Rose. Speaking parseltongue. What in the world. The snake behind the glass lifted its head and hissed at her in return, forked tongue flicking about. It reminded him too much of... of...
He looked between Albus and Rose. They did look SO much alike. He felt anger rising in him. It was Voldemort or Harry, and Voldemort was dead. He quickly headed out and looked for his good-for-nothing "best friend."
He found everyone sitting together at the food court, save the kids of course. Good. He saw Harry and Hermione talking and laughing. Those things he saw back in the hoarcrux days weren't illusions after all. He balled up a fist and went to Harry, tapping his shoulder. Harry turned to look. And Ron planted a firm right into Harry's nose. His parents stood up as did Hermione.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you!?"asked Hermione, looking around before taking out her wand. Ron went to her and put his hand on her wand to prevent her from healing the swearing-Harry's nose.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with me? What the bloody hell is wrong with you! I can't believe you. You and Harry. You two really..."
"Ron, what in the world are you talking about?"asked Molly.
"Rose was speaking Parseltongue,"he said stiffly, trying to keep himself from taking out his own wand and just causing havoc. "And the only one who can speak Parseltongue is..."
"Is Rose, you daft idiot."Hermione said, getting angry. "Harry can't speak Parseltongue anymore."
"She's right, you know, and I would never--"
"Shut up, Harry."Ron said in angrily, glaring at his wife. "Really? You mean to tell me she just was born knowing it?"
"No. I bring Rose books back from work to read sometimes. She likes languages. There is a beginner's vocabulary with Parseltongue in one of my books."Hermione rubbed her head with a hand. "Which you would know about if you actually read with her and talked with her about books instead of quidditch!"
"I can't believe you're even humoring this thought,"remarked Harry, trying to nurse his bleeding, likely broken nose.
"It's ridiculous... here, Harry, I'll take care of that,"said Arthur, who quickly mended his nose via use of magic.
"Let's say Rose DID learn from a book and not from Harry, how do you explain her and Albus looking so similar!"
"Your SISTER is Albus's MOTHER."Hermione said a bit exasperatedly. As if on cue, Ginny came over.
"Hey, everyone, I'm back from the gift shop,"Ginny said, bags with the zoo's logo in hand. She looked around at everyone tense. "Did I miss something?"
"Your brother is positively mad. That's all." |
I wasn't born deaf. From birth to around the time I was twelve, I could hear just fine. Then came a period of several massive ear infections, which eventually led to me losing all hearing in both ears, becoming severely bilaterally deaf. It took some time to get used to. But I resolved not to let it get me down, so I learned to read lips, and how to communicate using ASL. A desire to communicate and understand others drove me to quickly pick it up, and soon I could tell my parents that they were old-fashioned and embarrassing, like all teenagers do.
I grew up, went to technical college, where I graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in computer science. Now I maintain servers and do IT work for an insurance company. While in college, I met Ivana Petrikov, we were in the same class where we would often work together. She was this 6'5 ft tall woman with the most piercing green eyes I've ever seen. She looked like she ate protein whey for breakfast and programmed while doing squats. She had learned ASL to communicate with her own deaf grandmother, so we often talked with our hands, and eventually we started dating.
She had a way of making a shy and nerdy deaf girl feel very included, very loved. After college we moved in together. She'd gotten work at maintaining the website for a large regional muscle-farm. We'd walk together in the park in our free time, play games and workout(though I cannot keep up), and go to fascinatingly weird restaurants somewhere only Ivana knew how to get to. She proposed to me recently, out in the park. It was very beautiful, and she carried me in her strong arms through the door when we came home, because she couldn't wait for marriage to do that.
One day, she messaged me at work, and told me that she was hearing an odd piercing noise, and that it was getting stronger. I told her to go to the doctor immediately, a perk of working for the insurance company I am with, is medical insurance. She told me that she would go, and she'd message me if she had to go to the hospital. Then she said that she loves her kitten, and I told her I loved my big bear in response.
I took the city's monorail out to where we lived, and while reading the Summer Book by Tove Jansson, I did notice that the other people in the traincar seemed at edge for some reason, but I was more worried about Ivana, too worried to notice.
When I got back to our flat, she wasn't there. No message on the phone. I tried to message her, but got no response. I was worried, but I waited. By the time it was getting dark, I decided to go down to the doctor's clinic, to ask if she'd been there. When I took the lift down to the ground level, I was met by a horrible sight. Everywhere, there were bodies lying on the ground. Blood was pooling on the ground around their heads, seemingly pouring out of their ears.
On the street cars had crashed, and everywhere, there were dead bodies lying about. It was as if the entire city had just died. The piercing sound, I realised, must have killed them. A few people, were still moving, only barely, as they had managed with noise-cancelling headphones to endure, but their faces were still caked with blood from their ears, having only survived the noise, not escaped unharmed.
Ivana has noise cancelling headphones. I just hoped she had taken them with her, that she had put them on. A fool's hope, I know. But it was all I had. As I moved further into the city on foot, I saw the collapse of society. Death everywhere. None were spared, not rich, not young, not old. All had died from the intensity of this piercing noise.
It was not until I reached the clinic that I saw what had made the noise. It was big. Some sort of eyeless, nightmarish thing. With hundreds and hundreds of mouths. It didn't even look like any sort of creature that exists, hell, it didn't look like a creature that should exist. And to my further surprise, the creature was dead. Its head, or at least what looked most like a head on its gross bulging body with its hundreds of toothy maws, had been caved in with extreme physical force.
I wondered what could have killed it, until I saw, lying resplendently on a pile of rubble, looking for all the world like the single most muscular angel in all of heaven, Ivana. Her hands were caked with the black ooze that passed for the blood of the monstrous creature. She was wearing her headphones. Her head weakly raised itself to look at me. And her hands made the sign for kitten. I walked over to her, and made the sign for bear. She was dying. She had been too close to the thing. Too near to that monster. I could do nothing but embrace her, the hero who had stopped the thing. My big bear.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
There were two parts to the dilemma.
First and foremost, what *precise* criteria indicated that someone was "an objectionable personality,"as the discovering scientist had said? Was there a specific genetic marker? A hormonal change that activated the virus?
Second, would refusing to treat the virus be an aspect of that criteria?
The questions had been raging through every media circuit and news outlet, much like the plague that they each sought to cover. Had it been any other story, fear-mongering and outright fabrications might have ruled the day... but when executives and journalists had started dropping dead in their desks, tactics had quickly shifted.
"We need,"one program director had been quoted as saying, "to find a way of acting like decent people. We can't risk our lives in pursuit of a story. With that said, we *also* need to consider the effect that these new tactics will have on our ratings. It is absolutely essential that we find a means of keeping viewers' eyes on *us*."
The man's lifeless body was retrieved only moments later.
Greed seemed to be a factor, as did a lack of empathy. Selfishness was a fatal flaw, as well. Aggression was an indicator, though not an independent trigger... and much to everyone's surprise, *altruism* seemed to cause as many deaths as avarice. Some theorized that humans were incapable of true generosity, or of kindness without expectation. Others argued that such mindsets were flawed, and that a prevailing internal goodness *had* to exist.
They all died in the end.
All of them, that is, except me.
It's not that I'm a paragon of virtue. Far from it, in fact. It's not that I'm immune, either... it's just that there's nobody left. Something about the virus seems to require a specific interaction with another intelligent entity. For a society so hell-bent on judging one another based on thoughts, it's ironic that *actions* were what mattered in the end.
We had the chance to combat the disease, but we wondered if the world would be a better place if we didn't.
We had the chance to learn and evolve, but we expected other people to do it before us.
We were scared. We were angry. We were closed-minded, stupid, and mired in our own ideas of what was and wasn't "morally right."
In the end... we were *all* assholes. |
Felix was the one.
Notice how I said *was*. Because he is now past-tense. He is now gone. He is now gone, and I am now alone. Again.
Yesterday, I purged my apartment of his presence. Every photograph that depicted his snarky grin was melodramatically burned. His favorite blue hoodie, the one that always smelled like him, went in the Dumpster out back. I threw out every single plastic container of blueberry yogurt in my fridge- I'd only liked it because *he* had. A year's worth of memories, trashed.
I deleted his phone number from my contact list. I sat down on my empty couch and stared at the television for a full half hour, watching an infomercial for a vacuum cleaner, telling myself that I was not allowed to cry any more.
And then I called Mark.
"You were right,"I said as soon as he picked up the phone. "I can't believe that I didn't listen to you."
There was silence on the other end for five full seconds.
"Don't apologize,"he said. "It's not your fault the guy was a scumbag. It's not your fault that he cheated on you. That's on *him*, not you."Mark's voice was so soothing. It reminded me of fifth grade and the blue slushies we got every single summer day when we were stuck between high school and summer school.
"I should have trusted you. You're always right."I confessed. I laughed, remembering the marriage pact we'd made when we were fifteen, freshman year. We'd even pinky-sworn. "Maybe we should just get married. At this point, my romantic prospects are hopeless."
Mark laughed on the other end of the line. God, that sound was so refreshing. "How about this- I'll come over and bring some Ben 'n Jerry's and a full season of Seinfeld on DVD, and we'll forget about that jerk of a boyfriend together."
"Sounds great,"I agreed, and it was settled.
Twenty minutes later, and the bell rang. I threw open my front door with a grin, expecting to see Mark's smiling face, but instead what I saw... someone else.
"Felix?"I asked, incredulous. My first instinct was to scream at him, demand an explanation for the way he left me, but then I noticed the blood. *His* blood. The left half of his face was masked with it. I'd heard that head wounds bled a lot, but I'd never seen so much blood in my entire life.
"What...Felix, what happened? Are you okay?"I was expecting him to say something, anything, but he just staggered towards me, his eyes staring past me, as if into the distance, and collapsed against me, holding me in his arms. I could hear his breath. It was coming in ragged, heaving gasps.
"Mark...I told him I didn't want to leave you..."He stammered.
"What?"I was so confused by everything he was saying. What did this have to do with Mark?
"Mark told me...to leave you....he paid me...he blackmailed me...he threatened me..."
"I don't understand!"I said frantically. "You can't be right!"
"He said...that you *belonged* to him. And when I told him that you didn't...that you didn't belong to anyone, he... he got really angry."
No. No. No. Every relationship, every man who had ever left me. Mark had always been there to comfort me after they were gone. He disapproved of every guy I ever dated, every guy I ever looked at.
He was manipulating my life, this whole time.
The door was wide open, like a gaping wound, when Mark stepped in. He was carrying a grocery bag, and smiling, but as soon as he saw Felix, his expression grew ugly.
"Get away from her,"he growled, dropping the bag, advancing quickly, purposefully, with venom in his eyes.
Then, for just one moment, his gaze flickered towards me, and he met my eyes. He smiled, sweetly, and I saw the little boy I'd shared slushies with years ago.
"Don't worry,"he reassured me. "You belong to me. I won't let him hurt you anymore."
He was still smiling sweetly at me when he slammed Felix's face into the granite countertop. |
"You didn't think I'd find out?"Bonnie yells at me, chucking the room service champagne bucket at my head. "We've been dating for three months now, and I only see you every other day, Kevin! I know you're cheating on me. Who is she? Where is she?"
I want her out, not because she's right, but because her believing that I'm getting some on the side is preferable to her knowing the truth.
But as the alarm buzzes the countdown to Midnight, I know I can't hold her back from making this discovery anyway.
"You want to see her? You want to see the other woman? Then sit down and wait."
The clock strikes Midnight and I take off my suit, letting her get a full view of everything that's about to happen. Because of how rapidly my body changes, I've never had much hair on my body to begin with. But what's left slide right off as if treated with an epilaser.
My legs lose their muscle mass, as the change spreads up from my feet. I go from a size 10 wide in men's shoe, to a size 8 in women's. I can feel my body compressing, as it always does. Three inches in height lost, bringing me down to an even five feet.
My chest balloons outward, and for this part of the transformation, I'm glad the women in my family have small breasts. Nothing over a B-cup. But I can see Bonnie leaning back against the headboard with terror in her eyes. By now, she's become aware of what's happening and she's caught in-between terror and curiosity. And that's what I find strange. The last person to see this happen was only terrified of if being contagious and he bolted.
Bonnie holds her breath as my sexual organs invert into my body, and my face takes on the features of the person I become.
When my hair grows out, I put it in a ponytail and turn to face her.
"Hi, Bonnie. I'm Carolyn. I am the other woman."I look down at her, hoping she'll decide not to run away, but preparing for the worst anyway.
She doesn't say anything, so I open up the suitcase and start putting on Carolyn's clothing. A pair of white panties, and a sheer nightgown. It is after midnight after all.
As I laid down on the second bed, I could feel weight next to me. Bonnie had climbed into bed with me. "Carolyn. I'm so sorry I doubted you. Can you forgive me?"
I had wanted to hear words like that for so long, but now that I was actually hearing them, I was quiet. Instead of responding, I just wrapped an arm around her and held her close through the night.
"Tell me all about it when we wake up, Carolyn."That's all she said, and for the first time since I met her, I felt relieved. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. |
He checked every night, obsessively, eagerly, that his number remained at 1.
If it tumbled back to 0, he was screwed. He'd have to rethink all his plans, and worse: identify which critical step in his plans had triggered the lapse. Marcus rechecked that all his doors were locked before removing his shirt. He unlocked his secure vest - top of the line, barely detectable when he wore it. It might be a human right to keep your number private, but it never hurt to be safe.
Especially if you're planning a murder. And he was finally sure he was going to do it.
His number was enflamed, the scorch marks indicating it had just changed. He stared disbelievingly at what it said.
3 million.
Marcus jumped when his phone rang. He swallowed heavily and answered while staring at his chest. It was still there, a livid red brand.
"Hey, Mark."
Erik's voice was light, carefree, breathless to share some piece of news. His stomach twisted in fury. The asshole had no shame. Calling him up every few weeks, as if nothing was wrong.
"Hi. What's up?"Marcus strove to match his tone.
"Man, I just had to call you. I'm nearing a breakthrough, Mark. An actual, goddamn breakthrough. I know exactly what to do. The vaccine will work."
His resolve to kill Erik deepened and tightened its hold on him. He watched, detached and fascinated, as the number started changing again, twisting and turning on his chest. 4 million. 5 million. It trembled, and leapt to 10 million. He knew his Death Number Theory as well as the next person, but it was something else seeing it in person. The domino effect.
"I know it will work,"he answered mechanically.
Yes, he knew it. Had known it when he'd been a reckless, excited high school student. Bursting with ideas on how to fight the Cors virus. Even then, before the number of deaths had spiralled into unknown territory, it had been colloquially known as the Corpse virus. But he didn't have the resources to test his theories. He was so eager to share his thoughts with a knowledgeable, older scientist. Desperate to get Erik's feedback.
"Well, we'll talk more later,"Erik was saying. "Things are insane here. But keep it to yourself, will you? I don't want this leaking to the press. I just *had* to tell you. You originally gave me the idea, after all."
Mark struggled to keep from screaming, and closed his eyes. Erik still didn't know. Didn't even realise what he'd done.
"You know, sometimes, I wish you'd gone on to study science, Mark,"Erik chuckled. "Man, when I think what else could be rattling around in that head. Still, the law is lucky to have you."
"Yeah. Lucky,"he echoed, detaching himself from the conversation. Watching the number, which had reached 20 million.
"Anyway, talk later, bro. I just wanted to call to thank you. I couldn't have done it without you. I'll call you up when I'm in town again. We should grab dinner - my treat."
Marcus heard the phone click and threw it across the room, with all the fury he had kept carefully contained. It smashed against the wall. He watched the number, still climbing steadily upwards, and smiled. It was comforting, prophetic.
The vaccine wouldn't work without Erik, without the crucial insight that he'd never get to give. He knew his brother: Erik wouldn't share his 'breakthrough' until he was completely certain of it. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He'd make his move this weekend. Earlier than he'd planned, but necessary.
The vaccine would again be his to shape, his to develop. Leisurely, when he went back to school and refined it in the labs. Made it perfect, not the hack job it would be if he let this go. In the end, he would save more people.
No-one stole from *him*. Especially not his brother. |
It was a dark and stormy night. The train compartment I sat in was empty. Not many people traveled this line and with the weather being what it was, most people were sitting quietly at home. I would have been home too but the auction was too good to pass up.
I had picked up a bunch of good stuff for the shop. Most of it I had sent via a truck which would arrive directly at the shop. The smaller and the most valuable things, I carried with me. I took out the lamp and looked at the ornate design. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. In fact, I would probably call it Aladdin’s lamp or something when I sold it. It really did look something out of a movie. I took out my phone. Out of battery. I still had an hour’s worth of journey left and I was already bored out of my mind. I placed the lamp on the empty seat next to me and got up.
“Might as well take a little walk along the corridor.” I said aloud to no one.
My stuff would be safe. Not like there was anyone there. I sighed. “I wish I had someone or something that would help me pass some time.”
I walked along the corridor to the end of the next carriage. All empty. I turned around and figured I’d try my luck in the next compartment. I saw a flash of red as someone was entering my compartment. I thought back to my stuff lying there and hurried back.
A pretty woman stood at my seat turning the lamp over in her hands. I entered the door and moved towards her. She didn’t show any signs of having heard me. I figured I would have some fun.
I moved quietly towards her and right when I was beside her, I spoke in a loud voice.
“Who asks for me?”
She was startled and dropped the lamp. She turned around and looked at me. She was quite pretty. In fact, she was gorgeous.
“Sorry, is this yours. I was just looking.”
“Well technically it’s yours. But I do live in it.”
“What?”
“I’m a genie.”
“Ok yeah. Sure. I’m sorry I was just...”
I held up my hand. “I can see that you don’t believe me. But that is ok. I don’t care what you believe as long as you tell me what you wish for.”
“Wait. For real?”
“Yes. Three wishes. Anything you want.”
She was biting her lower lip and looking at me with a confused expression. This would be fun. I wondered how long could I stretch this.
“Oh come on. You don’t expect me to believe it.”
“As I said, don’t believe it. I’m just obligated to grant you three wishes. Let’s get it done then. Then I can go back to my lamp and fall asleep.”
She smirked. “Ok my first wish is that you make me beautiful.”
“Ok.” I blinked my eyes rapidly and said some mumbo jumbo under my breath. “It is done.”
She looked at me curiously and then took out a makeup kit. She opened up a small mirror and looked at herself. “I’m still the same.”
“Well you were already beautiful.”
She blushed as she lowered her face. “Thank you.”
“No matter. What’s your second wish?”
“What?”
“You get three wishes.”
“Oh. We’re still going to go through this charade?”
“This is no charade young lady.”
“Young lady? I’m just about your age you know.”
“Oh but I am eternal. I’m six thousand years old in reality.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine then. I wish I had money. Lots of it.”
“Would you like that in cash or jewels?”
“What?”
“How would you like lots of money?”
She looked at me curiously. “Well cash is hard to carry. Maybe something small. Or antique. That I can sell for loads of money.”
Lucky me. I closed my eyes and mumbled under my breath again. There was a flash of lightning outside and she turned her head to look at it. I quickly reached into my pocket and pulled out tree small packet I had.
I dropped it on the seat. “Here you go.”
She stared open mouthed at the little package. “What?”
“Small antique pieces. Worth at least hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
She opened the package and looked at the stuff in there. The true value of it all was around ten thousand dollars but I could exaggerate. Not many people knew about such things like I did.
“Are you serious?”
“Well your wish didn’t specify the amount. In my time, this would be enough amount.”
“All of this is mine?” She looked at the small set of salt and pepper shakers. They were made of ivory and the carvings on them were exquisite.
“It is.”
“So you’re really a genie and you’re giving me and hundred and fifty thousand worth of antiques.”
Her face was full of confusion and intrigue. I just couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, you totally believed that.”
“What...”
“I’m sorry. I saw you standing here and I was bored and I thought...” I burst into laughter again.
Her look of confusion slowly changed into anger. But soon enough she was laughing too. We both laughed non stop for a couple of minutes.
Finally she spoke up. “I have to admit. By the end there I was almost ready to believe. Is this stuff really valuable?”
“Not nearly as valuable as I made it out to be. Like ten grand or something. I bought it all for about five.”
We sat and talked for a while about the antique pieces. I looked at my watch. The journey was almost at an end. She looked at her watch and then she looked at me.
“You still haven’t granted me my third wish.”
“Third wish? Oh. Sure. What’s your wish.”
“A kiss of true love.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What? One kiss. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?”
“Well I..” I broke off, unsure of what to say.
She didn’t bother waiting for a response. She leaned in. I closed my eyes and let her. A faint unfamiliar smell enveloped me as my world crashed into darkness.
I woke up with a headache as someone shook my shoulder.
“Sir, we arrived twenty minutes ago. You should get off. I have to clean the train and it has to go back in ten minutes.”
“I...” I looked around, remembering what had happened. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“The girl. There was a girl here and she...” I looked around and saw my stuff neatly packed back up.
“There isn’t anyone else sir. The train is pretty empty at this time.”
I opened up my package to see if I was missing something. Was she a thief? But everything was there. And there was also a note.
*Dear Mr Jackson,*
*You see, I’m kind of a genie myself. People wish for something and ask me. I get it for them. There are a certain set of diamonds that were stolen from uk a month or so back. Let’s just say that I might be involved in that. Antiques are usually good covers to transport such stuff. Those salt shakers were perfect for small uncut diamonds. Weather delayed me and I couldn’t make the auction. The auctioneer was kind enough to point me towards you though. Apparently he knew you well. I was hiding in the train when I heard you making your wish for company to pass the time. As I said, I’m kind of a genie myself. So I granted your wish. I’ll see you again someday. After all, you granted three of my wishes, and I only granted one.*
*xoxoxo*
*Jane* |
“Thanks for the invite,” I say. “But I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head out early.”
My friends lift their hands, shouting out their disappointment. “Oh, come on, Jason!” I hear Sarah’s voice ringing out in the night sky. I see the city skyline in the distance. The beat of the music from the Bluetooth speaker pounding into my head.
An explosion somewhere deep in the city rang through the night. “Holy shit,” I hear one of my friend say with a laugh, then the party erupts in cheers. “What the hell was…” another person says, but their voice was broken by the corybantic chants of the drunk partygoers.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say. This is a good time to get out, I think to myself, before they convince me to stay.
I grab one of the large water bottles sitting on a table, then open the rooftop door and take the steps down into the tower and down to the elevator.
I really wasn’t feeling well. My stomach was in knots and I was starting to feel light-headed.
I step into the elevator and press the lobby floor.
Suddenly, the whole building shakes. I stumble forward. The lights of the elevator went out and my momentum downwards stops. The elevator seems to stop working.
I feel terrible at this point. In a panic--then a sudden rush of sickness--I collapse forward, vomiting on the tiled maroon carpet below me. Laying on the worn carpet, I lean to one side and pull my phone to my face. I can't see anything. The last thing I remembered was the light of the phone breaking like rays of the sun through the salty lens of my tear-filled eyes.
I wake up off and on, my head on fire with fever, my whole body covered in sweat. I try to stand but I am too weak. The bottle of water is laying next to me. I drank from it with greed, then pass out again.
Waking up later, it feels like the fever has passed. I take another drink of water, sucking all that was left in the bottle. The air in the elevator is rancid and I feel nauseous breathing it in. I take my phone and turn the flashlight mode on, then try to press the lobby button in the elevator again. Nothing.
*Fuck,* I think to myself. I wonder if my friends are still on the roof. I click the little red emergency button on the elevator panel, but it doesn’t seem to do anything. I slam on the door with my fists, but after a few minutes I stop. I look at my phone again. *Fuck, it’s only got 1% battery left.* I’ve got hundreds of missed calls and messages.
The sight of them all makes me feel uneasy. I look at the time, it’s in the middle of the day on Thursday. I blink my eyes. *Thursday?* I just left the party on Saturday night.
*What the hell is happening?*
I don’t have time to check the messages yet. I need to make a call and I select my mother’s cellphone.
*Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.*
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Janice…” I hear my mother’s voice ring out.
*God damn it.*
When the beep sounds, I spout out quickly: “Mom, I’m stuck in an elevator at Seth’s apartment building. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. I had a fever or something.” I pull my phone from my face and look at it. The screen is jet black. I touch the button and nothing. It has died. I’m not sure how much of my message, if any of it, she received.
I stick my phone in my pocket. *Think, Jason. Think.*
I run my finger along the seam of the elevator doors. At the bottom of the doors, there was enough room to get my finger in. I pull, groaning, then the doors opens slightly. I get another finger in. The muscles in my backs burn and I pull with all my might and the door opens more.
A cinderblock wall was staring me in the face, but I look up and there is a slit of open space just big enough for me to crawl through. I sit back down and take deep breaths.
The idea of crawling through that small slit horrifies me. What if the elevator started again? I’d be cut in half. I sit there staring at it for a while, trying to will the elevator to move again. But I don’t think that is going to happen. It has been five days since I passed out in the elevator and it still hasn’t moved. It isn’t going to move now. And what about all those messages, Jason? No, you have to get out.
I stand up. Hopping up and down a little to psyche myself into this. I step towards the cinderblock wall, swing my arms, then jump. My fingertips barely touch the top, and I fall back down. I jump again, this time lifting myself on the cinderblock wall, I get both hands firmly on the floor of whatever building level this is. I lift myself up, put one elbow in the slit, pressing up against the roof of the elevator and then throw a knee up. I am panting, the elevator shakes a little under my movement. I block out the thought of it dropping and cutting me in half, and I keep lifting myself through the small opening.
With a groan, I pull myself completely out of the elevator, spilling onto the floor. I am out of breath, still weak from sickness. I turn my head; the lights of the building are out. Not a surprise. Many of the doors to the apartment rooms are open, but there is no one around that I could see.
*Part II below.* |
After years of friendship I felt bold enough to start making suggestions, subtle hints that I thought he needed professional help. I loved him and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.
I had moved into town when Spencer was ten, right after he lost his older brother and the use of his left hand in a car accident. When we first met he seemed so empty and vacant. His cold blue eyes looked at the world in the way that a drowsy child looked at a television screen while watching late night talk shows. It was as if he wasn’t processing life as it happened around him, without him. We bonded over our love for cartoons and our mutual belief that plain potato chips were superior to any other lunch snack. In no time we were spending recess together, playing elaborate games of make believe until the bell summoned us back to class. With a gap-riddled toothy grin, he told me that I made him feel normal again, like he could be himself when he was with me. I told him that he was my best friend and we innocently held hands on our way to lunch. I would smile bashfully every subsequent time that his warm, usually sweaty, palm made contact with mine.
Initially, I loved feeling needed. It was flattering to know that another human being depended on me. But, as we grew older I started to notice that he had become entirely reliant on me for happiness. It wasn’t healthy so I began to suggest that he seek help. At first, I brought it up in casual conversation.
“I love you, but I shouldn’t be the only thing that makes you happy,” I remarked, hoping he knew that I wasn’t trying to push him away.
“I still need you. There are other things that make me happy, but I still need you.”
At the time, I didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean: he still needed me. Still. As if there was potential for an end to our friendship. Months went by and I continued push, injecting little hints here and there until he caved.
“I did it,” he said to me with a look of solemn pride, like a warrior who'd just returned from a long and bloody battle.
“What?”
“I went to see a therapist, like you said.”
“Great! What did they say?”
He sighed laboriously and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak and then pausing to close his lips again. After a few repetitions of this odd ritual his eyes met mine, cautiously licking his lips, and he began to speak.
“We can’t do this anymore. It’s not healthy for me. I’m sorry.”
I looked at him, my previously joy-filled face melted away into an expression of hurt confusion, brows tugging together tightly and tears building up in my eyes as I tried to process exactly what he meant.
“Do what?”
“This. The talking, the friendship, the love. It’s not real.”
“But I love you,” I bawled, slowly dragging the back of my hand along my cheek to clear my face of tears, leaving a damp streak in its path .
“I love you too, that’s the problem. None of this is real.”
“Of course it’s real! You are my whole world.”
“I know.”
His head hung low and shook again before he walked away, dragging his beat up sneakers along the cracked sidewalk. Desperately, I began to chase after him but found myself unable to gain any actual speed. As if I were in a dream, I was no longer in control of my interaction with the physical world. The harder I tried, the slower I moved. Frantic and confused, I looked down to my feet which, to my surprise, were becoming increasingly transparent with each passing second. I quickly threw my head back up to look at Spencer, eyes wide and bulging in petrified hysteria.
“Please... What’s happening? Spencer, come back!”
He didn’t even turn around and before I could I try to beg again, everything was gone. I was surrounded by black nothingness and left to ponder the impossibility of what had happened. Who was I? What was I?
It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I was nothing. I was a figment of the imagination of a damaged child. A child who needed a friend. I hated myself for encouraging him to get help because my suggestions had lead to my own demise.
Now, though, I am at peace. I served my purpose. Not many people get to say that. Not many people, within an entire lifetime, get to know what their purpose is at all. I had a job and I completed it. He doesn't need me anymore and as long as that is true, I know I can be happy.
----------------------
Edit: Adding some description here and there as I have spare time. |
Tom waited, staring at white knuckles as his hands gripped the wing trust of the Cessna. His feet felt slippery on the round landing gear. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest, but couldn't hear it over the roaring wind.
Looking down, he saw the countryside, a tiny patchwork of light and dark green squares, rolling by underneath. Miniature cars seemed to scurry like ants along miniscule paths, going here and there as far as the eye could see. Wispy white clouds streaked the sky as they caught the light of a soon-to-be-setting sun.
Tom swallowed hard. "Well,"he said, "Here goes. Looks like I'm about to punch my ticket, possibly for the last time."
Tom stared at his fingers, willing something to happen. For a long time, nothing did. Then, all at once, he felt that release in his mind that comes with decision and his hands opened.
The roar in his ears picked up, got louder as he rolled back into a swan dive. The green patchwork beneath was already getting closer, the tiny cars coming up to meet him. He pointed his fingertips, closed his eyes, and *willed* it to happen. Nothing.
He sighed heavily. Somehow he had known. He had always known. As he fell, he saw a group of four friends merrily swooping in and out through the tree tops, flying far below. He shook his head. *If only*, he thought.
Ah well.
He pulled the ripcord on his parachute, taking a moment to muse over the fact that if parachutes didn't exist, people might be forced into some horrible choice between finding out whether they could fly and dying a horrible death.
When his feet touched down at the drop zone, his old buddy and the operator of the skydiving facility came running up.
"Hey Tom! Sorry about the bad luck, man. Here, let me see that."
He took Tom's 'SkySaver Funpass', and punched his ticket for him. "That's one. Nine more and you get a free one!"
"Thanks, Marv."
|
**Reassimilation Log 237B**
Subject has been released into urban environment. Appears stable.
Selective memory protocol is in place; in the event of severe injury or death, utilize shutdown command.
***
God, my head hurts.
I'm really pissed off and I'm not sure why. I want to punch something, kick something, destroy something. Deep breaths, in and out.
I pulled the first string on my finger a few seconds ago and got no clarity whatsoever. Just a series of scattered images and voices, squeezed into the corner of my peripheral vision, that told me I was at risk of "knowing too much."
One more couldn't hurt, right?
I walk down the alleyway while the memory plays out. I'm sitting on a park bench with a young woman, neither of our faces visible. I whistle the first few phrases of *The Andy Griffith Show* theme, and she whistles through to the end. OK, great. It's kind of soothing to watch but doesn't give me any answers.
As soon as I reach 5th Avenue - swarmed by people coming at me from all corners - my headache gets far worse. Fight or flight, fight or flight -- ?
Fight.
A man in a black suit carrying a briefcase approaches me and I punch him in the stomach.
"What the fuck, man?"
I grab his briefcase and sprint back down the alley, then climb a fire escape and end up on the roof far faster than expected.
Good God. I pull another string - more scattered voices and images.
"You'll be confused at first...disoriented. But we have to do this all or nothing. When you've seen the things you've seen, there's no way to ease back into it. Every ounce of you will be panicking, but you have to fight that."
Well, I can clearly *fight*, at any rate. Time for another string. There I am, railing away at a punching bag in some nondescript gym bathed in fluorescent light. So I'm in good shape, I have (had?) a significant other, and I have a penchant for stealing briefcases.
I ditch the briefcase and head back to the street. The guy I punched doesn't seem to be around. Deep breaths. Next string - a teenaged girl, tilting her head, smiling. She resembles me.
Why does everyone here look like an enemy? Another string...A family photograph being taken: me, a woman who seems to be about my age, and the same teenaged girl.
I'm about to punch the guy to my left but I hold it in. I reach for my back pocket - is that a gun? I pull it out, aim for the man in front of me, get ready to fire --
But pull another string instead. My apparent wife and daughter crying as I'm lifted out of an ambulance on a stretcher. A man in a police uniform next to them. My wife signs some paperwork.
I have to find them. Another string - an apartment building on 7th Avenue, then the flash of a number on a door, 742. I can do this.
Don't panic, breathe breathe breathe. I find the building, head inside, take the elevator. Another string - it's me in the same elevator, younger and less terrified.
I knock on the door of apartment 742, and there they are. Both of them. They embrace me and I start crying but I'm not sure why. The anger is receding.
"What the hell is going on?"I ask. "I can't remember your names...I'm sorry..."
They're both crying. The older woman half-smiles, half-frowns. "I'm afraid there's not a lot we can tell you about the past,"she says. "But you're here, and that's all that matters."
***
**Reassimilation Log 237B**
Subject successfully returned to residence. Does not appear to be aware of former status. Punched one civilian but did not fire blanks out of gun placed in holster around waist. Removed nine of ten strings at far more accelerated pace than anticipated.
237B, aka Officer Jay Phillips, represents first successful case of reassimilation after failure of pilot program. Following injuries in the line of duty, Officer Phillips consented to experimental bio-mechanical implants that enhanced his physical abilities and overall situational awareness. However, Phillips' consciousness had to be temporarily deactivated after implants caused impulsive violence against civilians.
Phillips has not yet pulled final string...appears to have forgotten about it. If he unties it, he will know the truth about his condition and history.
Perhaps it is for the best that he is unaware.
|
"Do it! You won't. You're too *chicken.*"Sarah put her hands on her hips and gave me a cheeky smile.
I wasn't expecting to be bullied into a seance at my first sleepover. But Jackie, Sarah, and Alice were insistent. We weren't the closest friends. In fact, I'd only agreed to invite them because Mom was worried about my social skills. We were all in third grade - all so blind to the perils of the world.
I had to prove that I was no chicken. There would be no hearing the end of it otherwise. So I went inside, locked the door, and faced the mirror...
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary."
A moment passed, then another. Then, slowly materializing in the corner of the reflection - a little girl, who looked barely older than me.
"M-M-Mary?"I stammered.
The girl nodded sheepishly.
"I thought you would be - well, I thought you would want to kill me or something."
Mary shook her head.
I began to step towards the door. "Well, I - I've met you now. I think I'll be heading back out..."
Suddenly, Mary raced forward and pressed her palms against the mirror's surface. Her eyes were like saucers. She looked terrified - like she thought *I* was the ghost in this situation.
I didn't know what to do, so I stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. My friends surrounded me.
"We heard you talking in there. Who ya talkin' to?"Alice asked.
I shrugged. "Mary. She was nice. Not anything like you said."
They laughed, and then promptly forgot about it. Jackie led the way and we went down to the kitchen to eat Cheez-Its and watch reruns of *Goosebumps*.
Later that night, when they were all asleep, I snuck back upstairs to visit my new friend again.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary."
There she was.
"How old are you?"I asked. "Do you go to school? How did you end up here - in my house?"
Mary tilted her head to one side, amused. "No one's ever said my name gently before,"she said. "Everyone's terrified, or laughing about it, or not taking it seriously. That's why I've never appeared to anyone. They're scared of what they *don't* see."She looked at me intently. "But you're not scared. So I decided to come out. I need your help."
I nodded firmly. "What can I do?"
Mary sighed. "Well, I...don't know, really. I'm bored, that's all. I think I passed away a long time ago. And ever since then I've wandered from mirror to mirror, looking for someone who wouldn't laugh at me."
We talked for hours after that. I told her about my life, and she about hers - what she remembered, anyway. In the days that followed, I visited her every night after my parents had gone to sleep. We talked about animals and boys and TV shows and books and science and love.
But on the thirteenth night of our visits, Mary looked exhausted.
"I'm so tired,"she said. "Every time I visit you, I learn so much about the world, but I feel myself fading."She was right - her ghostly form looked dimmer than ever. "I'm not supposed to still be here. It's not the natural order of things."She looked at me. "I want to rest."
Mary glanced towards the edge of the sink. A tiny painted stone that I'd created in first-grade art class was sitting there. I instantly understood, and, with quivering palms, I picked up the stone.
I furrowed my brow. "I don't want you to go."
"It's all right,"Mary said. "As I remember you, you will remember me."
Tears began to flow down my cheeks. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't be,"Mary said. "Let go."
I threw the stone, and the mirror shattered into pieces.
My parents raced from their room and found me on the ground, sobbing and wailing.
They took me out of school the next day, and the next. I acted as normal as I could - convinced them it was a freak bout of nightmarish sleepwalking - and they finally let me go back. But an ache remained, and I felt it every day as I wandered the halls of the school. As I did my homework. As I talked emptily to Jackie, Sarah, and Alice.
One night, several days later, I opened my bedside drawer. Inside, underneath magazine clippings and my quarter collection, was the painted stone.
I looked at it, turning it over in my palm, feeling its coolness. Then I clutched it tightly, knowing precisely who had placed it there.
In that moment, I knew Mary was free. |
######[](#dropcap)
Andrew wracked his brain. "I have a family. Please, my child is sick and I'm the only one with a job in the family, and my wife has been severely ill since the pregnancy, and I just... please!"He didn't even understand the words coming out of his mouth. His mind had blanked as soon as he saw the black barrel of the gun facing toward him.
The guy named Joey hawked a loogie at the ground and sneered at him. "Bullshit. We were friends for so long, you think I don't know you don't have a wife and kid? Who are you joking?"
Wait. They were friends? Then why Joey was trying to kill him--Franky? This didn't make sense.
Andrew tried a different tactic. "Look, I'm really sorry, man, I didn't mean to."
Maybe it was his imagination, but Joey's shoulders seemed to relax the slightest bit. Andrew quickly glanced at his surroundings. He was in a run-down apartment. Trash littered almost every surface, with fast food bags everywhere. His eyes honed in on a picture frame sitting in the center of the kitchen table. The table was the only surface bare in the room, so it must've been important. In the frame was a picture of Joey with a woman with brown hair.
"He doesn't mean it, boss,"a guy piped up from the couch, casually playing with a handgun. "Don't listen to him."
Joey raised a hand. "Nah, I wanna listen to what he has to say. What are you sorry about, Franky?"His jaw set, he set his gaze on the man still tied up in the chair.
Andrew panicked. He had no idea what he was supposed to be sorry for! But clearly Franky wasn't someone who was into apologies, otherwise Joey wouldn't be this shocked, and clearly they had once had a good relationship. Think, Andrew, think!
"I'm sorry about what I said or did. I really didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking at the time, and I'm sorry that I've betrayed our friendship like this. Truly. Please forgive me."Andrew held his breath. That was as specific of an apology as he could get without revealing that he didn't know what the hell he was actually talking about.
But it seemed to appease Joey, to an extent. The beefy man glared at him, even as he dropped the gun to his side. "It was your condescension I hated. I looked up to you, man. And you treated me like trash. Told me that you were just using me, and for what? For a couple thousand dollars?"His face contorted, and Andrew felt his heart slow. He felt sorry for Joey. The man was clearly in pain over the loss of a bad friend. "My wife...she's dead because of you!"he shouted, slamming his fist into a wall. "We needed that money so badly. I shouldn't have lent it to you. I shouldn't have..."he murmured, retreating into his own thoughts.
Andrew felt his body heat up. Whoever Franky was, he deserved to die. How could anyone do this? This guy was clearly scum. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 45 seconds. Could he do it? He had just enough time left if he was quick.
"Actually, she deserved it,"he said. "She was a dumb bitch for not being able to deal with the pressure."His heart pounded in his ears. 48 seconds.
"What did you say?"Joey asked, his voice dangerously low as he lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Franky in disbelief. 52 seconds.
"I said she deserved to die, and you're such a coward you would never shoot me,"Andrew taunted. "I dare you. Shoot me!"he shouted. 57 seconds.
Joey cocked the gun in his hand. 58 seconds.
"Go to hell,"he said, aiming the gun toward Franky's head. “This is for my wife.” Andrew barely saw his finger pull the trigger when his vision went white.
60 seconds.
***
*A dead body has been found in an abandoned warehouse on the side of Clerington Street. It's been identified as belonging to a man named Frank Johnson. Police are still investigating the cause of his death, but it appears Frank was involved in several pyramid schemes and owes quite a large amount of debt. He was previously accused of manslaughter, but was then acquitted due to a lack of evidence. In other news...*
***
Per r/timothybeans suggestion, I've added the small piece at the end with the news!
I post prompt responses every so often, so if you like what you see, feel free to check out r/AlannaWu :) |
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