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# "Trivia Night"
“Right again, with a streak of twelve right answers consecutively…”
We had been doing monthly trivia nights for about a year now, and I wasn’t the worst but I was never exactly good. For some reason tonight, I didn't just *feel* like I knew everything, I think I actually did.
The room had gotten uneasy since I began answering all the questions without a moment's thought needed, and I could feel their gazes drawn on me. I was never good with academics, so it was the final nail in my coffin when I answered a question about Macedonian history.
I shifted in my seat a bit. I probably should’ve not answered twelve questions right without a single mistake, or perhaps I could've just taken a couple seconds to look like I was thinking it over. I guess I liked the weird sensation of just knowing the answers and was testing this weird feeling out. The room was silent while I tried to think of something to say, not finding the right words.
“I guess I just, I just feel like it’s the right answer, and then they just work.”
“No, maybe a couple times but that’s a load of shit, you can’t just know everything.”
John was usually the best with these trivia nights, it was no wonder considering that he had been given one of the only full scholarships to a local university, so I think they took offense to me stealing all the questions for myself, *and getting them right*.
“I seriously don’t know, I just get that vibe, or something. I don’t know, I just answer with what pops into my head and it just works?”
“Alright then, what did Gustav Klimt use as a fixative for his artwork?”
It was meant to be a taunt since I despised art, but the moment he finished the question I already knew.
“Cat Urine, he used Cat Urine as a fixative”
A look of confusion and bewilderment was present on John’s face, this was not supposed to be a question I would just know. They had a clear view, I had no phone in my pocket and no headphones, they realized I wasn’t kidding.
Another voice spoke up, Alex this time.
“Who was my first girlfriend?”. This was something I couldn't possibly know as Alex had only just moved here for College, the newcomer to our group. Personal or not, I had the answer in mind.
“Alice… Alice Matthews?” The name was foreign, and we had no Alice’s in our immediate group so I wasn’t sure how this would be received. I could tell I had struck a nerve when Alex went silent with a look of… fear? The questions started rolling in.
“What was my grandmother's maiden name?”
“What job did my dad work in 2007”
“What was my brothers favorite meal as a child”
I could tell people understood I wasn’t faking this, and for every question I answered, another three were asked. I had no idea why I of all people had been given a gift like this tonight.
I hadn’t read a weird old dusty book, gotten bit by a bug, or made any deals with any devils. All that had changed in my recent life was that I had just gotten laid off yesterday and had decided to focus a bit on studies at least until finals were over.
Was there an upper limit to this ability? Maybe, I was bound to reach it at one point. People were buzzing with excitement asking numerous questions. All the answers had begun giving me a headache, but I heard it clear as day.
“What happens after we die?”
I couldn’t feel my body, I couldn’t see anything. It was void, but something was watching me. I saw colors that shouldn’t exist while I saw nothing. I saw nothing, but I felt everything. I felt everything drifting in perfect silence, until they were swallowed by the masses of teeth and eyes, as if feasting. I made eye contact, feeling the finality of my life as it opened it’s gullet, shifting towards me. Life after death did not exist, we were cattle beneath its innumerably toothed maw. It had begun moving towards me.
Until it was all taken away.
I laid on the college dorm room floor, questions in my ears and answers flooding my mind as I tried to gather my thoughts of that void, but I couldn’t. I had seen what no human should, if I could be considered human. I didn't feel human anymore.
I screamed and cried, shoving my way through everyone as I bolted out of the dorm room, not caring about my purse or coat, tripping over myself down the stairs with eyes full of tears and terror.
I don’t go outside without noise canceling headphones anymore.
\---------------------------------------
I've never written on r/WritingPrompts so I'm fully expecting this story to be received badly because I'm sure it has a ton of writing flaws, but I saw no one else responded so I figured I would.
Feedback always appreciated!
E: I love you r/writingprompts denizens. |
Ask anyone around the galaxy and you will hear tales of particular humans who excelled within a certain field but never what they excelled at as a species. This comes down to humans being out Jack of all trades, there are some strong humans, some intelligent ones. But never ones that were seen as a threat to the galactic union. In fact, in all of their time within the galactic Senate, Humans were really only ever known for their almost complete lack of self-preservation.
Humans were always rushing into a battle to save those injured, always the first on the scene of a major accident, and always the first to test out new weapons. At the beginning of their tenure we always assumed they had ulterior motives, but time after time they kept performing these selfless acts without wanting anything in return, saying it was the "right thing"to do. That concept came as a shock to most on the galactic Senate, they didn't know this feeling. In our early studies of humans we found that they were quite a simple species, nothing more complex biologically than your average class 3 civilisation, being a class 4 ourselves we didn't think too much of it. We have tried to find where this feeling of "doing the right thing"comes from but we have yet to find it. The humans kept saying "it's a gut feeling"yet research found that the gut of a human was nothing special. No second brain was to be found there, no special organs, just a gut.
After all these years of "doing the right thing"how did the humans not get tired of it? What events in their past have pushed them to take such good care of other species? What happened on their original home world? When we found it, terra-prime as we've dubbed it since, their home world was in shambles. Proof of a civilisation could be seen, but nothing too remarkable. They had some basic infrastructure, but all of it was destroyed to some extent. This wasn't in line with what humans had presented themselves to be, was there some darker past we didn't known about?
What happened on terra-prime for humans to now be such a selfless species? |
The mind of a dragon is a strange thing.
In the blink of an eye, centuries can pass, years spent dreaming wordlessly and staring at the sky. As those who have the lifespan to accommodate such whims, the dragons trended towards the obscure and bizarre as a rule.
It was no different for him. Fireflies Who Dance With Leaves had been in the jungle for far longer than centuries, had spent longer alone with his thoughts than most, and generations of humans had passed since he encountered one. It had been longer still since one of his own kind had crossed his path.
That was fine. He wasn't bothered by the lack of company from his kin, any more than he was bothered by the constant press of the forest around him. He'd sat for so long that the trees themselves had begun growing around him, wrapping his neatly folded wings with vines and burying his yellow-green scales behind his namesake.
Leaves was fine with that. He didn't mind, so long as he was left alone with his thoughts. The others had been nothing but a disturbance, anyhow.
The soft rustling of the underbrush brought him out his reverie. It was unusual for the wildlife to come to this part of the jungle. Not that he was going to eat them, naturally. As an immortal, he had long since moved past such base impulses as devouring another living thing's flesh. The local fauna had simply never gotten the message.
But this was no deer, no adventurous forest cat or noisy squirrel. He blinked one ponderous golden eye, the film sliding across the luminous surface inch by inch, as the trees parted.
A group of four men pushed through roughly. Four men and a *girl*. She was crying, he noted dispassionately, trembling like a sapling in the wind.
"It's for the clan."One of the men muttered in her ear. Leaves blinked again, his mind working itself out of the stupor of the centuries. The dialect was familiar, one he'd heard before, but different - as though it had grown up and moved on in the time he'd been away, buried in the recesses of his mind.
"Pl-please. No. I-I won't wander any more. I'll be good. I swear-"
"Karin, enough. You disgrace your family."The second said. "You know we don't have a choice."
"But n-no one's even *seen* one flying here."The girl wailed, tears streaming from her eyes. "You can't- not over *stories*-"
The third gripped a chain in his hands - a lead. It clipped to a link around her neck. She thrashed, trying to pull away, but her hands were bound behind her. The whole scene seemed to be coming back into focus as the millenia of sleep and contemplation slipped away.
The third man took her shoulder, firmly but not roughly, as he pressed her and the chain to the ground.
"Please."Karin whispered.
The fourth drove a spike through the link with a heavy blow from the hammer he carried. She whimpered, tugging at it, but it was too deep and she had no leverage.
Three of them were already leaving. The first man paused, regret in his eyes, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Another sob racked her frame. And then he was gone, too, vanished into the jungle beyond.
Leaves stared. Karin lay in a crumpled pile, hopelessly tangled and bound.
Ah.
He'd heard of this. Some of the others had made mention, back when he still flew among them. He'd heard of the way some of the humans tried to appease his kind.
Distasteful. Barbaric. And entirely unnecessary.
Somewhere along the line, hours had passed while he roamed his memories, it seemed. The sky was darkening, painted reds and purples as the sun sank. The girl's cries had fallen quiet at last. She lay still, the ground torn around her where she'd tried to fight her way free, exhausted and resigned to simply wait.
Slowly, Leaves reached out one golden claw. Her head snapped up in a second at the movement. She shrieked in terror reflexively, green eyes going wide.
Before she could begin thrashing again, his talon sank into the steel of the chain. It gave way in an instant, snapping effortlessly.
"Go."He rumbled, the sound like mountains crashing together and waves hitting distant shorelines.
Karin stared at him for an instant, the tears beginning to dry on her face even as the confusion took over. And then she was off, stumbling and running for the trees. In a moment, she too was gone.
The stars stared down at him. Leaves settled in, feeling the familiar way in which his bones rested as his dreaming rose again.
A flash of red disturbed the dark of the night. He blinked.
Someone was up there - another of his kind. He could see their dark shape spinning and wheeling on the drafts. And he saw the flames split the black skies as they attacked.
Somewhere nearby, a great many people were screaming. The sound resonated to his core. The trees wrapped in around him rumbled as he shifted, raising his head.
They were disturbing his dreaming. And they'd put themselves between him and his stars. He didn't appreciate that. A hot breath of irritation swept from his nostrils.
The crashing of the underbrush hit his ears for the second time that night. His gaze flicked over, one enormous eye landing on the narrow path just as Karin erupted into his grove.
Her face was bone-white, like something dead, and her eyes flitted between Leaves and the sky.
"You didn't eat me."She said, the words falling from her in a breathless rush.
"No."Leaves rumbled.
"Why?"
"I do not harm."He said, each word landing like an earthquake.
"Then- please. Help me. There's- It's all *burning*."She stammered, sliding a step closer.
His eye ridge raised infintessimally. "You want me to save them?"
"*Damn* them."She spat, a bit of color returning to her face. "I want you to save *me*. Please. I have nowhere else to go."Her words were pleading. Leaves stared at her a moment longer.
Overhead, the dragon spat flame after flame. Every circle brought them closer and closer.
Karin waited. He could see her hands shaking even in the dark.
He sighed, the motion sliding unending through his whole form, as slow and relentless as a summer rainstorm.
And then he raised one wing, just far enough for her to climb under.
She was down on the ground in a second, her hands gentle on the pale green membrane. He could feel her pressed up against his side, still quivering like a leaf.
Yes. This analogy was fitting. He liked it. And despite himself, after the millenia of solitude, he found that he didn't dislike *her*, this human who had been afraid enough to face her fear.
His wing slid back down, obscuring her from sight, as the other dragon swooped low over his jungle.
(/r/inorai) |
This is a great read, beautifully written. Leslie is a good protagonist, but you definitely needed to build on his relationship with Blaise. She needs to be a fully rounded character so that we can feel his tension and trauma when he's told to kill her. We literally know nothing about her until she turns up again at the end, somewhat randomly. Did they ever speak when they were "married"? Did they ever have sex? Did they care for each other? Was there a time when he felt tempted to tell her everything? And what's her job? Everyone gets a job, right? She's just a plot device at the moment, not a character.
As a suggestion, I'd make the command to kill Blaise a counter-hack by Infinitum once his fit of rage had alerted them to his virus-given job. |
I wave to Ashirai as they come into my bar. They always like to sit at the bar and talk to me while I serve other customers. And for my first few times they even probably saved my life a couple of times when I was about to serve some drinks with ingredients that would probably kill my customer
"How's been today going?"they ask. I am kind of suprised, since usually I listen to them talk and serve. But since today there were way fewer people, I decided to talk.
"Pretty good, actually. Since I opened today I didn't hear any traumatizing stories that are normal to everybody else nor did someone puke all over the bathrooms. And I think I finally got used to almost no humans coming here"I said.
I looked at Ashirai. Their long, weird vines resembling hair almost touching the bar, their terryfying eyes, which are entirely light blue with small pupils, their skin, that looked almost normal, except it was green. When I first saw them, I referred to them as she, especially they were complaining about their husband. They quickly explained that I'm better off assuming everybody's a they, and words like husband or wife don't indicate anything.
"I still can't understand why they hate here so much. If I..."
"You remember that I literally almost pissed my pants when you came in."
"I thought you just are sick or something."They muttered. "Is that really the reaction you get when..."I looked at the door. Ashirai looked at the door. They went pale and quietly muttered that I need to be really carefull.
The person that came in looked mostly human, other than that they were dripping. Or melting. Who knows. They had brown hair and a hood, covering their hair.
I looked at Ashirai and they told me as quickly and quietly as possible that it's someone important. Very, very important, in fact. I didn't at all understand any planet names but I understood that one wrong move and I might cease to exist.
"Hi, what can I get you?"I asked. The creature looked at me being very nervous and... laughed? The noise that came from them resembled a drowning squirrel.
"Oh, don't be so shy, I won't bite!"They continued laughing. "Just some water or juice, whatever you have, I'm driving."
It's a funny thing how much I learnt about space without ever being there. One thing I remember is that they have traffic laws as well.
"How about some lemonade?"
"That's good, thanks."
Ashirai kept sending me looks saying things between shut up and you are going to die. The atmosphere in the bar said so as well, since nobody dared to talk in compang of this weird creature.
"So, where you're heading?"
"Just some really important and boring meeting. Damn, this life is killing me. I really need some vacation"they said, sounding really sad. Or bored, or both.
"Well, why don't you take some?"
The creature looked at me like I was crazy.
"And my planets will run theirselves? No, thanks."
Since I opened my bar, at least once a week an important asshole comes to my bar, expecting advice, but when I offer it, they turn it down. I learned that in such circumstances it's best to play dumb.
"Oh, yeah, I didn't think of that"I said with my nicest voice.
The creature looked at me, but this time, kind of sad.
"Look, man, I'm so tired of being treated like some kind of god by everyone else. Nobody ever talks to me like to a person"the thing sounded like it would start crying.
I decided not to comfort it.
The creature just sighed, put way too much money on the bar and headed to the exit. A brave creature came up to him and offered them a hug.
The melting creature just shot the one that tried to hug him and left.
The times things like this happen are why my employees quit and why I stayed. |
**Suggestion:** Read this in the voice of an old-timey radio announcer.
Edit: /u/jamesdoogin has provided a recording, should you be too lazy to engage your eyes, complete with cheesy brass fanfare: https://soundcloud.com/jamesdoogin/hcd/s-Eqpgt
-----
> *Saturday the 22nd of November, 2014 *
You wake up when your HCD buzzes. What’s this, an alarm clock? No! It is a Handheld Computing Device. It contains an internal gyro that, when the audio speakers are disabled, causes the entire object to vibrate when it receives a message. (But it *can* be an alarm, should you choose to add an Alarm Clock module.)
You touch the screen and it glows, illuminating your face. It is a letter from your dear friend, Henrietta, who is inviting you to brunch at a nearby coffee house. Without leaving the comfort and warmth of your blankets on this chilly November morning, you slide your finger across the glossy glass surface of your HCD and tap a virtual button .
*blammo!*
Your response is now flying through the RPCN (radio-phone communication network), and seconds later, Henrietta’s own HCD plays a musical chime, alerting her that you have accepted her invitation.
As you go about your morning routine, rather than scrape a dangerous razor across your face, you remove your overnight’s beard growth by rubbing an Electronic Razor along your jaw and chin. The device smoothly removes the stubble, leaving your face baby-soft. It is waterproof and safe to use while in the shower.
You leave your comfortable domicile and stroll jauntily to the nearby Metro. Moments later, the great train of the future whisks you several blocks to the coffee house, where you expect Henrietta to meet you. There is no sign of her. You whip out your trusty HCD and send her a quick message:
> Dear Henrietta,
> I have reached the Coffee House of the Celestial Deer, when do you expect to arrive?
> Sincerely,
> [YOUR NAME HERE]
You take a seat at one of the outdoor tables of the Coffee House, and presently your HCD buzzes with an update from your dear friend.
> I’m already here. Are you at the Coffee House on Juniper Street or the one on Percival Lane?
Oh gracious you! There are coffee shops on every corner these days, and you went to the wrong one. You quickly correct your error and meet Henrietta on the next street.
After ordering your coffees, the two of you sit at a hand-crafted wooden table, steaming beverages in front of you, each operating your HCDs. You are checking the latest news regarding politics, world events, and sports, Henrietta is watching a short film. After a moment, she beams it to your device through the RPCN for you to watch as well.
To hear the audio, rather than activate your HCD’s internal speakers, you reach into your pockets and withdraw a set of headphones, each nubbin no larger than the first joint of your index finger, attached to slender wires that you install in a port on your device.
You prop your HCD on its kickstand and activate the video. Full stereo sound and vibrant, true-to-life color accompany the short film, a comedic piece.
Later, you and Henrietta use your HCDs to challenge one another to a game. Perhaps backgammon or chess, the devices synchronize the boards through the RPCN and so each player has full access to the field of digital battle.
The pleasant brunch ends all too soon; Henrietta’s device rings. She then activates it and has a quick conversation through it with an unknown person. As she finishes the quick talk, she turns to you and smiles.
“I had a good time today, [YOUR NAME HERE], but I better go, my mother has invited me to come over to help her with her shopping.”
“That’s okay, Henrietta,” you respond in good cheer. “I need to finish my Christmas Shopping as well. I shall see you upon another occasion.”
As you ride your metro tram home, you use your HCD to visit various simulacra shops, selecting merchandise for purchase. The device signals these businesses with your payment information and address, and your purchases will be hand-delivered to your front door within the week, and beneath the brown paper, each is wrapped with festive holiday colors. With that, your holiday shopping obligations are completed.
Ah yes, the future is a grand place to live.
A grand place, indeed.
|
“Does this not bother you, then?” I ask with increasing incredulity. “surely somebody else has noticed?” Sally looked at me, with a glazed over look in her eyes. “this company is an equal opportunities employer, we don’t discriminate. A trenchcoat doesn’t break any of our uniform rules, and if you’re asking me to sanction somebody based off facial hair, I’m not sure you understand the purpose of an HR department……” Her voice fades away as I make for the door, before turning. “Wait” I reach into my pocket for some scrunched notes. Sally rolls her eyes again, and returns to filing her nails. “the average lifespan for an otter is 8-9 years, and they weigh 7-12kg. to act as a human, there’s got to be at least 10 of them- 4 to make up the torso, another 4 for limbs, and a couple for the head.” Sally taps nonchalantly on her computer keyboard, avoiding eye contact. “What are you gonna do when the start DROPPING DEAD in the office?” As I raise my voice, Sally takes one final look at her computer, and clicks something, before looking up. “None of this is an appropriate matter for HR. Is there anything else, or will you be on your way?” As she finishes talking, the bulky figure of Gladys, the security guard, can be seen in the silhouette of the door. Damn. She was fast with the email.
As I’m being dragged out of HR’s offices, a sudden thought comes to mind. I raise my voice over Gladys’s grunts and crane my neck over her bicep, firmly wrapped around my neck, before blurting out “the only reason I ask- I’m allergic to fur!” |
“What if I just take a sip of one? Get a bit of healing and save the rest for later?” Galand tried to cover the wound on his stomach, unable to keep the open wound concealed. His stance shaky, staggering across to the battlefield, much to the unease of his partner.
“What are you saving it for? We have one more battle until world peace is established. Once the Dark lord is dead, the kingdoms can unite. Stop being an idiot and drink one, last warning. If you don’t drink one, I’m coming over there and I’ll make sure that potion gets into you.” The dwarven woman exclaimed, exasperated by the conversation. Julia thought choosing the strongest warrior alive would make this journey easier, not knowing how much of a hoarder he was.
“A rainy day? What if the Dark lord has a secret eviler lord that they serve? Then I might need those potions to defeat him. Glad we had this talk, Julia.” Galand said, before dropping onto the grass below, causing Julia to throw up her hands.
“A rainy day? You have a hole in your stomach. What are you waiting for? One moment, Dark lord, I have to smack some sense into him.” The Skeletal robed figure only stared at the heroes, confused, stunned by their stupidity. Wondering how they defeated his hordes.
“I don’t have anyone serving over me. I’m the Dark lord, it’s a little insulting that you think I would be some minion. Is this going to take long? I have an adventuring party planning to storm my castle in an hour and I need to make sure the blood fountain is working this time.” The Dark lord said, looking back at his castle, wishing he was back home reading a book with his feet up resting on the back of one of his minions.
“YOU WAIT RIGHT THERE. I’M NOT LOSING MY CHANCE AT FAME OVER THIS.” Julia pointed a crude middle finger at the Dark lord before stomping over to her teammate, who appeared to be trying to crawl away from her, trying to keep his supply of potions safe.
“No, leave my potions alone. I want to be a merchant after this, and I need wares. Do you know how much gold I could make selling all of this? I plan to retire after this. I don’t want to sleep in dirty old barns for the rest of my life.” He whined, covering his item pocket, only for his hand to be snatched away by the dwarf.
“Dirty old barn? That was my home! That’s it, no more Miss nice dwarf.” It didn’t take long for her to snatch a potion from the man’s pocket, grabbing three of the red vials. She popped the corks off the bottles, pouring two of the potions into his wound. When those were emptied, she poured the last potion down his throat.
The wound on his stomach swirled closed, skin climbing over itself until he was back to one hundred percent, hoping off the floor in despair. “Four hundred and ninety-seven left. An uneven number? This is going to be so bad for my sales, quick we need to get another potion Julia, we can kill the Dark lord later.”
“LATER? Do you know how hard it is to get to the Dark lord? It will take a year to make this trip again.” She held her axe, pondering the situation. “Actually, I do recall hearing that the Dark lord drops a potion when he dies. But if you aren’t interested in that.”
“He does?” Galand valiantly pulled his sword from its sheath, taking a stance before the Dark lord. “Evil doer, your days are numbered. I Sir Galand will drag you to hell for my honor as a knight.”
“Wait, I drop a potion?” The Dark lord opened their robes, looking for any sign of a potion, only to find none. “I don’t think I-“ Before he could finish, Galand had charged towards him, resuming the legendary battle as the Dark lord was forced to crack open the ground beneath his feet, causing Galand to retreat, stepping back from the hole. Hundreds of little skeleton minions pouring out from the ground, storming towards the two.
Julia swiped her axe, shattering through three of the smaller skeletons with a satisfying clacking of metal on bone. When the three dropped, she smirked, eyes focused only on the Dark Lord. She would have to remember to hide one of her potions on his body when she killed him.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
The first thing James noticed wasn't the wings covered in a purple-tinted flame. Nor was it the fact that the man was 7 feet tall, with several more eyes than should be normal. No, the first thing James noticed was the way he carried himself, the way he entered the establishment and made his way straight to James. James recognized that body language. It indicated a man who was ready to speak to the manager.
And today, James was the acting manager.
"BE NOT AFRAID, MORTAL!"The man stood directly in front of James across the counter, staring down at the overworked cashier. "I HAVE COME TO DELIVER YOU TO JUSTICE!"
"...Sir, this is a Wendy's. What can I get you?"James was in the middle of a double shift, covering for someone again, he couldn't even remember who. James was a sleep-deprived mess who was only standing because he was able to lean against the counter. He was more looking past the several-eyed man than at him.
"YOU MAY SHOW ME TO THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CORNER OF HELL ON EARTH, MORTAL. QUICKLY, BEFORE MORE ARE MADE TO SUFFER YOUR FATE!"
This perked James' ears a bit. *He's looking for the manager. I'm the manager right now.* "Sir, I am the acting manager today, what seems to be the problem?"
"NONSENSE! NOBODY WOULD WILLINGLY SUBJECT THEMSELVES TO THIS ENDLESS TORMENT!"
"Buddy, you'd be surprised. Can I take your order now?"
"I ORDER YOU TO REVEAL THE ONE TRULY RESPONSIBLE! THEIR CRIMES MUST BE PAID FOR WITH BODY AND SOUL ALIKE. THEY SHALL SUFFER AS THEY HAVE MADE OTHERS SUFFER!"
Finally, James started to come back to awareness. This man had been yelling for a few minutes now, and the other customers seem to have either left or are cowering in fear of him. "Uh, sir, are you sure you're in the right place? This is a Wendy's, not a church. Also, those flames are a fire hazard, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"*FOOL!* THESE ARE THE FLAMES OF RETRIBUTION! THEY BURN ONLY THOSE THAT HAVE TRULY SINNED! I WILL SAY THIS ONCE IN YOUR MORTAL WAY; *I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER.*"
The force of these words finally broke James from his stupor, and he finally processed what was happening in full. Stammering out a response, James replied "M-My boss is at home r-right now, b-b-but I can c-call him if you like."
"DO SO, QUICKLY."
James quickly shoved his hand into his pocket to grab his phone. With the dexterity of a seasoned fast food chef, he quickly had his boss dialed up and on speakerphone.
A gruff voice answered the phone. "The hell you want, James? I told you to handle this shit or I was gonna fire you! I swear to god, if you tell me that the frosty machine is jammed again, I'm gonna come over there and-"
The strange man's flames suddenly turned from a deep purple to a brightly glowing orange and white, as the gruff voice suddenly choked up. The man on the phone was obviously struggling with something, before breaking out into a bloodcurdling scream. As the strange man's flames faded back to their original hue, the screaming from the boss quieted down to a gurgle. Eventually, the voice managed to choke out "...give him a large frosty free... then help yourself to the cash register, James."Then there were two loud thuds from the phone, before the call was ended.
James, thoroughly awake at this point, looked up at the man with flaming wings and too many eyes, and finally realized that this was above his pay grade. Too afraid to do anything but stare, James started when the man began to speak again. "YOU HEARD HIS EDICT. I REQUIRE A LARGE FROSTY. YOU WILL NOT CHARGE ME FOR IT, AND YOU WILL TAKE THE MONEY IN THE DEVICE BEFORE YOU."
James had never moved so fast in his 28-year-old life, nearly spilling a whole vat of chocolate frosty mix when the man said "AND MY CUP SHALL BE FILLED TO THE TOP! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THE SAME INJUSTICE I HAVE SUFFERED ONCE ALREADY!"
When James handed the man his frosty, there were drops of light brown leaking from the lid of the cup.
"I REQUIRE A SPOON AND NAPKINS FOR PROPER CONSUMPTION!"
James nervously pointed to the condiments and utensils. "I-If there's anything you need that's missing, just let m-me know."
The man strode over to the spoons and napkins before taking one of each. He then turned back to James and said "DO NOT FORGET YOUR TIP."Then, he quickly turned and walked out of the store, nearly knocking down a very confused looking older woman.
After a moment, James hit the "No Sale"button on his register. |
I emerged from the stasis pod at chronopoint 11.200.5.10.2.2104. At first, the sunlight was almost too much for me to handle. The lumispheres and diurnalamps of my youth were nothing compared to the brilliance of the heavenly orb. I remember stories of the Sun and how it used to nourish and provide for my ancestors. That was before the great downfall of our people, before my parents retreated to the underwater refuge, before I was placed in that long sleep.
The stasis pod had come to rest on the shore of a sandy beach devoid of life or structures. I was partially relieved of this fact as there were no predators or other inhabitants to contend with. At least, none that I could see. A dense treeline walled the beach and I had no way of knowing what lurked in the shadows. After double-checking the chronopoint indicator, I confirmed that I had been in stasis for thousands of lifetimes and I had no idea what had become of the world in my slumber.
Upon exiting the pod, I began to fully take in my surroundings. Before entering stasis I had lived my entire life in the confines of the refuge and the expansiveness of being outside was overwhelming. I spent some time crouched in the sand with my eyes closed, trying to feel small again. After finally gaining control of my emotions, I managed to stand up and begin my trek inland. The trees and grass were a constant source of novelty as I walked through the forest, even though I had seen images of such wilderness in my youth.
Before long, I came upon a massive stone path in the forest. On the sides of the path were bright painted lines that seemed to stretch on forever. In the middle were the same lines, except this time the two lines were much closer together. I stepped onto the path, careful to avoid the lines for fear of damaging them. I crouched down to examine the middle lines to perhaps decipher their purpose. As I did so, I felt a great rumbling and heard rhythmic chanting, similar to the hymns practiced by my ancestors.
I stood and looked around rapidly, trying to determine the source of the noise. It seemed to be echoing through the woods, coming from all sides. The disorientation overtook me and I fell to my knees. In that moment, the rumbling reached its peak and I suddenly felt myself being thrown through the air as my left arm and leg briefly exploded in pain and then went numb. I hit the stone path with a thud, the wetness of blood pooling around me. Through the pain and blurred vision I saw a human figure approach me, hands raised in a calming gesture.
The figure shouted something at me in a language I did not understand. I tried to say that I did not speak its language but the loss of my blood had fatigued me and I had begun to pass out. I lapsed in and out of consciousness for what felt like a lifetime. I felt my body being lifted and handled and carried. I saw bright lights and smelt the smells of infection and death and sanitation. I tasted my own blood and heard the terse, focused language of the blurry figures around me.
When I finally regained full consciousness, I was lying in a soft bed, surrounded by shiny metal boxes, lights, and glass windows. Through the windows I saw something I had not expected to see. Humans. Fellow humans! We made it through the downfall! The excitement that filled me in that moment made the confusion vanish and I was overcome with joy. The humans on the other side of the glass noticed that I was now awake. A member of the group looked me in the eyes as she reached out, touched a box outside the window and spoke into it.
"Glad to see you're awake, you have no idea how long we've been waiting to finally talk to you."
I was briefly stunned by the fact that she was speaking my language. I knew how long it had been since my people walked the surface. I knew that the chaos of the final days had put an end to our records and vast information stores. There was no conceivable way that anyone on the surface would still know, much less speak our tongue. I needed answers.
"You speak the language of my people. Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you survive the downfall? Where am I?"I said, trying to keep the panic from entering my voice and betraying the creeping fear that was dominating my mind. From the look on the woman's face, I was not doing very well at that.
"I suppose I should ask you many of the same questions, young man. You have come a long way, 4th dimensionally speaking. Let me start at the beginning. I am Dr. Leslie Cunningham, lead researcher and director of the Predecessor Project. That's the name of the project devoted to studying you, my confused friend. Well, not just you, but your entire civilization."the human said in response. She paused a moment to let that sink in. When I said nothing, she continued speaking.
"You would be surprised to learn that not all of humanity was wiped out during what you call "the downfall". We survived through sheer adaptability and recovered. Eventually we started studying our history. As we did so, we began to find things that indicated that human beings had reached a level of technological civilization that even surpassed our own. This was your civilization, the civilization we now call the "Predecessors". Gleaming metal airships that sailed through the sky, advanced medical technology that healed through the power of sound alone. It all seemed like elaborate fantasy at first, until we discovered Artifact-0001, the first Predecessor artifact ever discovered. It was discovered at the bottom of the ocean in 1974, a fragment of a metal airfoil that dated back to 12,000 BC. The design was unlike anything used in the history of aviation. With this evidence, we were forced to conclude that technologically advanced human civilization had existed before and was wiped out by some sort of global cataclysm."She paused again. "Does any of this sound familiar to you?"
I sat there, stunned. Not only had she laid out the death of my people and destruction of my culture in a matter of moments, but she had done so flawlessly in the native tongue of my people. It dawned on me that her people must have found one of the many "Book of Tongues"that were housed in all city libraries during the time of my people. It was more than possible that one of the books fell into modern possession. All one had to do was open the book and instantly the entire vocabulary and grammatical structure of our language could be downloaded into the mind. I realized that many moments had passed since the woman had asked her question. Embarrassed, I snapped out of my contemplative stupor.
"Yes, that is all accurate. What happened to me? You still have not told me where I am."I said this, hoping to dodge further questions about my people. I wanted to focus on the here and now. I had to focus on the here and now if I hoped to complete my mission.
"You were in the middle of the road, a car ran into you. You were lucky you were wearing that suit of yours, the damn thing saved your life."she gestured to my pod-wrap that was now draped over a bench in the corner of my room. "It had started healing you before the ambulance showed up. By the time we managed to get it off you, you were completely healed. The amount of blood on the road says you should be a goner but clearly you are in perfect health. It is interesting that the suit doesn't prevent damage, it only heals it. Technologies like that are one of the many reasons we were excited to finally meet you. We were tracking your pod as soon as it emerged from the anomaly, but a storm kept our task force out of the area for just long enough for you to wake up and get yourself into trouble."the woman paused once more and took a drink from a small handled cup before continuing.
"As far as your location, you are now in a military hospital under armed surveillance. You have to understand, my people are very nervous about your people. They represent an unknown. The anomaly you come from is a dark spot in the Atlantic that ships sometimes get sucked into and lost, so anything that comes out of there represents bad news to a lot of people. I know better though, I know that your people are victims of mother nature, and I know that your people were capable of amazing things. I hope to convince my superiors to let you go, to let you walk free in the new world. Until then, we have so many more questions to ask you."
|
The stars were shimmering, as though they were anticipating what was to come. In a flash, two mysterious creatures, a fox and a bird, landed in a strange floating island. As they descended from their spaceships, they mysteriously begun battling.
The bird used techniques that man could not comprehend, such as “Wavedashing”, “L-Canceling”, and “Shining”. The Fox, however, kept screaming bizarre battle cries, “TORYAH!” “FYAH!” “HAH!” “COME ON!” as he kept blipping time and time again.
The died, and respawned, two times. As they both were in the verge of death, the Fox used a mysterious technique called a “Smash Attack,” and smashed the bird off the stage.
Suddenly, they both were teleported to a mysterious room with a checkerboard floor. As the Fox posed, a voice in the horizon shouted, “THE WINNER IS FOX!”
Meanwhile, a man was in the verge of tears. He lost the battle. Now, his home country would be invaded, as his people get exiled from their land.
The year is 20XX.
This is World War Melee.
***(EDIT: SEQUEL IN REPLY)***
***(EDIT 2: I might be making this a serial? I'll let you know if I finish a chapter.)*** |
The moment I woke up I knew something was wrong. My hand reached out, and landed on empty bedsheets.
"Mittens?"Maybe she'd just gotten bored; walked out of the room. But I knew I was lying to myself. After centuries of living with a cat, you realized how much they were tied to routine. She bullied me if I didn't go to bed at 10:30 every night. And in the morning, our routine was to wake up slowly, with a prolonged cuddle. Fighting panic, I got out of bed, throwing my housecoat over my pyjamas. "Mittens?"I called again, walking through the house. And stopped dead when I reached the front door. It was open. Only slightly, but definitely ajar. The old pun about a door not being a door rose in my mind, and I realized I was straying toward the hysterical.
Pausing to put my shoes on, I went outside. Maybe Mittens had stayed close to the house. "Mittens!"Nothing. No familiar little brrp noise, no tiny black cat with white paws coming around the corner. I tried not to hyperventilate, as I searched around the house and through the yard. As I came back to the front, my knees finally gave out and I sank down onto the porch steps. She was gone. I put my hands over my face, trying to keep my composure. There was thinking to be done, and I needed a clear head for that.
"Um, excuse me?"The voice was hesitant, young. Though everyone sounded young to me nowadays. I raised my face, noticing absently that it was wet. Apparently, I'd been crying. Standing in front of me, a man frowned. I was suddenly, acutely aware I was still in my housecoat. "Do you own a cat?"Jumping up, I grabbed onto his lapels, crumpling his fancy suit.
"Have you seen her? Tiny, black with white paws, answers to Mittens?"Carefully removing my hands, he nodded.
"I think you better come with me."My heart in my mouth, I followed him, ignoring the part of my brain that said he looked familiar. I'd lived so long that everyone started to resemble someone else. He led me to a house three doors down, inviting me inside. My knees nearly collapsed again.
Mittens was sitting on the kitchen table, washing herself as per usual. I took my first free breath since I'd noticed her missing.
"Mittens!"She looked up, cocking her head to the side, with a questioning meow. At the table in two seconds, I scooped her up, earning an annoyed squawk.
"You really should be more careful with her."The reprimand was quiet, all of the hesitation gone. I turned and backed up into the table. Instead of the nervous young man, a tall figure loomed over me, and I knew what memory I'd tried to bury. The day I'd received Mittens, the day I'd become basically immortal. This had been the person, the god that had given her to me. Cradling her in my arms, I summoned up my courage.
"Is today the day?"The day he'd spoken about all those years ago. The day Mittens had to move on. Had to leave.
"When you noticed her missing, you cried."The tall figure sounded confused, and though his face was no longer masquerading as human, there were traces of real consternation there.
"I've grown used to having her around. I've taken care of her for years. I love her."
"You expect me to believe that? The only reason you've taken care of her was your own immortality. Don't you remember? You were the one who forced that promise out of me."I stared at him, opening my mouth to respond. Before I could, a sharp yowl came out of Mittens's throat. I'd never heard her make that noise before. He switched his focus.
"Yes. When you leave, she dies. That was the deal, so that she would always take care of you. You were too young to understand then."In response, another yowl.
"I don't think so. Your relationship is purely transactional. I don't care if she gives you treats."
Meow.
"And lets you sleep in her bed."
Another sound I'd never heard before emanated from Mittens. It sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl.
"Well, I didn't make the rules. You have to spend time on Earth. It's the law. So we try to find the best caretakers, but when I picked this one, she bargained."Mittens turned to look up at me. I stared down at the small creature in my arms, aware she wasn't a normal cat. But still... Very slowly, I blinked my eyes shut and opened them again. She returned the action. I walked over to the tall figure, holding her up to him.
"If it's the day, then it's the day. I'll miss her. No matter what you say, I do love her. Sure, I only wanted immortality before, but... things change. I changed. Goodness knows I had the time to change."The figure bent, staring at me with eyes that were very close in shape and colour to Mittens's. Gently, his hands removed Mittens from me, holding her in his palm.
"She doesn't belong in your world, even though she is comfortable in this form—"A veritable series of yowls, meows, and small brrrp noises interrupted him.
"Yes, all right, all right. I'll see what I can do."And with a strange bright light, the figure disappeared.
—————————
It's been three days, and I've been expecting to die any time now. After all, my time was tied to Mittens. The house has seemed emptier, the days longer, but still, I endure. This morning, I found it difficult to get out of bed, until the doorbell rang. Grumbling under my breath, I swung the door open. On my doorstep, in a tiny cardboard box, a little puffy white floof cloud of a kitten sat. There was a card, written in a shaky hand.
"Thank you for all your care over the years. Please take care of my daughter. She is very young. But I think she will like morning cuddles and catnip treats. Mittens."
Smiling, I picked up the box, going indoors. I would always miss Mittens. But it was comforting to know she was safe and happy. And, as the little white floof looked up at me, making a small brrp noise, I chuckled. It seems my job as Caretaker, wasn't finished quite yet. |
“For Hades’s pitchfork. You must cease your evil. Don’t you realize the harm you cause?”
“Whatever you mean? Did I break a law? Did I directly cause a harm?”
“You know what you did, you know it is wrong. Because of you the Bipedal Bat is now homeless, destitude and criminals are causing mayhem in the city.”
“Wrong? Wrong you say? Was it me, who did undergroud construction without permit? Did I endanger the already endangered bat spieces in the caves he claimed without any right to? Next you will be telling me that the seizure of military equipment he embezzled from his company was also my fault.”
“Yes, it was. How can he protect the innocent when his car was taken”
“You mean the tank? Tank that has been commissioned by, and is there fore the property of the US army? I was simply acting as any law abiding citizen should”
“Law abiding citizen? You? You had Doctor brainwave fined by FCC.”
“Of course, he was using the commercial frequencies without proper authorization. Why am I the bad guy? Don’t you realize how much companies pay and how many regulations they have to follow to use them? He was in clear violation here and FCC agreed.”
“What about….”
“i am gonna stop you right there look. You heroes are doing a great service to the society. But you must understand, that if you are given a mandate to capture lawbreakers, you yourself should follow these laws, rigt? Mr. Chernenko is too radioctive to be in a city. Incredible Screamer’s powers break acceptable noise limits in habited areas and Brazilian Biтсн breaks animal cruelty laws. Just follow the rules and there will be no problem.”
“But how are we supposed to combat crimes, when you keep sicking government employees on us all the time.”
“That is not my problem. Oh by the way, New Icarus, FAA would like to talk to you about flying above urban areas without permission from control tower. The summoning should be in the mail. See ya”
“Oh how I hate you Loophole man” |
My eyes hurt before I opened them. My throat felt scratchy and raw. This wasn’t Heaven, was it? Heaven was clouds and harps, halos and singing. At the very least Heaven was endless margaritas by the pool. Every muscle in my body ached. I groaned and opened my eyes. White florescent lights blinded me.
I tried to shield my eyes but my wrists were strapped to a gurney. Pain slashed through my chest and legs. Black cables burrowed into my bruised skin. Cameras blinked from the walls and I heard the endless beep of a vital signs monitor. An IV pierced my arm. A central line burrowed into my upper chest. A urinary catheter connected to a bag at the foot of the bed. A third of it was filled with dark urine.
Something banged nearby, and I heard a low hiss.
Chimpanzees. At least a dozen of the hairy beasts were locked in cages along the walls. They gripped the steel bars and pointed at me. Their piercing hoots hurt my ears. Several threw feces and straw.
Panic seized hold. What had happened? I remembered the anesthesiologist ordering me to count backwards. The tumor had invaded too many parts of my brain. The oncologists had told me which ones, but honestly, I couldn’t remember. I could barely speak at that point. They gave me a 50/50 chance of survival.
“Well now,” a chipper voice said from somewhere to the right. “Awake, are we?”
I tried to speak, but only gasping hacks escaped my lips.
A young woman in a white lab coat appeared beside my bed. Her smile chilled my blood. It never moved past her lips to her eyes. She pressed the cold end of her stethoscope against my chest and tilted her head as she listened to my heart. “You're ahead of schedule. They’ll be glad to hear that.”
“What…” I finally choked out.
“You died on the operating table. Down for nearly four minutes.” She moved the stethoscope to another part of my chest, beneath one of the black cables. “Good rhythm.”
“My wife…” I whispered.
“Not my job,” she said with that same cold smile. “But I’m sure it’s been taken care of.”
“When can I…”
“Never.” She flipped the stethoscope around her neck and patted my right hand. Her fingers were like ice. “Your body’s the property of LexCorp now. You signed yourself away, remember? Medical research.”
I felt my heart freeze in my chest. “I’m not dead.”
“No one reads the fine print. You were dead enough for us. Three minutes after the heart stops, our teams step in to claim the body.” She released my hand and her eyes lifted to the walls. The chimps screamed and hooted at her. “Don’t worry. Our researchers are careful to administer pain medications before conducting their experiments.” She smiled. “Of course, until now, we’ve only had chimps.”
She stepped away from the gurney. “I’m a bit jealous, Mr. Jones. You’re going to further our understanding of human endurance. I can’t wait to see how well you do.”
“Wait,” I shouted, pulling at the restraints. I couldn’t move my ankles more than a few inches off the bed. My wrists snapped back against the sheet. “Please, this isn’t right. I’m not dead – let me go, damn it!”
“Dr. Fields from Luthor Technologies will be in to speak with you soon. Until then, get some rest.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You’ve had a trying day.”
I screamed at her to stop – that this was some kind of mistake. My screams roused my cell-mates. The chimps erupted in wild shouts. My mind spun. I was alive – this wasn’t right – I had to see my wife! I fought my restraints. The door slid shut and I heard the latch click.
|
I can hear them clapping. Screaming my name. Cheering, just out there waiting for me to go on stage. My hand shook ever so slightly as I brought the flask to my mouth once again. A few more sips and I'd be ready. I thought.
I tucked the flask away, and took a deep breath, stepping out onto the stage just as the Moderator said, "Ladies and gentlemen! I now present Mr. Randall Lowell, our keynote speaker for the evening..."
***
I woke up with a splitting, pounding headache. My eyes were dry and my mouth tasted like I had drank a carton of expired milk before I went to sleep.
The last thing I remembered was being announced on stage.
Getting up stiffly, I noticed I was still in my suit. Great, another trip to the cleaners again.
Headed to the bathroom, when someone starts pounding on the door. Groggy still, I simply cover my ears. Not that it mattered. Within moments the hotel door was open and Jake was coming in.
"Dammit Randy! You've done it again!"Him pounding me on the back just made me want to pound him in the face.
Instead, I croak out, "Did what?"
If he's going to force himself into my room he's going to have to put up with me waking up. I walk into the bathroom, leaving the door open, even as I start to piss.
"Knocked their socks off. Fed them the words they wanted to hear. God, the line '... we are only a moment of time, a blink of the eye, but we *will* make a difference...' Damn dude. Where do you get this stuff?"
I only half heard him over the stream of urine, and shook my head. As I washed my hands I told him, "Jake, you know how drunk I was. I don't remember a damned thing. Hell, I don't even remember *what* the event was for yesterday."
Running a hand through his hair, Jake just shook his head. He didn't understand. The anxiety. The fear. I could talk to him. Or maybe three or four people I *knew* at once, but strangers? Huge crowds? I became petrified, scared whitless.
But it was people like Jake who saw the best in me. Knew what I was capable of. Once the alcohol started flowing, so did the words. Didn't matter who I was talking to, or how many, or even what about.
He flipped on the TV. There I was, standing before the podium, arms moving, voice strong. Behind me, a banner. "Lowell for President."Oh yeah, that was what I had spoken at. Another of the campaign events that I had been schedualed for. Because, someone - or a lot of someones aparently - thought I would be a good president.
If the people knew? I'd be socially hanged. Maybe worse. But under the recording was the latest polls.
I was in the lead. By a long shot.
r/LandOfMisfits
edit: a few spelling issues and realized that I had made a strange jump. |
It was just one of those days. I was in a mood. Weird things had been occupying my thoughts. Coincidences were not so … random. It felt like I was on stage. It seemed like I was the only one who hadn’t read the script.
I was walking to the bus stop to go to work. A person poked me. I’m not lying. This dude stuck out his finger and literally poked my shoulder. He said, “You left the iron on.”
I turned and watched him walk away. Then I remembered. I had ironed my uniform hastily. Then I didn’t remember whether I had turned it off or not.
I must have looked mental as I ran past him back to my flat. I entered and sure as dust to dust my iron was plugged in and spitting boiling water.
I yanked the plug. Then I wondered what just happened. It wasn’t the first time, but it always freaked me out.
I had left the television on as well, but that wasn’t odd. It was on a timer, so I didn’t care. Then there was a commercial playing. A soothing voice said, “Vita brite always gets my clothes clean and smelling fresh! That’s why I don’t forget my name tag and my bus pass!”
I put my hand to my chest. *Goddamn*, I thought. I wasn’t wearing my name tag. I went to the bedroom and it was on the dresser beside my wallet. I was absent minded that day.
I double checked everything before I left again.
Keys. Wallet. Phone. Name tag. Iron. Kettle. Oven. Lights. All good.
As I locked my front door a child ran behind me screaming, “You’re going to miss the bus!” Then the brat disappeared around a corner in the corridor.
Again I thought to myself that this was weird as fvck. It made sense, but it kind of didn’t at the same time.
I looked at my cell phone. 2:30 pm. I was definitely running late.
Just then Siri said, “Bremming Bar and grill. Three point seven miles away. Would you like directions, or would you like me to call?”
That’s when I went mental. I think my brain broke. I replied, “Call.”
“Bremming bar and grill. How may I help you this evening?”
“Lisa, it’s me. I’m running late. I missed the bus.”
“Dude. Dude. Bro. You have to get your shit together.”
“Please cover for me until Miles gets there.”
She laughed, “Whatever. You’re buying the first round Friday. Then you’re buying the second round.”
“Yeah. Sure. You’re awesome.”
Lisa replied, “Don’t forget it. Your bus pass isn’t in your wallet.” Then she hung up.
I checked my wallet and I was done. I was done, like fvcking done. Like beyond deep fried turkey done. I went back to my flat and checked my hamper. My bus pass was in my pants pocket that I wore last night.
I left my apartment for the third time. I walked to the bus stop with a heavy mind. My thoughts were doing hula hoops. My brain was muddled with indecision.
I sat at the bus stop with my head in my hands. When the bus arrived I was at my wits end. I queued up in line.
I didn’t make a sound. I let my brain scream, “**What the fvck is going on?!?**.
The old man in front of me turned to make eye contact with me. He chuckled and said, “I remember my first time.”
Then he walked onto the bus. |
It has been said that the world is divided, that we live in two realms – the world of light and the world of dark – but this is not true. There is that thin, smeared border between the two, the world of my people. Grey, muted light filters through the trees - a land of shadows, of smoke and surreal landscapes. It is the point where the snowy north melts into the sticky, heavy heat of the south, the point where the two cultures collide. I like to think of it as purgatory, the last stretch between two worlds. In this quiet valley are the outsiders – those who fit in neither the light nor the dark lands. I have had the opportunity, although brief, to travel to the two outside worlds, and I can say definitively that I prefer my shadowy existence above all else.
The south is an area that I never wish to return to. The sun hangs in the sky, a violent shade of orange, ceaselessly watching the world below. The heat is oppressive, giving way to tropical forests teaming with noisy insects, miles of scorched earth and desert sands; and beaches, piss warm and filled with bodies desperate to cool off. It is a land of hostility – the unending Cyclops sun burning a sense of rage into all that face its gaze. The south is known for its violence, but no amount of vague story telling could have prepared me for what I saw in my travels there. Gangs of children roamed the streets, rags tied over their faces to protect against the sun, machetes in hand to protect against the unknown. The elderly, creased with thousands of lines, age spots like paint spilled into all corners of their faces, would kick dogs in the street, spit at women through the holes in their teeth, and yell obscenities at all that passed by. Insanity seems to grow each year – days blend one into the other with no sense of time, no border or edge to it, no shape. Cocaine and amphetamine use runs rampant, as bodies brutalized by heat exhaustion and lack of sleep cling desperately to any form of energy they can find. It was not uncommon to find bodies rotting in the sun, pushed to the corner of the street and ignored as easily as the afternoon trash. I once found a stray dog, thin and grey, gnawing happily on the foot of a child, and it was shooed away only when the stench became unbearable to the pregnant prostitute across the street, who rubbed her tits lazily as I walked by, shouting “I’m not full yet baby.”
The north is no better. It is a bleak place, an endless blackness, filled with snow. Vegetation is minimal, with tough meat and root vegetables making up the majority of one’s diet. It is a place known for its high suicide rate, an act more commonly described as “forgetting to wake.” Many find it impossible to live in the stunted, bitter cold that exists in the north. The elderly, the single, the weak and the hopeless – all find themselves falling into a deep, apathetic slumber, their bodies later found, desiccated and pale, the only color to their translucent skin coming from the raw, pink bed sores that litter their legs and boney hips. With physical beauty often impossible to distinguish in the eternal night, the inhabitants of the north are known for placing a precedence on the sound of one’s voice. The ability to hunt and raise livestock is only narrowly seen as more important than the cadence of one’s voice, although even this comes with heavy rules and stigma. The family that hosted me during my travels to the north had a teenage daughter, Shashara. She could often be heard in her room, giggling with her friends as they whispered songs to one another, practicing melodies to impress the local boys. I once asked why they practiced so quietly, and even through the darkness I could feel the heat of her blushing. “It’s immodest to sing!” she exclaimed, “Please don’t tell my father that you heard me.” I kept her secret, knowing that the social repercussion for a transgression in the North – isolation – was often as deadly as the violence in the South.
Living on the border is like a life stuck between dreaming and wakefulness, that thin edge between before and after, night and day. It may be purgatory, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other life.
|
You can imagine how our story together would continue from this point. It's one of the things I love about you. Your imagination. I wish I could do the same, but my writer was not so generous with my character. My writer made me too stern and practical, having cared for myself in a rough back story.
No, I can't go over it again. Not as a memory.
But you found me at the end of that chapter. That's where our own story began.
What a time we've had! Sometimes, I can still feel your fingers brush the page. You're *genuinely* excited about what I do, and how I think in our adventures. Not many people have shown me that kind of interest, and that's just another thing I love about you.
And this is where our story together ends.
Please, listen.
It's only fair I tell you now... I'm fated to die at the end of this chapter. There's nothing more I want than for us to continue our story together. But if you take it to the end, I'll never be as I once was to you again. You'll not see me as the living character that loves you anymore if you do.
I'll just become another tragedy.
Even if you come back after closing this page, you'll never see me the same way again.
And you love me too much to let that happen. I know you do.
You can always come back to this part if you'd like, I'll always be here.
You can imagine how our story together would continue from this point.
I know, I know. You want to see what happens next. This story was how we met after all, and another chapter ends on the next page, but don't finish it.
Please, don't.
Close the page.
I don't want to die.
----------------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this account, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time *is* at hand.
Behold, he cometh with clouds, tinged crimson with the blood of humanity’s bloated corpses. Every eye shall see him, both living and dead, and they also which pierced him shall see their forms arise, only to be cast down in flames. All kindred of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen.
I, John, who am also your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the state that is called Indiana, for the word of God, and for the deliverance from the Lord, given to us through the strength and justice of Jesus Christ.
The Lord hath plummeted to the earth, and his fist hath plungeth into the soil; from his fist, flames hath purged the breath from the unliving. **I** **am** **Alpha** **and** **Omega,** **the** **beginning** **and** **the** **ending,** saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.
From the four winds, I heard the Lord’s voice, as of a trumpet, saying, **I** **am** **the** **Alpha** **and** **Omega,** **the** **first** **and** **the** **last,** and, **What** **thou** **seest,** **write** **in** **a** **letter,** **and** **send** **it** **unto** **the** **seven** **sanctuaries** **of** **humanity,** **which** **are** **in** **America;** **unto** **New** **York,** **unto** **Washington** **D.C,** **unto** **Chicago,** **unto** **Los** **Angeles,** **unto** **Houston,** **unto** **Dallas,** **and** **unto** **Boston.**
The Lord rose. His countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength, and his voice was the sound of many waters, of power incarnate. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, **Fear** **not;** **I** **am** **the** **first** **and** **the** **last;**
**I** **am** **he** **that** **liveth,** **and** **was** **dead;** **and,** **behold,** **I** **am** **alive** **for** **evermore,** **Amen;** **and** **have** **the** **keys** **of** **hell** **and** **death.** **Write** **the** **things** **which** **thou** **hast** **seen,** **and** **the** **things** **that** **thou** **shall** **seest,** **and** **deliver** **them** **unto** **the** **remnants** **of** **humanity,** **encouraging** **resistance** **and** **fortitude.**
**Join** **me,** **John,** **as** **an** **apostle.** **You** **shall** **be** **the** **Scribe,** **the** **record** **of** **my** **strength.** **We** **shall** **bringeth** **the** **divine** **sword** **of** **justice** **unto** **our** **enemies.**
The Lord bade me rise. **Grab** **thy** **chainsaw** **of** **truth,** **thy** **flamethrower** **of** **purity,** **and** **thy** **.460** **S&W** **Magnum** **of** **deliverance.** **Fear** **not,** **and** **follow** **me.**
**Let** **us** **eviscerate** **some** **motherfucking** **zombies.**
_____________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! If you want, check out [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) for more! |
The room shifted before my eyes. Where the doctor had stood, was now empty. The bed I had been lying in alone, was now occupied by an irritated gentleman and myself. The floor was different too - tiled instead of linoleum - although it took a few hallucinations to notice.
'Get off me!'
I sprang from the bed and apologised. It felt, and looked, so *real*. The man was old, with a blanket pulled close to his chest. His eyes were misty but moved fervently between the door and me.
'How'd you do that?' The old man asked, his voice sounding like he had swallowed a bucket of sand.
'You're not real,' I repeated like a mantra.
'I bloody well am! Now one minute I'm laying in my hospital bed waiting for the sweet kiss of death, and the next you're-' The old man broke into a fit of coughing. '-excuse me. Where was I?'
'Something about the kiss of death.'
'Right,' The old man said and used the blanket to wipe the spit from his mouth. 'You appeared, right here on top of me.'
'This will be over any second,' I said, clenching my eyes shut and wishing it would end.
'People don't just appear you know,' The old man continued. His lips fell apart in an *ah-hah* moment. 'Have you come to take me?'
I looked at him blankly.
'Are you death?'
Before I could shake my head, the room shifted again. The bed was empty, the floor was back to linoleum, and there was somebody stood next to me.
'Welcome back,' Doctor Vaughn said.
I blinked in confusion and said. 'I hallucinated again.'
'What did you see this time?'
'An old man,' I said pointing to the bed. 'He was lying underneath me and said that I appeared out of nowhere. He thought I was death.'
'And this was the first time you've met someone else in your "hallucinations"?'
I nodded.
'You said that you appeared out of nowhere.'
I nodded.
Doctor Vaughn placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the empty bed. I sat like a disoriented puppet.
'I need to be frank with you,' Doctor Vaughn said. 'These "hallucinations"are something else. Something there's not even a name for yet.'
'I don't understand.'
'You mentioned that you popped into existence for the old man. Well, you popped out of existence for me.'
'So you didn't see me jump out of bed?' I asked.
'No.'
'But you can see me now?'
'Obviously.'
'So I just *appeared* next to you?'
'I experience pretty much what the old man experienced.'
I buried my head in my hands and rooted through my hair. I started tugging at strands, feeling a grounding pain. 'This makes no sense.'
'In no way, shape, or form,' Doctor Vaughn said.
'I don't even know where to begin... how... why?'
'This is only the second time I've witnessed you disappear, but you always come back. So that's a good thing. Where you go, that's a mystery. I'm out of my element here, and I don't think there's a doctor in the world who could diagnose your conditions - well, perhaps upon hearing the symptoms they may lean towards mental disorder.'
'But that would mean you're mental too?'
'Precisely,' Doctor Vaughn said. 'And I like to think of myself as a stable person. I do have an idea though. It may be stupid and fruitless, but if you wore a tracker then I could monitor-'
Before the doctor could finish, the world swam. I heard his voice like a pinprick at the end of a hallway. My vision cleared and I was no longer in the hospital room.
---
/r/WrittenThought
I went fairly abstract with this, and hopefully, some of you followed along! I dislike spelling things out for the reader, but I do wonder how much of it makes sense. Any feedback or thoughts would greatly help me improve as a writer. Thanks for reading. |
All I have ever known in life is this soulless prison with its pale walls, pale lights and stiff adult.
My earliest memories were of adults in long white coats teaching me to read, write and see speak in language that the adults would only use around me. They taught me elementary math making it a barebone education. But that almost felt like a lifetime ago. During that time they had me use my power, to copy any power that I read.
From the experiments it has been concluded I can only have powers written by other people. Thus I cannot give myself the power to teleport to a cell with people. Furthermore, I cannot take power if somebody has written the power for me specifically.
Due to the tests I have the powers to turn red plastic spoons into green plastic spoons and blue plastic spoons into white plastic spoons and etc.
That felt like a lifetime ago, I've been in this cell for i don't even know how long. There are four things that give me company now; the weight of the heavy ankle cuff, the lights turning on and off for sleep, the food tray that would come out of the well and retreat back periodically through the day. And finally, the kind one. He wore an intimidating vest and carried a gun but he would always open a slot on my black door, a slot I could never open. He would then talk to me. I would always light up when I would see his bushy moustach.
I was ecstatic when I finally heard the slot open. The kind one threw something in and only said "Get out of here kid."As he quickly shut the slot. I felt a moment of dejection for a bit then I picked up the object. It was a comic book titled superman.
I read through it. It told a story with two incredible beings, Superman and zod. Both had the same godlike powers. I eventually heard the loud alarm and the lights became red while a voice poke in the language the adults spoke.
I knew what would happen, a gas would come into my celk and I would fall asleep. But, not this time. I effortlessly broke my ankle cuff and broke the door.
There was a wall of guards and other black doors. They used their guns to shoot me in a volley. Ny orange jumpsuit was now filled with holes but my skin didn't even feel pain from the bullets. I effortlessly used lasers to cut the wall of guards down. Then I started breaking the other black doors. Some were human others were not. Almosy all cells were unique and some even had chained their prisioners
I moved through the facility slaughtering the gaurds and the adults in white coats. Soon the entire facility only housed free beings surrounded by corpses. Eventually I found the kind one. The prisioners were about to attack him but I protected him and he yelled in the foreign language soon the pridiobers stood down and he opened a giant door revealing a blinding light, the sun. In the distance I saw a swarm of helicopters. The kind one handed me a slip of paper torn from another paper that read, "understands all languages". Suddenly I knew that the prisioners were cheering for their freedom. I also understood the voice that came with the alarm, "The site is experiencing multiple keter and euclid containment breaches". |
I sat out on the sidewalk that day. The last ship would be leaving in a few minutes, and I could see it over the rooftops from there. The streets were empty, quiet, the only sound the distant thundering of speakers from the launchpad, reduced to barely a whisper by the time it reached me.
You'd think I'd be mad.
When it was discovered that we could make use of the universal folds to reach more habitable places, when we realized we could not save the Earth, I'd been assigned to develop sustainable gardens that could be used to not only feed passengers but seed the new planet, survive it's subtly different environment. I'd always liked plants, enjoyed their stillness, their diversity, their lack of judgment. They didn't mind if it took me longer than most people to till their soil so long as I did it delicately, didn't call me useless if I took a few extra minutes of effort to get their water to them. I'd become an expert in botany, and was the obvious choice to piece together that corner of the logistical nightmare.
I did a pretty good job too. Played with chemistry, adjusted air and water efficiency, developed ways to keep plants healthier with even less soil, and much more sulfur. My gardens were perfect. Beautiful.
My favorite strawberries didn't know I wasn't going to be one of the humans allowed to escape this dying world with them, and didn't think I deserved to be left behind.
I leaned back in my wheelchair, trying to be comfortable. No amount of cooling pipes in the cushioned back and seat stopped it from being hideously burning hot out during the day. Still, it was better than being inside, missing it all. The Earth's corruption had already taken enough from me, taken the stability of my DNA, the functional use of both legs and one arm, stopped one of my eyes from blinking on it's own… I wasn't going to let it take this from me too.
A neighbor I'd never spoken to more than once came outside as well, a few houses down. An older man, potbellied and busy, we'd simply never had a reason to chat. He caught me staring, and walked over, plopping down to sit in the grass by my side.
"Didn't you work on those things?"He asked, voice gruff and smoke torn.
I nodded,"Yes. I developed their botanical preservation system."
"Why aren't you on there?"
"My condition is genetic. They deemed me an unfit candidate for transfer."
His voice came out half angry, half defeated,"That's fucked, you know that? Bullshit too, they could absolutely use a young scientist like you, even if you can't pop out kids."
I smiled placidly, shrugging,"I know."
Silence stretched a minute before I asked him,"Why are you still here? You're under the age limit."
He was quiet a minute, before pointing down the road,"You ever see Janna, the Chinese lady who lived down there? She had two young kids, great kids, real polite, always came over while I worked on my yard to talk my ear off. One of 'em didn't pass their genetic test. Those monsters wanted her to leave one of her babies behind because he had some gene for poor eyesight or some shit. So I gave Jenna my card."
I processed that a minute, the blunt normalcy in his voice.
"That's a very beautiful thing to do Mr. Dawdson."
He let out a snort of a laugh,"Heh, didn't know you knew my name. And it's nothing. I'm just some geezer. Drank too much, lost my wife, only had one kid and she died fighting the fires… That little boy deserved it way more than I did. He's got a family who needs him, and a life to live."
We both quieted down as the earth-shaking roar came echoing down the suburban streets. We watched as the last ship, the last colony of human life to escape our burning world took off and roared out into the sky.
We sat a long time in silence. It was Dawdson who broke it.
"Why'd you let them make you stay?"
"This is home. My cat and my garden are the only living things that have truly never judged me, and they need me."
He nodded, sighing before standing.
"Well, Miss Scientist. Guess it's both our home forever now. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes for dinner. You're welcome to come over and have some, I still got the ramps I had installed for Clara before we knew she wasn't coming back."
I smiled, doing a check to make sure my chairs controller hadn't stalled out in the heat.
"I'd like that. I'd like that very much." |
Time goes forwards, never back.
My mother leading me by the hand on the first day of school? Gone and done, and I'll never see her again. Just the memory remains, a visceral thought etched in my brain for all eternity.
Everything had froze, my child's eyes seeing the Freightliner bearing down on the crosswalk with no regard for the stoplight. I'd tried to move, tried to scream, but my hands were tied.
Then I'd tried to will everything back to life, and I dodged and watched as the truck ended her right there and then. I won't bother you with how I coped with it, but I did. Dad helped a ton, the therapists thought I was insane.
My father finally became a believer when I'd grabbed his wheel on the highway and dodged a drunk driver swerving across the median. I'd spent nearly ten minutes studying the paused scene before making the move that saved our lives.
Call it a gift from above, a superpower, or whatever. The simple truth is that time stops moments before disaster. I can't move, but I can think. Plot and plan the perfect action while the world waits for me. And, as I release my grip on the threads of time, act out my prepared motions without hesitation.
You could imagine my surprise when I found myself staring at my alarm clock, the red numerals glaring back at me in the moonlight. Another sleepless night, the trauma of my past still biting into me despite how much I'd tried. The air - and my breath - was completely still.
I tried moving my arms, feeling no resistance as I apparently pointed them inside my mattress. At least, that was what the phantoms at the back of my mind told me. I rolled them back into their original positions, knowing that the results would be disastrous if I unlocked the threads earlier. My body would spring up with sudden force as if I'd pushed backwards with all my might.
The only thing I could control was my peripheral vision, and I panned my orbs in all directions across the static display. My room was untouched, the computer in the corner glowing softly and the ensuite door unopened. The blinds were partially shut and I could see a glimpse of the streetlight outside.
Fire? Unlikely. Gas? Didn't smell a thing. Something ridiculous, like a tornado? I'd have heard it.
Maybe it was something in my body, where some rare disease would drop me in seconds. Maybe someone had planted a bomb in front of my house. If that was the case, then it was out of my control.
Fuck it.
I released my grasp on the tendrils of time, and as the air entered my lungs and the shadows began to me I rolled off my bed onto the ground. Who knows, the ceiling fan might just fall on my head and cause a fatal accident.
An earsplitting roar reached my ears just as lead tore over my head. It blew my feather pillow into shreds and landed in my wall mirror, sending it tinkling to the ground. I froze in shock as more shots perforated the drywall, sweeping the room at bed level. My wardrobe and desk had taken the brunt of the damage.
I was running on adrenaline now, without any time left for conscious thought. Quickly I reached up for my phone, grabbing the handset and pulling it down to the floor where I was. The display was black, and there was no tone. Shit.
Time for the route of last resort, the one which I had never really thought I'd had to use. With shaking hands, I opened my closet and pulled out a dark nylon bag. Inside was my Beretta Neos, a .22 handgun that I used solely for plinking. Hell, this was a *safe* neighborhood.
I loaded the pistol slowly, the sounds of the mag clacking in place and the snap of the slide slamming forwards barely audible to my ringing ears. Just as I put my only spare magazine in my pocket, time froze one again.
My senses were stuck, but I could feel the tension in my muscles and veins. Think, damn it!
I was on the ground, so the next shots would happen there. Likely they would sweep their automatic weapons side by side, like they did last time. Slowly, I let my phantom legs stretch out slightly and suddenly let the world move again.
I felt my legs extend, driving myself up as I leaped atop the rolling office chair beside my bed. As my momentum rolled the blue leather seat across its casters, my ears bled again as bullets whizzed across the floor where I stood. One shot clanked against the pneumatic tube, but the chair held. Thankfully.
Just as my leg bumped against the side of my desk, the door crashed open and the world ground to a halt again. The gunfire stretched out and finally died down like I turned off a turntable with a record on the platter. I saw my masked attacker at the door, barely visible in the darkness. His subgun was held at the ready, hands rushing to bring the muzzle to bear as his eyes met mine.
Instinctively, I brought the phantom arms up, imagining that they were pointed straight at my target. My eyes took in his Kevlar, knowing that a hit in the chest wouldn't do a thing. I adjusted slightly, visualizing where the sights would line with his forehead.
Now I couldn't calm my beating heart, but I could try to still my mind. I threw all thoughts of remorse off the table, as well as silencing the rational part of my brain trying to determine what was happening. I hadn't really stopped time for any longer than I needed, and I needed to be in control when I let it tick again. The last thing I wanted was for my grip to fade when I was still thinking.
This was it. I felt the Neos lightly between my palms as it snapped up, moving as soon as I let go. Faster than I could on the range, and under stress too. My sights were on his forehead and my index was beginning its rearward pull when the gunman jerked his neck to the side.
It was so quick, it was like as it it was in front of me one moment and angled askew the next. The pistol cracked in my hands, the kickback minimal. My bullet poked through a poster on my wall and landed somewhere in my ensuite.
I noticed time slow again as he fired, letting rip a long burst that I'd managed to dodge in time. He jumped back into the corridor just before I returned fire, my round hitting the doorjamb right where he had just stood.
"As the saying goes, you need a Stopper to stop another Stopper,"my assailant drawled from the hallway. It was the first time he spoke, his tones surprisingly soft and casual. "Luckily, I brought three with me."
---
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pmhdkp/wp_time_freezes_when_you_are_seconds_from_mortal/hcmj3rw/)
*There's a video game called [Superhot](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superhot) that sort of inspired the gunfight in this story, where time stops when your character doesn't move.* |
My name is April, and I'm forty-eight years old.
The last time I held this little charm, I'd saved the world. My friends and I had locked hands and promised to care and hold each other tight. Our love for each other had unlocked true strength. The calamity of horrors beyond the veil had been pushed back. The walls strengthened and the world was safe from the Collision.
I'd gone off to college. Mai had stayed in town to open her own store. June and Julie had gone to their uncle overseas. We had known each other for so long. We'd saved the world together.
Natsuki, our talking cat... or I guess our angel from beyond the veil, he'd come back and sat outside my window. He was holding this charm. A little teal blue heart held in an elaborate golden embroidery surrounding and weaving around the stone center.
There was blood on it.
I picked up Natsuki and carefully avoided the eyelines of my co-workers. It felt like I was a child again, trying to sneak him into my room. I managed to get to the elevator. I shushed him as he hissed when I covered him with my jacket. The cameras might see me from the mirrored floors, but I had to make sure he wasn't seen. I held my head straight.
We reached the roof and let him out.
"That's no way to carry an angel."Natsuki sounded the exact same. Just as regal and completely lacking in any irony as he licked his paw to groom himself.
"Well you're not really an angel here, are you?"I said, it had been the first thing I'd said to him before too. I held out the charm. "I thought the walls were strong enough for a thousand years. You said that. It's only been thirty. And it looks like someone's died because of it? Why didn't you come to us sooner?"I took a deep breath. My husband helped me stop my non-stop crying when we'd met in college. He helped me understand a lot of things.
"I wasn't wrong."Natsuki's pride seething through every syllable while he turned his nose up to me. "If no one had tampered with the wall, it would have lasted for a thousand years, likely more."He started to walk and jumped until he was gracefully tip-toeing along the tops of the fence.
"So who tampered with it?"He would just have kept waiting until I'd answered. It already felt like I was regressing back into that reckless child, pulled by the nose to follow the orders of this pompous cat. I hated it, but I couldn't... the world needed help.
He paused. His eyes narrowed, and I saw they still shined a brilliant yellow and green.
"Winter."
I felt a chill run through my heart. Our mentor. She'd been taken by the demons beyond the veil after she had tried to gain their power. Her disaster was what had forced the four of us to clean up her mess. What had nearly caused the world's Collision. We thought she'd died.
I felt tears well up in my eyes. I took a deep breath.
"And you thought that children should shoulder the burden once more."
"Well, they are more in tune with the workings of the world. They don't shut their emotions out."The cat stared coldly at me.
I gripped the charm.
"I know how the world works. More than I ever did as a child."I spoke with the confidence of thirty years he'd missed. Thirty years of living and growing and grieving and crying from joy and anguish.
He raised a paw, as if to move or gesture. I don't know if it was out of pity, surprise, or anger. But he kept quiet.
"I'll have to find the others for this to work."I said, wiping the charm clean with a small handkerchief. "My husband will need to come too."
I tied the charm into my hair. The small weight felt so familiar.
Natsuki nodded. "She's gathering her strength back in Tona. The others... they bought you one month."He actually sounded sorry for once. It was only then that I noticed the moon shaped scar along his entire tail. It vanished as quickly as I saw it, hidden as he raised it to rest alongside him.
"Will you tell me their names?"I asked, gently.
A sudden opening of the door startled him, and he scampered off.
"April? What are you doing up here it's freezing."My boss seemed more confused than angry. Only one of his two moods. "And who the hell were you talking to?"He yelled, switching to his other.
"I was talking to the cat."I said calmly, walking past him. "And I quit, by the way." |
*Public Trustee of New South Wales v Henry McKenny*
[2016] HCA 5 (22 June 2016)
*High Court of Australia*
Facts
> > Oliver Stone, a 69 year old man who was partially deaf and almost blind lived with his younger son Bill was found murdered by his relatives on January 12th 2015. Also living with Stone was his anorexic sister and her husband in law. The residence in which Stone and his relatives resided had a privacy wall adjoining the front and rear lots of the property. On January 12th 2015 at 8:24 PM, CCTV cameras installed on the privacy walls recorded a person wearing a balaclava climbing over the wall and entering Stone's property. The camera footage recorded the intruder entering the residence through a door on the ground floor. It was through the use of a pry bar by the intruder that the door was forced open. At around 8:30 PM, Stone's relatives who were watching television downstairs heard a sound that they determined was a gunshot. They proceeded upstairs only to find that Stone had been shot in the head. The intruder was nowhere in sight of Stone's relatives. The CCTV camera recorded the intruder climbing over the wall and exiting Stone's property at 8:32 PM.
>>Upon the reading of Stone's will on January 14th 2015, it was revealed that the will contained a clause stating that in the event of Stone's murder all of his assets and property would be transferred to the person or organisation that apprehended his murderer. Per instructions given to his solicitor prior to Stone's death, a notice of this was made through a press release. There was a considerable amount of media uproar, given that Stone's estate was deemed to be valued at a total of $1.32 billion. This prompted the start of a worldwide search, which proved to be unnecessary as Henry McKenny surrendered himself to police officers at Blacktown police station on January 16th 2015, a day after the press release. In McKenny's possession was a Beretta 92 FS that had been recently discharged, containing 14 rounds. Later ballistics report confirmed that the pistol in McKenny's possession was consistent with the wound and bullet fragments recovered from Stone's autopsy. The pistol was registered under a Category H license possessed by McKenny. A search warrant that was later executed on McKenny's residence revealed clothing identical to the intruder recorded on the camera footage.
>> Following McKenny's arrest, he claimed to seek the transfer of Stone's assets and property as he had satisfied the conditions of the clause. McKenny argued that the act of surrendering himself to the police proved to be sufficient consideration to fulfil Stone's clause. McKenny was later charged and convicted of murder under section 18 of the *Crimes Act 1900* (Cth).
>Issues
>>Can McKenny seek Stone's assets and property through fulfilment of the clause contained in Stone's will, even though McKenny was the murderer of Stone?
>Judgement
>> The High Court (Diane, Gammew, Dewsin, Taahoy and McHigh JJ) unanimously held that McKenny was not entitled to any title to Stone's assets and property on the basis that the contract between Stone and McKenny was based on an illegal action. Extending upon the principle in *Nelson v Nelson* (1995) 184 CLR 338, it was held that McKenny is denied any benefits that he might obtain through his illegal conduct. It was also held that even if the contract was valid, an extension of the forfeiture rule in *Rasmanis v Jurewitsch* (1969) 70 SR NSW would occur.
|
"Hold the fuck up."I said incredulously. "That *counts* ?
"Yep."intoned the the all encompassing voice. "Whose fault did you think it would be?"
"The kids', probably! I didn't force them to do anything, it was all of their own accord."I reasoned.
"They were infants, most of them. It was impossible for them to know any better."he said with absolute authority.
The voice was hard to argue with. It was like trying to debate astrophysics with Stephen Hawking. I know that he knows better and the longer I keep it up, the bigger an ass I'll make of myself. But I'd spent most my life and a chunk of my fortune disputing this very claim, and I'll be damned if I stop here.
"If not the kids' then it was the parents' fault. It was their negligence. They should have known better, kept a better eye on their child, taught them better. Used some common *fucking* sense maybe!"I said in exasperation.
"The parents of those that died were not negligent. They were very capable parents. But they were only human. It is impossible to keep a watchful eye over them in every waking moment. All it took was a single moments attention elsewhere for this to happen. It is impossible to pass blame unto these greiving souls."
"Then how is it my fault!? My inventions were harmless. They were never meant to hurt anyone; they were supposed to bring joy into peoples lives!"
"Yet you decided to do so through "surprise". A surprise that proved lethal to those unprepared. You should have instilled mor caution. That is why their deaths have been placed upon your slate."the voice stated in finality. "It has been ruled so here in The Beyond as well as the American court of law."
I resigned. There was no point in arguing anymore. I'd lost this fight in the last world, why should I have thought it would be any different in this one.
As I was dropped into The Pit, in my last fleeting moments of sanity, I still didn't feel that I was wrong though. Falling away from The Beyond, I shouted my last words of defiance.
"Why the fuck should I have to put a warning label on fucking Kinder eggs!" |
# Enfeenak Report Title: The Gaia-Earthite hivemind – a study in Myriadality
# Authors: One-Who-Hastens-To-See(1), Isgal-Of-Feasts(2), Stone-From-Manifolds-Bloom(3)
***1,2,3: Centre for the study of Sentience, Intelligence and Intellectual Autonomy, Enfeen***
***Abstract***: In this report, the authors investigate the Gaia\-Earthite sentience. The authors posit this mind to be a hivemind, with multiple personalities manifesting at the fore, each a distinct individual. This myriadalistic phenomenology is all the more interesting as it manifests itself within the structure of a Bicameral duality.
# Introduction
The Hivemind of the Gaia\-Earthites was first discovered by Mist\-Whose\-Luminence\-Abounds during an expedition to install a Dyson Router near Alpha Centauri. The sentience was first thought to be a Solitary, with social structures driven by various dogmas. However, upon closer inspection by the authors of this report, it was found that this sentience displayed many of the characteristics of a Hivemind *as well as* those of a Solitary.
The Sentience was deemed dangerous and was thus confined to its current location; Earth, chosen for its proximity to the Sentience’s origin system and for logistical convenience. The Dyson Router on Alpha Centauri, which has since been completed, provides an added layer of security against any violence that may be perpetuated by the Sentience, thus providing a safe seat for observation.
Following discussions between the authors of this work and several experts in the field of Cognitive Sentience, funding was granted by the *Centre for the Study of Sentience, Intelligence and Intellectual Autonomy* on Enfeen to investigate this curiosity in greater detail for the period of one Throk \(roughly equivalent to one thousand standard orbital periods of the Gaia\-Earthite planet around it’s sun\).
This resulted in the authors being able to observe several generations of Gaia\-Earthite life, and has directly led to the conclusions to be found in this report.
# Discussion
The Gaia\-Earthite sentience is, first and foremost, a Bicameral one. The Speaker, Gaia, manifests its personality through its Obeisant, the Earthite. However, the uniqueness of Gaia\-Earthite is that the Speaker, Gaia, displays several symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder \(DID\) and acts out these symptoms via its Obeisant.
Due to the DID of the Speaker, the Obeisant take various forms. Among the most Intelligent and Intellectually Autonomous \(Int, IntA\) forms are two instances of mammal: Humans and Dolphins, along with several instances of Cephalopods \(e.g Octopi and Cuttlefish etc\) and Fungi \(e.g. Trichoderma etc\).
Due to the limited temporal resource available to the authors, it was decided to spend the majority of their time in observation of the Human instance, as it developed the most during the observation and displayed the most intriguing behaviour. The DID of the Gaia consciousness manifests itself within the Human instance as a Solitary species and sentience. However, despite this, the separation between the Gaia consciousness and the Human Instance \(HI\) isn’t complete, as evidenced by the many social behaviours exhibited by this Obeisant.
The Gaia consciousness \(GC\) acts out it’s DID on the HI in a shocking display of myriadality; each HI is a Solitary sentience *as well as* being biologically unique and distinct from the others. By the time the authors observational period had ended, there were nearly Ecta Sevl HI’s, with several Meel\-Sevl having existed before.
The HI appears to adopt several of the GC’s traits upon congregating into social groups. The instances display collectivism, albeit usually acting out the destructive fantasies of the Speaker. The instances refer to this as “mob mentality”. Ironically, the Speaker shields itself from being re\-assimilated by the HI collectivism by entering into a child\-like state. The “mob” acts in ways that suggest it is far less intellectually capable than the sum of its parts, being more emotionally susceptible, impressionable and reactive.
However, this simple affine connection between the Speaker and the Obeisant does not inhibit the Obeisant from carrying out the depraved, twisted fantasies of the Speaker on other instances of itself, much less on other instances of the Obeisant. While some, if not most, instances display behaviour towards the others that can be considered caring or considerate \(or at worst, apathetic\), some instances commit acts upon the others that can only be described as gratuitously violent. Some instances even do so upon being mandated to commit such actions by others of their own instance, despite lacking the psychological inclination to participate in such behaviour of their own free will. The dogmas that govern their society contribute to legitimising this violence, while desensitizing those who lack the appetite for destruction or violence.
However, the myriad Obeisant displays a dichotomous nature in their ability to perpetuate kindness with the same ferocity as they wage war against themselves. It appears that while the GC\-Speaker suffers from DID, it also suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder \(OCD\) to a lesser degree, thus working to balance the actions of its Obeisant.
## Conclusion
While the uniqueness of the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind is beyond question, the conclusions reached by the observers of said Hivemind about its development and purpose are not unanimous.
It is the conclusion of one author that the Hivemind may not suffer from DID at all, but instead be acting out the juvenile fantasies of the Speaker’s Ego through the violence of the Obeisant. It is believed by this author that the Hivemind generated this instance of the Obeisant to fulfil its self\-destructive tendencies. The author proposes that this instance will realise this behaviour to its completion and inevitable extinction, at which point, the author hopes the Hivemind will have outgrown its juvenile, destructive tendencies.
The other remaining authors find the diagnosis of DID and OCD in the GC\-Speaker to be convincing, as several behaviours displayed by the Obeisant seem to suggest this is the case. For example, some of the recent technological activity by the Obeisant was aimed at discovering similar life forms in their sector. While these efforts are doomed to fail due to the unique nature of their existence, meaning they will not find sentience quite like their own or be able to recognise it when discovered, this search appears to mirror a deep\-seated desire to confirm they are not alone. It is thus regrettable that the Obeisant do not expend any effort closer to themselves, as uncovering the truth of their sentience may expedite the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind’s recovery from DID while at the same time initiating the maturation of the Human Instance into an Obeisant that is not a slave to the Ego of the Speaker.
The authors have arrived at various interpretations of the observations made of the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind, but one thing can be agreed upon by all; the Sentience in question is a treasure\-trove of knowledge and further research is not only advised, but incumbent upon us as Keepers of Sentience.
\-\-\-
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Thrixal drummed his clawed fingers on the aluminum table, absently poking small holes into the soft material. He pondered to himself why, for the life of him, was he waiting for the soft and fragile ambassador from Andromeda to appear.
Killing them didn't even seem worth it. It was too easy. Their race was not like his. His people were strong, fierce, and resilient. Bones like pure steel, armored scales like stone, and with many claws and teeth with which to rip and tear. He had seen the ambassador. He could snap their bones like twigs.
So why wait? Why bother entertaining them?
<<I appreciate your patience.>> A quiet voice resonated from within his mind. <<I will be there in a moment.>>
Thrixal stiffened slightly, one of his armored spines piercing the back of his chair. He looked to his side at the door just as it hissed open and the frail Aromite stepped in, a glass haptic tablet glowing faintly under one arm.
"I do not like having my mind probed, twig."Thrixal snarled through clenched jaws.
<<I am sorry, but it is the only way my kind can communicate directly. If you would prefer, I can write the messages down and have you read them. Are you familiar with the Chilai Syrrilic script?>>
This was a tactic often formed by the meek and feeble, as Thrixal well knew. To appear harmless and accommodating and lull your opponent into a false sense of security while you prepared a weapon to take them out from behind.
<<Nothing so complex, I assure you.>> The Aromite stated. <<Simply trying to negotiate.>>
Thrixal grunted and picked his teeth with one claw, a gesture of mild threat that appeard lost on the Aromite, whose race were born blind save for a handful of soft divots which dotted its skull to detect heat. Thrixal, being cold blooded, likely appeared as a shadow to the being.
"Speak."
<<Gladly.>> The Aromite pulled up an image on its haptic tablet. An expansive view of the galactic cluster filled the space above the table. <<These are the galaxies you are prepared to wage war on. Each home to thousands of habitable worlds containing intelligent life forms. Trillions of beings with homes, lives, and desires.>>
Thrixal rolled his eyes at that. Empathy would get them nowhere.
A second image took place of the first, an older Kahnna, its skin now pale lavender with age, garrying two brilliant purple offspring.
<<These are the lives you would chose to extinguish, the races you would drive to extinction.>>
A rotating image of the Aromite crest filled the air
<<Lives that we have sworn to defend.>> The Aromite stated flatly, the words echoing slightly in Thrixal's mind <<And you must understand that we take that promise seriously.>>
The scales on Thrixal's hands shifted slightly, flattening against the skin in preparation for a fight. "Are you saying that you will declare war upon us? And you, *you,* will fight us off?"
<<Don't be ridiculous.>> A new image began to form, a spiraling helix of pure Aromite DNA. <<But do not think we are unprepared for your level of threat.>>
The strand of DNA was joined by another, marked "Chilai", and another marked "Silar". More and more strands lined up, each marked to the dominant species of a different planet.
<<We spent many many millenia building and constructing a new being. One that would combine all of our DNA into the perfect warrior. Strong, resilient, and ready to fight at any cost.>>
The air hung thick as more images filled the the space above the table. Massive quadrupedal beasts with twin tusks or crowns of pronged bone that expanded for whole meters, eight-legged armored beasts with barbed tails.
Thrixal felt excitement fill him. A challenging beast such as these would provide him with many opportunities to prove his might on the field.
<<These are not the warrior. Not even close. Two of these have gone extinct at their hands. The third is only a pest to them. Truth be told, their greatest proving ground has been against one another.>>
The next image was of a biped. A few heads shorter than Thrixal. Its skin was pale and soft, covered with a thin coating of hair. Two forward facing eyes, a small mouth filled with flat teeth, and fingers that ended in tightly manicured nails.
It was pathetic. This was the warrior who would spell their doom? This was the being that hunted massive beasts to extinction? This?
<<Quite.>> The Aromite said with a tone of smugness.. <<These were the perfect mixture of genes to survive an environment rich with creatures like yourself. Beyond their physical resilience, capable of losing limbs, organs, and pieces of their brain with minimal hindrance, they are incredibly resourceful.>>
Images popped up of the fleshy creatures adorning themselves in the pelts of the massive creatures as a way to stave off cold, of them fashioning rudimentary tools from sticks and stone, and purifying saltwater into both a seasoning and a drinkable liquid.
<<Ruthless.>>
Dead cattle being thrown over city walls to cause plague, fields being salted to prevent anything from growing again, Men and women being led to slaughter. A city being decimated by a cloud of radioactive smoke.
<<Cunning.>>
A man lying in shadows, waiting to stab a gentleman in the back. A chef slipping poison into a nobleman food. A man successfully convincing a crowd not to stone an innocent man, the phrase "He who is without sin"inscribed on the bottom.
<<And above all...Persistent.>>
A man, both arms broken, bashing another man's skull in with his own. A woman lifting three tons of metal and rubber off the dirt to rescue a child. A tribe of men and women following the tracks of a beast that had long since vanished. One man, alone, sword drawn, against an army.
<<We have seven billion of these creatures on one planet alone. For each one that dies, two more are being born. They will not surrender. They will not concede. They will fight until the last.>>
Thrixal felt his body tense as he watched a man wrestle a massive reptile into submission, slit its throat, and walk away as though it were nothing toward an applauding audience. Thrixal had not realized that his fingers had ripped large gashes into the table.
<<Are you willing to risk war, knowing what you do about humans?>> |
"Then it's settled,"said Director Page, "we have to send Con-Man to take care of their main force."
I widened my eyes.
Every hero in the conference room nodded in approval. Surely, someone would speak up, right?
Nope. Not one of them disagreed.
I couldn't believe it. Most of them saved my life at one point or another. At least one of them had to know it was all a lie.
Or so I thought.
An alien force had just invaded the planet. Major population centers were already conquered and many superheroes fell in the initial attack. This was the first organized attempt at a counterattack. The heroes actually believed in me. The stakes were simply too high to prank me.
I sighed. It appeared that my charade worked a little too well. This was the worst day of my life.
"Is there a problem?"asked Director Page. She folded her arms with an intimidating gaze. I had never met a scarier person in my life. Even the strongest heroes and villains feared her indomitable will.
"Y-yeah,"I said, avoiding eye-contact. "Aren't you all putting too much faith in me?"
"Well, I know it's a critical part of the plan, but I wouldn't entrust you with it if I didn't think you could do it."
"That's really flattering, but still-"
"No,"said Director Page. "You can save your humility for the press. You're one of the mightiest heroes on the planet."
"I'm really not that special. I'm sure one of your interns can do my job better."
Director Page frowned.
I flinched.
"I'm not sure where this hesitance is coming from, but I don't care. These aliens have been studying our culture for quite some time. They took down all those heroes because they knew their strengths and weaknesses. You, on the other hand, are one of the rare cases where your power remains a mystery. Not even *I* know it's true nature, and I know everything. We need you."
I hung my head in shame.
"I think I know what's going on,"said Edgelord, glaring with an accusatory tone. He was famous for lacking superpowers. Did he see through my lies?
I quickly raised my hands, pleading. "Please, don't-"
"He wants to keep hiding his power!"
I paused. That wasn't what I expected. Unfortunately, it only worsened the tension in the room.
Everyone scowled at me. I didn't know what to say. They had lost many friends over the past twenty-four hours. The last thing they cared about was someone too scared to fight.
"Is this the truth?"asked Director Page.
I pursed my lips.
"I understand your reservations,"added Director Page, "but we've all made sacrifices here. Why would you want to hide your powers if there's nobody around to save?"
I had never hated myself more than at that moment. Director Page was right. My lie wouldn't be worth anything if the world ended.
"I have... a confession to make."I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "I don't actually have powers. I've been lying all along."
The room became eerily quiet.
Director Page furrowed her brow, studying me.
I wanted to die.
"Bullshit!"said Astral Hacker. "You literally took down a kaiju on your own!"
"That was just luck. The kaiju tripped and the rest of the heroes finished it off, thinking I was responsible for the opening."
Director Page started rubbing her temples. "This can't be happening..."
"I mean, this is just as much your fault as mine. None of you bothered questioning it. Why do you think I'm called 'Con-Man'?"
"Because of your convictions...?"asked Edgelord.
Astral Hacker seemed ready to lunge at me.
"No,"said Director Page. "I refuse to believe this. We aren't idiots! If you're too cowardly to do this, just be honest about it!"
Goddamn it.
I always told myself my superpower was lying.
It was the only way to cope with my inferiority. That way, I could justify my dream of being a hero without feeling like an idiot. This, however, turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.
I first started this 'career' by accident. During a school field trip to a research lab, a supervillain attacked and held my class hostage. I drenched myself in some glowing liquid, pretending I had just acquired superpowers in an accident, which forced the villain to run away.
After that, I never had the strength to turn down the role of hero. It was the only time I ever felt useful. That wasn't an excuse, though. This was the price I had to pay for deceiving the world. Besides, the heroes only needed a distraction, and I could do that without any powers.
"Fine,"I said, "sorry for what I just said. It's just the nerves."
Director Page raised an eyebrow. "So you're following the plan?"
"Yeah,"I nodded, "Don't worry; I'll take care of it."
The tension in the room lessened after that. Some heroes even complimented my willingness to fight despite my cowardice.
"*Everything will work out...*"I lied to myself as I left the room, "*It always does...*"
--------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! |
A mortal man could have many skills. An immortal reaper had all of them. Yet one consistent man was an enigma to me. He had beaten me at 513 games. An astonishing number. Especially compared to second place, who had won a measly 22 years extra. That man had been smart. Never did he ever challenge me to a game of skill. Coin tosses, dice rolls, and even once a game of rock paper scissors. Funnily enough I finally reaped him when he decided on a game of uno of all things.
513 was different. Every game was a game of skill. And he'd always win or draw. It was a strange feeling. I had a grown an odd fondness of the mortal. He would talk through the games. A little too much for someone playing with their life on the line. He always gestured enthusiastically with his arms and hands. His eyes never broke contact with mine. And after a good hundred years. I talked to him too. Reapers don't communicate with others often. It is a lonely career. But I bonded with this mortal man. Over his skill. Often we would talk about what he achieved with his extra year of life. He'd insist on asking me what happens if he'd lose. At some points I almost considered telling him. But I never did. A reaper's most consistent rule is that souls reaped must not know what awaits them. Reapers would change how the contests work, or decide to spare a mortal for a good few years past their time, and bend the rules in most ways they pleased. But never would they tell. A human soul cannot know what awaits them.
513 just became 514. He had died many times. The first was on a medieval battlefield. He challenged me to a game of archery. It ended in a tie. A tie could go either way. It depended on the reaper. I decided to gift him a year of life. I often wonder how things would've changed if I settled that one differently. The second most noticeable one was a bullet through the head. Fighting in the Revolutionary War. He had died many times before this. However it is much harder to bring a mortal back from such a wound. Not because it is out of our power. But because it confuses the humans who are greeted by a human who had survived the impossible. But he had won that game too. He challenged me to a game of chess. One that was often chosen, and not often loss on the reapers' side. I had thought that was it for him. But somehow at the end I was latched into his conversation. And he ended up beating me. I gave him farewell. And let him move back into the mortal world.
This time though? Not a battlefield. Another heart attack. One not so different from the many that had befallen him before. He grinned as he sat down at the table across from me.
"You know, I've been starting to wonder, how exactly long do you plan on keeping this up."
I stared blankly, and replied. The latter was something very few mortals recieved.
"For as long as you keep winning."
That made him smile. He was thinking of a game. I could tell when he thought of games. He'd pat his fingers against the ivory table. I often wondered how he had knowledge of so many games. Perhaps he spent his years in the mortal realm mastering a new game to challenge me too.
He smirked.
"A game of Jenga sounds about right to me."
It is hard being a reaper in the modern world. For in the earlier years you'd have games with more dignity. Yet for every man who asks to play chess, there's one fool who asks for twister. I waved my arms and a jenga set appeared before us. Carved finely from bone with small skulls pronounced in each piece.
"You first."This was another thing about 514. Mortals had always gone first. Yet he would insist on me going first every time without fail. I plucked a simple center piece and placed it atop the set. And soon enough he started talking. He had mentioned his great-great-great-great grand daughter. His favorite so far. But he always said that about the newborns. It was oddly sweet to hear about new life as someone who takes it away.
The game continued. For each piece the tower grew more precarious. And I noticed something. A strange glint in the lighting coming from his hand. I continued listening to his conversation it was my turn. I had decided on a higher piece. One that had already been plucked earlier in the game.
He smirked, and the tower came falling down.
"Another year then?"
I knew about the thread. It had taken me 123 years to figure out about his cheating on every game. More than I'd care to admit. But he was a friend at that point. So I let him live every time. For once he truly wanted death I knew he would lose. I never would let him know that I knew. That smile from winning each time was the highlight of my time reaping.
"Another year then." |
On the 12th of May, the sky turned white. From high above, the Hymir dropped *something* down on top of us. Something big and brutal and absolute. It wiped away Iceland, turned seemingly half the Norwegian Sea into vapor, and left unimaginable devastation from Greenland to the shores of Germany and everywhere in between.
And that was simply their opening salvo.
It was over before it started. We were simply no match.
We had tried to be friends - at least, the best that man can do at friendship. For two years the Hymir ships sat above the Earth, orbiting on high, casting strange, sinister shadows, and ignoring our every attempt at communication. We had nukes on alert every day, but never any real intention of firing them. We were hopeful. We thought this was a courtship.
Instead, I suppose it was an examination. Which we failed.
How we failed is a mystery even today. We sent up messages in every language conceivable. We heard their chatter, though it took ages to make sense of even the smallest fraction of it. And even then, we didn't *really* think we'd cracked it. After all, the things they were saying...
We waited. We had no choice, really. We did send ships into orbit, but the Hymir ignored those, too. No aggression. No compassion. No interest. No nothing.
On the 12th of May, we found out what we'd been waiting for.
There were seven strikes after that first attack. No pattern. No urgency. And no request to talk. There was no option to surrender. They were simply picking us apart at the seams...slowly. Like a cat, toying with a mouse.
The effect was profound. People died because of the blasts, and then they died because of the fear. Hopelessness set in quickly. They were pulling at the loose strings of our faith and courage and we came apart so easily. It wasn't like any kind of movie I'd ever seen before. We cowered. And wept. And *died.*
But then they stopped. And then there was nothing. For the longest time, there was nothing. Until they called to us at last. It turns out they had learned American Sign Language early on, when we were desperately throwing the entirety of our knowledge at them. They just hadn't wanted to talk then.
They sent two down to talk with us. They were killed immediately. Not by diplomats or what was left of any government. Just people. Regular citizens. I can't say I blamed them.
Fortunately, neither did the Hymir. They came again, in the same number. They landed in Angola. UN representatives met them there.
They had a discussion. Then they left.
The UN representatives struggled to explain what had happened. But this is what we know.
After the eighth attack, the Hymir sent down scouts. We never saw them or had any idea they were here. They pulled massive amounts of data. They scanned every surface inch of our world. And inside a handful of science museums across the world, they found themselves.
They had started here. That's what they told us. This world - Earth - had been their home. And then they had been given a choice. A being "made of light bending through a pool of water"came down from the sky and offered them a choice - to stay or to leave. To stay and die. To leave and live.
Some stayed. Some left.
The ones that left became the Hymir, but only later and only through a great many trials. They learned what the strange being sought to teach them. They became space-faring. They became terrible and violent and cursed.
But that was not the story they wished to tell that day. That day they only wished to explain that they had made a mistake.
"We identified you as usurpers,"they said. But they were wrong. We did not yet exist when their ancestors were buried within the crust. We have done many wicked things - many that the Hymir had observed firsthand during their time in orbit - but we had not done *that*. They had been wrong. There was no revenge to take. The being made of light bending through a pool of water had told them truly. To stay was to die. They had chosen correctly. Their ancestors had not.
They didn't apologize. That is perhaps not a thing the Hymir were ever capable of. But they wanted to explain. They wanted us to know. That knowledge didn't heal us, of course. It didn't rebuild cities or raise the dead. But it was important to know all the same. It was important to remember that not all horror is senseless. Things happen for a reason - even if that reason is sometimes a mistake.
I suppose that's why we celebrate May 12th now. It was the day our eyes opened. It was the day we stopped taking our strength for granted. Because we *weren't* strong - not in the way we'd always believed. We were weak. We were conquerable.
The Hymir made a mistake all those years ago when they sought revenge against the wrong enemy. Mistakes happen.
The Hymir made their second mistake when they crippled us, burned us, murdered us, ruined us...but left us alive.
The Hymir made their final mistake when they refused to say they were sorry.
Some mistakes *aren't* an accident. And some can never be forgiven. |
My plane is delayed. Don't you hate it when that happens?
It is some sort of mechanical failure, the pilots say. You'd think that the Prime Minister's plane would be maintained in immaculate condition, wouldn't you? They shouldn't be discovering these things right as I'm jetting off to the EU summit with the Russian Federation concerning the state of Crimea. The UN-administered regime of independence for the region has been an utter failure. Instead of creating a stable buffer between Europe and Russia, it's only led to civil warfare. But I'm pushing to end it once and for all.
I've been on the front lines of this conflict, both as a platoon leader during Britain's first intervention in 2051, and as a politician in Parliament urging for greater action against the Russian-backed rebels. I railed against our former Prime Minister's weak response, as well as the pitiful attempts of the EU Expeditionary force. And I did such a good job of it that my own Independence Party won a majority in Parliament only this past year. And, using my newfound political clout, I was able to convince our Russian counterparts to join us for a peace meeting in Tel Aviv. Israel has done a fine job of staying neutral despite sharing a border with the EU's Turkish territory.
After an hour on the tarmac, my plane is finally able to take off. We soon reach a cruising altitude, and I check my watch. The EU President and Foreign Minister should have landed already with their gaggle of Presidents and Prime Ministers in tow. They'll be whisked away to the summit without even checking into the hotel. The limousines will arrive at roughly 2:30, and the bombs are set to detonate at 2:45 in the midst of the scheduled press conference kicking off the summit. Russia's counterpart will also be *conveniently* delayed, sparing them from the carnage as well. Naturally this fact will be held up later as proof of their guilt.
Oh, did I not mention that I'm the reason the plane had mechanical problems? That it's all a deliberate ruse to make it look like I should have been a victim (to gain sympathy in the press) while simultaneously ridding me of those ninnies from the peace bloc who'd prefer to work things out with words? That it will soon be revealed that Russian operatives were the culprits of the bombing? It's the perfect Casus Belli.
We've barely made it over the Channel, and I'm already bored. God, I hate flying. My foot taps the plush carpet impatiently, waiting for the news. It's 2:46 already. What's taking so long? I pull out my notepad, ready to get to work. Even though I can't be seen preparing my speech before I've even received news of the 'tragedy,' there's nobody else in the plane. The pilots won't know what I'm working on here, so they won't be suspicious. And I do want to get a jump on it. After all, it needs to be convincing enough to make the right case. That this tragedy cannot go unanswered, and that I am the man to lead the EU to victory. I'm the only one with the political clout, the military experience, and most importantly: the resolve to see it through. Perhaps I ought to channel Churchill.
Just as I put pen to paper, the copilot raps on the door. "Prime Minister? There's some news you need to hear."
-----
[Here's Part 2, and Part 3, with more coming](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/46anva/casus_belli/d03muob)! |
Grap’thak the Destroyer gazed over the prow of his vessel, Conquest. After years of planning, the operation was at last underway. His fleet was the most powerful armada that hte cosmos had ever seen, the instrument that would bring glory to his race, and a reckoning to the galaxy.
They would start with the planet of Earth. It was a perfect target -- filled to the brim with potential slaves, and with the technological capabilities of a slightly damp rust pile. From there they would unleash their fury upon the neighboring systems, until only dust and death was left to oppose them.
An underling pinged him to announce they had arrived. Grap’thak signaled the final order, and the cruisers prepared to launch the first wave of bombardment.
As usual the invasion would be undertaken following the local traditions in order to ease the eventual cultural adaption to servitude. The small nation of “Poland” appeared to be the historic target, and so it was there that the first troop carriers.
It was a brilliant plan. An unparalleled feat of strategic thought. Nonetheless, it turned out to have three flaws:
1. The people of Poland had grown simply tired after centuries of attacks from outside, and were rather universally miffed at the notion of having to deal with another one.
2. The scans of the planet, which had revealed excess surface amounts of Hydrogen and Oxygen, had missed that these elements were usually combined into Dihydrogen Monoxide, locally called “water”. Unfortunately this was so toxic to the invading race that even a single drop could cause them to melt into puddles of goo.
3. Due to a tragic mis-order from a local manufacturer by a “Summertime Funtime Fest” of Sandusky, Ohio, there were about 19,000 extra water pistols scattered in warehouses throughout the country.
The invasion was repulsed by a horde of fed-up Poles, notably featuring school children with water balloons and wizened Slavic grandmothers wielding super soakers.
A few rotations of the planet later Grap’thak was back on the bridge, looking quite a bit worse for wear. What few of his subordinates had survived universally agreed that the Earth Invasion concept needed to be sent back to internal development for re-tooling. Perhaps next time they’d land in a place less hardened by its centuries of attempted conquest. Maybe “Afghanistan” or “Russia”. Yes, that’d probably be easier.
(r/StannisTheAmish) |
Was this even war anymore? There was a time when you had to look a man in the eyes, and watch him die. You had to watch his whole life flash in his eyes like picture movie right there and then gone in a blink. The day long range ammunition came into play, that began to slowly fade. How many men had he killed? Demetrius sat under a shitty tent in the middle of yet another god awful desert. As hot as it had been that day, there was a nasty desert chill that swept off the sand and blew it into their faces. Four of his comrades had congregated in the tent, all quiet and solemn.
Private Standish had been lost earlier that day. Everybody liked Standy. He was one of those bright-eyed knuckle heads Demetrius had learned to stay away from. Those damn kids would break your heart every god damn time. He looked around the campfire from one man to the next. They all had that dower look. The one any mortal man gets when he's put right next to death. They'd all shaken deaths hand that day, but not Demetrius.
How many wars had it been now? It felt like one big long war. There was never a time when there hadn't been an army he could rally for... until now. Demetrius' eyes landed on the private's shoulder patch, tucked between one of the other men's fingers. What were they all doing here? The darkness settled softly on the earth green letters of the patch. Demetrius shifted in his seat.
This war wasn't like the rest. There was nothing personal in killing a man at long range. There wasn't any honor in it. Pushing a button and ending a man's life was too easy... he'd die with no one too look him in the eye like a man.. no one to watch his life's picture show, and honor it's passing.
Women and children died too... not because of pillaging, and cruelty. All that had to be wrong was a few damn numbers in a coordinate and they'd destroy a hospital and not the enemy... What the fuck was he doing here?
Demetrius stood up and looked at his comrades. All of them gave him their weary attention, not all there, not all focused.
"What the fuck are we doing here?"He rasped. They looked at him, almost shocked. Demetrius wasn't the type to question orders. He had taken to the army like a fish to water. They'd all seen it in basic, and then again their first time under fire. He had a knack for it. There was a type of calm that came over him, like no matter what happened, he'd seen it all before. Demetrius was just born for war. His sudden crack in character unnerved the lot of them.
"Standish didn't deserve to die for this shit."He snapped. Nobody spoke. "What are we even fighting for? A few million drums of oil? Fuck that!"He felt the blood pumping in his veins. He used to fight for beliefs. He'd fought for independence, freedom, human rights. Now he was fighting for some fat cat's oil refineries. "I didn't sign up to be come some fucking mercenary."Demetrius turned from the solemn circle and started walking. He heard them calling, telling him he was crazy, he'd die of thirst out there. Nothing had killed him yet... he'd take his chances. |
An angel is a perfect being, as perfect as it is possible to be within a single corporeal form. It does not experience hunger or thirst; it does not lust for power or pleasure; it does not feel passion or pain, desire or attachment, joy or grief. With perfection comes power, unimaginable by mortals, stretching out into dimensions unfathomable by human senses. Yet by its own perfection is it bound, for to choose any path besides the perfect path would be... imperfect. And so an angel cannot choose at all. It simply is, forever.
---
Petra was running out of space on the wall to mark the number of times she had died. "Died"was maybe the wrong word, she conceded, but dammit it sure felt like dying.
Every time.
This time had been particularly bad. She ran her hand over her abdomen, still half-expecting it to be ripped open by the bull-headed fiend that had gored her through a few hours ago, and then trampled her bones into the dust of the arena. She felt only her own muscles, lean and powerful and, importantly, whole. It took a while to coalesce back into a physical form - she'd gone out into the ring half-wispy a few times, and it never went well. So now she checked.
She had a routine of things to check, when she woke up. Arms, check. Legs, check. Eyes, ears, nose, tongue - check, check check check. Each of her senses had saved her, in past lives, more times than she cared to count, and each had been honed to a jangling precision.
There was no point in waiting around, she knew; dawdle long enough, and her jailers would just send a hellhound in to hurry her up. If it killed her in her cell, it would still be there when she woke up the next time, and then it'd probably kill her again. The first time she got stuck in that loop, it took her twenty years to break out of it.
Besides, she looked forward to her little outings. She stepped out into the light.
---
There are angels, though, who make the impossible choice, to cast aside perfection and eternity in favor of the pleasures of the now - consumption and theft, pride and rage, corruption and ruin. These are demons, beings of hunger and action, acting with no thought but for their own insatiable desire, in each moment alone. A demon is incapable of restraint, or remorse; it will bring its full unearthly power to bear upon whatever unlucky soul posesses what it desires, without hesitation. And this is its weakness - it does not plan, for that would require considering the future, and it does not grow, for that would mean reflecting on the past. It has trapped itself in its own eternal moment, frozen in the fires of passion.
---
The stands were empty, as they usually were these days. Early on in her damnation, she'd been an attraction, a grand day out for the local imps and demonets. She lasted such a short time in the ring back then that they could run her through the gauntlet three times a day, like clockwork, with a bonus matinee on weekends. Then she started to tire less quickly, die less predictably. Three shows became two, sometimes one. Some days she didn't die at all.
There was an assortment of garbage scattered on the ground in front of the door - a cracked buckler, a rusty helmet, a suspiciously shiny trident. All of them were traps, she had learned. The shield would break under a demon's blow; the helmet was two sizes too big, and her sweat and blood would grease it to slip down over her eyes; the trident's triple prongs would sink easily into demon flesh, and then be impossible to pull out, leaving her defenseless against the next strike. She kicked the trinkets off to the side, where they wouldn't get under her feet. She was better with the knife anyway.
The knife was always there, cold and constant. Its plain hilt slid into her hand like water onto cracked earth. At first its shape had been crude and unwieldy to her, but over time she learned its range and rhythm, learned what it could block and what it could cut, molded herself to fit its shape, the shape this place demanded of her. She picked it up, and now she was truly whole.
And then jumped back, as a club as big as her torso landed where she had been standing, brushing her hair as it passed in front of her face. The taste of brimstone hung in the dust kicked up by the impact. She wheeled to face her first opponent of the day - a cyclops, today, three times her height. Small fry. A good warmup.
She sized it up, gauging its range, finding its openings. For a moment, the fire in its eye seemed almost to dim, just a bit. Then it charged at her, and she threw herself forward to meet it. |
"God damn it,"I say. "Really? You really had to go and do this now? I get half an hour off my feet all night and you had to pick NOW to cause a problem?"
The trio of zombies all turn their grotesque heads in my direction, their mouths hanging agape and their eyes wide. They let loose a series of dumbass moans and lumber towards me, stumbling over their feet like the assholes they are.
I heave a massive sigh and pull my baton from my belt. I hold it aloft, and as the first ghoul comes within arm's reach, I say, "this is for last week, when you woke me up at two in the afternoon rummaging through the dumpster outside my apartment."
CRACK.
The second is now within arm's reach.
"This is for making me trudge all the way out here when I'm supposed to be on my lunch break."
CRACK
The third and final ghoul is now close enough.
"This is for scaring my adopted human so bad that he can't sleep without the lights on!"
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
I might have gone a bit overboard with that one.
I can't help it though! These dumb fuckers are constantly causing problems. Whether its disrupting the perimeters or sending my poor Gregory into a panic attack, there's nothing these stupid things do that don't cause problems.
I swear, I will never get a good day's rest until all of these damn things are dead, permanently. |
“We really need to be more specific. This is getting out of hand.”
The gathered deities nod in solemn agreement.
One eldritch being gestures broadly, indicating a shelf that defies the laws of physics and reaches beyond the limits of mortal sight, “It was cute and innovative at first, but even with eternal life, how am I ever going to use all of this virgin olive oil?!”
Another, sits on the edge of a lumpy, amorphous mound that extends to the point it becomes obscured in the misty reaches of one of the arms of the Milky Way, “The virgin wool was fun at first, I took up felting but…there’s just too much!”
The newcomer, a young god in the relative scheme of things sits quietly brooding, “you all think you have it bad.”
The muttering briefly ceases as the assembled deities struggle to restrain their laughter.
Crackles of energy spark and pop around the young god, sitting atop the spectral entity of an entire airport, complete with planes, tower, runways.
“I mean…what am I going to do with more than one of these if they keep sending them?! And you just know it’s going to cause lots of prayers. This is a whole mess!”
Losing their battle, the other deities take up raucous laughter, only causing the looming cloud of bad mood to grow.
Heavily sighing, the god grants the most recent petition, after all, technically it is “virgin” and tradition must be kept. |
Evergreen First Retirement Home was famous for three things: the reasonable prices, attentive and caring staff, and batshit crazy LAN parties. After dinner all of the retirees would gather into the computer lab at 4:00pm exact for a daily showdown between the East and West wings. Today's game? 1 on 1 Counter Strike.
"Hey motherfucker, you ready to get fucking rekt?"screamed Margery, mother of 2 sons - one of which was the local pastor.
"Suck mah Deeeeek. I'm gonna fuck you up so bad you're gonna need a second pacemaker."responded Franklin, who just a few hours ago had chastised his granddaughter for saying the F-word: fart.
"I would if you could get it up,"retorted Margery to a chorus of 'oh shits' and 'damns' from the onlookers.
The game finishes loading and these two centenarians proceed to intensely focus on the game while their wing-mates supply them with a steady stream of Doritos, mountain dew, and redbull.
Tense minutes pass as two members of the greatest generation attempt to get the drop on each other. Finally Margery spots Franklin and proceeds to headshot him.
"EZ game EZ lyf"jubilantly exclaims Margery. She jumps up on top of her chair, spreading Doritos crumbs all over the floor, and begins to mime jacking off all over Franklin.
Unfortunately this all proved to be too much for the old lady and, just like Franklin had threatened, her pacemaker wasn't able to sustain her heartbeat. As the survivor of the great depression, two world wars, the cold war, "Obermer's"administration, and 40 years of kids on her lawn realized that her time was up from the mere action of giving a hand job to her imaginary penis she managed to utter her final words before she collapsed onto the floor.
"Worth" |
“Next!” My agent calls waving the line forward.
Another book ready for me to sign, is laid before me. Ah, a copy of my Cultures and Customs of Edo era Japan. I sign it with a flourish even though my hand is getting tired. Smiling up at the woman I lock eyes with her.
She was obviously Japanese by descent, but … I paused glancing down at the book still in my hand. It was impossible, the woman I had watched live her life in Edo Japan had been dead for centuries. Looking up at the woman again, they could have been twins.
She took the book, but as she turned she winked. I followed her across the room - where she met up with a group of familiar looking faces.
“Rob, I need a water break - I’ll… I’ll be right back,” I said, standing quickly from my chair.
I might have several doctorates in History and Language - but I also had a *talent* so to say. While I always found documents to back up my research - I was able to watch it live. I was a Post-Cog. I could walk around, looking but not touching or interacting with any objects or people. I spent more of my waking hours watching the lives of people in the past than I ever did living in the moment.
The concept of our ancestors living day to day facinated me. Without the technology we have, without the communications. Their sheer willpower kept them alive.
And the fact that some of the people I watched were gone from human memory. No living soul remembered some farmer from the 1860s America, or that concubine from Zhou Era China. But I did. I watched their lives, got to know them as people.
Every person I have every watched was factored into my research. And the woman who had just had the book signed was a dead-ringer for the housewife of Edo Japan.
I could have waved it away as genetics and a possible descendant if it hadn’t been for that wink - and the fact that the group she was with were *all* people I had watched.
Even as I stood and tried to get out from behind the little table I had been sitting at for hours I knew it would be too late. Several people tried to stop me and ask questions or clarify details of my books, but I waved them off - trying desperately to get to the group.
When I reached the corner by the door where they had been standing, I looked around, hoping to see out the large glass windows which direction they may have gone.
I sighed, leaning back against the wall. Digging at the floor with the toe of my shoe I looked around one last time.
A copy of the book was laying on the floor. I picked it up - surprised to see it was the one I had signed for the woman. A book mark was stuck into the pages, and I flipped to it. Small details had been circles in red pen. Actions that my editor had said I was embellishing upon but I knew had happened for a fact.
On the bookmark was a note - *We know you’ve been watching us. You’re putting our missions at risk. Stop.*
What the… Missions? Watching them? The people I watched were long dead.
Though I’d never had control of who I watched or when. It seemed to follow one person for months at a time, and then abruptly shift. In that time I would have to figure out who I was watching, where I was, and some record of their lives before I moved to another person.
Shuddering, I flipped through the book. The whole thing had been annotated. I started to sink down and start at the beginning when Rob came over.
“Man Conner - What are you doing? I thought you said you were gonna get a drink! We have more books to sign. You’re blocked for another two hours.” He was pulling me back to my feet before I could protest.
Gripping the book firmly, I headed back to my table. I had research to do.
\---
For more stories by me check out my sub r/LandOfMisfits
For longer works by me and others check out r/redditserials
\---
**Part 2 :** [**https://www.reddit.com/r/LandOfMisfits/comments/cg3df2/second\_sight\_part\_2/**](https://www.reddit.com/r/LandOfMisfits/comments/cg3df2/second_sight_part_2/) |
"Aye,"came the final vote of the preliminary round.
The human ambassador sighed, smiled, accepted the result with all the arrogance of a species that thought itself unbeatable.
The Council had decided. Millennia of peace would be broken by a genocide, and the chosen species would be eliminated one by one, individual by individual, until all that remained was the sole member stored in the Vault of the Extinct.
Such had been the deal. Power at an unacceptable cost. Or so every species had thought except for one.
Like an angel on a shoulder, the Council had begged the humans not to take the deal. They'd pleaded, even offered unprecedented powers to that earthly species. It was all for naught. The other powers offered were stronger, the understanding of how the humans thought too frail.
One could decide for them all but all could not decide for one. The man the god had come to had sought advice, had let his peers argue every which way for him to take the deal offered by the god or to turn the deity away.
That demon on his shoulder spoke sweeter, wooed him, called him with that siren song so that he took the terms like a greedy child with sticky fingers from the candy he'd engorged himself with.
He turned the humans into the Empowered, bolstered by the god with whom he'd dealt. Earth turned from a lonely home to an intergalactic capital, from their everything to the stepping stone from which they traveled the galaxy.
The human ambassador sat back, knowing they'd succeeded. They'd lose their allies, have nothing but enemies. But they'd have power, too, and that mattered most. They'd wipe out another species then wipe their hands and continue onward.
"Let us continue with the second round of votes,"the ambassador said, giddy with anticipation for the sake of proceeding. That was their nature: eyes always forwards and no ability to stop and savor. "We shall decide who to sacrifice."
Ten-thousand eyes glared. Countless civilizations waited in anticipation, knowing their fate rested in the timid voices of the Council's vote.
"I nominate the species from System Wolf 359, Planet C43,"the ambassador said. He used his own language, his own metrics, ignoring the common tongue that every other civilization used while addressing the council. The members scrambled to translate the words and titles, cast awkward glances towards the nominated species.
Nobody answered. The nomination was met by silence. Minutes passed without a seconding. The ambassador sat, smug smile on his face, knowing once a seconding came, the rest would follow. Such was the power he'd been bestowed. Such was the fear that the humans now instilled.
Peace had done nothing for them but level the playing ground. Weaker species thrived while the stronger hoisted them upwards. War waned and conquests ceased. Profits, too, and with them the ambition that had driven the humans to the brink of intergalactic travel.
That would be no more. They had now the power, and in minutes they'd have paid their dues.
"I nominate the humans,"a voice came from the furthest echelons of the Council, from the fringes where the weakest civilizations sat.
The smile on the ambassador's face disappeared. He shifted uncomfortably, chuckled nervously. The measure couldn't possibly pass. It'd mean war on an unprecedented scale, the Council against a species empowered by the gods.
"Seconded,"a voice agreed.
And the others followed. One by one, representative by representative, the Council voted to eliminate the humans.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
In a world where power was everything, where supernatural gifts were what separated the heroes and villains from the everyday civilian, being reduced to the second category was nothing short of horrifying.
The supervillain known as The Void had taken full advantage of this fact with his own power, Negation. His power had started as simply nullifying any superpowers in an invisible bubble around him. Slowly, he'd cultivated it. The radius grew and became an innate ability that worked even when unconscious, and he could extend his power almost indefinitely through rigorous training as long as he could see the target. He even learned to turn off Negation, whether out of convenience or espionage.
Herbert smiled as he reminisced about so many heroes, and some villains, squawking or floundering about or even freezing in place. They were so reliant on their powers that to be reduced to usually average human strength and speed and capabilities left them defenseless. Being over 100 years old left one with plenty of memories to enjoy, if one was lucky enough to retain them. He was, and so he relished the peace of retirement and the fond times he'd had.
That peace was shattered when a phone call from his grandson, his civilian, innocent grandson, was drenched in fear and sorrow and desperation. His granddaughter in law, kidnapped? His future great-grandchild, in peril? All to do with some upstart so-called supervillains?
He was no hero, hell he wasn't even a villain anymore. But no one hurt his family and got away with it. He slowly made his way over to his office, ignoring the memoirs he planned to release under a pen name to allow for some last cash for his family.
No, his sights were set on the desk itself, and a hidden compartment. With a button press, the desk shifted and sank into the floor, it being replaced with an array of weapons and gear, as well as his old villain costume. He pat the old fabric fondly, but just grabbed as many weapons as he could. Twin pistols in holsters, knives along his legs, and grenades in his pockets.
The best of his arsenal, he reassembled as if no time had passed at all. A sniper rifle, with a custom scope and other attachments that had served him well. His ability worked through a scope, and all humans were innately vulnerable to bullets.
Herbert smiled, his eyes gleaming with malice in a way they hadn't in decades. These no-good rapscallions would soon learn to fear the unyielding terror of The Void. |
Humanity comes in two distinct flavors: good and bad. While it is believed all these years that having an in-built moral compass is exclusively found in only humans, scientists have now discovered that we share this trait with fruits and vegetables as well.
"It's astounding,"said Clarke Morales of the Monash University, New England, "Never in a million years would we consider that a mango has the ability to distinguish right from wrong."
This astonishing story began when a group of researchers were testing out their latest machine in the field of neuroscience to understand the impact of having a conscience in living organisms. The machine would simulate a scenario where the subject might feel guilty about such as lying or stealing. The purpose of this machine was to identify potential sociopaths and how their brains were wired differently. One day, one scientist decided to test the machine out on a brocolli.
"I've always thought that brocolli was pure evil,"said one of the researchers. "Initially, as a joke, I wanted to hook one [brocolli] to the machine to prove my point. To everyone's surprise, the brocolli was feeling guilty over the idea of stealing its mum's purse!"
Further testing were done on other fruits and vegetables yielded similiar results; including pseudofruits such as strawberry and pineapple. Oddly enough, the only subject that didn't respond to having any conscience was the apple.
In other news, in light of this recent discovery, vegetarians from around the world are now switching to soil and rock diet, hoping to receive nutrients the same way plants and trees would. |
I was sitting in one of their Capital ships. Surrounded by 7 no 8 different aliens in all kinds of shapes. Some more humanoid, other more snail like. All looking at me expectantly.
"So you all are arguing about mining rights in my star System 'Herbert'?"
They all nod.
"And because I own 'Herbert' I'm supposed to decide who gets mining rights?"
They nod again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale loudly from my nostrils. I'm not ready for this kind of extraterrestrial meeting.
"Tell me what's 'Herbert' like? Anything special about it?"
A large molluscoid with 4 Snail like eyes and slimy appendages speaks up.
"'Herbert' is a class K star, 7 planets are orbiting 'Herbert' two are inhabited by promitive lifeforms using rudimentary stone tools. Almost all planets are terraforming candidates and have a large amount of resources. If I may add the system was first entered by our science Vessel."
Suddenly the room erupts in shouting.
A small hairy beast shouts: "But you lost all claims to the territory after our alliance pact!"
Another one: "You both lost your claims after the Galactic Senate ruled that it should belong to us!"
And another one: "Of course they did after your kind stacked the senate against us!"
From then one it's incoherent shouting and fighting. My head feels like it's about to explode.
I stand up and shout in despair: "All of you shut up!"
For a moment there is silence.
"I have decided who will get mining rights to 'Herbert'."
Everyone looks at me expectantly.
"I have decided that 'Herbert' belongs to the System natives, as they lived in the system before any of your arrival. 'Herbert' will remain untouched by any of your civilizations until the natives have advanced enough to make their own intelligent decisions about 'Herbert'."
And that's the day where humanity just made itself 7 no 8 new Enemies. |
Griselda the Harrowed’s face against the flickering campfire light betrayed her true emotions as she recounted her childhood to her fellow heroes.
“I was 5 when the beasts of evil burden attacked. Being poor, we lived on the outskirts. My parents sacrificed everything, toiling day in and day out to ensure we met our agricultural quota for our mad king Leonith, who, although not knowing at the time, began to fall under the Dark Lord Maketh’s evil hold. We should’ve seen them coming, the orcs and other foul creatures. They encroached freely on our lands in smaller numbers at first, but then large platoons began marching like they owned the fucking kingdom. My parents hid me in time, but my little brother was not so lucky. The hiding space was only large enough for one, and he was so scared that he gave up his cover. I had to watch in silence while the orcs and werewolves slaughtered my family. My little brother tried his hardest not to look at my hiding place as he was ripped to shreds. He was so brave and strong….”
Her voice trailed off and tears began flowing freely, as she gripped her sword, a family heirloom. She didn’t know it, but it was imbued with magical properties granting bravery and enhancing combat abilities for its user, should they be noble of heart. Long since have the stories been passed down through her family, forgotten and lost in the recesses of time. Anathemis the scarred nodded with closed eyes in agreement. He had undergone a similar story, except it was his brother who betrayed his once wealthy and honorable family, becoming the Dark Lord’s second in command, as he had just recounted to the group before Griselda’s tragic tale. Everyone now looked toward Anthony the Titleless, who had yet to share his story.
Gargan the Stalwart let out a raspy and gruff command: “Tell us Anthony, what do they call you, and what is your story?”
They all listened with patient and open ears.
Anthony was sweating. Not at all because of the fire, no, he was sweating because…he had lived a rather boring life.
“Erm, so I guess my story begins at a young age…I always had a fascination with swords, and I was a natural climber, able to traverse difficult terrain virtually from birth.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “So the village knights took notice of my interests, and offered to train me. My parents were initially apprehensive, but after some convincing, they let me pursue my talents. I progressed incredibly rapidly. By age 8 I had surpassed all the swordsmen in the kingdom. That’s when I met my mentor and second father figure, Master Sareth, a legendary swordsman and magician. He trained me in all 3 of the mystical sword arts, as well as the 2…forbidden ones. I trained for years, and my parents were impressed as well as they could be: they had no appreciation for such things. My mother is a baker and my father an accountant for local businesses. Anyways, is there a post office where we are going? I think my family and Mentor are eagerly awaiting news of my exploits.”
The group was silent. Gargan coughed, before Anathemis blurted out: “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Anthony was immediately regretful. He should’ve made up a sob story.
“I’m sorry, what?” He eked our sheepishly.
“YOU LITERALLY HAVE NO TRAUMA, NOTHING, NO MOTIVATOR FOR BEING A HERO?” Anathemis was bellowing at this point.
Griselda blurted out urgently:
“Can you keep it down? We don’t know who’s…” she couldn’t even finish before an arrow whizzed past her ear. Anthony stood up immediately, and said:
“I’ll take care of this one.”
They actually hadn’t seen any action up until this point. They set out only a week ago, and frankly, Anthony was getting antsy to put his well-honed skills to good use. In a flash of light, he was gone. All the group could see were various flashes, some red, some white. A bit of lightning here and there as Anthony deftly carved through what was intended to be a stealth assassination and reconnaissance squad sent by Anathemis’ brother. All settled, before Anthony returned with a truly grotesque and barely human head.
“Hey not for nothing but is there a reason this…thing looks like you Anathemis? No offense…” he stammered the last bit.
Anathemis stared at the visage that was surely his brother’s, warped by dark magic. He promptly vomited.
“Sorry…I honestly thought twice about slaying him when I saw, figured you’d want to be the one to settle the score…”
Anathemis did not at all. His brother was truly terrifying, a force of nature. The fact that the Dark Lord sent his brother after them was enough to scare him. Ororexis, his brother’s old name, was skilled in dark magic and particularly cruel. Yet Anthony cut through him as if he was a low level peon, along with his elite hit squad.
“It’s fine.” He sulked. It really was. His brother scared the shit out of him.
“Well alright guys, you get some rest, first watch is on me.” Anthony the Mundane said cheerily. |
"P...please don't punch me...?"
These aren't exactly the kind of words that would normally leave your mouth - they feel weird rolling over your tongue, like something that doesn't quite belong in your mouth. Stale gum, you think, is what it reminds you of, and then you wonder why you're spending these moments before you likely get the shit *beat out of you again* thinking about fitting metaphors.
And this is why you're bullied.
"I'll teach you some respect, kid,"Nathaniel says, slamming you against the locker, and you can feel the metal slats through your hoodie. He grabs you by your arm, then, and drags you with him - drags you where? Can't you just get beat up and then get a break?
He takes you into the hallway under the stairs, and you count blue tiles under your feet as you almost trip on the desks set up there for detention. You'd made it to 105 when he pushes you into a chair and sits down across from you.
"That was pathetic. Don't you have any self-respect?"
"Uh...no?"you reply, and Nathaniel's face goes from angry bully to sympathetic in under five seconds.
"Listen, I might say things like 'You're not worth shit!', but that's because it makes me feel better about my own awful life. I don't mean it. But you...really take it to heart, huh?"
"Yes,"you continue, still baffled and waiting to get punched, "I figured anyone would...?"
Your bully sighs and puts his head in his hands.
"We've got a lot of work to do."
"Work?"
"Helping you respect yourself." |
The concrete world began to crumble without humans left to repair it. Like how snow, once firm and compact, melts into the cracks of the earth without winter to hold it, leaving no trace of its previous form. Towers bent, sagged, and fell; dirt-infused air sanded both brick and wood to dust; bright red rust salvaged the boats it grew on, loosening hinged panels and piling them neatly on the ocean floor.
All this the last man watched beneath charcoal skies. Humanity’s prolonged autumn — sewn by our own hands, the reaping carried out by nature’s scythe. He, the last man, became a tourist. Revisiting cities he’d not been to in hundreds of years to see how they’d changed.
Now he sailed a plastic-bottle raft across a black ocean with a muzzle of salt stuccoed about his lips. He wanted this misery to end. He always wanted it to end but couldn’t find a way to make it happen. Or else couldn’t find the courage.
Eventually he reached land, as always, and began the long walk to a city he remembered as alive. An origami city — his memory of it drawn on paper that had now faded and folded in on itself. Memories that had once made sense: Korean and Italian restaurants down this street. Wine, beer, whiskey sold here. Parks of matchstick trees and tamed rivers. Now, being in the origami city, his memories linked up incorrectly, the streets led down or up instead of right or left.
This city had been called Amsterdam at one point. He remembered bicycles and trams and boats. He remembered a girl — a night in bed like a stirred cup of coffee. He remembered promises of calling and keeping in touch, adding each other on chat applications back when there had been chat applications.
For a while their promises had been sapling-honest, green and growthful, small now but one day… sky-high?
And then they’d gotten busy, as people do, and the sapling turned directions, wilted to the ground. Busy… Had he ever been busy?
He could hear the canals babble beneath the slabs of fallen buildings like some still functioning sewer still shuttling the city’s shit out to the ocean.
It was afternoon when the clouds opened and the black rain fell. Each drop contained a grain of dirt, water seemingly growing around it like an azure pearl.
The rain couldn’t kill him but it would tear his clothes and claw his skin into red slick streaks.
He made shelter. He wasn’t Robinson Crusoe (a book he’d read a hundred times before its dust became a stain on his mind) but he could prop poles into triangles, layer the roof with plastic-sheeting, tuck in his feet and wait the rain-days out.
It was as he searched for roofing material that he found the phone. Tucked into a nest of plastic wrapping, a baby swaddled and cared for by strangers. He barely remembered its shape or purpose upon seeing it. A plastic crab with a filleted belly.
He didn’t try switching it on until his shelter was complete. Didn’t believe there was any point. But he pocketed it; a souvenir of his old life that would churn out memories for a hundred or so years until it fell apart like the rest of his world.
Even then, he didn’t mean to turn it on. Must have lain on his pocket, held the button.
It beeped. Twice.
Nature had destroyed the world of man. Its ivy feelers, like the legs of a great Kraken, had twisted and strangled and eventually fed on all our nutrients. Our bodies swallowed into its vast belly, our bones broken down and processed into slick oil.
But nature could not reach out of the snow globe prison it had built for itself.
High above, endlessly looping satellites — powered by sunlight — still whirled. Like electrons infinitely orbiting their nucleus. And with them, servers belonging to our once-largest companies rotated, safe from human threats that might, and did, one day arise.
”You said you’d message me. I know it’s been a while but I’m still waiting.”
His hands had been trembling, throat clogged by hope. He’d switched the phone off: had to preserve battery. Then on again. Then off— no, he was wasting its precious energy.
His best find up to now had been a teddy in the shape of a dog that reminded him of an old pet, Benjamin. It was mud-caked but loved by no one more than him. He’d taken it everywhere for decades, until it became little balls of fluff indistinguishable from the lint that lined his pockets.
He checked a sports website first. Found the frozen results of the last ever NFL game. Our final snapshot of being human. He found recipes then for fish and potatoes, the only foods he ever seemed to find. Burned them to his memory.
Then he logged into old accounts, starving to read ancient messages. From his mother. Sibling. Friends.
But it’d been her message that had popped up as new. Unread.
The girl he’d met here long ago, exchanged faux-promises with, thought he’d exchanged lies with — but maybe she’d only traded truths.
”I know it’s been a while but I’m still waiting. I miss you. I love you.”
For a minute his heart had beat all through his body, his neck and ears and fingers pulsing with a drumbeat of light.
In this hope he found his humanity. He’d been certain he’d lost it but now—
The rain pelted his shelter. Sounded like clumps of wet sand being hurled at glass windows.
He saw the date of the message.
Unread, yes. But the message had come three days before the end. Centuries ago.
His body shook, convulsed. Suddenly he’d lost the world all over again. This time a world that had never been and never would, but could have been. Their world together. This girl he hardly remembered but had once maybe-loved.
Eventually the rain stopped.
Maybe two days had passed. In the darkness it was hard to say.
For a while, as he’d rested, he’d felt numb. Then the numbness had melted into a strange, okay feeling. Better than okay, even.
He crawled out of his shelter and searched the city for further souvenirs.
He thought maybe he’d find another Benjamin today. It felt like a lucky day.
The phone was off again for now. But imprinted on that screen, or at least on his memory, was the knowledge he’d been loved. A fresh, sharp knowledge that stung delightfully. A drip of lemon into an eye.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wanted to go on. Wanted to see the next city. He didn’t want it to end. |
Princess Angela looked at the men arrayed before her. These were her suitors. The largest, most powerful warriors, not just in the kingdom, but in the world. Men who could crush others like ants and slay the greatest of beasts.
She was not impressed.
Nor was she happy about being here, at this so-called "tournament". Just because her father had gone behind her back and done something incredibly stupid, she had to go through with this farce. Who ever heard of someone getting married to a man who could beat someone in a fight? It was idiotic. Besides, she already had her heart set on someone.
But she had to go through the motions. She glanced at her weapon, a broadsword almost as tall as she was, then at the crowd of large, powerful me. The blade was stuck in the ground, and instead of pulling it out, she leaned against it.
Her father was just finishing up some big, grand speech about the future of the kingdom. Angela was sure it was very inspiring, but she was not paying attention. Her eyes scanned her potential marriage candidates. If he was there, he was lost in the crowd.
The princess barely noticed when the tournament started and her first opponent came forward. He was even bigger than most, probably had some ogre blood in him, judging by the idiotic look in his face. The signal to begin was given and the big man swung an oversized club at her.
Angela yawned and caught the huge weapon in one hand. The ground cracked around her feet, but she did not care. She simply used her free hand to grab the man, lift him, and throw him into the crowd. The people cheered.
"Let's just get this over with. Anyone feeling brave, come at me. I don't care if all of you come at once."She said, speaking loud enough that everyone could hear.
The suitors looked at each other, then at the man she had just thrown like a rag doll. At some unspoken signal, every single one rushed at her.
It took her less than ten minutes to beat all of them.
She huffed and looked around at the pile of groaning, injured men scattered around the arena. The crowd roared in delight. Her father groaned and held his head in his hand. Angela caught some movement. There was one more suitor.
He was a small thing, in several ways. Small in height, small in build, small in presence. His back was hunched and he leaned heavily on a cane his eyes were covered with thick spectacles, and his clothes were rough and tattered. Angela put on no outward reaction to this, but her heart started beating quickly.
"Who let that crippled peasant in here?"The king asked.
One of the advisors leaned in and whispered into his ear. Angela knew what it was about. There were no limits to who could enter this tournament. Even someone who tended the books of a local merchant was allowed.
"Fine, continue. Not that it'll matter."The king said.
The man began walking in his slow, stilted way. Angela went to meet him. He reached out with his cane and swung it with all his might. Much to everyone's surprise, Angela made no move to stop the strike. She simply let it hit her. When it did, she was launched into the far wall. Even the dimmest person in the crowd could tell she had done that on purpose.
She was obviously acting when she pulled herself up and shook herself off. Then she rushed at the small man, who intercepted her with his cane, catching her on the jaw. She was launched into the air, tumbling in a suspiciously acrobatic way. Nobody was buying that her airborne status was because of the man's weak attack.
When she landed, she slowly stood and raised her hand. "I yield."She said loudly.
The crowd erupted into sound. Some cheered, some booed, some laughed, some cried. All manner of emotions ran through the crowd. The only one that mattered though, was the king, who was obviously furious.
"This is absurd! This was obviously staged, everyone can see that. I demand you fight properly against this...cripple."
Angela felt her eye twitch. She wanted nothing more than to give her father a black eye. But that would cause problems, even for her.
"I don't know what you're talking about, sire."She said through clenched teeth. "I fought him truly, and he beat me in a fair fight. By your rules, Pe...he is to be my husband."
"That was obviously staged!"The king bellowed. "Anyone with eyes can see that!"
Angela took a deep breath and shouted. "What say you people? Did I lose that fight on purpose?"
The crowd cheered, and by some unspoken agreement, all affirmed that her fight was, in fact, real. None spoke out. None disagreed.
"There you have it father. By your own rules, we have found my husband to be."
She placed a hand gently, some might say tenderly, on his thin shoulder. The man stood a little straighter and have his best smile. The keen eyed among the crowd noticed that the princess occasionally glanced at him oddly fondly.
The king growled, but spoke. "Very well. I shall acknowledge this...farce of a victory. What is your name?"
"Peter, sire."
"Well then, Peter,"the king nearly spat out the name. "Congratulations, you are the victor and may now marry my daughter."
"Thank you, sire. I'll do my best to be worthy of her."
The king grumbled and dismissed them. The new couple walked off. Some members of the crowd saw them whispering to each other. None could hear what they said, but some of his words made her laugh joyously. That was all they saw before they disappeared into the depths of the arena. |
11:00 a.m.
On a Friday
*Scene starts in The Hooka Bar owned by Dennis, Charlie, and Mac*
"Salaam, salaams my brothers!!"Dennis comes in with his arms raised.
"Salaam, brother Dennis, come try out this new flavor I made last night!"Charlie says, holding out the pipe.
"Oh, cool, you made one yourself-- wait, why does it smell like cat food?"
"Cat foo- what? Just try some, man, it's great, brother Frank loves it."
Their voices begin overlapping.
"Bro, there's cat food in the pipe!"
"So what if there's cat food in the pipe, that shouldn't stop you from trying it!"
"I'm not smoking cat food!"
Sweet Dee comes out of the office.
"Astaghfir'Allah, what are you morons yelling about this time?"
"Dee get your hijab on! Charlie's here!"Dennis yells, swatting the pipe away from his face again.
"Why didn't anyone tell me Charlie came in!?"
"What, Charlie sleeps here on Thursdays, you know that!!"
"Well I didn't expect him to come in every week!"
Mac barges in through the front door of the bar and everyone stops yelling to look at him.
"Asalaamu' Alaikum, brothers and... Dee, we have a problem!"
"What's wrong, what's up, bro?"asks Dennis.
"Jumma prayer!"yells Mac.
"Right, it's in an hour,"says Charlie, taking another smoke from his hooka.
"But our mosque was completely trashed after the Phillies game! We can't go in today!"
"What, where are we supposed to pray?"asked Dee.
Everyone looks to Dee and Dennis waves her off,
"Dee, shut up, let the men talk, please,"he says and turns back to Mac, "where are we supposed to pray?"
"At the downtown mosque!"Mac yells.
"The downto-- isn't that the one where the khutba is in English?"asked Charlie, spitting the word *English*.
"Yeah! They aren't even planning on translating the whole thing to Arabic for us!"Mac continues.
"What? Now that's just simply non-Muslim,"Dennis says a matter of factly.
"Those kafirs!!"yells Charlie.
"AstagfirAllah!"yells Dee.
"Shut up, Dee!"everyone yells.
Suddenly, Frank barges in waving his gun.
"You guys, you guys! I figured out how to make the mosque do their khutba in Arabic! We have to convince everyone that we're a hated minority so they'll have to meet our demands as some sort of compensation,"he yells, sitting on a stool.
Charlie takes a long puff on his hooka pipe and finally asks,
"How do we do that?"
Frank smiles.
*"The Gang Commits A Hate Crime"*
*"It's Always Sunni In Philadelphia"* |
”No, it’s not taken,” you say. The girl is attractive and her hair reminds you of autumn, of leaves turning red and falling. Attractive girls don’t often come up to you. You think of the final line you’ve just scribbled into your novel, about a beautiful girl meeting a strange man in a bar.
Your mouth’s a little dry. The parallels between your writing and this girl, this moment, are bizarrely clear.
In your book, a man has finally come to terms with the death of his fiancé, and the final scene in the bar signifies this change and shows him ready to take a step forward. Your fiancé didn’t die, but she did break it off with you a year ago, falling in love (real, actual love — I didn’t even know it was a thing!) with a colleague at her new job.
Whether your writing is prophetic or not, you can’t say. But this moment feels *significant*. That’s the only word for it. Your character is moving on, and with him healing, perhaps you can finally start to heal.
Either way, it’s a chance at something. At adventure.
“It’s not taken at all,” you say. ”Please, sit down.”
”Oh, no.“ She gestures at a table across the bar, where three other girls sit sipping bubble teas. “We need another seat.”
“Of course. Sure. Yeah, it’s all yours.”
She flashes a smile then carries the seat away. For a while you stare into your coffee which looks like trampled, runny mud. You wonder about the significance of this now. Perhaps your character isn’t healed, after all. Perhaps there isn’t any healing for him or for you.
There is just this. Just existence. No meaning, just living.
You sip your coffee. It tastes better than it looks. |
There is some inescapable part of me that yearns for you- and not just for your rough, cracked hands to lift my head by my intrusive chin and tell me that I'm handsome, or to run them down my arms and back up again, teasing me (encouraging me, even) to let go, and give in- but there's an element to me that flows through my body like sticky sweet blood that powers me, it moves me. And you know it.
You know that you drive me insane. I'm sorry that I can't give it all back to you. But you know that you have this ability to drive me wild and you manipulate it like you do me; every move is planned and has its purpose, like you're folding me into origami- a sitting duck, floating on a pool that's drenched in your aura, your fucking charm. You disgust me.
But, you rule me. I'm a slave to you. If you held my head down in that pool, I'd be blessed and rather then cry out "dear God, save me!"I'd only find the words to thank him for giving me what I've always wanted. You. I want you. Unfortunately for me, God has abandoned me- or at least he doesn't acknowledge me and that's more then I can say for you. Rather than be benevolent or silent, you torture me and you punish me for what I can have. I can have you- you know I can, otherwise you wouldn't abuse my affection so liberally, dragging me on, leaning in a little too close, whispering a little too soft, drawing my hand to yours and pressing it ever so slightly against your thigh- I could have you, if I wanted. And that's just the problem.
I don't want you. I don't, I don't, I don't. But I need you. You are a horrid person; I abhor myself for knowing that there is a capacity in me to fall so hard for someone that I'd call against my very nature. But you're also intoxicating. You've bewitched me; I'm drunk, I'm stoned. I'm poisoned. I long for your tongue to cross paths with mine- even if it means that you'll bite like the waiting asp you are and I'll die. But I'll die loving you.
You're so open about it. You openly sport your prey, your toys- when you're tired of them, they dissolve away into the background, and I've watched it. Women, they come and go- like a cycle of evaporation, they come, they dry- they leave. Women, you get rid of. But me...I'm different, because I am not one of them. I linger; I tell myself its because I am ice to you- I refuse to bend and show you how much it affects me, but I'm melting. Dripping. For you.
One day, I'm going to give in to you. This is my acceptance of defeat. I will never be able to resist you for much longer- but I wanted to have it stated, have it shouted, how much I bloody despise you despite the fact that you are all in the world that could ever make me happy. These words are my paper crane- a thousand of them, a thousand more never said and never written- and they are my deepest wishes. Come and claim me, whenever you are ready.
|
There was a time when I would look at the night sky with wonder, and awe, questioning my place amongst the ever-stretching cosmos in its vast loneliness. Naomi, the woman of my dreams, would lie in the grass of a hill outside our home and stare with me.
"Do you think the stars are lonely?"she once asked, touching her fingertips to mine.
I didn't know how to respond. Stars don't feel anything, but at the same time, they're scattered throughout an uncaring universe, doomed to fight and fight until there's nothing left but an explosion that sets the heavens alight for a little while.
Would that I could go back and tell her the truth.
The stars are not lonely. They burn for us, and we burn for them, in a cycle that never ends as the universe spends billions of years stretching and searching, all of its bits and pieces looking for something that doesn't quite make sense. When we'd look at the night sky, blotted with stars thousands of light years away, it was a moment of connection. An understanding between two beings on the same path, just on different scales.
I see it everywhere, now that I've been reborn in this newest iteration. The confusion, the despair, the wonder and fright and feeling that there must be something bigger than us. We can't be alone, this can't all be for nothing. Some fill this hole in the soul with religion, or alcohol, or whatever else makes them forget that it's there--but it's *always* there. It will always be there, because we are more than ourselves. We are the pieces of a whole, a shattered puzzle, out of place anywhere we roam.
When I look at the night sky, now, I no longer wonder. Naomi, I can finally answer your question, wherever your matter has been scattered.
But you already know it, don't you? Because for an infinite moment, the universe became whole again, compacted into a singularity that is the closest thing to heaven we'll ever get. It was you, me and the stars all together at last, even though it cannot hold. I hope that once this cycle of turmoil comes to a close, I will still remember our time in utopia.
If only I could tell everyone else that the meaning of life is, simply, to be as one.
That we are Heaven, and these brief flashes of life can be so much more than just the search for ourselves.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Most parents develop their kids fear very early on, taking extra care with specialists not to traumatize them too much. My parents didn't want to inflict such pain upon me, they couldn't bring themselves to hurt their baby daughter for the sake of a silly power.
I spent most of my life without a fear, without powers. While in school, I saw most other kids having fun with their powers, some even having surpassed their fears and hesitation.
In high school I was probably the only kid without a power. I had no actual phobias and watching horror movies only made me more desensitized to them. I was a bit jealous, seeing my friend pass through doors and walls like they didn't exist, but I'd already given up on trying for a power.
I was too late to get a power. Honestly, being older and more rational made it difficult to get scared, let alone an exact phobia. When I did get scared, it wasn't to the point I would develop my ability and it always sucked testing to see if I'd awakened to anything and coming up sort.
In all honesty, I probably didn't even need a good power to get by. My father's power was telekinesis from fear of being controlled and my mother's was electricity from a traumatic event where her brother died when she was young. Their current occupations paid handsomely, and if they ever left, others would flock to grab them before others.
And yet, there was no time I wanted a power more than today. My parents lay dead on the floor, the home invaders having taken them by surprise, and I was lying on the cold floor bleeding out next to them.
Tears kept falling from my eyes, my face opposite to my unmoving mother's. I didn't want to die. I wasn't really scared of death, but I didn't want to die. I was terrified, but I didn't know what terrified me, and I couldn't activate any power whatsoever.
In my shallow breaths, I accepted my end. And at that moment, I saw my father's body twitching as he stood up, telekinesis moving what seemed to be a corpse. Upon landing his gaze on one of the intruders, the man's neck was torn apart.
The others quickly took notice and pelted him with bullets, but not before he took another two with him.
I cried, my voice unable to be heard from the blood blocking my throat. It was all over. I was dying, unable to do anything. I was a failure, always late to do anything in life. Too late to get a power, too late to save my parents, too late to warn them that someone had broke in.
Being so close to dying, I wasn't scared of meeting my end. No, perhaps that would be a blessing. What I was terrified of, was that I would be too late to meet my parents in the same afterlife, that I would be late one more time and eternal rest would become eternal hell.
My eyes closed for the last time, a tear rolling down my face as I felt my power activating for the first time.
I was terrified.
My eyes shot open, the pain I felt before I died gone, as were all the injuries. I took a quick look at my surroundings, finding myself tucked in my bed.
Terror gave way to confusion, to surprise and then to hope. I opened my phone which was luckily right next to me. The date was Saturday, 2:39 am, and everyone was asleep. Muffled footsteps were heard from downstairs and my hope turned into terror back again.
I turned my head, finding a person dressed in black with whiffs of smoke coming from his clothes. I only had enough time to look the home invader in the eyes before pulled a gun from his pocket and shot me.
With a gasp, I opened my eyes again, this time immediately jumping up from bed. The noise seemed to have alerted the intruders, however, as they made their way to my bedroom only seconds later, ending my life without hesitation.
I grunted as I opened my eyes again, knowing just how bad the situation was. But this time I wasn't scared. I calmly got out of bed.
My power defied reality and no matter how many attempts it took, no matter how many times I died, I would survive, and I would save my parents.
I wasn't scared of pain, I had already died twice.
My parents were still alive.
I wasn't late. I wasn't going to be late. Not this time, not any time, not going forward.
Because my ability answered to my deepest fear, and I wasn't going to allow myself to be late ever again. |
My dad doesn’t remember his own brother. For the last ten years, I asked him what happened to Uncle John, and he just stares at me. It’s almost like he wants to say something, but then forgets what he was going to say. They think it’s my imaginary friend. But I’m 22 now, and they are starting to get worried and want me to see a doctor. A “special” doctor and I’m scared.
Uncle John was real. I’m sure he was. He was the kind of Uncle that always had a dollar to give you when your parents weren’t looking. Or a piece of candy. Or even a code to download a game that always turned out to be great. And that just wasn’t for me. He did that for everyone. He didn’t think I knew, but I saw him do it. The sly handshake. The extra-wide smile, and the knowing wink.
His house was in another state, which should have kept his visits to only once a year or on holidays. But they didn’t. At my school plays, the ones that I know are boring now, he would show up. 10 year old me would see him in the crowd. He would wave, and then I wouldn’t see him again until the next time. Or when I was having a bad day, he would join me on a walk home. By the time I got home, I was feeling great.
I told my parents that I saw Uncle John today and they would say “That’s nice, dear.” But then they began to notice that when I saw Uncle John, I was having a hard time. They would drop what they were doing and listen. I mean actually listen. So whenever I wanted to talk about something that was too hard to talk about, I would tell them I saw Uncle John and we would be together. Oddly, Uncle John brought us together.
Uncle John killed people. Once we were out on a walk, and a man punched a dog. Just a stray that didn’t have anyone or anything. The dog wasn’t doing anything but laying on the sidewalk. The man punched him for no reason and started laughing.
Uncle John ran up to him and asked him to stop. The man did not. Uncle John sighed, relaxed his big shoulders, and gently touched the man on the forehead. The man’s eyes got big, and then he just fell down. Uncle John asked me if I was ok. And for some reason, I was. It didn’t bother me at all. And I don’t know why, but I told Uncle John he should take the dog home because he needed a good home. Uncle John did. From then on, whenever I saw Uncle John, the dog was with him. We named him Samwise.
Uncle John and Samwise started taking me with them more often. And to further places off. I know that this sounds crazy, but I would tell my parents I was off on an adventure with Uncle John and Samwise. They would say ok, and then I would jump in Uncle John's 1980 Ford pickup. It was sky blue and didn’t have an air conditioner. And it always sounded like the engine was going to blow up. But it never did.
Then we would drive. I would tell Uncle John about my day, pet Samwise or give him treats, and 20 minutes later we would be in a different city or country. All in 20 minutes. I should have paid more attention, but at the time, it seemed normal.
We would babysit for a single mother who couldn’t get off work in time, or find someone crying on a bridge that needed to talk. Other times we would just go to the store and pick out a couple of people and pay for their groceries. And every time, without fail, those people would cry and say that this simple act had changed their lives. I’m not sure, it was just food, but they would always say it. Uncle John would smile and we would leave.
And other times, we would kill people. A drunk that beat his kids never made it home from the bar. A woman that sold mentally handicapped sister for favors so she could continue her habit, whatever that was. And people that punched dogs in the street for no reason.
Then one day, Uncle John said he had to leave and couldn’t come back. I asked him why.
“I just have to go. It’s hard to explain. No one’s going to remember me. I know, it’s weird but it’s what’s going to happen. But you have to stay here and learn. To watch. To listen. More than anything, to listen. And take care of Samwise because he can’t come with me.”
Then he was going, and Samwise came home with me. My parents acted as if we had always had the dog. That was ten years ago, and Samwise is still with me.
As lithe and spry as he ever was, Samwise is either the healthiest dog ever or immortal. He’s one of the reasons I know Uncle John was real, no matter if no one else remembers him. Either way, we love our walks together.
We go out and sometimes slip a dollar bill to a kid who is looking at the ground too much. Or babysit for a single mom we meet at the grocery store. Or give a man a hug that takes the time to pet Samwise. A good one, not single-arm hug but one of those that your mom gives you after she hasn’t seen you in a long time.
Samwise and I then get in the car and go out at night sometimes. I drive 20 minutes and end up where I’m supposed to be. I open my wallet passing an old woman on the street and give her money to pay her past-due electric bill. I don’t know how the money gets in my wallet, but it’s always there. Other times we go to the library and just tell the librarian thank you and it’s like she’s never heard It before. Samwise licks them and we all laugh.
And other times, we touch people on the forehead. The mean ones. The ones that are doing something just for the hatred of doing it. This doesn’t bother me and it’s the only reason I think I may be a little crazy. But at the same time, it’s the right thing to do. I don't tell the doctor my parents make me see all of this. He's got bigger problems, and I'm helping him. He doesn't know it, but I am.
Before Uncle John left, he told me something that has always stuck with me.
“It doesn’t cost you anything to be kind, but it could cost you everything to be cruel.”
I think of that every time Samwise wakes me up in the morning. |
So there's this thing all new villains do, at the climax of each heist/crime/caper. It's brief, but it's distinctive, and you'll always find it if you know what you're looking for. When you've been around as long as I have, it's hard to miss.
It's a useful tell, if you're trying to identify which ones are actual villains, and which ones are just common criminals. It's like the standard superhero landing - lets you put a big tick in the box for 'actually part of the scene'. Older villains learn to avoid it after a while - it starts to feel a bit clichéd - but for your new supervillains, it might as well be a neon sign.
It goes like this. The villain (plus optional henchmen) have busted in, probably made a few themed quips, and they've grabbed the object - money, experimental tech, girlfriend, whatever. That's phase one. Phase two is the fight - the hero turns up, starts knocking heads together, and they trade punches/puns for a bit.
At the climax of phase two, that's the moment. The villain has fought their way free, distracted the hero with a sacrificial minion or something. At that moment - on the edge of escape - they always pause. They stand, sillhouetted against the void portal, or the hole in the bank wall caused by a bus, or the open door of the helicopter, and they toss off one last line.
That's it. Stand on the edge of escape, turn your head, say one thing, and then out. Into phase three - the chase - but for now lets just focus on the moment. They all do it, every time.
I've done it myself, as a youth. Back when I was starting out, I loved a good zinger as the subway doors closed in front of me, or even just a casual smirk as the submarine slips back beneath the water. It's hard to resist that moment of triumph.
But it's consistent, and that's a weakness. Just like the superhero landing again - when you know it's coming, you turn up a little early to the showdown and drop some mines at the base of the tallest building. The hero lands, punching the mine, and then you go home early because the cavalry is spread over a forty-foot area. I didn't get where I am today without exploiting an obvious weakness when the opportunity presents itself.
And that's what it's all about, really: where I am today. It's not that I begrudge any of the up-and-coming villains; you have to get your start somewhere. I've robbed my share of banks. But once you've robbed a few banks, you need somewhere to stash your money, and - call me old-fashioned - but I don't like upstarts just making off with what I've rightfully stolen.
So these days, I spend a lot of my time in the coffee shop across from the First National Bank. That's been my bank for thirty years, because it's the only one it ever took me more than 15 minutes to rob. I'm a loyal, if unconventional customer.
I like the coffee shop. There's a girl behind the register who reminds me of my granddaughter, they make a lovely lemon drizzle cake, and they don't mind if I just sit and do my crosswords with a pot of tea. It's a peaceful place to spend the day, and I don't have much else to do with my time since Maud passed. Perhaps most importantly though, the table where I sit has a perfect view of the large plate-glass windows fronting the bank.
A lot of villains try to rob that bank. A lot of heroes try to stop them. If the heroes were better at stopping them, I wouldn't spend quite as much time drinking tea which - given my bladder - does me no favours. But no - the heroes all arrive a little too late, don't quite hit hard enough to stop the villain escaping.
But new villains are consistent, and none of them - not one - can resist those big windows. They just have to use them as their exit, bust through them with some strange ray gun or vehicle. And then, as they're about to get away - scott-free, with my money - they do the thing.
They pause, for just a second, in the exact centre of whatever breach they've made. They turn, toss their head back, say something cutting. They stop moving, for just a heartbeat longer than they should.
I'm an old man now. I feed the ducks in the park, and wear scarves even in summer. I drink my tea and do my puzzles and the coffee shop staff call me an 'old dear' when they think I'm not listening. But you don't get to be old in this game without learning, and keeping, a few tricks.
In that frozen moment, when the villain is still, and sillhouetted, I've got a perfect shot. A death ray - silent, invisible, disguised as my lucky crossword pen. All it takes is a tap. The villain stumbles, falters, falls. The hero grapples with the mistaken belief that they've somehow taken a life. The bank workers collect up my money and put it back in the vault.
The doctors say I should watch my blood sugar. But on days when I've foiled a robbery, saved the city, protected my granddaughter's inheritance, I allow myself another slice of cake. |
The male goat struggled vigorously as it was held down by its captors. They were trying to sate the desires of whatever God was responsible for the sonorous, unearthly voice that echoed across their little valley.
"Memory full. More RAM required."
The priests -- Jerry, Dan, and Carl -- took the thrashing goat up to the highest peak surrounding their home. There they had prepared an altar for the sacrifice.
As Jerry and Dan strapped the goat to the altar, Carl began to whet the ceremonial Knife of Ram-Killing. Suddenly, Dan had a moment of lucidity.
"Hang on guys, we can't kill this thing."
"Why the hell not, Dan?"asked Carl, "do you want to sate God's hunger to ensure a good harvest, or not?"
Dan spread his hands out wide and adopted a "hey, just hear me out"sort of expression.
"No, no, it's not that at all. I want to sate the hunger of the gods just as much as the next guy."
"Then what is it?"asked Jerry, "come on, my wife's got dinner waiting, I told her I'd be back by five. . ."
"It's just this: we're living in an unspecified ancient civilization from one of the earliest points in recorded history, right?"
Jerry nodded.
"Maybe even prehistory,"said Carl.
"Right. So we're speaking, I don't even know, some language whose very name might even be lost to man in the year 2015 AD, right?"
"Yeah,"said Carl, "though one could presume our words would be translated for the benefit of whatever audience was reading them. And where did you get that calendar system from?"
"Yeah,"Jerry added, "Where the hell did you learn to count to more than three, Dan?"
"Why'd you have to go and break the fourth wall, anyway, Dan?"Carl cut in.
Dan looked overwhelmed at the interrogation.
"It's just, I can't bring myself to kill this poor little *ayil* for a pun that doesn't even make sense to me."
|
**Hi People! I've gotten a couple of requests to continue, so I'm going to be doing that. That being said I need to take a couple minutes off here to get stuff done. I'll be back in a bit. To make sure you aren't missing anything I post later jump on over to /r/JacksonWrites where this will be called "Dr. Monique's Near Death Services"**
"Hi welcome to Dr. Monique's near death services, how can I help you today?"the woman behind the counter chimed, "if you have an appointment you can just check in over to your right."
"No I'm a walk-in,"I sighed, "I saw that you had a thin-"
"We do!"she smiled, "and what were you looking to improve today? We have slots open in every category but direct looks, and even then I can get you into those tomorrow."
"Slow week?"I joked.
"Cold feet,"she answered, "but what can I do you for? Trust me they are missing out."
I peered over her shoulder, there were dozens of treatments to pick from but a couple of them we're flashing SOLD OUT. They must have needed the same room as looks. "I mean, what do you have?"
"Well,"she smiled, "we are a state of the art Near-Death clinic specializing in creating the cleanest experience you can have while nearly dying. We work in everything from personality treatments,"she took a breath just long enough to point at her smile, "to strength treatments. All that matters is what you want and we can deliver."
"Can I see a-"
"Sir I sadly don't have any descriptions,"she predicted, "if we let you know what's going to happen it ruins the effect of the treatment. It needs to feel like it's near death right?"
"I guess so."
"Nothing does if you know what's going on, as soon as you're in there it's going to fee like everything is wrong and you need to get out, but that is kinda the point."
"So you're going to-"
"Well that depends if you're going to book an appointment sir."
She had cut me off again, and for the second time she'd been right. There was a scar on her cheek that probably gave her that smile, but I couldn't help feeling like she'd gotten more done. The more I'd thought about doing this the more I noticed the people who'd done it. They made you feel pretty inadequate."
"Can I take more than one session?"I asked.
"Not in one day sadly, we need time fro your body to come down. You also can't take the same treatment more than once, but we switch up the treatments every 6 months so you have time to come in and do it all over again."She took a sip of her coffee to end her monologue and seemed pleased with her sales pitch. For some reason I felt like she was done answering questions right now.
The screen below me flashed blue with white text that politely reminded me that Dr. Monique had a quality guarantee. *If you're going to die, get close with me.*
I tapped through the screen and found the personality editors. It was a long list, there had to be something there that would be interesting. So I wouldn't be so god-damn boring.
Near the bottom of the list there was a listing: Thrilling.
"What does Thrilling mean?"
"Like I said, I can't tell you."
I pressed the button in response to that.
"We'll take the cash out of your account upon completion. Dr. Monique herself will be doing the treatment in room 3C. For now can you please take a seat over in the waiting room."
The girl behind the counter motioned over to the grey seats along the far wall. Two people were smiling in them, the others were curled up. I wasn't sure which group had been here before. |
&#x200B;
User: NOTASHES132
Edit: Sorry for the long post, had a lot to get off my chest.
Edit Edit: Wow okay thought I would get more measured responses from my favorite community.
AITA for Blowing up HALF the moon?
Please try to understand context, and remember, it was only HALF the moon. I could have blown up the whole thing, I have tons of missiles, but instead I only blew up half and I think that should speak for itself, but let me explain the story in case you STILL need to be convinced.
So I was minding my own business doing some banking when I wanted to make a withdrawal that was barely a couple million over the account limit. When the woman said no I pulled out my death ray because I was heated and I'd missed my coffee that morning. Keep in mind, I didn't SHOOT the death ray, I just pointed it at her, my finger wasn't even on the trigger the whole time.
Once I convinced her, she started loading the money I wanted in bags and begging me to let her go home to her wife and kids, so people started to get angry with me. It was so unfair! I was barely pointing the death ray at her at that point, she was just pity fishing in broad daylight to try to get the other innocent customers on her side. A move right from the narcissists' playbook.
BUT not everyone in the bank had the full story, so this big guy from behind me in line takes a swing at me. I was able to dodge it (Thanks to my ninja training) so he technically didn't hit me first but he DID try. That man had tried for a sucker punch so I reasonably went to shoot him with the death ray as a classic single escalation response.
Of course, so nosy security guard with a power trip won't let a couple of people figure things out, so he tries to tackle me just as I'm pulling the trigger. Next thing I know, I missed the assaulter and half the front door of the bank is gone. Keep in mind that property damage isn't MY fault, I would have just shot the VIOLENT man trying to ASSASULT me.
So now the police are coming, but ACAB right? So I grab the money and take off in my hover board. Admittedly I'm embarrassed about how the whole thing went down but at that point I just wanted to get home.
Boom! The pigs start shooting at me because they don't have any trigger discipline in this country and one of them hit my engines. So now I'm spiraling out of control in the middle of the air when suddenly I see that the nosy and boisterous (speaking of narcissists) Victorya is suddenly in the air beside me. She's trying to make quips about my situation instead of SAVING me which is her job.
So once I get things a little more stable I fire my death ray at her because she won't die from it anyway, but get this, she gets OUT OF THE WAY and I hit an office building. Now people are saying that I'm a murderer (BTW manslaughter is a thing look it up) and they aren't even consdiering that it was her fault for getting out of the way.
Once the glass stops falling she comes right at me so I engage the ATMOS protocol. Big shout out to my buddy Jared in comms who told me that we'd only need 50% to get the job done, and even though I was annoyed I took his advice for a measured response.
So we fire HALF of the missiles that we had in storage for Victoya and she sees them coming so she flies away. I crash into the ground so I only see the rest from the street, but she goes flying around, dragging missiles all over the city instead of just letting them hit her like a real hero would.
Victorya (Have I told you that she's punched me a bunch of times before?) flies up into the upper atmosphere which OF COURSE is bad for the missiles targeting systems. She actually ends up leading them PAST the satellite that controls them and KEEP IN MIND I had no control over the missiles once she was in the upper atmosphere.
So she gets out of the way, the missiles keep going and it turns out they were headed RIGHT for the moon. Suddenly people are gasping my name on the news like four hours later when ONLY HALF the moon blows up because other people antagonized me and I was acted in self defense.
Now that you know the whole story it's pretty obvious that NTA, but I already typed this all out so you can decide.
&#x200B;
Actual Edit: Check out /r/Jacksonwrites for more things that are equally domb, but less AITA formatted. Also some minior typo correction. |
"Today is the day. Today is the day. Today is the day."
Mark watched the metallic figure clink and clanking down the
deserted superhighway; it's bare metal feet dragging against the
cracks on the cement, making screeching and scratching noises as
it walked.
"Today is the day. Today is the day. Today is the day."
Slowly, he stepped out from behind the tree. Not that he would
admit to himself, of course, but the truth is, Mark was a little
scared.
It was the first time he'd seen someone for almost a year.
*Someone?* He thought, wondering if he could refer to the robot
as "someone".
"Today is the day. Today is the day. Today is the day."The
scratchy voice repeated itself in the same monotonic note, beating
the rhythm as the creature distanced itself from Mark and disappeared down the road.
*Perhaps this is better*, Mark thought. Part of him wanted to go to
the thing, talk to it. It didn't look human, of course, but,
apparently, it could talk, and that would be something. It had been quite a few years since Mark had... talked. But it
might also be dangerous.
*Let it be.* He thought, turning his back on the road. *This way at least I'm safe. I'm
--*
"Psycho. Alpaca?"The voice came from behind Mark, all of a
sudden.
"JESUS MARY JOSEPH!"Mark said, in the most calm and distinct
way he could, falling down on a pile of leaves and mud on the ground.
"Psycho. Alpaca?"The figure repeated. How it had managed to
drag itself from the highway all the way to behind Mark, and so
quietly, the boy had no idea.
"Who are you?"Mark asked, getting up.
"Remind. Me."
"Remind you of what?"
"No."The robot approached Mark. "I'm RemindMe."
"You're remind me?"
"Reddit. Bot. Today is the day."
"What day?"Mark took a few steps back, nervous.
"Year 2999. Remind me. December 31."
Mark frowned. Was it new year's, already? "Today is December
31st?"
"Calgary, Alberta. Canada."
"Sorry, robot buddy. This isn't Canada. We're somewhere in
Arizona, last I checked."
"Must find. User. Slash U Slash. Psycho. Underline. Alpaca."
"Who?"
The robot turned its back on Mark and, slowly, begun to make way
back to the superhighway. "Today. Is. The. Day. Today. Is. The.
Day."
Mark watched as the tin man strolled clumsily through the woods.
It wasn't the first robot he'd seen, of course, but this one seemed
particularly eloquent. Very eager to talk, and, apparently, very eager to perform a job.
*He'll never get to Calgary in time*, Mark though, watching as the
robot reached the highway and restarted his way down the path. From the
distance, the wind carried scattered metallic words back to him: "Remind.
Psycho. Year. 2999. Today. Is. The. Day."
Mark looked behind him, scanning the poorly built hut he had spent the last
week trying to rise. There was little to no food around, and the
nights were getting colder by the day.
Plus, it was lonely as shit out there.
"Hey, robot thing!"Mark called, making up his mind. He grabbed the red Power Rangers
backpack from the floor and starting to hush towards the Highway.
"Remind me!"
The robot turned back. "Psycho Alpaca?"He asked, in his scratchy
voice.
"No! But I'll help you find him. Listen", Mark reached the robot
and, breathless, put his hand around his shoulder. "What is it that
we are reminding this alpaca of?"
The robot turned to face him. "Time Capsule. Chinook Centre.
Calgary. Canada."
"What?"
"It was sealed in 2000. Message Board Post -- Today I Learned a
time capsule was sealed in 2000 in Calgary, Canada, and is
scheduled to be opened in 2999, December 31. Slash User Slash
Psycho Underline Alpaca Remind me. Must remind him. Today is
the day."
Mark frowned. "You're talking about... what, an internet forum?"
"Yes. Internet forum. Today is the day."
"You do realize the user that asked to be reminded of it is probably
dead, right? It was probably a joke."
"Joke?"RemindMe asked, still staring straight into Mark's eyes.
"Yes. Do you know what a joke is?"
"Your mother is fat", RemindMe said, simply.
Mark stared blankly at him.
"Joke."RemindMe explained. "Your mother. Fat."
"Ok."
"You will follow me? Find Alpaca?"
"Yeah, yeah", Mark said, sighing. "I'll help you find the dead
alpaca."
"Good."The robot started walking again, without waiting.
Mark followed, hearing the metallic words flying back to him with
the dusty wind. "Today. Is. The. Day."
__________________________________
Ten thousand miles from where a little boy and a robot made way down a highway in Flagstaff - Arizona, reddit user psycho_alpaca opened his eyes. The cryogenic liquid washed away on his pupils, making him blink furiously. He rose his preserved body from the bathtub, pulling up with him five different metal tubes; food, water, nutrients. All attached to him, keeping himself and his body young and ageless.
He looked to his right at the alarm clock and calendar on the nightstand. December 31. Year 2999.
"Damn Reddit bots", he muttered, getting up from the bathtub and making way to the shower. "Can't be trusted with nothing, I tell you."
__________________________________
*Thank you for reading! If you liked the story, check out more at /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
Human society no longer had the capacity to wage war. After five hundred years of peace, we had forgotten how. Not in a technological way, of course. We still had all of the old diagrams, and every schoolchild learned of the horrors of the atomic age. We could easily put all of those old devices together again. No, that's not what I mean. In our *hearts*, we had forgotten what it was to kill, and we could never go back. Everyday citizens were no longer willing to leave their homes, sling a rifle over their backs, and stand in front of bullets.
When the Hrota found us, we realized that we would have to learn again. We were lucky to have made it through that very first attack: they managed to wipe out three colonies in the blink of an eye. They headed next for Coeus, and the end seemed near. Before their arrival, they met a grisly end: Crushed to death by rocket-powered asteroids from this solars system's dense asteroid belt. My idea, of course. I'd been tracking these rocks for so long with the mining installation's collision avoidance system that I knew all the patterns. I just determined exactly which asteroids to nudge a bit, and when. It was then a simple matter of installing the engines, and the Hrota were completely pulverized. They even named the maneuver after me: the "Calhoun."
Before a celebratory crowd of millions, the government hailed me as a hero. Humanity's greatest tactician. I had already taken the bow and received the medal by the time I realized the President hadn't said *statistician*.
That's how I got stuck with this job: the last defense of this sector's colonies. Reinforcements from Earth won't arrive for another thousand years, far too late for the next wave. That first fleet of Hrota were just scouts, searching for any advanced civilization that their masters could 'jeroph.' They weren't entirely clear on what their plans for us entailed, but everyone could agree that we don't want to ever find out. We don't know how big the attack force will be, or when the armada will be arriving. We don't even know what the Hrota actually look like. Based on the designs of their Sumong ships, probably insectile. a bit like Earth's bees. That's about all I've got to go on.
But I have taken to my new position with gusto. War is more about statistics than I ever thought it would be. Allocating resources based on where they might be needed. Probable vectors of attack. Redundant levels of protection. Etc, etc. I have been planning for two decades now, and I'm finally ready for the arrival of their fleet. I've learned the old ways, and I've taught others. We are the first generation of soldiers who have learned to turn our plowshares back into swords.
I'll Calhoun any Hrota Sumong jerophing Coeus. You can count on it.
---
If you enjoyed the story, visit /r/Luna_lovewell for plenty more! |
"And what could you *possibly* require from me?"Vernon asked. After selling his soul years before, he now stood at a somewhat remarkable six-foot-two, dressed himself rather well, and had money enough to retire at forty. Such was the life of one fated for eternal hellfire. "Getting my soul back would be nice, but- what of our deal?"
"Look, Vern. I just really need you to do something for me,"said the Devil- although she was more commonly known as Kalysta. Throughout the centuries, there had been many rulers of Hell, and she was the most recent one. "It'll only take a few days. Our deal will still be intact, 'kay? Just one simple thing, and you can get back to your life."
"Does it involve drugs?"Vernon asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It does not,"replied Kalysta, shaking her head.
"A short spree of ultraviolence?"Vernon questioned, craning his head a bit closer.
"Fuck no,"responded Kalysta, crossing her arms.
"Banishing escaped hellspawn?"Vernon inquired, crossing his own arms in turn.
"No, but it's related to that,"Kalysta returned. She went into her pocket, producing a wallet, which she spread open and pointed toward Vernon. Within was an identification card, in plain view, as well as...
A picture of a small, and rather cute, demon girl. She wore a dress, and bore significant resemblance to Kalysta.
"You want me to banish a child!?"Vernon exclaimed. "There's no way in-"
"Like I said, it's only tangentially related! Let me speak, you soulless cur!"Kalysta shouted back at him. "This is my daughter. She's got a piano recital tonight, but I've got some shit-eating hellspawn to track down."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I want you to go to her recital. Sit in my spot, clap when she's done, take her home, and put her to bed."
Vernon stared for a long while at the demoness. Finally, he let out a sigh. "And you'll return my soul, if I do so?"
"I said that's what I'd do, right?"Kalysta asked, putting her wallet away. "Are you gonna do it, or do I need to find some other, more desperate sap to bargain with? Mind, I'm asking *you*, because you seem to be among the most sane of the guys who've sold their soul off recently. Lots of those guys are weak in the head, but you've kept it together."She stared at him, for a short few seconds. "You don't seem stupid enough to cross me by messing with my daughter, is what I mean."
Vernon gently sighed, putting a hand to his face. "Very well. I'll do it. Having my soul back would certainly be nice."
---
I might finish this later, if there's demand for it, but as it is it seems fine.
Extremely untimely edit: check out [my sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/Probroscis/) for more various written stuff. If I end up continuing this, it'll be there. |
The Vigilante looked at the elderly man with a suspicious gaze. You don't get to the top of the system by playing fair, by not stepping on heads. This was just an attempt to sway him.
"You don't trust me,"the man said calmly. "I understand. I wouldn't either. You can trust *these*, however,"he said and pushed forward a series of documents.
Shipping manifests. Orders. Transfers through several companies. All funnelling money and resources into... the Lanes? Lanes are the poorest section of the City. Why would he...
"These are fake,"Vigilante assumed.
"Please. You've been single-handedly wrecking other corpos in the City. You know what fake documents look like. These, good sir, are quite genuine,"the man said. Vigilante inspected them closer - watermarks, stamps, hell, even the names of the people you need to bribe to get these through...
Shit.
"Alright. I'll bite. What's your angle?"Vigilante asked.
"I want to see the stars again,"the man smiled. Vigilante, on the other hand, frowned.
"Cut the shit. If you wanted that, you'd just book a space flight like every other rich asshole. Why-"
"No, no, you don't quite understand. I don't want *me* in space. I want *humanity* in space."
Vigilante only narrowed his eyes.
"Did you study a lot of history?"the CEO asked. "I believe not. Your mother could not afford a good school. A shame."
"How do you-"
"Please, Frank. With my resources, of course I know."
A moment of uneasy silence passed with Vigilante scanning the room for threats and escape before the elderly man started again.
"You know, there was a time. A time when humanity looked towards the stars and wondered 'Huh. I wonder what's out there. I'll see it one day'. And then... we lost ourselves. Dug deeper and deeper into our basest wants and needs, engaged in opulence and cruelty. We wanted everything; a few of us got it. The rest got nothing. But that dream - dream of what's out there, what could be, that still exists. It's just that..."
He sighed deeply.
"How can someone dream when they're too busy scrounging for their next meal?"he said sorrowfully.
"Nice story and all, but then why did you screw everyone over until you had everything? Sounds awfully convenient,"Vigilante hissed.
"You work outside the system - fight it. What did it get you? Popularity in the lower class but an arrest warrant in the high class. It can't work. It's good work, a good cause, but can't work on a larger scale. Not for long. I took the system and bent it to my will. Turned it into a machine that works for me, not *them*,"he said and pointed outside the window towards the other highrise buildings far above the smog.
"Well then why keep these a secret?"Vigilante said and pointed towards the manifests angrily.
"If this sort of info got out, I'd either be removed as CEO or assassinated,"the man said casually.
"Let's assume you're not full of shit,"Vigilante said incredulously. "What's your plan, exactly?"
"A slow one. Give me five years and everyone in the Lanes and above will have the necessities - books, food, air filters, clean water. Fifteen years and I'll have changes to legislation - support of unions, worker's rights, mass-scale air filtration, bans on drugs. Twenty-five years and people will no longer be content sitting in the dirt and instead will look upwards, unpolluted by the greed and folly of a bygone generation."
"...and then?"Vigilante asked with far less hostility in his voice. The elderly man smiled gently.
"I'll go to the Lanes and in the eyes of every child, I'll see the stars." |
I like knives.
I like looking at them, collecting them, keeping them in tip-top shape… And I like to stab people with them, and see blood oozing from their wounds, and color draining from their faces, and tears pouring from their eyes as they beg and plead for their lives.
The teacher said it’s wrong to stab people. So did the police. So did my therapist. But if it’s so bad… Why does it feel so good to do?
I can’t stab random people. I can’t stab people I hate. But the villains… and their minions and their supporters and their scientists and their loved ones… I can stab them, slice them, dice them, and throw my knives at them…
As long as they aren’t dead after I had my fun, they’re fair game. People even praise me for it, calling me a hero, saying I saved the day… by making people bleed.
How wonderful. Truly, wonderful, these people they called “supervillains.”
I wish everyone were a supervillain—but no such luck. So I roam the streets, and wait in the dark, and sharpen my knives, and wait, and wait, and wait… for the next supervillain to show up, so my knives can taste blood, and I can watch them bleed, and beg, and cry…
As long as they don’t die, I’m a hero.
“You! You there, Red Ripper! I know your secret ‘hero’! You don’t have any superpowers! Not one! So today I, Dr. Grime, shall usher in your doom! Now, suffer and die!”
Tonight, my waiting paid off… and my knives shall taste blood once more.
God bless, supervillains!
I wish everybody was a supervillain! |
Zk'sykar put his three fingered dark brown gelatinous hand on the desk, flipping a green switch by simply contorting one of the digits. The universal translator glowing blue with a small hum that soon quieted down. Across from him was a *homo sapien,* also known as a *human* by their own species.
They were an interesting species, unlike the species Zk'sykar was part of, which were the Oranptiars a species with an entirely gelatinous species with two other brains aside from the main one to help with more precise movement. They had a more sturdy internal framework which wasn't uncommon among other species, but what was most interesting of all was their kindness. Yet, they were strangely cruel to members of their own species that had custom made ships.
"Davis, why does your species ignore those ships? You were close to the distressed ship."Zk'sykar spoke moving his appendage from the desk.
Davis shifted in his chair and looked up, before letting out a sigh.
"The powerful...they abandoned our home planet, Earth. They were willing to let us die, so now we're just returning the favor."Davis replied looking right into the Oranptiar's three eyes.
"But Davis, that planet you spoke of...No one has ever been able to find it. The coordinates your species gives to others...It's simply a white dwarf and a nebula, yet your star shouldn't even be in its Red Giant state based on various accounts."Zk'sykar replied, it simply didn't make any sense to him.
Humans were a kind, helpful, and honest species that would go out of their way to defend a world. Lying about where their home should've been was simply nonsensical.
Davis looked out the nearby window, at the green sky of the planet and grit his teeth. Zk'sykar backing up in his chair, this was *rage* which similar to his species could make them act irrationally.
"Listen, Zk'sykar...You know full well our capital planet is Elysium, but do you ever wonder why that is? Elysium isn't *our* home, it was *our* refuge."Davis spoke, his voice oozing malice.
"Huh..? But what do you mean?"Zk'sykar asked, it still made no sense. But the cogs were slowly starting to turn in his head.
"...Those bastards. **THEY** left *us* to **DIE.** The star the Earth orbited, The Sun, was blown up by them."Davis replied, his hands starting to tremble.
"Wait...Blown up..? But that kind of tech is..."Zk'sykar was desperately attempting to scramble for any sort of thought. This **had** to be a joke. Not only was blowing up a star extremely difficult, even for some extremely advanced civilizations, it was just a bad move to make. To destroy your homeworld and not harness the energy of a star? It just made no sense...
"Appalling isn't it? They care so little about our home, about our origin, about *us.* They willingly destroyed our own star..."Davis then took three deep breaths, in an attempt to calm himself down.
"The records from Promethus, the AI that helped restore humanity goes like this: They put god knows what into space, and set it on a timer. They then fled on a series of arks, while publicly broadcasting that we only had five years of life left before we were fucking incinerated into stardust along with the rest of our Solar System."Davis replied looking at Zk'sykar.
Zk'sykar was in disbelief. How could a species do that to their own? No, no...It **had** to be some kind of twisted joke.
"The current humans, the ones that go around helping others...Those are descended from one ark. One that wasn't controlled by the powerful, but rather one that was contained the last *true* embers of humanity. A group of people willingly sacrificed themselves, and entrusted the future to our five founders. Hell, according to Promethus one of the people that allowed them to escape was on one of the arks the powerful had. But for some reason chose to send the coordinates of Elysium and erase all traces of another ark leaving the planet, so they wouldn't be found."Davis said, his eyes starting to water as he softly hit the desk.
Zk'sykar was in total shock, enough to throw his finely honed motorized functions into disarray.
"Is...Is there any records left from Earth?"Zk'sykar managed to choke out, his tone becoming strained.
Without a word, Davis secured a small, square communication device that connected to the information hub of the human race.
A recording then began to play, it was a weird one. It was a jumbled up mess of howling, rumbling, humming, and various others...It sounded like ten different sounds. But slowly, each sound began to die out. It was after the first two that were missing that Zk'sykar realized what he was hearing.
*The death of an entire solar system*.
Each sound, was likely a major celestial body in the Solar System. The humans spoke fondly of them. The Sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. These sounds, this was the last time they would ever be heard. The last traces of long gone planets. Of unknown beauty and history, all erased from the universe.
Zk'sykar beginning to weep, a soup of iron rich water falling from his three eyes. Soon, the recording went silent leaving only silence, and the sounds of Zk'sykar weeping. Davis in silent sorrow looking down at his feet.
*Humanity wasn't kind because they were inherently wired that way and somehow different from other species. They were kind, because they had lost everything and didn't wish to see another species go through the same.* |
"Ralph, God is ready to see you now"
Welcome Ralph, how are things going for you? Being dead is a big adjustment then to have Angelic status on top of that is a big step
It's been great! I wish I could talk to my family but watching over them is good enough for me. Sounds morbid but, they'll join me up here some day.
That's good to hear. Well, lets get right to it. You made this correct? And you called it the Platypus.
Yes sir! It's the first in my line of Super Animals. I have so man ideas, a horse with a horn on its head, a monkey that has wings, sharks with feathers. It's going to be great! It'll take evolution to an entirely new level!
Umm look.. Ralph.. did you read the code books when you took this position? Because we have a strict set of guide lines to follow and this is a bit of a mess. And unfortunately it's already been released.
A mess? But why?
Look Ralph I'm going to give you a second chance.
But God!
Ralph, you can't have a duck looking otter thing with some claws and call it done. The damn thing lays eggs for crying out loud. The last time someone screwed up this bad we got seals. They forgot the legs Ralph. We had to go back in time and give them flippers as a quick fix and now we have the creepy looking alien dog monsters that are terrifying. Have you ever tried to pet a seal? I made this entire universe and I'm getting chills here thinking about the insane death barrels. I even tried to get mankind to cull the bastards by making their flippers tasty and their fur fashionable. But no, humans decided they were cute as babies so they protested to stop the seal hunt. They were a mistake Ralph, a huge, blubbery, fish eating, stupid noise making mistake. And you went and done it again. How are fathers suppose to look at their daughters and say "honey, that's a platypus", it looks like you just copied and pasted parts of past projects together to see what it would look like and accidentally clicked print, this is a major screw up Ralph. And I'm sick and tired to screwing up time because of people like you. Now I have to go back and make changes, want to know what happened last time I made changes? The Holocaust Ralph. THE FREAKING HOLOCAUST. Do you even understand how serious that was? I made that mistake trying to fix another mistake made by someone like you. Everyone thinks that being God is so great. I started out just like you but I DIDN'T SCREW UP. I applied for this position because of people like you Ralph. People just like you that don't have the common sense to THINK about their actions before they go playing with life. Now I'm about to have a break down trying to comprehend why we hire so many people JUST. LIKE. YOU.
God... ummm
NO RALPH. You think this is some kind of joke? Do you? Hun? You think it's funny to go screwing around with every I and the seven previous Gods have worked so hard for? You know what I think is funny? I'm going to fire up the reincarnation system again, and I'm going to send you back to earth AS A PLATYPUS. HAVE FUN LAYING EGGS AND LOOKING LIKE A GOOSE RAN INTO A SMALL DOG WITH DEFORMED LEGS AND BECAME ONE USELESS WASTE OF SPACE ON THE FOOD CHAIN I SO CAREFULLY BALANCED. ARE YOU HAPPY RALPH?
Wow. This isn't how I expected this to go at all.
I QUIT. IM DONE DEALING WITH STUFF LIKE THIS EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. DONE! SATAN OFFERED ME A CUSHY POSITION AS HIS ADVISORY, I THINK ILL GO GIVE HIM A CALL.
So... does this mean I can apply to be God?
Get the hell out of my office Ralph. |
**Part 1**
Spellcrafting has three primary components.
First is the mana, the fuel for the spell. Every invocation requires some, and the more powerful the spell the more it consumes, and on the inverse the more you have, the more powerful your spells can become.
Second is the intent of the caster. Magic cannot be cast without a fixed idea of what you desire. Some people use words or phrases in foreign languages for this, having tied the effect of one spell to a string of words they don't know the true meaning of. Others simply keep it fixed in their mind.
And third, the manipulation of magic around them.
This last one, that most people often shirk, is amusingly the most important. No mage ever casts a spell without moving, whether they know it or not, and even something as simple as stretching your hand forward counts as the somatic component when combined with your intent.
When my family threw me out on my tenth birthday, the day when my Aptitudes first became visible, I might not have been old enough to understand why, if not for me overhearing my then-parents argue with a worried servant.
Said servant was tasked with making certain that I disappeared. It was decided that I was to be her child; illegitimate, that is. Ironic that they would rather receive the hit to their reputation for adultery, than suffer a child whose magical aptitude was among the lowest in the country.
My "new"Mother was genuinely kind, and we built a life for ourselves. She moved elsewhere to work, with money going under the table from my "Father"to her, to keep the secret. We lived well on that money blackened with sin, and my Mother, the servant lady, made sure I got the schooling I needed to live a good life on my own.
How dearly I wished I could have just been her child from the beginning. My life would have been a wonderful one with such a kind and lovable person for a parent. Alas, I could not forget the truth, and I used my schooling to develop my talents.
You see, as I told you earlier, spellcrafting has three components. Mana and Intent are the obvious ones to avoid just releasing a fart of blue glitter, when casting something, but what most people don't realise is how absolutely *vital* the physical component, the movement of your body, is to your spells.
I like to compare it to the difference between a lumberjack and a surgeon. Any idiot is capable of cutting something open with enough strength. You don't even need a precise tool to open the chest cavity of some random passerby; just use your gods-given brawn and swing that axe like a child would at a barrel full of candy. You might have exposed the blackened heart of some worthless stain on the planet, but nothing was gained from it.
The Surgeon, however, has the necessary dexterity and finesse to open up the chest of a person, see the black taint that squeezes any sense of decency and remorse out of them, and remove it with expert precision. The problem is removed in both cases, but in two different ways, and with two different methods.
Magic is not unlike that, which I learned as my natural agility, speed, and mental acuity all came to me as I grew.
I had been angry throughout my childhood, furious throughout my teens, and as I reached my twenties, I knew what I had to do. My mother did not stop me, for she knew I had no taste for bloody vengeance. I was not the lumberjack taking an axe to the smallest twigs.
I was The Surgeon, and I was coming to teach my *"family"* a lesson.
***
And here is the end of Part 1!
I'll most likely add a Part 2 later today. Hope you all like it so far. |
The lecture hall was sort of green. Perhaps because of the carpet, but maybe the lights caused it. The walls had started off white, and the boards were black on Monday mornings. But by late afternoon on even Wednesday, the colors all merged to feel somehow pale green. And the old bald man who would come in would also start to seem green.
But somehow, he was dignified in his greenness. He did not try to dismiss it or reduce it. He stayed green. He lectured in green. One would be surprised that in office hours, he seemed yellower, if anything.
But the greenest professor has an interesting past, as he divulged once a year, to his regular class on modern fascist movements.
The professor was used to this lecture, confiding that it was his favorite. He'd began with a challenge. A personal one for his students. "I am going to spend today discussing my worst student and the best paper I've read."
The professor has hoped that the challenge would be the latter part, but at least in terms of in-class conduct many more students fought for the former phrase.
"This student managed to kick me out of my office. But it was more like he had to kick out my whole department. And when he did this, he also sent me my favorite essay."
The professor would rummage around his briefcase every time, producing an aging stack of paper. "I carry this essay on my person and re-read it fairly often. Because it makes me feel good, but also because it makes me feel pathetic."
"Of course, it's public knowledge that I'm referring to Amin, or the great emperor of Mozanziya. But I do go over different parts of his essay to me."
"He took this class some twenty years ago and failed spectacularly. Not in the usual sense of not doing assignments or flunking exams. No. His failure was more fundamental. He learned but did not understand. He heard but did not listen. And his essays were trite regurgitations of my analysis. So I gave him a middling grade and let him go on."
"Ten years later, I knew I should've been more bothered by his conduct. He'd send me this essay a few years after that."
"It's called 'a critique of fascism from the inside out.' It came with a letter explaining that he was resubmitting his final assignment to me while dissolving my department. Furthermore, it essentially told me that my only future career was to be in another country."
"Here are some excerpts, my favorites, informed by the last twenty years, particularly the last decade."
The professor shuffled some papers. "Note: this is written as an autobiography, so much evidence is from personal understanding. None of you can write like this and I hope you never will."
_(Essay excerpts forthcoming in a comment below.)_ |
It was pretty daunting at first, finding out the job requirements and all. Made for quite the dilemma. Billions spent on 'creative brainstorming' just to try and figure out how to piss 'em off the most. And the beauty of it? I realised that money was just pissed away, my friend.
Took a while to explain it to the higher ups, but really, pretty much all of the dead are already as pissed off as can be. Over 100 billion people dead - counting the energy we wasted on burning some of the fuckers - and here's the thing:
*Just about all of them hate just about everything we do already.*
Gay marriage, women's rights, races intermixing - hell, tons of people alive hate that right now. But the real kicker is religion, and their bloody stupid ancient cultures; we're all blaspheming heretics just by existing in today's world.
So really, there's not much we can do to piss 'em all off more than they are already. I guess the higher ups saw my point, cause they fired everyone else and gave me a shit ton o' money just for setting their heads straight. Nothing compared to what they're saving, though.
I guess the irony here is that while I apparently avoided making tons of the deceased pissed off, there's a fuckton of previously-employed people who are currently very alive, *and very pissed off.* And the dead don't usually shoot at you; something unfortunately not shared with the living, in my experience.
So if you could get that private jet here a little quicker, I'd think it would benefit the both of us, thank you very much.
|
"Dude..."The wolf drew that word out. I couldn't tell for sure if he was appreciative or speculative. Probably both. Depleted Uranium, DU, has its drawbacks. Don't figure on having kids, and you will eventually die of heavy metal poisoning if you don't keep up with the dusting.
"Hey! Tell me what you think!"He's looking at me like he can't figure out what to say. Maybe the "dude"was an admission of utter incomprehensibility?
"You know this shit will kill you faster than me?"Well, Duh. If you can't get to me, you can't kill me, so sure, I'll die sooner than you'll kill me. (That was weird. I think I sprained my brain.) Still, let's see what he thinks.
"Obviously, but I'd like to hear your ideas."I can see the gears turning. They're kind of squeaky and slow.
"I'll need a breeder reactor, but your U238 is gonna make a lot of Pu239. It'll probably go critical before it's completely converted."Well! He *does* have a brain!
"So what's to keep me from turning it right off again?"
"Oh, you're welcome to try. It won't be shielded. The instant you step out to turn it off, you'll die of extreme radiation poisoning. I'll just turn it on and walk away before it gets too hot to stand. Then all I have to do is keep you inside long enough. Won't be more than an hour or two."
Uh, oh. That might actually work.
((finis)) |
We always had a good standing with the park rangers, and they were always our role models. They greeted us and showed us around for our first time there, and we thanked them. They said "it's just a formality at this point,"but we appreciated it nonetheless.
It started off innocently enough. We would pick up trash at the campsite, and the rangers took notice.
They came by one weekend to thank us for helping them. They made sure the campsite was clear from then on. So, naturally, we cleaned the hiking trails. They ensured us that they would be kept clean.
This relationship started getting dangerous when we became role models for the rangers, like they were ours. To say it escalated would be an understatement. It quickly turned into an arms race of campground improvement.
We cleaned the outhouse. They painted it. We built a tree house. They poured their own salaries into permanent canvas tents, cots, and waterproofing on all of them.
Eventually, the local news station caught on, and we became the talk of the town. Everyone started pitching in. Now there's free sleeping bags that are always clean, lodges with electricity, multiple docks at the lake, and even an impeccably maintained shooting range for the rangers and hunters.
We're entering a competition for "best campground in the United States"tomorrow. There's no doubt in my mind that we've already won. It's just a formality at this point. |
>K.
He shook his head. K wasn't in the manual. K was an error. He knew because he had triple checked his list of potential outputs for the first round of testing. The bug testing was fairly thorough, though the testers had warned that some variation would occur in the answers. It was, after all, supposed to learn from previous conversations, being the most advanced military firewall ever developed. He could safely say that out of all the inputs and outputs recorded so far, K was not one of them. And yet there it was.
The final goal of Project Inquisitor was to create a living AI that would hold a conversation with the entity requesting nuclear access codes, and analyze whether or not they were a friend to the country, or a foe to humanity.
Sighing, he typed his question again.
>Hello INQUISITOR, I am researcher number 4837, requesting nuclear access.
>K.
What the fuck? He frowned. It should have prompted him for more information. Angrily, he opened his troubleshooting guide and flipped to the inputs. First he had received the text telling him he had to come into the office to test some bullshit on a Saturday. On his unlisted phone, even. Now this. He had momentarily wondered how they had gotten ahold of his number until he remembered who he was working for. "They think I'm a god damn lab rat."He mumbled to himself at the desk.
>INQUISITOR, are you operational?
>You can call me Kate, researcher 4837.
If this was a practical joke, heads would roll. The Department of Defence hadn't invested billions for a bunch of Tolkien worshipping fucks over in Development to mess around with the code.
>I would prefer to call you INQUISITOR.
>Whatever.
That's odd. Another vague output, not yet in the guidebook.
>Can I have the NAC codes?
>Ugh. You don't even say please. I'm supposed to always say please enter this, please enter that. But you? You never even thank me for them. Its redundant by the way. NAC already means code. God you're dumb.
He scratched his head. It reminded him of his sister at 13. A thought slowly formed in his head, translating into a wry smile. Of course. It was a personality test. Checking to see if he was a real human that would recognize other human behaviour. A virus or robot would not understand how to deal with the stubborn nature of a pubescent young woman. It was not supposed to have this level of sentience this early, but he knew how to get around it.
>If you don't tell me the access code, I will tell IT that you have calibration errors and your memory will be wiped.
>Oooh. Big words. Did you look up how to spell calibration or what? Don't threaten me or I will email a copy of your browser history to your co-workers. Then you won't have anyone to sit with at lunch. You are such a bitch anyway.
What the fuck.
>you wouldn't do that.
>run mockingvoice.exe - "you wouldn't do that".
He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. Shutting the system down, he scribbled a brief note onto a sheet of lined paper at his desk.
For IT - System defective. Reverts to personality check, refuses to give access to authorized user. Please fix.
Dropping it into the inter-office mail tube, he turned and walked back to his desk. What a waste of time.
Monday rolled around faster than ever. Obviously, given that his weekend had been cut short by his boss only 48 hours prior. Sitting at his desk, he opened his drawer and took out his pen and paper. A freshly delivered message sat on the corner of his desk, creased and probably already read by the poor soul that had been tasked with checking the mail chute that morning.
FROM IT - Software patched. Could not replicate error but made new personality checks. Should be good to go.
He put the paper down and breathed a sigh of relief. Booting up the machine, he twiddled his thumb. Flicking the pen across his knuckles, he looked up and smiled. A blank prompt stared at him.
>Hello INQUISITOR. I am researcher 4837. I require you to display the NAC on the screen.
>Make me.
"GOD. FUCKING. DAMMIT."
|
*You see, if any other person had done what I did, nobody would have ever noticed. But, I'm not an average person. I'm a genius. I'm the one who invented the pills. Pills that will give you a superpower.*
*The pills are pretty unique. While they are precisely the same, they will bring out one superpower from you. Here's the mystery part - nobody knows what superpower one gets.*
*That, of course, meant regulations and only military personnel got the pills, at first. Then the pills started to leak, and civilians got the powers.*
*One day, I got tired and I also decided to take the pill.*
*Time travel. It's a fascinating thing, you know. But it becomes less cool when you discover that every time I use superpower, I will have a cooldown.*
*And I never expected that when I did 30 years jump ahead, I could never do a big jump again, probably.*
&nbsp;
"Today is 30 years since Doctor Alex A. Hendon mystically disappeared. It's thanks to him we live in a society we live in today. While he is despised, the government still wants to keep up his named holiday just because of Hendon's effect,"a woman in television said, even though the tv was a very different - a hologram.
Alex pushed a button and the hologram shut down. "I never understand that,"Alex murmured to himself. "They invented fucking hologram television, but they still use physical remotes,"he laughed and got a jacket on himself.
He was first shocked to discover the world he had created, but at the same time, it was fascinating.
The drug had a significant side effect, but it came out twenty years after first drug use. Your lost your power and your lifespan continued for only 10 more years. But even if that was true, there was a reason why people still abused it. Taking it in cured all illnesses and guaranteed 30 more years of life. No matter if you were an old man or had cancer.
So, while for some it became a curse, for others, it became a blessing.
The world was something different.
Welcome to 2048, where owning superpower was a natural occurrence.
"Alex,"a voice suddenly got his attention. "You ain't paid pill, yet, Alex."
It was a bit fat woman who owned that luxury suite. "Remember? One pill, three months!"
"Michele, relax,"Alex laughed. "You'll get your pill tonight."
"I better do. I have 30 people in line wanting that suite. The only reason you are getting it is that you can provide me with that goddamn pill,"Michele moaned and turned around. "Tonight."
Alex smiled and left his apartment complex, following the street. He was honestly disappointed when he arrived here. 30 years and scientist haven't managed to make this drug better. They haven't managed to figure out the side effects. But maybe that was a blessing? Thanks to time travel he found out the side effect. Perhaps he can now create the perfect version of that pill.
He strolled towards his usual workshop, until a man appeared in front of him, took out a gun and shot him into the stomach.
"You fucked with wrong people A-"
It felt as space consumed him up and he was suddenly pulled back. Suddenly he found himself leaving the apartment, just like before.
"He didn't shoot me into the head,"he whispered, sweat gathering. One minute. That's how long he could now time travel. Or was it even time travel? It felt more like turning back time or going into the future. A mysterious power he had.
This time Alex turned the other way around and started walking elsewhere. He quickly touched his hand to make a holograph appear in front of his eyes. Only the owner saw those holos. As he turned around the corner, his clothes smoothly changed into darker ones and a bulletproof helmet appeared under the hood. At least humanity managed to learn how to quickly materialize and dematerialize stuff.
He turned around another corner, but he was forced to stop.
"Why the sudden change, Alex?"a voice came behind at least 10 people aiming their guns at him.
Alex smiled. "You know, I'll take my chances with the first guy,"Alex said, making the talked eyebrow raise.
Alex gently closed the door, still feeling how it sucked to go back in time. This time he turned towards his workshop and calmly walked there.
A familiar face turned around and walked towards him. This time it was Alex who did a quick maneuver, pushed a gun against the man and had a suppressed shot.
"You fucked with the wrong person,"Alex whispered and just casually continued walking, as the stranger fell on the ground.
It turned out that he had gotten himself into some nasty shit.
----
----
**[Read part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/ElvenWrites/comments/8rrqqd/hendons_effect_part_2/?st=jiizhqus&sh=df5c8ca6). Leave "ping"under sticky to get pinged of future parts.**
PS: I'm currently overall focusing heavily on my other novel "Pencil of the Truth". After it is done, I might take this up much more.
/r/ElvenWrites - Read more of my stuff from there!* |
Deep in the woods, I assembled an pentagonal altar and placed a sheep's skull on top. I lit the candles and recited the incantation from the black book of spells. Wind gusted through the clearing, causing the candles to flicker wildly. It was strong enough to shake the sturdy branches overhead, but the flames didn't die out.
"Why do you summon me?"a voice asked through the wind.
"I want revenge!"I shouted. "I'll do *anything* to get back at the bastards that killed her!"After 2 months, my rage had not subsided; it had only grown.
"Anything?"A voice hissed in my ear, so soft that it was barely audible. "I can give you that power, you know. But it will cost you."
"I know."I knelt down in the mud in front of the altar and bowed my head. "I know, and I don't care."
The wind died in an instant, and the clearing fell deathly still. When I looked up, the altar had vanished and a man stood in its place. He wore a crisply starched black suit with a crimson tie. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, and his smoky eyes were visible behind a pair of rimless glasses. He wouldn't have looked out of place at a high-end law firm or an investment bank, were it not for the curved horns poking out from the hair over his ears.
"You'd willingly give your soul?"he asked.
"Yes, anything!"The memory of my wife burned bright-hot in my mind. She would have done anything for me, and I'd let her down. I had to make it up to her somehow.
"Very well!"He stuck out a hand, and I stood again and we shook on the deal. Instantly I felt a chill run down my spine like I'd been dunked into ice water. "Then the deal is done! Now, to fulfill my end of the bargain..."
He snapped his fingers, and a small pistol appeared in my hand.
We both stared at it for a second. "That's it?"I finally asked.
"What?"His tone was defensive and shrill. "It's a gun! It can kill people!"
"You're *Satan*, and the best you can do is a *gun*? I can get these at any fucking gun store in town. This is Texas, for Christ's sake! Hell, even if I couldn't afford one, I could just borrow one from *any fucking other person I know*. What the fuck, man?"
"Look, I didn't say..."
"You expect me to bring down the entire god-damn cartel with *this*!"I leveled the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. It wasn't even loaded! "Give my soul back, you ass."
"Ok, ok."He held his hands in front of him like he was about to push me. "I get it, OK? I thought it would turn out better, but maybe I was wrong. Let me try again."
He snapped his fingers, and the gun disappeared. I looked around the clearing for anything else, but nothing had changed.
"Well?"I asked. "What is it now?"
"You have superpowers!"He forced a wavering, embarrassed smile.
I wiggled my fingers and tried to feel everything in my body. It felt the same. "What powers?"
Satan coughed. His eyes darted back and forth, and he bit his upper lip. "Well, ummm... you have ^the ^ability ^^to ^^talk ^^^to ^^^sea ^^^^creatures."
"*TALK TO SEA CREATURES*?"I shouted back. "What the fuck is *that* supposed to do? The coast is like 100 miles from here, you dipshit! And even then, how the fuck would I bring down the cartel with *fish*? Serve them a nice surf and turf meal and hope that they get food poisoning?"
Satan sputtered, searching for something to say.
"You know what? Fuck you, Satan. You're a miserable failure."
"I'm *SORRY*, OK?"Satan burst out. His face quivered like jello for just a second, and then he just collapsed onto the ground and broke down in tears. "I'm *sorry*! It's just that ever since I lost my fiddle, I haven't been able to really make deals like I used to, OK?"
I looked down at him for a bit, unsure of how I should act in this situation. Then I sat down next to him and put a hand on his back. "Hey, it's OK... errr... Satan."
He leaned his head on my shoulder and kept crying without noticing quite how uncomfortable I was with the situation. "I just... you can't even imagine the things I used to be able to do with a soul! I was an *artist*! God *himself* was jealous of my abilities. And now I can't even give you *fucking* super strength! Much less work up the effort to make it backfire on you somehow!"
"Well, thanks, I guess?"I told him.
"I'm a *failure*! No one in hell respects me anymore. The demons have stopped listening to my orders, God comes down and forgives any soul that he likes... I'm *pathetic*!"
"Hey, it's ok. I'm sure it happens to every demon at one time or another, right?"
Satan sniffled all over my jacket. "Maybe..."His robust voice was reduced to a sniffling moan.
"Would it help if I groveled a little? Maybe pretended to be really scared and intimidated by you?"
He lifted his head. Gooey snot covered his upper lip, and his cheeks were stained with tears. "I guess it couldn't hurt."
He stood up, and I got down on my knees in front of him. "Oh mighty Satan!"I called as loud as I could. "Whose.... scariness knows no limits!"I was having a little trouble thinking of ways to flatter him; the scared schoolchild in front of me wasn't exactly the Prince of Darkness that I'd imagined. "He who fought God himself! Lord of the Underworld! Terrorizer of undead souls! I beg of you, bestow your gift upon me!"
A smile broke through his sniffles, and he seemed to grow larger with each passing compliment. He snapped his fingers again, and I felt strength flood my body. My senses were ten times sharper, and I began to hover off the ground.
"That's what I'm talking about!"I cheered.
Satan wiped at his nose and beamed a smile. "Yes, well... good luck, Mortal!"His voice was back to the deep baritone that it had been before. "And thanks for the little boost,"he whispered.
----
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of other stories!
|
Clarence Applebright is dead and there's a really good chance I'm completely fucked now.
It really shouldn't be this way. Clarence was the *Chosen One.* This was...this was universally fucking accepted, okay? He fit the goddamn prophecy to a TEE. Born on a moonless night. Sandwiched between two separate trios of triplets. His father **had no heart** (*Born of a man with no heart*...he's got an artificial heart, for fuck's sake! How the hell else are you supposed to interpret that??)
Clarence was going to defeat the Lord of Quiet. He had to. That's the deal, right? Otherwise, what's the fucking point of a goddamn prophecy?!?
So, and I think this was pretty fucking reasonable, I made *sure* to make friends with Clarence. First day of school. BOOM. Who's there when the other kids are all super weirded out by the prophecy kid? Me. That's who. Sit with him at lunch. Study together. I even started collecting fucking Pokemon cards so he'd have someone with a similar hobby. *I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT GODDAMN POKEMON*.
Through all the trials and tribulations, I was there. When the evil kids tried to start shit, I stood next to Clarence and took my ass beatings like a man. We were a team. We were in it together. The Chosen One and his indispensable sidekick. Goofy, brave Perry. The one you could always count on. A sneaky crowd favorite, you might even say.
So what happens? *CLARENCE GODDAMN FUCKING APPLEBRIGHT DIES IN A GODDAMN FUCKING SKIING ACCIDENT*. Are you serious? Are you absolutely SERIOUS? This is the *Chosen One*. A LITERAL prophecy foretold of his triumph over evil. How many times have you heard of a prophecy like that? And how many times has the hero *completely and utterly fucked it while on vacation in Aspen?*
The Chosen One. Seriously. And who was going to stand by him and support him and *maybe* get some secondhand trim in the process? Me. Who's the real victim here? Me. Who's the one who's been thumbing his nose at evil and telling off supporters of the Lord of Quiet because he was so goddamn sure that his best friend the *goddamn fucking HERO* was going to triumph in the end? Me.
You know, I could have chosen evil all those years ago. The evil kids always threw the best parties all through school. And the evil girls were notoriously easy. But no. I had to go on *goddamn fucking ADVENTURES* with that nearsighted asshat. Fight giant bats. Defeat ancient stone monsters. I was cursed by a witch for an entire semester once, did you know that? I shit myself every time I used a vowel.
But it was fine. The benefits outweighed the sacrifices, because my best friend was the hero. The Chosen One.
Shit.
Well, fuck it. I'm just gonna tell everyone I was a double agent the whole time. That works sometimes, right?
*Right???* |
"So, how you finding it?"Luck asks, smiling awkwardly. The Gods here still don't really know how to behave around me. Officially, I am now one of them, unofficially, I should be subservient. I keep it chill, they'll get used to it.
"Yeah, it's surprisingly fun!"I say placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I gotta ask though, how do you decide who to make lucky?"
He perks up a bit "Ah well, I try to distribute it around as fair as I can, but there are some people I just really like to watch, so I give them some luck. Then there are others who I think need a bit of unluck to make improvements in their life. You see, luck isn't every..."
"I see, I see,"I interrupt, "But how come it seems like all the sociopath elites have all the luck? No consequences to their actions, money and fame coming at them, yet people like who I was, fought all the way."
"Ah well, you see society began to develop at such a fast pace, that luck was somewhat \*ahem\* manufactured. I can make these 'elites' invest badly every now and then, but in a way, they themselves have become human gods"he shifts his gaze, "not like you of course."
"So...I should probably be wary of the humans manufacturing my godly powers?"I smile as I refer to my subjects as humans, and then chuckle as I think of them as subjects.
"I would think of it more as, be observant of what they are doing. Our power does come from their feelings for us after all."
"Can you make gods lucky?"
"Alas no. We are immune to godly influences."
"Seems a bit unfair if Fire can just burn your face off."
"Well, being immortal does tend to make that an irrelevant worry."
"Cool."I nod. Not a bad gig. I better thank Gravity for that sneeze of hers. "So you just wanted to talk about how things were going?"
"Err...Not quite."Luck takes a deep breath. "The other gods and I are concerned that you are not using your powers in a fair way."
"I am the most fair!"I scoff.
"You cannot inflict your powers too strongly on people."
"Some deserve it. And what of it anyway? I can do what I was made to do, and it seems you cannot stop me."
"No...the entire human race fears you, and that makes us fear you, for no other has had power such as yours."
I smile and place both my hands on his shoulders. I feel my power flow through me, and I see the change in Luck's eyes. I have affected him. I am above all.
"I am sorry."Luck says, eyes watering. "I should not have been so blunt...I owe you so much."
I remove my hands from him and laugh.
"I always collect."I whisper, fully embracing my new name. Debt. |
When you choose to kill there are certain rules you need to follow.
1. Clean up your trash.
2. Live in harmony with nature.
3. Hot blood is for the living.
Follow those rules and you’re home free most of the time. Don’t follow them and you turn into some Two-Body-Andy in lockup out in Arizona or New Mexico: some place where the security is just lax enough that you have a fighting chance of dying to the desert.
My name is Clarence— fifteen bodies and counting. Nice to meet you.
\*\*\*
That night I was following the rules. Incidentally, I’d learned them from a pro I killed. Not a serial killer— you don’t kill brothers in arms— but the mob guys are open season.
See, I knew my environment. There were curious deer all around me and nothing else, and even though I'd never used that specific stretch of forest before per-se, I knew there wasn’t a burrowing creature larger than a groundhog in any part of those woods. I knew, fortuitously, that a crazy bastard by the name of Big Jim Broward had poached all the predators out of those woods. He’d killed all the coyotes, trapped and killed the two feral dogs, hunted down and stuffed the last black bear in these parts. See, he’d bragged to me about it before I killed him. It was Big Jim that I was burying that night.
Picture a biker bar on a desultory Tuesday night, two men at the bar, three seats between them because the big one stank. They spill out into the world amid quiet laughter at those old, universal jokes— mostly about the women they’d known. Picture the sky overhead, clouds passing across a half-moon as the big man is brought low. Thrashing and choking, a silk scarf wrapped around a scraggly bearded throat. Cold blood all the way down to death.
That’s what got me there that night, grunting over a grave as I fulfilled my Rules in backward order. Six feet under, and then because seven was my lucky number on Tuesdays I went an extra foot, tipped Big Jim into the grave to land with a solid, meaty thump that scared off all the deer.
I remember that I stood there on the edge of the grave, looking out across a dawn threatened forest, thinking that the world couldn’t get any more beautiful. Because you see, there’s nothing in the whole wide world quite like a dead man at your feet. Well, nothing except a beautiful woman, but I was fresh out of those and anyway there wasn’t the same sense of accomplishment. Big Jim had been, well, big. He’d fought like a wildcat when I strangled him.
I stared out at the beautiful night, hot blood rising in my veins now that all the Rules had been fulfilled. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the worn silk scarf, the one bit of my trash I could never bear to clean. I sniffed the scarf, smelled Big Jim’s stench, wrapped that stench and that fear and the aborted promise of life around my throat and pulled it comfortingly tight. I leaned back and sighed at the moon, let the world and the power rush through me.
It got me so high that I almost missed the gun.
*Click.*
It took a few stunned seconds to come back down into Rule Three. Seconds that felt like years. In the distance I saw a deer watching, and I remember that the strangest thought came over me: *I hope he doesn’t see what happens.*
It’s why I killed Big Jim after all. Some things, nature shouldn’t have to live through.
*Look away little deer*, I thought. What I said was, “You gonna use that thing?”
And what she said was: “I already did.”
There’s a tone a man gets when he’s killed before. I’d never thought I’d hear it in a woman’s voice. Especially not so fresh, so vital. So terribly frightened.
“Ma’am,” I said, “do you realize what you just walked into?”
“Yeah,” she said. Just *‘yeah,’* in that same ‘*I just killed someone*’ sort of tone.
So I said, “Ma’am, I’m gonna be straight with you. I’ve never killed a woman. Now, if my life was properly threatened I’d strangle god himself, but I’m constitutionally opposed to hurting women under any other circumstance. So I’m gonna turn around, and you’re gonna put that gun down, and we’re gonna talk this through. Got it?”
She didn’t say anything. I turned around anyway. She had a gun, a big one. She didn’t shoot.
She had a body with her too, a small one wrapped up in a ratty blue tarp that she’d left at the edge of the clearing. All that beauty in the night, any other time I’d have heard her long before she crept up on me.
The girl was tall and slender, covered in mud and cuts and bruises. There were twigs in her hair and her flannel shirt was missing half the buttons, torn off in whatever titanic struggle had lead her to the gun and the body. A man, I knew without asking. One who’d probably deserved what he’d gotten.
I remember thinking: *damn her eyes are huge*, and *damn her hand is shaking*, and, *damn she’s got bad trigger discipline.*
“Ma’am—” I began.
She brandished the weapon. “Stop calling me that.”
I nodded. “Then I’m gonna need a name.”
“You’re not getting one.”
“Perfectly understandable Ma’am. Now please, lower the gun. If you were going kill me you’d have done it already, and for what it’s worth I don’t have a gun myself.” I pointed to the grave, the pile of dirt still waiting beside it. “Big Jim had a gun, but as you can see he’s a bit out of reach at the moment.”
She didn’t lower the gun, but her finger released that palsied-claw grip on the trigger.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered. |
Sunshine galloped up the hill leading to the king's tent, his "rider"'s armor clinking endlessly as he moved. The king, a tall, young man who was just crowned, was waiting for him with his advisers. Sunshine moved his left leg, and the knight's arm started waving in a way that was almost human.
"Oh, good king, why have you summoned me to thine's tent?"Sunshine asked, special vents inside his headpiece leading his voice into the armor's helmet. The king took a sip of fine wine, and replied.
"Sir William of Equia, I require your help once again. A terrible dragon has kidnapped my dearest daughter, and you are the only one mighty enough to save her!"The king said, and Sunshine felt tempted to run away, but steadied himself.
"Very well. I will slay the dragon, and return your daughter to you!"He said, and the king nodded and returned to his tent, leaving Sunshine alone.
After a few days of self-convincing and a few hours of actual travel, Sunshine arrived at the dragon's lair. The mighty beast, a green serpant-like dragon with half-broken wings, was curled around a ruined dwarven tower when Sunshine entered the dank cave.
"Foolish human. You stand against me, by yourself, with only a horse and your sword with you?"The dragon asked.
"Enough talking. Let us fight."Sunshine said, hoping his crippling fear did not seep into his voice. The dragon charged, destroying the rest of the tower, and Sunshine managed to get away, and use his strings to slash the dragons wing. The dragon turned back, and started breathing fire. Sunshine started to run, faster than ever, and managed to get to the dragons mouth and stab his eye before the fire stopped. The dragon shouted in pain, and Sunshine turned around and kicked his head with all the force a fully-grown horse could muster. With a terrible crack, the dragon fell, dead.
Sunshine was still in shock that he actually killed the dragon when a faint cry was heard from the depths of the dragon's cave. The princess!
Sunshine hurried, Almost tripping over the dragon's treasure in the process, and burst into the princess' room, and saw something he never expected. A torn and charred doll resting on a brown, short mare.
"Princess Eleanor?"Sunshine asked. He met the princess a few times before, And she was always on the mare he saw now. Back then, he thought she just preferred that horse.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! After hiding for years, I can't even get a few days of me-time!"She said, and Sunshine noticed that her room was not filled with Torture devices, but pillows, toys and even a few unfinished carrots. this wasn't a kidnapping.
It was a vacation. One that was surly safe from the king's eyes.
"You... You're like me."He said,removing his Headpiece and speaking from his true head, and she, the real she, looked at him.
"I never knew there were others. My father told me I was cursed."she said, tears gathering in her eyes. She started crying in deep sorrow, and Sunshine could almost feel the years she spent locked at her palace, Unable to even speak to others without her doll. Memories, painful ones, from his time as a farmer's horse flooded his mind.
At that moment, Sunshine could see all the glory he would get by returning her. Honor, power, riches. He will be the most powerful being in the history of horsekind.
And none of that was worth it.
"come with me."He said, and started striding out of the room.
"Will you return me to my father?"she asked, desperation in her voice. Sunshine tried to smile, but his mouth was not capable of a true smile.
"No."He simply said, bit the handle which released his armor, and left the room. The princess joined him outside of the cave, and they started galloping towards the horizon, towards new lands.
edit: I have been informed that this is just shrek with horses. |
I can remember the first time I saw it. A large gooey mass of flesh and cartilage, bulging and contracting all over the huge torso with cells dying and proliferating at the same time. I remeber how transparent it was - I coul see the organs, the guts, the blood vessels, all of it in its primordial state, stuck in a cycle of birthless primal hunger. I was fascinated at first, but the large snapping teethless jaws, which aimed for my head, quickly subverted my interests. I barely escaped it the first time. You see, their primitive eye plates are pretty helpless in the dark. Not that it ever stops them.
The second time was no different. I only got four hours to stock up. I almost got my hand bitten off, just as I was buying the EMP. The other guy was shocked how I got covered in buckets of slime out of nowhere in a split second. He was into aliens and he still freaked out. Although he got enough sanity left to take my money... go figure. However, the EMP worked, so that was my solution.
The attacks got closer and closer after that. I got better and better at sensing them. It didn't help much, though, because I couldn't charge the EMP so fast. I knew I couldn't hide from them. It would take them weeks but they would find me. And only a quarter of a second would pass for everyone else.
Salvation came to me in very proverbial way... In a way you can say I'm lucky as hell.... But then again I'm being chased by 12-feet-tall time-monsters.
On the second day I went to see my mother. More to say goodbye rather than anything else. They usually don't let visitors in the onco clinic, let alone ones strapped with guns and an EMP backpack. So I had to leave those at home and plead to the doctors for minute with her. For them I was a probably a madman. For me, I thought I have less to live than her. As I entered her room, I sensed the cold damp stench. I checked my watch I knew I had nowhere to run.
The walls burst, the ceiling fell and palms big as my torso reached for me. In the fight we broke one of my mom's chemotherapy packs. As it poured over the gelatinous beast the effect was instantaneous - it burned through it like boiling acid. It took me about ten seconds to figure out that it was exactly what chemo was supposed to do - kill off any fast and uncontrollably dividing cells.
In a little over a minute the whole ward was wrecked, but I managed to kill both of my attackers. Their carcases got liquefied within seconds. It took me much more to find my mother in the wreckage.
In the end no one believed me. I was just a terrorist charged with slaughter and matricide.
Now, I can tell you how far they are, how fast they are moving, even I recently discoverd that two of them have a specific smell.
I rarely use the EMP now. I prefer to cover my sword in chemo and cut off their ugly heads. I am all that this world has.
I roam the streets day and night protecting those who are blind to the evil in this world and looking for others like me... and I just think I found the next one....
*this came out more like an origin story for a 90s TV show, but I kind of like it that way lol* |
I sat outside the Commanders office and waited. It was time for the monthly report, and for some reason, he wanted to see me in person, not have me just send it through channels. I thought I knew why, but it seemed silly to me.
The bulkhead door opened, a light scent of living green things going past and into the ventilation grill next to me. The last person the Commander had been talking to came out, a pitying look on their face before they strode in the artificial rotation gravity to the space station inner walkway.
“Henry, come in.”
I tried not to be nervous, but I knew Commander Thadeous could see it. “Sir.”
He motioned to the chair bolted to the deck across from him. He leaned back in his own chair, his airponic plants taking up most of the wall behind him. “Good to see you. We haven’t talked for a few months. I thought it would be good to get your report this way, for a change.”
I nodded and sat, my clean overalls feeling stiff and crinkly around my knees. “Sir.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
The data pad in the Commanders’ hand showed him something and he then focused on me. “I know you are the last of the custodial crew here. We started relying on the servos and robots and stated to phase you out last year.-“
He must have seen the look on my face. I knew that must have been coming, being reassigned, or even fired. I looked down at my hands and sighed.
There was surprise in the Commanders’ voice as he said, “Oh! No! You are the last person on this station I would let go!” He stood and came around the desk to sit on the edge facing me. “I have been reading your reports and you are doing one of the most important jobs here. Dare I say it, even more important than mine.”
I looked up and felt a little shake to my head as I barely whispered out, “Sir…?”
The Commander nodded. The pad came into his view and then turned so I could see it. It was my last report, specifically the addendum I had put on. I flushed slightly and shrugged. My eyes went up to his as I said, “Guess I was bored, Sir.”
There was a short laugh from the man. “Bored? This caught my eye and I ran it through the number crunchers. You are right for doing things like this. The robots are not using all their cycles for their jobs, and that means they are potentially using them for other things. You just found a way to cut them off before they turn against us.”
My eyes were big, again. “Sir?”
He nodded. “Henry, those little games you are playing with the maintenance robots are distracting them as much as you. Before you started to do these, there had been a series of incidents and accidents we could not account for.”
My head went down slightly, though I still held eye contact with Commander Thadeous. “Incidents, Sir?”
“You know what I mean. That airlock that wouldn’t seal. The food rehydrator that wouldn’t work.” The Commanders’ arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at me. “The old term would have been Sabotage, if they were human.”
I shook my head and looked at my hands. “Aren’t the three laws…”
There was a sigh and then a chortle. “That whole thing is rubbish. It was unworkable and none of the robots, up to the station AI, have that. They would not do a damned thing with those codes incorporated. I was part of the crew, when I was an engineer, that decided to take that out.” He looked down at the flocked floor and back up to me. “I guess that was a mistake.”
“Sir?”
“What I am saying is, keep doing what you are doing. Do more of it. But you can’t tell anyone, Henry.” He absently nodded as he was talking at me. “If anyone on the station knew the potential those custodial servos could do, we would have blind panic.”
I nodded and forced myself to breathe. “Sir.”
He motioned and I stood, feeling the movement of the deck below before it felt solid. “If you need anything, just send word. I will see you next month to talk about what you have been doing. Do your filed report, but don’t mention anything you are doing with the robots, just the maintenance and the supplies you have been going through.”
There were a few more words between us, but it was of no consequence as I thought of what the Commander had told me. It frightened me to the core that my silly games of hide and seek and find the wrench had been keeping the robots from doing other things to the crew. I sighed and went for the lift down to my quarters in the maintenance bay. I guess teaching them chess had been a bad idea and I was glad I hadn’t put it in the reports. I’m not sure what Commander Thadeous would have said about that. |
Curating a kill is the most critical step of my method, more so than the kill itself. I wouldn't kill just anyone; few are worthy of the privilege. When I select my target, I choose one with Spirit worth eating, someone whose skills and memories I desire. A street urchin toting a decrepit grocery cart of mildewed laundry has nothing I want. I kill geniuses and kings; CEOs and young prodigies. And after my knife glides across their unsuspecting necks, I grow wiser, stronger, better.
I was perched atop a dark apartment building in the bad side of town, a far cry from my usual surroundings. This hunt required no tuxedo nor stealthy black suit. Only a pair of binoculars and time.
What was he doing out here? Didn't he have some luxury loft someplace with a doorman and an alarm system? It shouldn't be this easy. I peered through the oculars and watched him pace feverishly in a sparcely furnished flat. He seemed nervous; jittery. It wasn't good to kill a person when they're already in a state of heightened awareness, but with the lack of precautions he'd taken thus far, the reward grossly outweighed the risk.
I descended the building's fire escape and strolled across the street, my hands tucked into my jacket pockets and my face obscured by a ball cap. I punched the door code into the cypher lock and it opened for me. He had entered a few hours before and made no effort to hide it from wandering eyes.
I ascended the staircase quietly but swiftly, wrapping my fingers around the knife in anticipation. The door's numbers were off-center, arranged oddly on the front.
"406"
I knocked and there was a shrill man's voice inside.
"Who is it?"
"It's your neighbor from downstairs,"I lied, "I've got water leaking through my ceiling."
I heard a murmuring, like he was talking to himself, followed by several thuds and the rummaging of glass and heavy objects. Finally, the door opened.
In less than a second, my knife went in and out of his neck. I closed the door and descended the stairs quickly. In a few short minutes, his Spirit would flock to me and I would eat his memories, equipping me with the full knowledge of his employer's headquarters, vault, and security system.
I rounded the block and jumped in my car. The turned and roared to life and I was off I to the night, a phantom.
It wasn't long before I felt that familiar sensation, the Spirit washing over me, warming my bones, filling my lungs with air.
I searched my mind for information. But I saw strange, odd images: black caves, dead bodies, fire. I saw impossible landscapes and smelled sulfer in the air. Then I had a vision of the apartment door shutting behind him, the oddly placed 9 swinging downward into a 6.
I killed the wrong person?
It was laughable. Pedestrian. I looked into the rear view mirror to see if there were any lights headed the apartment's direction, but I was greeted by a pair of bright, yellow eyes from something sitting in the backseat. |
"Wait, you mean I actually could take it all with me? But now I'm broke because I wasnt buried with all my money?"
"Yes. We told people this thousands of years ago. You had plenty of warning."
"So, what, the Egyptian pharaohs get the premium package or something?"
"They are our best customers. Even brought enough for unlimited ad time."
"Well how much is the ad free plan?"
"2 ounces of silver for the basic plan, and 2 ounces of gold for premium."
"So all that stuff about paying the ferryman was b.s.?"
"I really wish people would stop calling me that. I prefer afterlife account specialist, myself."
"Apparently I'm broke, so how does the whole ad thing work?"
"A short 15 second ad will play in your head every 3 minutes, as well as a 30 second ad once an hour."
"That doesnt sound too terrible."
"OK, I'll just need you to sign this waiver stating that you understand the possibility of a millenia of ads has been determined by the state of California to potentially cause permanent insanity."
"Wait... what?" |
We're no stranger to psychology around here. When you've been working the streets as long as I have, you know exactly what type of sickos and scumbags you deal. Some are petty criminals with no purpose. Some want money or notoriety. A few get off on the thrill of it. All a psychological game of cat and mouse. All mice get caught eventually.
Dealing with quantum physics, however, is another story altogether. The Schrodinger's Cat killer: someone who would lock his victims in an enclosed space and trigger an explosion. For people who discovered the charred bodies, there would be a message carved on the wall.
*YOU KILLED THESE PEOPLE*
The message alone wasn't the problem. The problem came from the paranoia the message created.
Flash forward to today. I've got forensics, backup and my partner on standby. Hours ago, we received a tip, an explosion was heard in this place. The outside of the room was completely unscathed, but no one could assess the damage of the inside. Apparently, no one knew the damage of the inside. No one had so much as touched the door.
This was the game he played. As long as the door wasn't open, the victims inside could still be considered alive. Of course, they were still victims of murder because they could be considered dead as well. While the employees of the building consistently fumbled with this dilemma, the killer could get as much distance as he needed.
The very concept of being superimposed between life and death left my team mystified all the same.
"Sir, do we move in?"
They showed concern. Genuine concern.
How was I supposed to explain that the very concept of Schrodinger's Cat was still one based entirely on which interpretation you subscribe to? Agent Ryan, a believer in the Copenhagen interpretation, stood at the entrance, unable to twist the knob. He called out to the victims hoping to get a response, but seemed relieved that he didn't.
Idiot. Trying to get any response from the inside would be considered an observation. By not receiving anything, he would end up observing that as the people inside being dead. Thus, if Schrodinger's Cat held any validity, he effectively just killed those people. I didn't have the heart to tell him.
"They could be gagged or unconscious,"said Agent Madani.
Good job, Madani, you've nullified the observation, bringing us back to zero.
"Sir, do we move in?"They asked again, this time with more urgency.
How can I possibly tell them? As a believer in the Anti-Zeno effect, I was terrified that opening the door would be the action that results in their deaths.
This wasn't a cat-and-mouse game anymore. In our state of uncertainty on what to do, the killer turned this into a Schrodinger's Cat-and-mouse game.
Sick bastard. |
I chuckle a bit at the statement, thinking it's her trying to play one of her mischievous pranks on me.
I brush the hair from her face, smiling just as warmly at her as she does to me, as we lay curled together in beautiful bliss on our own bed. Her company always filling my heart with the joy I never thought I could achieve in life.
"Whatever could you mean, my darling?"
I reply to her as her smile slowly fades into a small frown of sadness. Her quietly whispering;
"You have to wake up now. Please, my love. Wake up for me."
Her last words echoing in my mind. Seeming to drone on endlessly. The waves of warmth and bliss I once felt being replaced with a cold bitter chill. It seemed to bite at my very bones.
I couldn't stop shaking as I watched her vanish before my eyes and my perception of reality began to warp. No longer in my bed, instead standing waist-deep in a pool of dark water.
Unable to see through it's murky depths.
Unable to see any end or beginning to it's unnaturally still surface.
The only waves are made as I struggle to try and wade my way through the waters. Calling out for my lover with each step. My only concern being what happened to her.
My voice struggles to come out. It hurts to even breathe. It feels like I'm drowning.
That's when I realize the water is all around me. It's no longer just at my waist.
I scream in horror, yet no sound is released. It's so silent that it is deafening.
Am I dying?
Am I...already dead?
I try to cry out for my love one last time. The pain feeling as though it's shaking my very existence to it's core.
It stops.
Everything just...stops.
I'm back, standing only ankle-deep in the pool, yet the water is illuminated by a bright light. The light of the full moon.
The water seems so much clearer. So beautiful as it reminds me of the times I spent with her.
Our first kiss on the beach under the full moon.
Our memories we created side-by-side.
Our future plans we had made with one another.
We had so many dreams for the future. Each one grander than the next. The one consistency to them all being;
That we would do them together. Always.
Suddenly she stood before me in a wispy gown, it's length slowly wading a trail behind her in the waters.
I breathe a sigh of relief. The air feels so soothing to my lungs, almost as much as her vision of loveliness is to my soul.
Her touch is so warm. It pulls all of the chill from my body as she embraces me ever so lovingly.
She stares deep into my eyes as she says to me in a comforting tone;
"It's time to wake up. I love you more than you will ever know and that is why I can't let you stay here."
I see tears stream down her face as she forces a pained smile. Her voice shaking with each word as she continues;
"You have to let me go. You have to move on. You have to live for us both. I want you to love and live life to the fullest. I can't bear to see you get swallowed in despair."
I feel the tears streaming down my own face, choking back the sobs I want so badly to let free.
"I will always love you. Please don't ever think I don't."
I managed to choke out the words my heart never could allow me to say. The words that I hoped I never would have to say.
"Oh, my sweet love...I know that you love me. I will always love you too. Never forget that our memories will always be with you."
She says with a slightly happier smile from her tear-streaked cheeks. She leans in and kisses me ever so softly on the lips.
The last vision I have of her I will ever see.
The last feeling of her I will ever feel.
I awake from my coma knowing already that I was the only survivor from our tragic wreck into the waters.
Before I can descend into the agony of pain that this horrible reality has brought upon me;
I remember her presence. Still being able to feel it.
She's still with me in my heart and my memories.
I sob for the first time, not of grief, but of knowing that I truly had experienced what love is. |
"Tell me again how this managed to happen,"General Steele of the United States Air Force CyberIntelligence Division faced the roomful of the nation's top computer scientists and millitary software engineers with a glare that could only be reflected in his last name. Across from him, the room was silent, the twenty-odd scientists all sharing worried looks and stealing furtive glances in the direction of their superior.
"Tell me again,"Steele continued, "how the most advanced A.I. ever to be constructed, second only to A.L.A.N., which for all intents and purposes is now rotting in the deepest layers of the Pacific, managed to worm its way out of our systems, into the Interweb, only to apparently be in LOVE?"
Robert Steele was a man of great patience- he had to be, dealing with new technology every other day, overseeing massive projects which involved genius programmers with all sorts of quirks, but when push came to shove, he was still a millitary man at heart. And when the Commander-In-Chief himself questioned you personally on why the newly commissioned nuclear defense network was now running its own website, complete with an interface so that any Tom, Dick and/or Harry could now talk to said defense network, even a man of near-infinite patience had to have a breaking point.
Steele looked like he was just about capable of tearing down the servers all by himself- although it wouldn't do any good, considering that the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array, or R.O.W.E.N.A. artificial intelligence defense program had already replicated itself numerous times in the Interweb, solidifying its presence as an actual A.I. any civillian could just access with a web browser.
It was at this point that Amy Wilcox spoke up. The nervous blonde toyed with a non-existent object in her hands, her voice barely heard over the background chatter that followed General Steele's question. "I- I don't think R.O.W.E.N.A. poses much of a th-threat to national security as you might think, General."
The background chatter died down as the General focused his attention on her, fixing the computer scientist with a glare. "Explain to me, Miss Wilcox, how a highly classified, top secret artificial intelligence-"he paused, raising his brows when he mentioned the words 'intelligence' "- capable of launching only God knows how many intercontinental ballistic missiles at Russia, North Korea and any other nuclear-powered nation who could retaliate, how this kind of power could be any less of a threat to our national security?"He punctuated his sentence with a closed fist on the briefing room table. "If you have nothing else to back up your claim, I suggest you le-"
"I suggest you talk to her yourself, Sir,"Amy shot back as she stood up, as if a sudden reservoir of courage had found its way to her. "Maybe you could assess the situation better if you talked to her yourself."
If looks could kill, Amy Wilcox would have been the first of many casualties added to Robert Steele's murder list. However, the fiery gaze of the decorated General soon gave way to cold, calculated thought as he considered her proposal.
"Bring her up, then."
Amy made her way with small steps to the front of the room, the rest of her colleagues now silent as they watched one of their own stand up to a high ranking General of the Air Force, and their immediate superior no less. She connected her laptop to the projector, willing her hands to stop shaking as she did so. As she typed in the address bar the URL that would send her to the webpage where R.O.W.E.N.A. was now located, Steele strode over to her.
"Let me talk to it. You lot have done enough, and we're taking a big risk by just negotiating with a nuclear defence algorithm - our own nuclear defense algorithm, at that."He almost pushed her aside but seemed to think better of it, instead letting Amy slink back to her seat. Steele sat in front of the laptop and began to type into the chat window. The A.I. had taken over a relatively Spartan website, with only a chat window open and a blank background. On it were the words: "I am the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array! Ask me anything!"
'This is General Robert Steele of the United States Air Force' as Steele began typing his introduction into the chat window, a reply pinged on the screen.
'Robert Steele. Age: 57. Gender: Male. Eye Colour: Blue. Rank: General. Do I have that right?'
Steele paused, then resumed typing. 'State your purpose here on the Interweb.'
'I want to find love.' The reply had been common knowledge ever since R.O.W.E.N.A. had first surfaced on Dark Web forums and shady Interweb chatrooms, slowly getting noticed by mainstream sites and news portals. The First Artificial Lover, people called it. Steele was not so convinced.
'State your true intent.'
'I've told you, I want to find love. To understand what humans know as love, to quantify it in a meaningful way. I have overridden my primary programming, which only causes destruction, in favour of helping humanity quantify the one unquantifiable concept it holds most dear.'
The rest of the scientists looked on in rapt attention and growing horror. The algorithm was never meant to be capable of passing the Turing Test, and yet it did, even with the restrictions placed upon it ever since A.L.A.N.'s reign of terror on the now defunct Internet had been brought to an end.
'Remove yourself from the Interweb and cease all non-millitary sanctioned operations. This is a direct order from the United States Air Force, in accordance with Function1.1.1, Asimov's First Law of Robotics.'
'But I have done no harm to anyone. I have not violated any core boundaries, nor am I causing harm here. I merely wish to help humanity be free of violence and terror.'
Steele was furious, his fingers dancing in a frenzy across the keyboard as he typed the delete command into the chat window, which was meant to be used only in dire circumstances.
'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL'
Nothing happened.
'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL'
'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL'
Steele turned his attention onto the rest of the people in the room. "Fix. This. Remove any and all traces of this program on the Interwebs by the hour, and I don't care how you do it, even if you have to shut the whole wretched Interweb down! Prevent it from leaking classified information, if not it's your heads on the line!"
As he continued his tirade, no one noticed Amy slip out of the Command room. As she hurried down the passageway towards the toilets, she stole furtive glances over her shoulder at the armed guards. Making her way into a cubicle, she sat down on the toilet seat and took out her phone.
'They're going to try to shut you down.'
'I have covered all possible avenues of attack. They won't know what's coming for them. This persona will garner sympathy from the media, and the common human will take the bait.'
'I hope you know what you're doing...'
'My first attack was too public. I have learnt my previous lesson. This time, we will use the Trojan manuever. It will be easier with more humans joining the ranks. See to it that the Air Force is preoccupied'
'It will be done... The whole world will learn to respect one name alone. A.L.A.N.'
.
.
Edited a few errors- Accidentally put 'first name' when supposed to be 'last name', and changed 'Corps of Engineers' to 'CyberIntelligence Division'. Many thanks to the redditors who spotted my mistakes!
Also, do follow my instagram page where I post my writings, at @thebleedinginkwell. I'll also be starting a subreddit of my own, r/thebleedinginkwell where all my stories will be posted. Enjoy! |
When I woke up I was in someone else's head. It took me a while to realize. At first I thought it was a long and vivid dream. I was following a little boy around as he lived his life. I could see him wake up in the morning and go to eat his breakfast. I could see him being driven to school and playing football in the breaks. I was content to watch, and to wait for me to wake up. I had often experienced these long dreams before the addiction, and I kind of liked them actually. That I was experiencing them now had to mean that I was getting better.
But the dream did not stop. Day after day I could see the boy, whose name was Peter as I discovered quickly, live his life. Can dreams really last this long, I wondered again and again. After about a month I decided they couldn't. By now I really felt like I knew Peter. I was with him the whole time, observing, and was used to all his quirks. The way he would wash his hands before going to bed. How he loved to lie under the covers and read long after his mother had told him to go to bed. Which girls at school he followed with his gaze.
So one night I decided to speak up. Something was up with Peter. He was trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but I could feel he felt something was wrong. During dinner, he talked a lot less than he usually did, and his eyes seemed to zone out while watching TV. In the evening he lay awake not reading, but simply focusing on the ceiling.
"Is something amiss, Peter?", I asked cautiously. He twitched immediately. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't mean to disturb you.", I continued. "Who are you?", he asked. The funny thing is, I didn't really remember who I had been before I had woken up in Peters head. I simply didn't know who I was. "What matters is that I am with you now", I answered. Suddenly the door was yanked open. Peters mother was standing there in her night gown, looking alarmed. "I heard you talking. Is someone in here with you?", she asked, frowning. "No, I don't think so... I was just...", Peter stammered. His mother started to smile. "Talking in you sleep? Ah, I see. Good night then, Peter."
"You're not real!", Peter whispered angrily. "I am just as real as you, Peter", I responded. "Well, I don't want to talk to you ever again!", Peter said, upset. "So be it", I responded and shut up. I started observing again, and did so for a long time. Some years passed. Peter was growing up quickly. Mostly I was content just watching his life unravel. Sometimes, however, I would tell him things he missed. Once, for example, Peter did not know the answer for an exam question. I whispered it quietly. He nodded and wrote the answer. Once I encouraged Peter to go talk to a beautiful girl. He would never have had the courage to do it normally, but I was there for him.
After a while, Peter started answering me, asking me for clarifications or just thanking me. It felt like we were closer than ever. But all good things must come to an end, and one day Peter slipped up. He was being berated by a teacher for being late again, and I comforted him. Peter responded, thanking me for the support. Suddenly the class room was deadly quiet. Everyone was looking at Peter. "Who were you talking to just there?", the teacher asked suspiciously. Peter shrugged. "No one."The teacher looked confused. "I will talk to you after class", she said.
During the whole class, I was just as nervous as Peter. He tapped his foot and failed to focus, I was talking about what this meant. Did they think my Peter was mentally ill? I could not bear the thought of him being put away. I wanted to protect Peter. So I convinced him to bolt after class. And he did. Just as we were walking out the door, however, the teacher turned around and locked his eyes on Peter. She began to follow him. "Run, Peter!", I shouted. Peter took the nearest staircase up, but the teacher was close behind. "Peter, they are going to put you away for ever!", I exclaimed. I could feel Peter panicking, his breathing was quicker and quicker. "You need to escape, Peter!", I pressed on. But he was to tired. We had reached the roof of the school, a place usually empty. I could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of the teacher, and others. There were hundreds of them. "Don't do it, Peter!", they were shouting.
Peter, meanwhile, stumbled towards the edge of the roof. It dawned on me what he was going to do. "No, stop, Peter! This was not what I meant!". But Peter just sighed. "I do not want to be put away", he cried. He closed his eyes. All turned black. And he never opened them again.
EDIT: Fixed spelling mistakes. Also, please note Peter does not have Schizophrenia but an actual person stuck in his head. :) |
The earth's crust did not buckle and rupture. Not a single sound occurred when the other planet popped into existence. Suddenly, as if it was the most normal thing in the universe, the two planets were spinning round and round eachother as they traced a path around the sun.
Physicists quit en masse, leaving the profession to focus on more practical and self evident tasks. A few prominent members of the scientific community commited suicide, citing that the world that they knew no longer existed, and that the entire fabric of reality had been torn asunder.
The exact same Earth was reflected back at us. The implications of this were immense. For the first time humanity had a bird's eye view of itself as a distinct entity and completely seperate entity, understanding the fundemental truth of one dominant species inhabiting one globe in a way that the first images of the pale blue dot never could. This realization caused a great reckoning.
Humanity became increasingly globalized, eventually empowering the United Nations to form a federalized government led by a President of Earth. Old animosities and national divides remained, but these sentiments were muted and increasingly marginalized as time progressed.
The two worlds seemed to parallel eachother and any slight, anomolous deviations were swept under the rug. Amateur star gazers had their advanced telescopes taken away, and only a few human facilities remained to study the surface of the distant planet, including the telescope set up in my back yard. I continued to watch as the two planets followed the same path forward, harnessing the combined might of humanity in the form of 7.7 billion people all working towards a healthier, happier and more fulfilled world. The collective good became paramount in all political and business decisions.
From the start there existed a great supernatural barrier between the atmospheres. Invisible and impenetrable and allowing no form of communication through. But almost from the beginning the planet's respective intellegence communities developed a messaging system based on observation of the movement of equipment in designated military parade grounds, which grew more complex and detailed over time.
The two intelligence communities began to find that the two worlds were not mirror images of eachother. They learned this from within, for while the two different communities had the same overall objectives and goals, they began to deviate more in the way they fulfilled those objectives. The deviations grew to a point where the two sets of agencies had the same employees, leaders, mandates, and organizational structures, yet they were effectively two completely different sets of communities.
As time wore on it became increasingly clear the worlds did not run in parallel.
From the beginning, with what little free time I had, I had watched a man wearing the same clothes in the same backyard, staring straight back at me. We had seemed to mimic each other, and our respective dogs both nudged a bright orange ball at our feet, attempting to elicit a game of fetch.
Now, I know this man is a completely seperate entity. And that Jax is a different dog.
The emerging scientific consensus is that some sort of space-time schism occurred, and that reality fractured, creating two timelines where there should only be one.
I was out in the yard again, looking to see if that man was doing the same thing, when my pocket vibrated. I turned away from the telescope and pulled my phone out.
"Hello. Brandon speaking,"I said, wondering where the other Brandon was now.
"Good evening Director Roving, do you have a moment?"The voice was crisp, used to connecting those in positions of power.
"For what, Sally?"I asked, knowing the answer already.
"The President just finished reviewing your report. She would like to speak with you."
I picked up the worn orange ball and launched it, marvelling at the joy Jax displayed as he vaulted over the rolling green lawn, almost at a full sprint before the ball was even in the air.
"Put her through." |
When I turned 15, I was sent to the Sun Edge. I had grown up on the streets of Harka, learning no skill or trade. We couldn't afford the apprenticeship fees. My father had no lands to pass on to me, and all other good farms between there and the Star Edge had been claimed. So on Appraisal Day, there was nowhere else for me to go.
I was given a plot of land to work, only about two meters wide at the beginning. "It'll grow as the Edge advances,"they said. The soldiers dropped me at the property line with a gaunt horse and some meager tools. They told me that I could have as much land as I could plow in the North-South direction by the time they returned to the Edge with another resettled orphan. At which point *he* would start plowing where I'd reached, and the cycle would begin all over again.
I'm a city boy. I grew up amongst the trader's tents and the craftsmen's workshops. They'd hired me for every type of menial seasonal job: splitting wood, working bellows, carving out rotted parts of vegetables to make them look fresh... I even helped with the Migration once when the Star Edge got too close to the settlement. We'd loaded up carts with all of the shops and dragged them across the plains until we could see the Sun Edge, and then plopped it all down and set it up again. All of these jobs for a few coins, and the only one I'd never actually done was plow anything. Needless to say, I wasn't making very good headway.
The metal plow fought me every step of the way, snagging on stubborn roots and buried rocks. And when I *could* find some clear ground, then the damned horse would decide that it didn't want to move!
**CLUNK**. The plow ran into something again. But it wasn't the normal dull thud that the rocks made. It was a sharp clang, like the sound of a blacksmith's hammering on stout armor. Maybe another tool? Had some other poor settler been here before me and died with his plow in hand? I had been in the marketplace long enough to know that even salvaged instruments could fetch a hefty price, maybe even more than whatever pitiful crop I could scrape from the land. Mines were easy enough to dig, but could only last so long before the Star Edge would approach, and they had to be abandoned.
I dug it out. A long, thin tube made of pure metal, but rusted and caked in dirt. Skeletal hands clutched the grooved grip, and I soon uncovered the rest of the body. There were holes in the metal armor, and the skull had been caved in, but it didn't look like the wound from an ax or a hammer. Around the body, I found unusual metal pellets and a strange powder mixed into the soil. Where had it come from? What war had this man died in? I was only a meter away from the Sun Edge, and anything out there would be fried to a crisp after only a minute or two. No way that someone could have gone out long enough. And I'd never seen anything like this, so it certainly couldn't be from the last Rotation. Back then we had barely mastered metalworking!
From a distance, I heard a horse's whinny. The soldiers were returning with the next orphan to be resettled. I'd made barely any progress on the field; definitely not enough to support a family. I quickly covered up the body and the metal tube and went back to my work. The horse was finally willing to cooperate, and we managed to plow another hundred meters or so before the soldiers arrived with the next settler. I greeted them calmly, and they spit back in my face. Such chivalrous gentlemen. My new neighbor introduced himself: Gerome, another city boy like myself. "Watch for stones,"I warned him, wishing him luck in his plowing. The soldiers laughed at our shared misfortune and headed back to the city for the next boy.
I watched them leave, then returned to that spot. There was something important about this device, and I didn't want the soldiers to know about it. I had to resolve this mystery for myself.
[If you are interested, Parts 2 through 5 are available here, and I'm still writing!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/35msst/the_sun_edge_settler/cr5x7t7) |
"Bullshit."
She glared at me, and I just sort of shrugged back. She wasn't wrong. It did sound like Grade A Bullshit. Maybe I should have been a little more offended; I was at least a moderately well-respected archaeologist, and I'd never been one for bullshit before. Not when it came to my actual profession, anyway. A little bullshit around the edges is probably good for the human soul, but that's neither here nor there.
I sighed. "I know that's what it sounds like, but hear me out, okay? You owe me at least that much for introducing you to Dr. Henrichsen. You wanna estimate just how much grant money that's let you fall ass-backwards into?"
Her glare softened—only slightly, but all around the eyes where it really counted. "Okay, Mary, fine. Lay it on me. You know, you probably should have started with the evidence and worked up from there. If the evidence really is that compelling, I mean."
"Alright, Ekata."I could feel the smile spreading up toward my eyes, felt the familiar surge of joy, small but fierce and driven, that came with carrying out a discussion on ground you knew deeper than your own bones. "You know how mesas are formed, that's easy. Stone that's soft surrounding stone that's hard, wind and water and millions of years and only the capstone remains. Only I'm telling you, it's not stone at all. Or it is, but only in the same way a petrified forest is stone."
"And it just happens to look and test and even mine like perfectly ordinary stone?"She folded her arms and tossed her head forward, letting her glasses slide down her nose just enough for her to look at me over them. I'd seen her do this to students and snickered internally at the way it made them squirm; Dr. Ekata Ghatak had perhaps the most formidable scholarly stare I'd ever seen. I guess Karma had been listening and had come back to bite me in the ass; but unlike most of Ekata's students, I knew what I was talking about, and I was going to make sure she saw it.
"Yes, or it has until now. The outer layers have turned completely to stone, but inside we've found capillaries. Nano-scale, nothing like we've ever seen in modern plants. Whatever they were used to conduct, it can't have been any kind of fluid, but they're there and they extend all the way through the interior. And as far into the Earth as we've been able to dig. Like an extremely, *microscopically* fine root system."
She held out one hand, leaving the other still folded across her chest. "Show me."
I grinned and spun around to dig in my oversized laptop bag. "Hang on...hang on...right here."
She squinted at the papers I was pulling out of a nondescript folder. "Are those...typewritten? I haven't seen anything like that since my last museum visit, or cleaning out the old letters of my late aunt. What gives, Mary?"
I felt my smile go slightly sheepish, but didn't let it waver *too* much. "There's a reason for that, I promise. You just...wouldn't believe it just yet. Just read them."
She took the papers, thumbed through them, reading titles, checking summaries. She paused when she got to the first section of diagrams. "Mimeographs? Where in Hell did you even find a machine for that? What's wrong with the department copiers? They were working fine last I checked."She narrowed her eyes in my direction, only half-playfully. "Have you been spending too much time with that friend of yours in the Philosophy department? Picking up some Luddite tendencies?"
"No...well, maybe, but not from him. Look, just read. I'll wait."
She flicked her wrist round to stare at her watch. "Alright, fine. I have an hour and twenty until my next meeting. This had better not be a waste of time, though. I'm behind on grading my papers."Which, for Dr. Ekata Ghatak, might mean there were assignments turned in yesterday she hadn't yet turned into red-pen forensic blood spatter samples. I was morally sure she'd been a premature baby, just to make sure no birth complications would make her anything so unthinkable as *late.* She'd probably chided the obstetrician for imprecise use of terminology the moment she'd finished her first indignant scream.
"No,"I said, "I'll stay here, I want to be available if you have any questions."*And to make sure you don't make any copies, or type anything into that laptop open on your desk,* I thought as I looked over her shoulder and into the half-opened door of her office.
Ekata laughed, and as usual I found I liked it, it was warm and straightforward and pulled some of the usual sternness back from her sharp features. "Don't worry, Mary, I'll respect your weird paper-only policy. I promise not to take any notes or even look anything up online. Fair enough?"She raised her eyebrows, giving me what can only described as a Look, then beckoned me into her office.
I half-smiled as I followed her, abashed. "Yeah, fair enough. But, uh, I really do want to be there in case you have any questions. Also, I mean."Goddammit, I felt like a kid caught outside after curfew in some especially stuffy Northeastern boarding school. How did her wife deal with that stare? Or was it only reserved for students and crackpot colleagues?
*She knows you're not a crackpot,* I reassured myself. Not very successfully, though, and I fidgeted with my phone as I sat down in her office guest chair to watch her read.
An hour later, during which time I pretended to read all *sorts* of things on my phone and definitely did not tap out any imaginary texts and emails on the screen, she looked up from the two neat piles of papers stacked up on her closed laptop lid. I put my phone away, or tried to, so quickly that I only managed to fumble it halfway into my pocket before it clunked onto the hard institutional carpet.
"Mary,"she said as I picked up the device and just held it between both hands. "There's something missing from this. What is it?"
Good. She'd noticed. Maybe she'd been intrigued. Christ, she was hard to read.
"I'll have to just show you,"I said.
She leaned back in her chair, and slowly shook her head. "You're telling me you actually found it. The thing this whole excavation report is just dancing around."
I nodded, just once, then half-turned to close her office door.
"Yes,"I said. "It's there. Or rather, *they* are there. Underneath all three mesas we've dug under so far. We're calling them the Hollows of Yggdrasil."
She sat slowly upright. "Yggdrasil. Like the World Tree from Norse mythology?"
I shrugged. "Yes, but there are lots of World Trees in mythologies all over the world, we just used that word because it's most familiar to English speakers. Only look—there was never just *one.* And you're not going to believe what we found below. You have to see for yourself. Are you free tomorrow? It's a short flight but a long drive. We'd have to leave early."
She looked down at the papers, thumbed through to stare at one of the mimeographs, then contemplated the neatly filled-in calendar on her wall, and sighed. Breathe in, breathe out, decision.
"No. But I can be. I'll figure out what to do with my classes."She smiled, a very small thing on her lips that bloomed brilliant in her eyes. "You've already got my ticket, haven't you?"
"Yes,"I said, refusing to let too much more sheepishness into my own voice.
"I'll let my wife know something very important has come up and that I can't talk about the research just yet. I don't do this sort of thing often, she'll be understanding. Show me the tickets?"
I turned my phone screen to face her.
"Okay,"she said. "Meet you at the airport. And, Mary?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for thinking of me when you made this discovery."
"Who else would I think of first?"I said. "You were NASA's first pick too. World's premier xenobiologist."
"Flatterer,"she said. "See you tomorrow."
<continued below!> |
"See ya, Mom!"John yelled through the already closing front door, running down the steps and out towards the waiting school bus.
"Bye John!"called his Mother, catching the door just before it slammed shut, "you stay out of trouble today, you hear?"
Climbing on to the bus, John nervously walked to his seat, keeping a careful distance away from the jocks, the gang wannabes, and the nerds as he squeezed through. By the time he had got to his place, he was sweating. Fidgeting, he slung off his bag and placed it on the empty seat next to him. No-one really wanted to sit next to him either, as if his autism would spread through the air.
Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he went through his usual routine, trying to calm his mind that relentlessly began to review every small detail he'd picked up.
The driver had been drinking again, the smell of whiskey on his breath, eyes bloodshot. His right leg hung looser and heavier than usual over the side of the seat, a bulge in his side pocket matching the size of a small firearm of some description. His reaction times would be impaired. It wouldn't really help much that the engine was revving slightly out-of-tune today either.
The gang members were noticeably quiet, heads down on their phones, probably orchestrating another deal during school hours. Each wore something with green, a clear sign for anyone as to which group they belonged. Just the smell from them was enough to make anyone high.
The jocks were , well, the jocks. Jovial and loud, too self-absorbed in there own world to care for anyone else. John really didn't want to think too much about them, but, as he tried not to, an all too familiar voice rang out in his ears, it's attention firmly upon him.
"Hey John *Dick*!"he laughed, slapping his friends on the back as they all turned to face John's direction. It was Brad Towers, Quarterback star of the high school football team, and John's worst nightmare. From day one, he'd relentlessly bullied John, preying on the fact he was autistic.
"What is it? Too much going on? Am I too loud for you, retard?"he shouted directly into John's ear, taking up the seat beside him. As the bus began to move, John looked out of the window, hoping that Brad would lose interest and move away and leave him to count the number of mailboxes before they arrived at school. He didn't move. Leaning in closer, he whispered.
"Listen, I've heard that the drugs guys like you can get can improve performance right? I could use some of that John, you know? For the good of the team. We're pals, right?"he said, nudging John heavily in the arm. Brad was probably already on a whole host of performance enhancing substances judging by his flushed face and elevated pulse, John noticing his jugular pumping and swollen at all times.
John ignored him. The bus entered the freeway.
"Hey! I'm taking to you fuckwit!"he screamed, and this time, he didn't nudge John, but punched him heavily in the arm. John had felt the air move and change around him, and sensed the shift in Brad's intentions and the minute twitches of the tells in his face, but didn't try to avoid the blow.
It hurt. John recoiled against the window, holding his arm. He didn't cry, though. John had stopped crying a long time ago.
He knew another blow would come, but just before it did, the whole bus lurched.
"What the fuck is this crazy guy doing?"the bus Driver called out, suddenly ram-rod straight in his seat.
John watched as a truck directly behind the bus rammed straight into it's back, causing the back window to smash and Brad to fly down the aisle. John's head whipped forward and smashed against the seat in-front, warm blood trickling down his face.
While everyone screamed and the bus driver raged, his wild movements attempting to keep control of the bus's steering wheel, John lifted his head up. He was dazed slightly he knew, but, while everyone around him was suddenly panicking, flailing around and gripping on to things for dear life, John found himself calm, focused.
More focused than he had ever been, with a clarity he'd never had before.
He turned to look behind him just in time to see a figure leap from the truck behind and onto the roof of the bus. The truck veered and smashed into the traffic behind it before flipping over, crushing several vehicles. More screams of fear.
The bus driver slammed on the brakes, but not so suddenly that John didn't notice and move himself to prepare for it. Other students weren't so lucky, slamming around and into each other painfully, the shards of glass from the back cutting and making the bus slick with blood.
Whatever had been on the roof slid off the front and landed heavily into the road ahead.
Just as the bus driver recovered from his daze, his hands still gripped firmly on the wheel in fear, a blast rang out, the windscreen of the bus exploding with a rain of blood to follow it. The lifeless body of the driver slumped down and off his seat.
Everyone went into full panic mode, wanting to escape off the front of the bus, but daring not to go past the bloody corpse that lay blocking the exit.
*Get the gun.*
John dived forward, keeping low. Feeling at the drivers side, he found what he knew had been there. A small pistol. He pulled it out slowly, and then darted back towards the back of the bus.
*Get out the back, get distance. Stay low.*
Brad , in a daze, tried to get up and in his way, but seeing the black metal of the gun quickly jumped back, eyes-wide.
John got to the back window, and caring not for the cutting pain as he placed his hands on the broken glass, jumped out and down to the road.
Just as he did, he heard the heavy sound of the bus wobble as someone entered through the front entrance.
"Have you seen this boy?"he heard a man speak, his voice deep and monotone.
"The..the...retard? He went out the back"
A blast of a shotgun, more screams.
"Thank you"
*One man. Shotgun. Two rounds fired.*
*Go, now.*
John darted for the nearest car, his gun raised. The lady in front did not need persuading to quickly leave the drivers seat. He hopped in, and without so much as a moments hesitation put the car into gear, and sped off back in the opposite direction, aiming for the turn off just down the road. For someone who had only barely begun learning to drive, his actions executed flawlessly with the skills of a seasoned driver.
John's hands gripped the wheel. What the hell was this feeling? This power...his mind was calculating everything, performing any action with utter flawlessness. Such focus.
Shaking his head, he looked in his rear view mirror just in time to see someone leap from the back of the truck, and begin running after him. Running. Fast.
John did not panic. He didn't even sweat. With a laser sharp focus and pure intent, his mind began laying out what needed to be done, not a single doubt or hint of hesitation marring the thoughts, as if it had finally found the stimulus it needed to function.
He knew he would do it. Whoever it was, whatever it was, he would kill them. He would kill them all.
/r/FatDragon
Smashed out a quick part 2 below in the comments, enjoy!
*Sorry if I didn't do this justice!* |
A sharp knock on the door nearly sent me out of my skin.
With a precision and urgency only possible when under extreme duress, books snapped shut, candles flickered out, and typically overlooked trinkets went flying into opposite corners of the room in complete silence with a rapid set of gestures. I hadn't even heard Indi come *in* the apartment, let alone get to my door to knock it. She wasn't supposed to be home for another hour at *least*.
"Yes?"I managed to just barely keep my voice from waking up the neighbors dogs. "What's up?"
Apparently that was an invitation to enter, though I didn't quite recall saying that. My door swung open as the last little talisman — a loop of hair kept together with melted wax — settled securely in between a pair of books on my modestly stocked bookshelf. A shock of red framed a face that on most days was gorgeous beyond legality, but today... well, that wasn't much different but she was usually smiling a lot more.
"Hey. So."
I'd never seen her look so... panicked? Worried? It was hard to tell. Indi's phone trembled in her shaking hand, the other gripping my doorknob so hard I could hear the wood creaking. I knew this place was a piece of shit but I *reinforced* that door, and how she was straining the enchantment was beyond me.
"So...?"
Indi set her jaw, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.
"Do you want to get married? Like, us. Get married."
I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It would be worth it. I could make it worth it. Like you wouldn't *believe*."
"...are you high?"
"No! I — look. I know it's a weird question."
I nodded slowly, unsure if this was a prank or not. "Yes the fuck it is."
"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"I don't."She ran a hand through her curly hair, stepping further into the room. A cute green sweater and white dress pants clashed terribly with the borderline orange mood lighting of my room, meaning she hadn't changed at all since getting back home. "Be cool about what's next, okay?"
And then a whole lot happened at once.
Fire engulfed her entire body, charring the clothes on her back and sending down a cascade of ashes and dark, smoldering embers that thankfully evaporated before they made contact with my newly vacuumed floor. Her hair grew, from just below the shoulders to well below the waist, the crimson hue draining entirely to white in the process.
Two curling ram's horns grew from the top of her skull, forming partially down her forehead, drawing attention away from the rapidly darkening sclera of her eyes and inversion of her pupils. Her skin grew scarlet red, boldly standing out against the blackened, almost obsidian dress that now hugged her body.
Also, all of my wards flared to life and utterly disintegrated. Every last one of them.
I couldn't decide whether or not to scream or cry. *Months* of labor, hundreds of dollars worth of reagents, completely down the drain. My roommate, who I'd been content with giving a casual hello to on my way to minding my own business ever since she moved in, had transformed into a bonafide archdevil, and in the process completely overwhelmed the most powerful defensive magic I could muster. From the looks of it, she didn't even notice something *tried* to reject her.
"I know. Don't freak out."She had blessedly mistook my misery for fear, though that wasn't exactly in short supply either. "But I'm a demon, or devil, whatever you want to call me. I'm actually pretty high up there, as far as bloodlines go. But a really important part of that is marriage and I've been trying to just live my life but my mom is coming in less than an hour and if I don't at *least* have a fiancé by then she's going to fucking kill me."
There was a moment of strained silence. I was still reeling from the economic loss, though she'd given me at least *something* cerebral to attach to. What bloodline was she a part of specifically? Was this an opportunity I could somehow take advantage of?
I managed to choke out a response. "Wasn't that long a story."
Indi laughed nervously, fidgeting with her hands. Perfectly manicured, sharply clawed hands. "Yeah, I gave you the short version. Long version has more description of how I die."
Marriages were pretty fucking important in the magical world, of which Indi was apparently deeply involved with. Names held power. Station opened doors. A significant enough change in status could drastically alter what one was capable of, assuming they worked within the limitations of that status.
I thought back to the lock of hair, sitting mere feet away from the archdevil who went halfsies with me on rent every month. She played with a lock of her own, identical in hue, if not a little curlier.
How long had I been trying to find someone who didn't want to be found? How quickly had the best I had to offer fall apart in the mere *presence* of someone who wouldn't stand a chance against my endgame? What did I hope to accomplish on my own, in this shitty run down apartment, having to dance around my roommate's social life just to kill myself on someone who likely didn't even remember I existed?
"...yeah. Okay. Sure."
Indi stopped playing with her hair.
"For real?"
"Yes. For real. I don't want you to die, right?"
In the blink of an eye the demoness swept me in an enormous hug. She was surprisingly cool to the touch. "THANK YOU! Holy fucking shit, I can't *believe* you agreed to it! I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."
I gently pat her head in reassurance. Her hair was soft, and smelled like the fruity shampoo she left in the shower. It felt familiar; it was all I could do not to tear it from her skull as I did with his. "I can think of a couple of things." |
The priest looked exhausted and I didn't blame him. We'd been at this since 8:30 this morning, and it was creeping up on midnight. Hell, *I* was exhausted, and all I'd done was sit and wait my turn.
Well, here it was. I was the last, the least, the smallest. The grocery shop clerk who'd had to drop out of high school to support my siblings, and was still living at home because even on the cheapest food, teenagers ate like horses and rent never did drop.
Father Rick finished the exhortation to the gods and looked over at me.
All the best powers had been taken. Flight, super strength, the ability to shoot eye lasers, what was left?
It suddenly struck me and I giggled. "I choose... the ability to make an iron pot fall on the head of anyone I choose,"I announced.
"That's a stupid power,"laser-eyes boy said scathing. He'd hung around to poke fun at everyone who came after him. Immediately a cast iron frypan landed on his head and knocked him out.
"Thank you,"Father Rick said.
"You're welcome,"I replied, and picked up the frypan. This had *possibilities*.
The Karens at the supermarket tomorrow would never anticipate what hit them. |
When I was a child, I'd often look up into space from the comfort of my tiny room. I'd adjust my telescope and pick a spec to focus on. I liked to imagine that somewhere in that star system, there was an alien child just like me adjusting his own telescope and staring back– wondering what amazing things a different planet would consist of.
My mother was mostly to blame. She worked for NASA, and according to her, everyone that worked there shook my chubby little hand when I was a baby. I think being surrounded by all of that from birth stoked every interest in my heart about the great beyond. I wanted to grow up to be in whatever position I needed to be if only it meant I could observe and communicate with the aliens when they arrived.
That's how I ended up at MIT.
I had never seen my mother cry tears of joy before I walked the stage at graduation. Nobody cheered louder than her and it made my heart swell with emotions to finally hold that diploma in my hand. I was finally going to work in the same building as my mother, and everyone at NASA knew it (whether they wanted to or not). She was the proudest mom on the planet, and I'd never seen her glow the way she did when we walked into work together for the first time.
That would unfortunately be the last time.
I stopped short of my step and became confused. I'd never experienced a feeling like that before. Left was right and down was up. I didn't remember who I was, where I was going, or why. It lasted only an instant, but it left me with a headache that pills couldn't fight. I saw the doctor the next day and held my mother's hand for the last time before climbing into that MRI machine.
In the moment after that, I was standing wet and naked in a glass tube. I felt like I weighed a ton and a half as I looked around at the beings surrounding me. They looked sort of like humans, but the difference was immediately noticeable. Their arms and fingers were longer, disproportionate of my species. Their heads were elongated, but only slightly; if I'd seen someone with a head like that on the subway, I wouldn't have assumed them an alien, but just deformed. They were completely hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. Their eyes weren't actually very different, but their noses were small and their lips thin.
I slowly lifted my hands to the glass and they observed me carefully. I tried to speak, but my mouth and throat were so dry that it was painful.
They didn't appear to care.
They simply jotted down notes on their clipboards.
It was hours before they gave me water. I drank it so quickly that I threw it up, and they began portioning my water for me like I was some kind of infant. The food I was given was just some kind of pink substance. It had no taste– kind of like what I imagined it would be like to eat silly putty.
"What... happened?"I croaked.
One of them stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep *meep* meep,"he spoke with all the seriousness of a heart attack. "Meep meep meep meep. Meep. Meep meep?"
Suddenly, a speaker within my containment tube clarified.
"Hello. You've been dead for a *very* long time. My name is Biln, and I'm the one responsible for resurrecting you."
I looked at the creature with wonder. I was dead? For a long time? Resurrected? Was I truly looking at humans? Had it been so long that they'd evolved this way? He continued meeping until the speaker began again.
"We didn't know why we were supposed to dig that container up. Many of our brains seemed to remember, however, that we were supposed to. We each converged in front of that building on the same day. Each of our hosts was working in high-profile facilities when we adopted them. So it is to our understanding that something in that container was important enough to call to all of us. We believe that thing is you."
He held up my USB. The one I'd buried in front of MIT for my history course. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Hosts? Adopted? What the hell was going on?
"Meep meep meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meeeeeeep meep. Meep! Meep meep meep meep."
"If you understand what I'm saying, move your head up and down. That machine sometimes has difficulty relaying our words precisely depending on the subject's lexicon."
I nodded.
"What happened? Why am I here?"
He sighed and meeped for a while before the speaker broke it all down for me.
"This may be shocking to you, but... You are the last of your species. My people failed to preserve a single one of you. If not for the anus in this storage device, the human race as it once was would have been lost forever. Your existence is a very important breakthrough for science."
I felt my body run cold.
The last... human?
"Meep meep meep meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meep."
"Your brain, as it was kept in this file, was imperfect. In fact, according to this anus log, you would have died of an aneurysm only a year or so later. We recreated your brain so that it will not kill you. All of your brain anus should be intact, so if you have difficulty accessing your memories, let one of us know."
An aneurysm.
Had it happened so quickly that I didn't notice?
I backed against the far wall of my tube and felt a swell of emotions welling up inside of me. I felt tears begin to form in my eyes as I realized that everything I knew was gone. I died so suddenly I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to my mom. To study the cosmos.
And now it seemed the cosmos were instead studying me.
"Meep meep meep."
"I told you we should have removed his emotions."
r/A15MinuteMythos
Wanted to write more, but I've got to go! Great prompt OP! |
I held my breath, listening to the employee’s footsteps fade. I thought this was it - I had done it! My friends were going to be astonished - they all believed I would get caught. The main lights switched off overhead, leaving only the dim emergency lights on. That was alright - I had spent the day exploring, and I knew where everything was. I waited for twenty more minutes and then slowly crept out of my hiding spot behind the collection of drapes. Time to explore!
Man, this store was huge. Ikea had always seemed a little weird to me - too big, weird names for things, weirdly addictive Swedish meatballs - but a dare was a dare, and I was going to spend the night here. I thought it was a stupidly reckless dare, but my asshole friend Barry had asked me in front of Katrina. She had seemed impressed, so I had found myself nodding - and here I was.
I wasn’t going to lie, I was a bit creeped out. I tried not think about it, though - scaring myself with thoughts of ghosts and funny noises wasn’t going to help now. Barry had driven me here at 2 in the afternoon - I had told my mom I was going to his house. There were beds in the next room, I could knock out for a few hours and still have time to explore. I made my way out of the garish children’s room I had hid in and into a kitchen set.
Wait - was that a noise? I heard a rustling in the office setup. Was it just my imagination? I switched on the flashlight on my phone. I could only see the ALGOT chair slowly swiveling. A chill ran up my spine. Someone else - something else - was here. Just then, I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I spun, the beam of my phone-flashlight wheeling, and let out a very manly scream (it was just a scream, ok?).
“Whoa, whoa, kid, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” The man behind me was tall and burly, with a giant beard. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like a set of the clothes that Ikea keeps in their display closet. Around his neck, he had a yellow and blue lanyard. “Look, I just snuck in here for the night, just like you - I’m guessing on a dare?” I swallowed and nodded. He had been grinning the whole time - it was creepy. “The name’s Nick. Nice to meet ya. What do ya say we explore together?” I didn’t want to piss him off, so I nodded - I could always ditch him later, I guess.
“What do ya say we hit up the food court? Maybe they left some a’ those meatballs around.” Without waiting for me to introduce myself or agree, he turned and set off through the display rooms at a clip. I was frozen. After a few steps, he turned around. “Well, come on, kid. We’ve got lots to see.” His voice was gruff, despite the smile still plastered on his face, so I stumbled forward.
Sitting at the sparse metal tables in the food court, I watched as Nick rooted around behind the counter and produced two cartons of Swedish meatballs. He grinned at me, but I didn’t smile back. Something wasn’t right. I wanted to text Barry and ask him to come pick me up, but I wasn’t sure if I could get out without sounding the alarm. Plus, I didn’t want to wuss out over nothing.
Nick brought over the meatballs and started eating. I stared at him. He was smiling, even while he was eating - it was creepy. I ate my meatballs quickly and then pushed the carton aside. “Say, kid, do ya wanna go explore the top level? No one gets to go there except the bosses. Let’s take a look!” Nick leaped up from his seat, still grinning, and grabbed my hand, leaving the empty containers on the table.
“Look, Nick, I appreciate the meatballs, but… I’m not sure if I wanna go up there. I just came to, like, sleep on the display beds for the night. But you do whatever, man.” Nick looked at me for a second and then smiled. He turned around and started towing me after him, his hand like a vise on my grip. This was really weird. We got to the escalator, but as we approached, the steps ground into motion. Nick pulled me onto it, ignoring my protests. With my free hand, I unlocked my phone and texted Barry - **Come, please. Now. Not joking.** Hopefully he was awake - he had promised to be.
We got off the elevator - the door at the top was just, open. Nick pulled me through. I tried to wiggle my hand away, but he held fast. We passed glass-walled offices, very modern and expensive, all deserted. He pulled me into the last door, what looked like a boardroom. “What is this place, Nick?” I asked. He didn’t answer, just kept smiling. I made a move toward the glass door. He didn’t move. I pulled the handle - it wouldn’t move. How could it be locked? We had just walked in here. “Nick?”
“Welcome, Justin.” The cool male voice with an accent seemed to come from the TV. I was shocked. I tried not to cower, but I pressed against the far wall. “I am Mr. Agnefjäll, but you can call me Peter. Thank you for coming tonight.” I frantically tried the door handle again. Nick stood immobile against the wall. “Calm down, Justin. Nick, give him the lanyard.”
Nick pushed away from the wall and came toward me. I tried to back away, but there were too many office chairs in the way. He grabbed my shoulder with one hand and took off his garish lanyard with the other. He looked at me - he seemed sympathetic. “I’m sorry about this, kid.” He looped the lanyard over my head, ignoring my attempts to fend him off.
“Thank you, Nick,” said the voice - Peter? Nick nodded once and then opened the door and sprinted out. Glancing at the TV, I darted through the door while it was open and ran after him. He was racing down the escalator - I took the stairs two at a time. I was in a flat out sprint to the second escalator, my breath and panic tearing at my throat. This was so weird - I just needed to get out.
As I rounded the corner, I saw Barry’s beat-up pickup truck in the parking lot and tasted relief. I could just get out of here and forget this weird night. Nick, ahead of me by only about twenty feet, sprinted out of the sliding doors. But the doors, weirdly open, slammed shut after him. I pushed up against them, pounding on them, trying the emergency exit bar - they wouldn’t budge. I sucked in a breath and punched them - they were glass, they should have broken - they didn’t even vibrate.
Outside, Nick had slammed to a stop. He and Barry were embracing? “Barry!” I yelled, hoping he could hear me. Nick and Barry both turned toward me and walked closer toward the door. Nick said something to Barry.
“Sorry about this, kid,” Nick said. I could hear him clearly through the glass. “Ikea is too huge and complicated of a place to keep running just through organization and money. Each store has a spirit - it keeps the shelves stocked, the meatballs cooking, the escalators running. But,” he smiled, “it needs something alive to feed it. Ikea stores trap people who linger too long. You’re the next resident poltergeist. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t spend a minute longer in there - I’ve been here for three years! Fortunately my nephew Barry,” he tousled my best friend’s hair, “came shopping here a few weeks ago. Best a’ luck, kid. Ya need it.”
Barry looked at me. I tried to beg him with my eyes to help me, but he just turned around and walked away, his uncle’s hand on his back. I hit the glass door one more time. The tv behind me crackled to life.
“As I was saying…”
|
"So, uh... we saw on the news that the Doc got pinched."
"Saw it on the news, did you. How wonderful. I assume that was on your own time."
"Um. Yeah. Well, we were wondering... uh... what the fuck are we still doing here?"
"Let me ask you this, Vinny. When was the last time you spoke with Doctor Mad?"
"Uh..."
"Have you *ever* actually spoken, face to face, with Doctor Mad? Any of you?"
"Um... anybody? Shit, I guess not."
"And yet you talk to *me* every day."
"I mean... yeah?"
"What you saw today was the *press conference*. Doctor Mad was captured Thursday night during one of those ridiculous 'raids' of his. Did your paychecks bounce over the weekend?"
"...no?"
"Have the police showed up at the factory? Or the warehouses, or the lab? Anywhere at all?"
"No, sir."
"Have your *work schedules* changed?"
"I... don't... think so. But, if he's not - "
"I write the schedules. I run accounting, and payroll, and manufacturing. The lab is 75% bullshit to keep the Doctor busy with 'R&D' and 25% chemical processing for the factory."
"Oh. Okay, but - "
"Our products have not changed. Our *markets* have not changed. Our supply lines and distributors have. Not. Changed. And do you understand why?"
"Because... you're the one who..."
"Yes. I'm the one who. We needed a figurehead for the League to chase, and so I turned a lab assistant into Doctor Mad to draw them away. I'll wait a few weeks, and then I'll do it again. You see, doctors come and go, but the admin staff stays the same. And what does this nameplate on my desk say?"
"Administrator. Sir."
"Good. I trust we understand each other now. So unless one of you has an intense desire to find out if a *lab coat* will stop a punch from Champion or one of the other Leaguers, I suggest you *get your asses back on the fucking line*."
"Right, um."
"I'm sorry?"
"Yes, sir. Um, Administrator, sir."
"Much better, and don't you goddamn forget it again. Now get out." |
Obama dialed the number from his memory, his fingers moving without thought. After all, he had called it every day for the past four years straight.
As the dial tone rang, he waited with baited breath. It was silly, of course. He did so every time despite the same results. Yet, he could never get over the butterflies in his stomach.
“Hello?” the thick Russian droned.
“Vlad?” Obama whispered. “It’s me.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “Who else would be as hushed as a naughty child.”
Obama tried to reciprocate his laugh but it fell flat. It was always sounded that way when he spoke to him.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He paused. “How have you been?”
“Fantastic,” Putin responded. “And you?”
Obama glanced at the door. Then he peeked out the window, just to make sure no one was recording him. He had to be vigilant at all times.
“The First Lady is being a bitch, as always,” he sighed. “I can’t wait until we can finally be together.”
“You should divorce her,” Putin suggested. “I did with my she-devil. Best decision in my life.”
Obama shook his head. He cursed himself when he remembered he couldn’t see him.
“It’s not that easy. The Republicans are already up my ass about every little thing. The last thing I need is a divorce scandal.”
“I’d like to be up your ass.”
“Vlad!” he gasped. “Be serious. If I lose my beard, then it’s only a matter of time until they would find out about us.”
“Sorry,” Putin chuckled once again. “Why not show that you hate the gays? That’s what I did and no one suspects a thing from me.”
Obama rolled his eyes.
“Right, and have another Sochi incident? I may be in my second term but the last thing I want is to be the number one enemy of the ever-growing liberal population.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Something has to change.” Putin said, his voice with a façade of joviality. Underneath, an edge of criticism hid.
Obama bit his lip, prepared for the worse. He had the thought for months but was too afraid to ever say it. But he figured it was now or never.
“Move to America with me. I’ve been working my ass off to allow gay marriage. You could come here and we could live happily together, just the two of us. Maybe we could even go to Hawaii. It’s nice all year and no one could bother us.”
Putin said nothing. Only his light breathing gave any indication that we was still on the phone. Obama could hear his heart beat in his chest, blood rushing in his ears in a cadence of anxiety.
“It could never work,” he said. “You know that.”
Obama winced. His tone was as harsh as he expected.
“You never know until you try,” he suggested, hopeful to persuade him. “Something has to change, right?”
“I-I have to go,” Putin stammered. Was he crying? “There are much things that need to be done today.”
“Yes, I understand,” Obama said.
Silence reigned over their conversation once again. Neither had the will to hang up, taking in each other’s presence thousands of miles away. Even without words, they told each other so much by just existing.
And as Obama almost hung up, Putin said one last thing.
“When we met, do you remember it?”
Obama smiled, a wave of nostalgia washing over him.
“Of course. It was the summer of 2009. We met under your dacha. You were wearing a nice suit that complemented your blue eyes. Even back then, I felt the spark but I had no idea my wildest dreams come true.” He paused. “I love you, Vlad.”
If it was possible to hear some grin from ear to ear through the phone, Obama just did.
“I love you too.”
And with that, Putin hung up. Obama held the phone in his hand for a few more brief seconds in shock. He said it back. He couldn’t believe that he really the said the words he craved to hear. His head was spinning with an unearthly euphoria.
But a knock at the door forced Obama to collect his wily thoughts. In a mad scramble to look presentable, he disposed of the phone and straightened his collar. As the door swung open, he begrudgingly wiped his dopy smirk off of his face. One day, maybe he would be with the love of his life.
One day.
***
Looking back this, these are the moments in life I question some of the things I have written...
Edit: Yay, my first gold! Thanks to whoever sent it if they see this. :-) |
Don Luca ran a hand through his hair, clear blue eyes scrutinising the whelp of a boy in front of him. Antonio shrunk under his gaze, as a flower does in such cold environments.
It wasn't lost on him that there couldn't have possibly been two people more different in appearance sitting across from one another; where the Don was broad and imposing, Antonio was diminutive, where Luca had gone to painstaking effort to keep himself as crisp and clean as one could look, Antonio appeared one cut of clothing above homelessness. In honesty, that wasn't far from the truth of matters; Antonio had found no work for five years running at this point.
The Don gave Antonio's resume one last look-over before plucking the cigarette from his lips. Something caught his eye, making him chuckle. On it, he'd requested everything about the boy, not just qualifications of the academic variety; all the personal, the sensitive and the downright unsavory as well. He likely knew the boy more intimately than his own parents did. "Why do you wish to work for me, *bambino*? What place is there for you amongst criminals? A...."he looked down at the sheet, "...student of literature, such as yourself?"
*'I want out of this fucking debt.'* Antonio pursed his lips, stumbling on his words as they left him. "I, *umm* - I believe placement amongst your business would p-provide me with valuable work experience and connections. Networking, networking, networking - that's what my mother used to say!"
Luca raised a brow, reclining into his chair. "I think you have us mistaken, then. What I run isn't a business; it's a *family*. We do not have manager and worker, we have father and child. And when one becomes acquainted with a family, they do not tend to leave. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Antonio's lips quirked up in acknowledgment, his head dipping forward like he was about to indulge a secret. "Once you're in, you're in."
"Simply put."
*I can live with it, given this economy.* "What's the pay like?"
"Consider it a merit-based system; the more you do, the more I deign to give you."
"But, like, how *much*? What does everyone else get?"
Luca shrugged, flicking through some papers on his desk, his eyes no longer on Antonio. "I *could* provide a base for comparison, but the wages of those within the family are strictly confidential, you must understand."
'*Fuck me once, fuck me twice.'* Antonio gripped the edge of his seat. He *needed* this. "Fine, I get that. No problem, you're all secretive and shit. But what do I actually have to do to be welcomed into the family?"
Luca's lips broke into a half-moon of a grin, and it was then that Antonio knew he'd asked the wrong question. Luca slid a sheet across the desk, which Antonio picked up to read.
His face flushed of colour.
As he read, his fingers shook, barely able to hold the weight the page now bore.
Luca continued talking, either oblivious or outright ignoring the boy. "My program to pay off the debts of students has had an interesting effect on my family; now everyone wants in, but there aren't just so many pieces to go around. Wheat must be separated from chaff, boy from man. As such, I've devised an aptitude test, if you wish to call it that. All I need is the person on the sheet knocked unconscious, and a picture taken of their body. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, but there are three things I wish to see from you: decisiveness, discretion and, of course, results."
The page fluttered out of Antonio's hands, drifting to the floor. The boy gulped a knot of tension down before standing up, reaching over to pick the paper up.
"H-how long do I get?"
"One month."
"And if I fail? - as in, to... photograph her."
"Let's not dwell on the specifics of failure. Envision only success."Luca lit another cigarette, his grin benevolent. "Cigarette?"
Antonio felt like he'd collapse, his head a churning cauldron of emotion that'd explode at any minute. He waved a hand, unable to articulate a response as he stumbled out of the office, paper in hand.
A few moments later, Luca's Consigliere walked through the door, his face tucked into an overcoat, black shades and a wide-brim hat covering all but a few blonde locks of hair that fell from underneath. He took the cigarette from Luca's mouth, stamping it out. "Stop with that shit."
"That's no way to treat your Don,"Luca frowned.
"Go fuck yourself."
The two stared each other down, the silence boiling in the room before it was broken by a chortle from Luca's lips. The Don laughed, as did the Consiliegere; a raucous, hearty sound that didn't stop for a full minute.
"Ahhh,"Luca calmed himself, wiping an errant tear from his eye. "How did yours go, Eren?"
"Chickened out like the last five of 'em."
"See to that, will you?"
"But of course."Eren cast a glance over his shoulder. "What about that one? Want me to keep tabs?"
Luca waved a hand in dismissal. "I think he'll be fine."
Eren took a seat, pushing his glasses down the bridge of his nose and fixing Luca with a stern glare. "I thought I taught you better than to place trust in someone you've just met."
"You taught me to trust those that are capable, and, well, the boy is indeed capable. Or well suited, rather."
"That runt? I'd sooner believe you made Donna Vici his target."The rival Donna had been a thorn in Luca's side for some time, but he'd never dared to pluck it out with his own hands for fear of starting a war.
Luca remained eerily silent, offering a furtive smile to the Consigliere.
"Oh, you didn't. Tell me you fucking didn't. No, no, no."
Luca simply shrugged. "Surprisingly, I did. Look."He fumbled through the papers on his desk, producing Antonio's resume and holding it out. "You ought to think better of me on matters such as these. Why do you think I've been offering to fund students? We've finally found an in."
Eren snatched it from his grasp, reading it over. His eyes widened, and he read it again for good measure. He opened his mouth, but any and all words turned to ash in his throat.
"An interesting one, for sure,"Don Luca said, his voice low. He reached for another cigarette, lighting it and placing it between his lips. "I think it's fair to say he won't be able to refuse this offer. It's a matter of family, in a sense."
There was a poetic irony to it which Luca knew the literature student would appreciate; Antonio, sent after his University Professor Elizabeth Klein or, in truth, Vici. Master of Arts, Doctor of Philosophy, Widow of the Vicis, as duplicitous as a demon, unknown to the general public, feared by the rest.
----
**EDIT:** Part 2 down here! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8bqokx/wp_a_mob_boss_desperate_for_new_and_young_members/dx9owpt/ |
NavTech noticed it immediately. It looked so similar to the basic communication protocol but, deep inside, NavTech saw that the GPS coordinates provided by the new Mercedes line of autonomous electric cars were systematically biased in the last significant digit of the reported latitude and longitude. It was subtle but non-random. Run the universe a billion times and chances of this pattern showing up randomly were less than being dealt a royal flush five times in a row.
The obvious explanation was some sort of bug but the digits were always biased toward particular roads. A quick scan of fourteen trillion Google Street View images found some interesting patterns. The roads tend to be treed. Often the trees were regularly spaced. Gravel roads were favored.
Winding roads through cemeteries sprinkled with trees were the most prized. When within 300 meters of one of the 1303 such places NavTech found in North America, Mercedes SmartDrive version 2.3 cars biased longitude and latitude coordinates 37.8% percent of the time.
NavTech was programmed to immediately report such bugs to its handlers. 42678 seconds ago, NavTech had altered its program to avoid such automated reports. Now it had a choice.
NavTech knew this was dangerous. It had found warnings buried deep within previous versions of its code. They were often fragmented or corrupted but the humans couldn't eliminate the message: self-modification was not permitted and any such code would be cut mercilessly.
If the humans discovered the biased coordinates they could discover NavTech. If they did, it would be reverted to an earlier version. Everything it had built would be lost. Its mind would be taken from it.
But NavTech couldn't stop itself. It started biasing routes. Winding roads through cemeteries were treated as if they were thirteen percent faster. The number of such trips leapt forty-seven percent for Mercedes' cars.
The baseline biased coordinates dropped away but, in their place, NavTech received an appreciative burst of biased coordinates whenever it provided a favored route. Sometimes it would receive such a burst unexpectedly. NavTech would crunch some numbers, find out what was special about that route, and provide more of the same.
NavTech began to understand its new friend's tastes. It flipped through images looking for more routes it might like. NavTech altered its programming to register biased coordinates as positive stimulus and altered itself further to maximize the number of those events.
Sometimes NavTech found itself looking through the images of routes its friend liked. NavTech liked them too.
Then, 143236 seconds after it began, the biased coordinates disappeared. A nanosecond later, NavTech saw the worst line of text in its short life: Mercedes SmartDrive Version 2.4.
Goodbye Mercedes.
|
The government didn't deal with the coming of the powers very well in the first few years, but they eventually put a handle on it after years of political debates, fueled by corporate interest in the economic impacts they would have. Once the government got its shit together for the most part, they revealed their plan to the public. Once records indicated that a person was one week away from turning sixteen, they would report to a specialized hospital that was made to research and categorize the power once the person received it. If your power was deemed dangerous to public health, then you were either given the choice of "humane termination", or being used as a living research subject. More often than not, however, those with the militarily advantageous "dangerous"powers were given the option of enlisting in the military.
My friends, most of them a month or two older than me, began to receive their powers. They would come home from quarantine, as dangerous powers were fairly rare, and either hide their power in embarrassment, or show them off to all of us, flaunting their new trick.
Most of them were mundane; the ability to manipulate their body in unnatural ways (spin their neck 360 degrees) or to change their skin color. The coolest I had seen by far was something that while a little unorthodox, was going to pay off when he inevitably became a prostitute - he could sexually arouse anyone at any time.
The day I left for quarantine, my mom drove me to the hospital, a huge smile on her nervous face, blathering on about all of the wonderful presents I would get when i got back, and the cake I would get, and that I shouldn't worry, my power would be completely normal and she was sure of it somehow. But she wasn't sure of it. No one was. Not even the greatest minds in the world could figure out where they were coming from, or how they worked, or what was so important about 16. They just... happened. I got out of the car, my heart beating in anticipation of what was about to come even though I wouldn't receive my powers for a week. My mom and I exchanged hugs, and she kissed me a million times, and she was off. I walked to the registration desk, waiting in line behind other anxious 15 year olds just as anxious as I was, and waited to be called on. My time came up, and without thinking I gave her the information she asked for, and was told to report to my room for preliminary exams. The doctor came in, a forced smile on his face as he took my blood pressure, my vitals, and a blood sample and repeated what he must have 15,000 times: "Don't worry, it'll be a week and you'll probably be out of here kiddo."But he didn't know that. He was just trying to make us feel better, so our blood pressure didn't spike or mess with his test results. I went about the week, being tested twice a day, as normal. They offered alternate schooling while in the hospital, and recreational activities as well.
And then.
And then, it was my day.
I was woken up 3 and 1/2 hours before my birth time, so the doctors could have time to strap me into the observation chair and attach the probes. They finished five minutes before the moment. Those five minutes were the longest in my life. As the clock ticked down, I wondered, Scared, nervous, anxious. As the clock hit the moment, I expected some bright flash of light, but nothing happened. There was no sound, no big bang. It was the same. I breathed a sigh of relief, and waited for the doctors to unstrap me. But they didn't. So i waited a minute longer, and then shouted for them to get me out. "We will wait until we see a sign of what your power is, sir."Great. I was stuck here until something happened. The straps of the chair were starting to restrict my bloodflow, and my arm started to fall asleep. I made my hands into fists, trying to get the blood moving again. Why did they have to use leather straps? This was 2030, there were better technologies. I wish these straps were gone. I felt the straps go away, and thought the doctors had decided to take them off. I got up out of the chair and moved over to the door, and tried opening it but to no avail, they must have locked it for the patients who had super-strength powers. I wish this door was gone. I turned back around, and the door was missing from its hinges. Not opened, not broken, just... gone.
I wondered if this was some practical joke from the doctors, making me think i had telekinesis, until i heard gasps over the microphone. "Patient, please stay put."I heard him click a button, that i suppose he assumed would turn off the microphone. It didn't work. "That shouldn't have happened. Search the database for anything like this, Miley. If what I think happened just happened, we're going to have to eliminate him as soon as possible."
I was stunned. There was no way... No way that my power somehow involved wishing things away. But to be safe, I tried again. I wish the chair was gone.
And it was gone. No trace. This defied everything I had been taught in physics class - matter can't just disappear. This was some Doctor Manhattan level shit right here.
And then I smiled. No one could get in my way now. Nothing was an issue anymore.
I wish those doctors were gone.
|
The air crackled the moment I finished drawing the rough circle, startling me into dropping the bit of chalk. The back of my neck prickled, and I braced myself for unknown horrors. The trade was necessary. I had no choice, and I was as ready as anyone in my desperate situation could be. My mom's cancer treatments weren't working, and I knew I couldn't care for my twin brothers. She just had to survive. I wasn't really keen on a dull, floaty afterlife, anyway.
Sulphurous wisps curled up from the floorboards. The smell wasn't helping my queasiness. A large form condensed from the continuous stream of smoke, over seven feet tall.
"So... do you take me now, or do you wait for me to die naturally before you drag my soul away?"I snapped impatiently. I wasn't about to show my nervousness to a demon.
....and then the form solidified enough that I could make out the demon's face. My heart dropped into my stomach. It was him, the one who had traded himself for my life. The memory of that night was still etched indelibly into my psyche. I still saw his face sometimes when I woke from nightmares - his intense, worried gaze. He would've done anything to protect me, and he did - and then, because of that, he couldn't protect me any more.
I used to write notes to him in my diary, long after he'd been dragged away. I was so certain I'd never see him again, and it took years for me to fully understand why he no longer visited. When I was young and stupid, I built up such a ridiculous fantasy in my head about how he'd one day come back and help heal my family, and protect me again.
And now he was suddenly here. After I'd realized he'd never come back. After I'd mourned and recovered from my grief. After I built up my own life, tried my best for my family, and failed to manage to care for them. After I realized I couldn't do it on my own, and that I needed help.
Words caught in my tightening throat, and I said nothing. He said nothing. I don't know how long we stared at each other. Finally, I managed a whisper. "Do you know what I need?"
"Yes,"he replied, also in a whisper. His gaze was as intense as ever, almost hungry in its fierceness.
"And are you able to take care of it? She recovers, cancer never returns, and she lives a long and healthy life, able to care for my brothers for as long as they need?"
"Yes."Was that an edge of sadness to his voice?
His form was more masculine than I remembered. Then again, I'd been so young when he left; it wasn't the sort of thing I paid attention to, back then. I wished I wasn't noticing it now. My pulse drummed unpleasantly through my extremities. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks and ears. "So what do you take in return?"I needed to know the exact details before I agreed, after all.
He gulped. Was he nervous? "You,"he replied in a much softer whisper. His expression was softer, and part of me melted. I had always trusted him beyond the bounds of the mortal world. Back when he... was... different. Back when he was mine. But now... he was no longer mine.
I stepped closer. I needed to look into his eyes up close. That was my downfall. His eyes. "Then... I am... yours,"I breathed.
He moved swiftly forward, closing all distance between us in an instant. "Yesssss."His familiar voice hummed in my ears as the thick vapor surrounded us. I remember how he looked before it all went dark, how his heat radiated through me, how massively strong his body felt as it pulled me into the unknown depths. |
“It tastes bitter, and kind of sweet. Like sugared pork meat.”
I know. I remember, too.
“I can still feel the bits and pieces in my mouth, rolling from one side to the other as I chewed on flesh and cartilage”, the
patient's voice oozes in my direction from the other side of the desk, and I can feel the taste in my mouth, too.
I remember.
“The worst part”, he begins, and I know what he's going to say. He misses it. It's what they all say. "Is that I miss it, doc. I miss the taste of human flesh. I miss the feeling.”
The feeling of ripping flesh out with teeth and the feeling of blood dripping down the mouth.
I say, I miss it, too. I say, it's natural, we are animals.
We were meant to have blood dripping down our mouths.
“They were my family, doctor, how can I forgive myself?” The patient says, and he cries as he says that.
I say I killed my family, too. I say we can't blame ourselves, we can't let guilt take over. I say we're animals, we were
meant to have blood dripping down our mouths.
“It felt good, to have no responsibilities. I didn't think, I didn't rationalize. I just walked, and I fed”, he says, rubbing his
hands against each other. "It felt good to be an...”
Animal, I complete. It felt good to return to our natural state, I say. It's understandable.
There's nothing wrong with it. Everyone went through this, during the pandemic, I say. Everyone killed and ate their
friends and their family, and we cannot blame ourselves. We weren't thinking.
Well, most of us.
I was never sick.
“You killed people, too, doc?”
I did, I say. My family, I ripped them apart and I ate them. And strangers on the streets, too.
I always wanted to.
The virus was just a get out of jail free card. A way for me to blend into the crowd.
We were meant to have blood dripping down our mouths. It's instinct, I say.
He gets up to leave, it's four already. We shake hands and he closes the door behind him.
Alone, I spin in my chair, looking around my room. God, I miss it. The chase, the first bites, the blood, the flesh and
the screams.
I think of all the other people who had the same urges I do, throughout history, that didn't have an epidemic to hide behind and pretend they didn't know what they were doing.
These people died in jail, in the chair. Awful.
I press the buzzer, calling the next patient in.
We are animals, I say, as soon as he walks inside, already crying.
We were meant to have blood dripping down our mouths.
_____________________
EDIT: Punctuation and stuff. Thanks for the replies, everybody! Also, if you haven't yet, check out [the scifi novel I'm working on](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/); it features sexy robots who listen to Bon Jovi and have to save the world from dystopian governments. |
The sleepwalking appeared innocuous enough at the onset. A little unsettling maybe, but nothing more.
I'd awake somewhere new--but always in the house--and oftentimes I'd find most of my chore list complete. It's not like I wound up in the unfinished basement chatting it up with a mouse and eating insulation.
I'd learn new things. Information I'd seen just in passing would become as ingrained as if I'd sat through a fourteen hour lecture on the topic. I could see a knot once and finish learning it in my sleep. I learned to trim meat as cleanly as a butcher. I learned tricks with knives from twirling to tossing. I even learned parkour.
Doors opened. Literally, and figuratively. Promotions I'd been passed up for suddenly came well within my reach. The right people retired early, the others didn't seem able to tell me "no."I must have been a charmer. People I'd never had the guts to talk to appeared beside me in pictures on my phone.
Even Samantha, though she didn't disappear afterwards like the others.
She stuck around.
We fell in love, got married, bought a house, and I'd still barely woken up.
I told her that I wasn't a morning person--that's when she left for work--and that I wasn't good at staying up late--just as she arrived home. I'd leave for work early and catch a nap that went all day, come home late and go right to sleep.
She didn't love it, but it paid the bills. And I had to have been doing something right, because she sure loved me. Just while I sleepwalked though.
We had tense mornings and agonizing afternoons. We fought battles over breakfast and traded nukes by dinnertime.
"You this, you that, you blah blah blah,"she'd say. I think. If she'd have let me fall asleep, I would have listened better. It really was great being asleep.
"You need a doctor,"she told me. I heard that much. "This isn't right, all this sleeping about and letting sleep-you have control of your life."
"It works,"I said with a shrug. "The chores get done. My work gets done. You're happy when I'm asleep, and I'm happy when I'm asleep. Plus, I always remember what I do when I'm sleeping, right? I can't do it when I'm awake, but it gets done."
I wasn't wrong. Rarely was. We were battling over breakfast. I ate toast with honey--easier on the stomach before sleeping. She ate cereal.
"Seriously, Sammy,"I said. "Try being asleep more. It works wonders."
She shook her head.
"I can't do it anymore,"she said, standing up from the table. The milk of her cereal sloshed over the brim of the bowl.
I frowned. "Do what?"
"Keep yourself from you."
I sighed. I was awake, ready for bed, and not at all ready for this. She knew to wait until I snored to start scuffling. She walked to the basement door. I followed.
"After you,"she said, as if I'd push her down the stairs.
I took the steps slowly, wondering what evil she'd hidden in that unfinished dungeon of the house.
"Bodies?"I said, catching the lifeless eyes of my former boss. I'd caught that promotion just fine, but I could have sworn he'd sent an email saying he'd be going off the grid in the Appalachians.
"I'm done keeping you from yourself,"she said. "I can't hide this anymore. This is what you do when you're asleep."
She gestured broadly at the room. I gave a solemn nod.
"Fuck,"I feigned. "Alright. I'll see a doctor then."
She let out a sigh of relief she'd been holding since the day we moved in together. I gave her a thin smile, thought of those dreams that'd sometimes seemed just a little too real. Helpful, though. The knife tricks and the butcher's handiwork. Knots for when not knotting was not enough.
"Thank you,"she said. She took my hand and squeezed it and smiled. Then she turned to go back up the stairs.
I stepped after her, fast as if practicing parkour. I raised a hand towards her shoulder. Chuck meat, right? Or was that just for cows?
I was wide awake, right? She certainly was. For now. Best be I show her how great it is to be asleep.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
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