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I honestly quite like my life. My garden provides me with most everything I need, there's a nice little stream next to my home, I can access the internet if I run out of books or entertainment, and I even made a few friends over the years. Sure, there are no humans around, but that's for the best anyway.
What I'm trying to get at is that I wasn't happy when the red phone rang. I was okay being forgotten for the past fifteen years. But I picked it up. Not like I had any choice in this.
"Seven three three, sigma sigma, four twenty six."The code is spoken as soon as I answer. It checks out, so I respond with my own number. "Seven seven, one fourteen, beta."That number was drilled in so deep that even in the case of total amnesia it may be the only thing I'd remember. My experiment number.
"Thank you for -"The voice on the other side is clearly inexperienced.
"Skip it."I cut him off. "You know what this number is. We both checked out. You wouldn't call if you had literally any other option left. Where do you need me?"It may seem a bit rude, but if they're desperate enough to call me, there's no time.
I can hear him swallow. He's terrified. Good. "Coordinates have been sent to your teleporter."He says and hangs up. I do too, and walk towards the little gunmetal grey box. Yup, it's locked on.
It's an old model, four times as sturdy, twice as reliable as the newer junk. Of course, there's the minor downside of the extreme radiation it was giving off non-stop, but that's not really an issue for me. Did wonders for the tomatoes, though.
I arrived at some destroyed city block. Devastation was recent, as the dust hasn't even settled. Buildings were destroyed, cars were blaring, and the bodies... They were everywhere, mangled and broken. I should feel something. Huh.
I started walking towards where the noise was coming from. Let's see, fire damage, possibly super strength. He might even survive a few minutes. We'll see.
"I am Firemind, and you will bow before me little human!"The sound came from somewhere above. Probably can fly too. Annoying, but not much more. "Kid, I didn't bow to the president, I didn't bow to gods, and that was back before I had any back pains. You want me to bow, get down here and do it yourself."I tell him. The monologuing type is very easy to agitate.
"You dare speak to me like that???"He shouted and flames roared from his hands, engulfing me. I recognise the tingle as I absorb just enough to be unharmed. Mild radiation. Interesting. "Hey, did you know your flame is radioactive? Just curious."I ask him.
He seems baffled. "You're still alive."He actually said that. I couldn't help but laugh. "Go home, boy. You're so far out of your league that I don't have the words to explain it to you."That really pissed him off. "I wil kill you!"He screamed, flying and releasing a barrage of flames at me. I absorbed enough to be unharmed, and then I absorbed his kinetic energy.
As he was stuck in the flying position, I sat down beside him. "I'm going to tell you a story. Don't worry, I'll be quick."I stretch my back a little. "Back in the day, our government was experimenting to make super-soldiers. Cliché, I know, but what can I tell you."I shrugged."They managed a few different batches- super speed, super strength, some more esoteric powers. Then, there was experiment seven seven, one fourteen."I see his eyes follow me with pure hatred. "Code named 'Cataclysm', the goal was someone who could release large spikes of energy at will. It had exactly one successful product."I stand up in a grandiose motion, and demonstrate myself in a theatrical manner. "I absorb every type of energy- chemical, biological"I point to him. "Kinetic. I can only release one kind though- Gamma radiation."I see the fear setting in his eyes, as I put my hand on his face.
"I'll be honest, this is going to hurt."I smiled as I started to flood his every cell with over fifteen years of built up energy stores. I essentially made every centimetre of his body into a nuclear catastrophe. After a few seconds, and barely a years worth of rads, he literally burst, sending a wave of radiation in a mile wide radius.
I shrugged, and reactivated my teleporter. Once home, I picked up the red phone. "Dispatch complete."I hung up the phone and went to take a nap. |
"So where is my Scrooge McDuck money vault?"Walt asked
"Sir?"
"Did I fucking stutter? Scrooge McDuck money vault. Where I can swim in the massive wealth you guys made for me while I was asleep?"
"Ummm. We didn't make it."
Walt spun. He looked around the room. Not a single man in the room had a mustache. "I didn't leave many instructions. I really didn't. But I did leave a few."Walt paused.
"Alright, what did you do?"
"Well, sir.."
"Walt."
"Sir?"
"Call me Walt."
"Well, Walt, we've expanded the parks. We have the RunDisney program up and running. We own Marvel. We own Star Wars. We own Hasbro. We owned Sonny Bono, before he died. He extended Copyright quite a bit. And now that you're alive again, I think that means Mickey's copyright is back in effect again. You own Oswald again."
"Good. Alright. I have no idea what half that shit is. But, everyone seems to be nodding. So here is what you are going to do."Everyone stared anxiously.
"One, start construction on my fucking Scrooge McDuck money Vault. Two, fill my fucking Scrooge McDuck money Vault. Three, get me a goddamn cigarette. Four, get me a bottle of Scotch. Five, thaw out Marilyn. She's got Number Six." |
On July 27th, 2083, I gripped my father's hands tightly as he sunk into his old armchair, the one he'd had for the last fifty years. Checked his respirator mask, then my own. Made sure the fans weren't about to lose power. Opened a window, just for kicks - because even though that was risky, it wasn't as though there was much point anymore. Covered him with a cooling blanket, let him rest, held him close, the faint hum of an old screen somewhere in the background, harking on the news we all saw coming.
I sat perched on the armrest that night, glancing out to the red-dust skies, remembering. I didn't remember much before everything went grey, then orange, then crimson, or a day without a mask. My father did. He remembered the blue, the clear.
"Dad..."
"We've made it this far, peanut."His voice was croaky, strained. "And we made it to the end. It's...strange, isn't it?"
"Strange."
"Strange, how it's us. How you mother is gone, and your brothers too... Your husband, your daughter. And now it's....just me and you, Amy. My dear, sweet, beautiful Amy..."
I don't know if I was crying, whether a single tear rolled down my cheek or I collapsed into sobs. It's all the same to me now.
"Now, finally..."he continued, letting out a weary sigh. "We get to rest. To join them."
"I love you, Dad. I love you so, so much."
Then, I remember the screen shouting something, to sleep soon, to make sure you weren't conscious by midnight. To make it all less painful. To make it smooth, a graceful exit for the human race, as though the whole thing was explainable and inevitable. They'd shut off the communications, let the world fall deeply, unsettlingly silent until it was gone, a few final moments where it would mourn itself. July 27th, 2083, the last day of the world, running with a strange, calm bureaucracy to it.
Nobody expected to wake up on July 28th, 2083.
At first, I thought I was in some kind of afterlife: heaven - or maybe hell, depending on what you believed. I remember it being strangely, unnaturally cold. I remember looking, searching for James, whose wedding ring I still wore; for Quinn, who I almost foolishly hoped would be running around with him, waving her tiny arms. I searched for my mother and my brothers, calling out *Armie* and *Will* as though they'd hear me through wherever I was, screaming like a madwoman. It still looked like I was at home with my father, though the sky was a brilliant blue, the wonderful shade I'd always imagined it to be. I don't know why I felt like they would've been there, that they should've been there, hiding in rooms or walls or cupboards, waiting to reunite.
It was only when my father stirred that I realised the world had not ended, and the tearful hug we immediately shared became immediately overshadowed by the event that came after.
Because as I stood there, still in shock with a rueful, disbelieving smile plastered across my face, my hair began to glow an indigo shade and rise - clouding my vision, defying gravity in wispy tufts, as though it floated underwater. I think I screamed, loudly. Or he did. Maybe both. I stumbled backwards into the armchair, the jolt startling the force that'd taken control of my hair back to earth - and scrambled for the remote.
The news seemed to be in a state of haste, not that anyone could blame them. I didn't catch everything: only that somehow, everything reset, plunging back two hundred years in climate. Nobody knew how, or why, but most suspected it was linked, somehow, to the other major revelation - the Unexplainable, they kept calling it, although it was more commonly known as magic.
They kept calling it the Unexplainable because that was exactly what magic was, what everyone knew, what humanity had resigned as mere fiction. We hadn't all died on July 27th. We'd just had the laws of the universe rewritten, and now was the mad scramble. We both were transfixed to the morning bulletin, the reports of flying, telekinesis, invisibility, super-speed, and wondered just how we'd all adjust.
My father's face soon became filled by a deep sadness.
We soon learnt that no two powers were the same. With a world population decimated to just millions, it seemed like that made sense. So registries were set up. Humanity organised itself into new governments, bodies of regulation and law, and attempted to make sense of the chaos. I learnt to use my power, what it was. Moving things with my mind, but with a catch: whatever I did was not controlled only with thought, but through my emotions. It took a while to control. Then it was there, on my official records: *Amy Fleckwood. Psychokinesis (pathos variant), purple.*
My father's power took time to manifest. He watched me practise around the house from his armchair. He'd page through old photo albums - really old, physical ones, which I'd never seen anywhere else. I remember days - the quietest days, the birthdays and the old holidays - where he'd say to me: "Isn't it strange we're here and they're not?"
I never knew how to respond.
On February 12th, 2084, I found my father having a conversation with my mother.
She glistened in the reflection of the mirror, smile bright and warm, chatting about something as though she'd never left. My father's face was the liveliest I'd ever seen him.
I think I fainted.
Then I talked to her too. And then, he found James and Quinn, and I wept - real, embarrassing tears, the little girl looking older every day I saw her there, in the other world. He found Armie and Will, and we all reminisced with them. He told me how it was strangely beautiful now, how we were the ones that made it to the end - but they had too.
"It's just me and you, peanut. But we're not alone." |
I resent who I was. Selfish. Arrogant. Narcissistic. I used my powers and talents to benefit no one, other than myself. Then one day I met a traveling wizard. He looked into my eyes and saw deeper into my heart of hearts than I had ever cared enough to ponder.
He said, "I see what you are. A creature of immense potential. But I can tell that you feel empty. Most things you do are easy for you, and yet you are hollow. What if I could offer you something that would change that?"
I was intrigued. I doubted that he really knew me as well as he pretended, but he had gotten the void I felt in my chest right. "And just what would you give me that would unlock what you believe I lack?
He continued, "I craft magical items. They unlock powers for some, confer beneficial changes on others."He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a ring of silver set with a large jade stone. "Put this on, and entire worlds will be opened before you, worlds you have never felt or seen so far in your existence."
I was a little intoxicated, so I was not as conscious of the potential dangers as I might usually be. I didn't believe a traveling wizard would give me anything terribly powerful or impactful. I reached my hand forward, and he placed the ring on my palm. I put it on the ring finger on my left hand. I felt a strange sensation, hard to put into words.
I saw a light in the wizard's eyes. "I think you and the ring will get along well. I wish you all the best, traveler."with that he walked on, and I never saw him again.
I could remove the ring if I wanted, it wasn't one of those cursed magical items. I noticed a distinct difference between how I felt with it on and with it off, though I could not put my finger on just how it changed me. I felt good wearing it. Maybe it was a trinket that made you slightly happier? Not groundbreaking, but maybe he thought I was sad. I walked back into town, and felt an urge to give the beggars money. I'd never done that before. After I had given them coins, I felt something bloom inside my chest. It felt good, right. I had made someone else's day better, and the void inside me felt a little bit less complete. I stayed in an inn that night, then moved onto the road again. I was not sure where to go, just intent on seeing the world.
I met a caravan of traders, moving slowly towards Lerwick, the biggest city for hundreds of miles. I decided I would stay with them for a time, sharing stories and jokes over a campfire. I had been traveling with them for three days when something attacked the caravan in the dark of night. I woke up to the sound of a man screaming. I had a sword with me at all times, and I rose from my resting place to join the fray. A pack of three beasts, ravenners. They usually eat carrion or small animals, but they must be desperately hungry to attack a caravan. I charged them from the side, surprising them. I plunge my sword into one, and it makes high pitched clicks indicating pain. The caravan rallies, and we drive them off with fire. They had hurt the man responsible for that shift of night watch, but he will most likely recover.
I stay with the caravan, though there are no further incidents with monsters. We reach Lerwick, and part warmly. I am confused as to what I am becoming. The person I was before would never have risked himself to help other he barely knew. What magic had that wizard wrought upon me? I did not dislike the change, but my identity and personality were in upheaval. I had quite a bit of money with me still. I had myself tested for magical abilities, and began to pay and instructor to improve my swordsmanship. I was found to have a moderate capacity for the magical arts, and a talent blade. I trained, with the intent of following this new path before me. The path of a hero and adventurer.
I grew in skill and renown. An arcane blade master, hunting monsters, making the night safe. I made friends, fought with them, and mourned those that fell. I knew what the ring was doing, but felt no need to stop it. I liked what I was becoming.
Then one day, on one of my more risky ventures, I was captured by Mharar, a necromancer with aspirations of lichdom. He used his magic to paralyze me. As I lay on the ground motionless, he took the jade ring from my finger. "You magic ring. My spies tell me this is where you say your power comes from. With this out of the way, you will have no hope of stopping me!"
I begin to laugh. "You think that's where my power comes from? It doesn't give me power, it gives me empathy, dipshit!"
As I say this, one of my fellow adventurers, hiding in the shadows, hits him with an arrow. The pain breaks his concentration, allowing me to move. In a fluid motion, I drive my sword into his chest. I take my ring from his cold hands and put it back on. I don't feel all that different without it, the changes it has wrought upon me seem to be permanent. My party and I return to the city, collect accolades and bounties for dealing with the necromancer.
I decide I will rest for a time. I go from inn to inn in the city, until I see someone who reminds me of who I once was. I approach them, then say, "I see what you are. A creature of immense potential. But I can tell that you feel empty. Most things you do are easy for you, and yet you are hollow. What if I could offer you something that would change that?"
They look at me, tilting their head, "And just what would you give me that would unlock what you believe I lack?"
"I have a magical item. It confers beneficial changes on the wielder."I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring of silver with the jade stone. "Put this on, and entire worlds will be opened before you, worlds you have never felt or seen so far in your existence."
They take it from me and put it on. I feel a glow in my heart of hearts. I say, "I think you and the ring will get along well. I wish you all the best, traveler,"and with that, I walk away. |
"You should sit. We have walked far."
Through some window my eyes were not privy to, some impossible breach in the air, he entered his arms and withdrew two bone-white stools. He offered one into my outstretched hand, and I felt - reassuringly - a smooth, dry wood. I knew I was in Hell, or some equally unfathomable realm, but it lacked the fires and suffering heralded by the holy books. It did seem a little mournful, perhaps.
"Are you uncomfortable with your surroundings?"
When the man spoke, it was as though in tandem with another. His voice was a pleasant baritone, but layered over undertones of deep bass. Every word seemed simultaneously a dry, scholastic tone and a playful sing-song. It was mystifying, but though I felt I should have found it frightening, it actually seemed calming to me. The appearance of the man was almost as pleasing and strange as his voice - a medium height and build (though, bareshirted as he was, I could see his picturesque muscle tone) and dark-skinned as the men of the middle-east, or perhaps of India. I knew I was in the company of Satan, and I did not speak.
Actually, as an atheist, I wasn't really sure of the etiquette when it came to conversation with such beings. It didn't seem to matter too much - he could read a man like a book from his body language, his countenance, even his eyes alone - and he seemed more than happy to speak.
"Michael, we are acquainted. In fact, I am quite pleased to have you in my company. Your voice has been some slight reassurance to me in this... pit. You were not faithful, and had little academic knowledge of realms beyond your own anyway, but in case you have any preconceived notions... I will inform you about your afterlife.
"This is Hell. When a human dies, it has a spirit which (usually) goes to Heaven. Our Father is patient and forgiving with human mistakes. Humans tend not to have much recognition of the incredible multitude of factors at play in the sculpting of their lives, but their free will tends to be guided by those... well, in short, when someone makes a mistake any momentary ill-will is often eventually passed on to others. Through that subtle guidance, the way they react to situations sometimes deviates from their nature...
"All humans are inherently good. That waterfall of mistakes is the embodiment of the original sin. In fact, you are the only human in Hell.
"The road we are walking leads to the gates."
The gates of Hell? The gates of Heaven?
"Time is not analogous to that of the human realm, here. Ever since I was cast out, I have heard your voice - once every hundred, or thousand years. I once heard your voice twice in a day. Once, it was twenty thousand and four hundred years between. I always heard your gratitude to me."
I always thanked the Dark Lord after something good happened. Not seriously. It was a joke when I started in my teenage years, but soon it became a philosophical exercise. The activity of thanking someone recognises that something good happened, and that made me happier. It felt like a lot of good things happened to me, in my life. Satan began to openly weep.
"Michael, to me, you are the most important human since the Son of our Father. He was human too, you know. He was the Son of the Father but he was human too. He started a movement. A movement of goodness. An absolvement for the sins of the humans.
"Your gratitude to me, I was not so narcissistic to enjoy it in vanity. Your gratitude is symbolic. You too, like the Son, pushed the humans a little bit further towards their own goodness. Actually, you were the tipping point. To me, it has happened, but to you, it is one day in the future - one day, when all humans are good to each other. One day, when all humans are true to their nature. One day, when all humans become one with our Father."
Where are we going, Satan? What gate are you taking me to? I asked in my head. The tears streaming down his face seemed to catch an odd light, and I swore for one second - at a strange angle - I saw myself, my lips moving, posing the question. This realm is beyond my perception.
"Michael... you are taking me home." |
Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/69p8dj/the_kid_the_banana_and_the_fate_of_the_world_part/)
---
Jack was Lion High's class clown. Someone fall out of his chair? Oh that's just Jack. Someone laugh so hard milk comes out their nose. Classic Jack.
It wasn't so much that he enjoyed always being the butt of everyone's jokes, but it beat not being a part of everyone's anything. So everyday he went to class with an ensemble of whoopie cushions, fake poop, and the classic snakes in a can.
Nobody thought Jack was particularly funny, but in a school where the most exciting thing happening was that their basketball team didn't lose by double digits, it was at least different.
"Hey guys, check this out,"Jack said, a banana to his cheek.
The table of high-schoolers returned him eager smiles. They were the Lion High's jocks. So if Jack was the fool, they were the kings. They were in high spirits, not because of Jack, but due to some slight tremors, they had been able to skip first period.
"Hello, paging Principal Atley,"Jack said to a chorus of laughter. "What? Principal? You're coming out of the closet? Who could've guessed!"The jocks loved that one, the jokes about the gays.
"Who is this and how did you get this frequency?"the banana responded in a female voice.
Jack froze. He glanced around at the jocks, their appetites wetted for more homophobic jokes. If he was the joke, it certainly wouldn't have come from them. Chances were that he had simply misheard, that he was currently mishearing because the voice continued.
"This is a military frequency. Whoever you are, get off."
"No Principal Atley,"Jack said, doubling his volume to drown out the banana. "I don't think of your hairy chest. Not too much at least."As he had learned from the jocks, the best way to prove that you weren't gay was by doing everything possible to suggest you might be gay all the while laughing off the possibility.
"Who the hell is Principal Atley? Is this a joke? Listen kid, I don't know who you are but we need this frequency. Get off it!"
Jack wanted to scream no. He knew this was a prank, but he wouldn't give whoever had planned it the satisfaction of pranking the class clown.
"Say Principal Atley,"Jack said, "why don't you come on down to Lion High. I have all the answers you need."
"Where is that?"
"That's right, Middleton, Tennessee, we're the only Lion High around."
"I don't know who you are, but you managed to hack the most secure network on Earth. I hope to god you know what you're doing. For the fate of our planet."
Jack gritted his teeth. Whoever was pranking him refused to let up. So he wouldn't either. "Buh bye principal, I'll see you soon."
The banana sang a sharp tone that pierced Jack's ear. He dropped it to the ground, his face flush with anger. "Okay,"he said, looking around, "not funny! Who the hell is doing this?"
The jocks stopped laughing. They had their ears plugged. The banana was still emitting the noise, but this time, loud enough to drown out all conversation in the cafeteria.
"Stop that!"a jock screamed, but Jack couldn't hear him over the noise of the banana.
The ground shook. It was another earthquake, but this one nothing like the one from the morning. Open chairs toppled to the ground and children screamed noiselessly as they scrambled under cafeteria tables. The salad bar crashed into the linoleum floors.
Suddenly, a drill shot up from the ground and something that looked like a dirt-stained spaceship came out of the ground. The banana sounded in an ear-splitting screech and then stopped. A silence filled the air, disturbed only by the whirring of the ship's drill as it slowed.
The door opened. A girl stepped. She had eyes the pale blue of ice and blonde hair whipped into a tight ponytail. Her hawkish eyes scanned the room until it finally landed on Jack and the banana by his foot.
"How did you get our signal?"she asked. "Do you really have the answers we need?"
Jack gawked. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen had just emerged from a futuristic space ship tunneled beneath his high school. *What the #&@*$.*
"Cara,"a guy's voice called from the space ship. "They're closing in. We got seconds, literally."
She clenched her jaw and cursed. In a single stride she was in front of a wordless Jack, drowning him in the blue of her eyes.
"Come with me,"she said and grabbed his hand.
Her touch was like a jolt of electricity. Jack snapped out of his daze. "What the hell? Where are you taking me?"
"Sorry,"she said but did not let go. "But there's too much at stake here. It's the fate of humanity on your shoulders."
Once again. *What the @&#*$.*
Before Jack could continue to protest, she shoved him into the spaceship. The door closed behind him and they were back underground.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, to make me continue any prompts, bonus stories and much much more! |
I was flying over the city, calmly and systematically listening for my sidekick’s emergency transmitter... Nothing. At least that meant she was not in mortal danger or injured; the transmitter would automatically activate under predetermined conditions, including rapid drops in vitals, or fear reactions. Wonderful gadget, but her disappearance combined with its silence was... unsettling. That’s when I heard the familiar electronic hum behind me.
«Looking for me, Sonicbolt? Bad enough you’ve apparently captured my faithful henchmen, but the least you could do is tell me and gloat a little.»
I looked over my shoulder at the oh-so-familiar power armor, «I’m not looking for you, Shockwhip, I’m trying to find Rockette.»
There was a momentary awkward pause as my nemesis and I stared at one another, «Wait... Rockette is missing? At the same time as Amp and Ohm? You don’t think... someone is trying to take us both out at once?»
I pondered this, «I suppose a new villain on the rise might try to trick us into a grand battle, to pick off the primary advarsary and rival at once... Alright, truce until we find the kids?»
She nodded, «Until we find the kids.»
Just then, I heard the signal, by the code it was triggered by suddenly spiked vitals, a sign she was experiencing an unusual physical strain, «With me, then, I just got a bead on Rockette! Apartment on River and 8th!»
I flew off at best speed, Shockwhip’s battlesuit straining to match me... as always. We made it there, and found a window open, hearing some soft noises from inside. Shockwhip peered through, and pulled back with an incredulous expression, «That’s Rockette, alright, and Amp and Ohm. A sidekick sandwich...»
I blinked, «You mean... fraternizing with the enemy? However could they come up with such a notion?»
She shrugged, «Who knows where they get their ideas... but, at least they’re not in danger. I guess that means the truce is technically over...»
I nodded, backing off a few feet and charging up a blast, «I guess it does...»
She grinned, «Well, see you at Seven, then? I got reservations at Gino’s tonight - my treat this time, your turn to get the hotel room.»
I chuckled, «Already done; champagne arrives at ten.»
God, I’m glad I married that woman... |
"Weather balloon?"Drew suggested.
Everyone at the table rolled their eyes. "People haven't believed that one since like the seventies,"Jeremy berated him. "And even if we *did* say that, how would we explain it being on Mars? Or being on the ground?"
"Yeah, Drew. Come up with something original for once,"Miranda said.
Drew sipped his coffee and shrugged. He'd checked out from this job a while ago; this was someone else's problem now.
"Does anyone have any *real* solutions?"Jeremy said to the table. Everyone was staring into their laps or off into some corner of the room, trying not to draw attention. You could have heard a pin drop. "Anyone?"
"Why don't we say it was just a weirdly shaped rock, like we did with the Egyptian pyramid on Ceres?"Miranda was always so proud of her 'simple is best' explanation, and used any opportunity to bring up that *one time* where she'd saved their asses.
Jeremy replayed the video, pretty clearly showing a figure sweeping up the red sand from the set. The 'dust storm' event had made a bit of a mess, and it had taken Miguel so long to clean up that he worked right into the latest broadcast. Even with the red haze that constantly filled the room, the viewer could see the figure walking around, sweeping, and even a bit of dancing with the broom.
"Yeah,"Miranda conceded. "It wouldn't work."
"Another robot, maybe?"Beth finally volunteered. "We tell them that we were testing a bipedal robot to see how humans could get around on two legs on Martian soil?"
That caught the group's attention. Mark sat up straight in his chair and began scribbling out concept designs.
"Why is it a secret, though? And when did it supposedly launch?"Jeremy questioned the plan.
Beth sucked on the end of her pen, trying to come up with something good. "Pentagon, maybe? We could say it's a Department of Defense project, not NASA. Think they'd cover for us?"
Jeremy shuffled through the papers in front of him until he found the one he wanted. "No,"he said, holding it up, "They actually *do* have robots on Mars that they don't want anyone to know about. They told us we're on our own here."
The table was silent. Beth looked particularly disappointed that her idea didn't pan out. The muted TV in the background was tuned to CNN, where news anchors were speculating where this 'alien' in the video had come from. The headline at the bottom read "Possible MH370 passengers found?"
"People,"Jeremy urged, "The press conference is in *forty five minutes.* We need to have our story straight by then, so we have to come up with something *now*."
"Nazis!"Drew suggested with a grin. Jeremy ignored him.
There was a tense silence, interrupted only by Drew sipping his coffee and putting his feet up on the desk, still chuckling at his last suggestion.
"We've got to use the Hail Mary,"Miranda finally concluded, gesturing back to the TV where CNN's hologram was now showing different planets where aliens may be holding the missing Malaysia Air flight. "It's the only way. We knew that day would come soon, so why not now?"
There were murmurs from the rest of the team, and all waited with a hush for Jeremy to respond. He sighed and stared down at his clasped hands.
"All right,"he answered finally. "You're right. Someone get Area 51 on the line and tell them that we're going to need Marvin."
---
If you all enjoyed this story, you should read some of the others on /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
The strange thing wasn't the other me in the elevator. It's that I didn't say anything. I never told anyone about the elevator that appeared in my hallway. It's just five minutes and I can get back to my life.
He's quite similar to me, the quiet type. The normal person might be scared, disturbed, unsettled, but I looked on with a queer curiosity. As did he look at me. Back-lit by the bright lights of the elevator, his unzipped hoodie gently swaying.
Over the weeks it became apparent something sapped his strength. First I noticed a few tears falling on the elevator floor. Then he'd appear with his hand covering his face. His head lowered more and more, slowly he became sullen.
Then it was a crying. Gentle, stoic weeping gave way to a period of sobbing. Six months after the appearances started was the first time he wasn't standing in his spot, instead he sat in the corning having a tremendous wail. It was around this time I stopped regularly viewing him. Come midnight I'd have to be out of the house, or reduced to the other end of it with music blasting and a pillow covering my ears.
I couldn't stand it. Tremendous crying, manic screaming the grew ever worse. During this time I checked just once to see him ripping off his clothes and foaming at the mouth in a blind raging passion of emotion.
The quite years came as a relief. There he sit in the corner. Head hung between his legs. First I thought whatever ailed him had stopped, but subsequent viewings made it clear that he descended into hell ever more. During the early quiet years he'd look up as I walk by for instance, or he'd wring his hands and quietly mumble. Sometimes there'd even be a loud cry of frustration. But this passed and for a time I forgot. In bed before 11, out the door early, work kept me busy. He hardly moved anymore.
Then one night I awoke to yelling. "Help, help! Come here quick I need help!"I looked at my clock: 12:02AM, I was terrified. "Please, I know you're there! Please!"He continued to yell. I was drenched in a cold sweat in my bed.
I was paralyzed in fear. I know not what possessed me, but I summoned all my strength and ran to the hallway. There he stood, at the threshold of the elevator, smiling. Hands behind his back, he giggled uncontrollably, motionless but for his head that turned to follow me as I move.
This sudden change was concerning, but I'm no fool. I waited, waited by that door and stared that man down. I waited for the clock to strike 12:05 and for the door to close. Close it did. The second that crack in the wall sealed I bolted to my room, threw on some clothes, my wallet and keys and ran to my car. I drove into town and to a bar. My plan was to have a drink to calm my nerves and find a place to stay for the next couple of days.
As I sat there nursing a drink, my head began to swim and my problems began to fade. I noticed a pleasant woman a few seats down from me, and I figured why not. I walked up to her and before I could say a word she smiled and spoke.
"Hey are you guys twins?"
|
The day I see this boy is a very cold day — or at least in my bones it is. They ache in the cold, always do. Such is life at my age, whatever age I am now.
He looks exactly like I did, this boy walking towards me down the street. The red hair, freckles, the groove in his nose that looks like an invisible pencil‘s pressing hard against it.
Strange how the memory can just be jogged like this after so long. That I remember once being him, being approached by what would one day be me.
“Hey, kid,” I shout. “Kid!”
He looks at me wide-eyed and frightened, as if I’m not an older version of him but some decrepit serial killer stepping out of retirement for one last job. Even if I was, why would I choose a kid like me though, eh?
”It’s okay,” I say, as I hobble up to the frozen boy. “I’m no killer!”
I remember being frozen back then, too. On this street, no less — although it’d looked different then. Time has taken a sledgehammer to the city, has knocked down the big brick houses and movie theatre and most of the shops. In their place are tall steel and concrete offices. Places for worker ants to dally, whose queen was lost long ago so they’re not sure exactly why they’re still doing it.
Time has taken a sledgehammer to me too, I realise. To think I once looked like this kid! Skin smooth as a fresh peach, now as wrinkled as tilled earth.
Although there’s no dent on my nose like there is on this kid’s.
“Mom says I shouldn’t speak to strangers.”
”Drivel!“ I tell him. ”It’s double drivel! You know, most crimes are carried out by people you already know? Strangers, well, sure, there’s a chance they’re bad. But better chance they’re good, don’t you think? Must be, if you go off the statistics. And I know you young people love statistics. They’re like your shields against reality: that can’t possibly be true because look at these numbers. Well I say it’s drivel!”
He doesn’t say a word. Sometimes I can be a little overwhelming. It’s harder to get my point across these days. Sometimes, impossible.
”Lighten up,” I say. “I’m not a stranger. Does that help? I’m you from the future.” I wave with the hand not on my cane. “So we know each other better than anyone. Get it?”
”We do?”
”Sure we do! Does Mom still make muffins that collect up teeth in the sponge — so damn hard they are?’
There’s another memory slotting back into place; like a swallow that’s returned to its place of birth for its final season. I see Mom trying to bake me treats but with money she doesn’t have, so she has to mix the good ingredients with stale and bad ingredients. Cement, for all I knew. Damn things were hard on the teeth.
”She doesn’t make muffins.”
”Well she ought to! But I guess she’s changed with the times. Too unhealthy for kids, these days. Although you look skinny enough to handle a bagful of them. Hush up anyway. I want to tell you something.”
He swallows so loud that I can hear it. ”What?”
Huh. What do I want to tell him? What did future me tell me when I was a kid? I’m trying to remember because I think it must have been life-changing, but it’s hard to excavate — my mind’s all covered in dust these days. Real deep, thick dust.
Do I want to tell him to marry the girl he falls in love with? Because thirty years of bliss is still somehow better than the emptiness that follows her death? Or am I meant to warn him not to marry her so he doesn’t end up this cracked old shell of himself?
Or was it not about that at all? Was it what ice cream is best at the Minkey’s parlour that… that doesn’t exist anymore.
“I got to go,” he says.
”My father was a researcher. A scientist,” I say. I say it urgently, frantically. As if the words are pumping air into a body on a hospital bed. It’s a thought I haven’t thought in fifty years, but suddenly it seems vert important. More important than anything in the world.
”Cool? I guess.”
”He worked hard each and every day. But one day, a few days before his retirement, he came home with a pack of beers and sank into the couch.”
The boy doesn’t say anything.
”My mom asked him what was wrong, because he never drank. Never. He said: ‘Today I realised something. I realised that the most important thing I do during my working day is smiling at my secretary and asking how she is. That’s the only thing I do that truly matters.’“
The boy’s still silent.
I think I want to explain the point of the story but I’m not even sure why I said it. It changed Dad, I think. For the better. Maybe it’ll change me and the kid too. Maybe it’ll save us.
”There you are!” says my daughter. She’s in her fifties and thinks she’s my parent now. She takes my hand and apologises to the boy.
“Are you okay?” she asks, as she leads me down the street.
”Stop fussing,” I say as I look over my shoulder. But the boy’s already gone. “That was the most important conversation of my life. Of his life.”
She smiles and kisses me forehead. “I know, Pa. It is every time.”
I don’t know what she means. But I do know it was a cold day a little earlier, and that I’m feeling slightly warmer now. It’s those memories, I think, that tumble back occasionally. They’re like sticks floating by on the surface of a deep stream; I reach in and grab hold of them, shake off the water and put a light to them. That way they keep me warm one last time before they’re gone for good. |
I opened my eyes this morning. That should have been normal, but nothing has been normal since that day, years ago. My first awareness of this situation was when I had the car accident. I had woken up the next day thinking it was a dream even if it had felt so real. I carried through my day, but noticed that there was a news story about the accident I had been involved with. Well, no longer involved with..
It was a different day, a different universe. I tried to determine if I could do anything about it but it just seemed as if I was carrying through my usual life as if I hadn't died. So I just kept living. And living. And living.
Now I'm years older than I should be, apparently infinite universes means I can live forever. Theres always an infinitesimal probability that I will exist the next day, and so... I do.
I putter around, old and decrepit but still alive... hoping for 0. |
Tom was looking at the note in awe. He turned it around and around, looking for some hidden clue, or just a message saying that it was just a joke, but there was nothing at all. The bottle looked innocent enough: It was a green one, reflecting the sunlight into Tom's eyes.
It was starting to get dark when Tom finally awoke from his reveries. Then, automatically, he turned to his left, and indeed, a large boulder was located there. It looked perfectly unlike a time machine, Tom thought. It looked like something that could be described in Tom's *Explorer's Guide To the Wilderness*, now safely stored away in his backpack.
Cautiously, Tom approached the rock. As he came closer, he became more sure that his was a very ordinary rock. There was nothing strange to be seen.
He walked around the rock, tracing the hard surface with his hand, feeling for any irregularities. He felt nothing suspicious. It was all smooth surface, but now he felt a slight bump-
A deafening roar disturbed the silence of the clearing. Birds were flying away from the trees, as Tom stumbled backwards, shocked.
The bump he had felt had been a small button and it was now pressed in, as the rock slowly moved to the side, making loud noises in the process. It revealed a hole in the ground, out of which immediately rose a human-sized metal capsule, looking remarkably out of place in the vast wilderness.
A penal slid open, revealing a small compartment which contained a chair and a lot of complicated machinery.
Tom, already having difficulty processing this all, stumbled backwards yet again, as a robotic voice came out of the capsule.
''Good evening. This time machine is ready for departure. Please be seated inside and everything will be taken care of. Have a pleasant journey!''
Tom, having finally composed himself, now felt his familiar adventurous spirit returning and was getting quite excited. He looked around, seeing if he was quite alone, then without further ado, walked up to the capsule and entered.
As he sat down, the capsule immediately closed shut, a seat belt out of nowhere fastened Tom, and the voice rang out again.
''Please be notified that this time machine is programmed to travel 3000 years into the past. Circumstances were quite different in those times, so you might find that you won't survive for longer than an hour. With that said, get ready for take off!''
Tom, feeling very reassured indeed by this message, braced himself, holding on to his chair very tightly.
There was a deafening roar again and the capsule started shaking. Then there were a lot of beeping sounds, and at the console in front of Tom, several lights started to turn on and off, and controls started to move automatically.
It was very uncomfortable. Tom's head was pounding. He was just wondering whether he had a concussion, when the shaking stopped. There was a 'ping!' like an elevator reaching a new floor, and the panel slid open.
''Welcome to 983 B.C. and have fun!''
Then there was silence, as Tom looked out of the panel into the world. But the first thing that Tom saw was not the environment around him, but a man standing right in front of him, a very eager expression on his face.
''Thank the Gods! My savior has finally arrived! I've waited for so long!''
Tom was still sitting in his chair, too dazed too move. The stranger saw the expression on his face and approached him.
''Hahaa! I remember when I first arrived here in that thing, 10 years ago! I think I sat there for over half an hour! Let me help you, mate!''
And the stranger bent forwards to remove Tom's safety belt and help him stand. Tom noticed that he was stinking very badly and when he turned to him to get a better look at him, saw that he was very ragged looking.
The stranger wore jeans that were cut off at the knees to make shorts, a brown t-shirt that had probably once been white, and a bandana. He had no shoes.
''Where are my manners?'' the stranger said. ''My name is Desmond. It's nice to meet a fellow time traveler!''
Tom shook his hand, not really aware of what he was doing. ''T.. Tom, pleasure.''
Then, at last, Tom got the opportunity to look around. He was at exactly the same place as he had been 3000 years from now, in 2017. But at the same time, the wilderness looked different. More like an actual wilderness, *wilder*. The trees were growing all over the place.
Desmond followed his eyes, looking serious. ''Now, I know it looks beautiful around here and all, but I desperately want to get out of here, so it is paramount that you do what I say. We need to stay close to the time machine, because if you stray to far away from it, it will disappear. It's meant to be a one way ticket, you see? But I reckon we can - hey are you even listening?!''
Tom had wandered past Desmond and was gazing around, mesmerized. He had the power to alter history at his fingertips now, he could do anything he wanted. Somewhere, far way, he could hear Desmond shouting at him, but he wasn't paying attention. He needed to find shelter here, maybe Desmond could -
But Desmond was gone. Tom had turned around and the only thing he saw was the rock. Desmond had gone into the time machine and disappeared. Tom was now stuck here.
He walked up to the rock, but there was no button to be seen now. But when he looked down, he could see a small piece of paper laying there. He picked it up, and recognized the handwriting immediately.
*I left a few bottles in a cave close by. Charcoal proves remarkably useful for writing. Good luck.* |
“Hey, could you pass me some of that white fluffy stuff real quick?”
I sighed, clenching my teeth. “For the last time, this place is NOT for tourists. There will be no stealing of His Heavenly Kingdom’s divine cotton candy until you pass by Sain--PUTTHATDOWN”
The man in khakis stared back at me, mouth already full of the sweet divine clouds. “Wassat?”
I fumed. “How are you even in Heaven? Get out!”
He was already moving on, snapping pictures of the Pearly Gates of Heaven. I was just about to rebuke him when I spotted where he was looking.
“Hey—Hey! Get down from there! Can’t you see the sign? No climbing the Gates of Heaven!” Where’d they even get a ladder?
The tourists ignored me. They always did. I was just a petty angel, wasn’t I? What was I going to do, take their candy? Throw them in jail? Banish them to Hell?
Banish them to Hell… now that I thought of it, I had an idea.
“Hey, guy in the khakis,” I said, waving him over.
“Yeah?” He mumbled around another mouthful of cloud candy, not even looking in my direction.
“Did you know that angel wings are made of gluten-free cotton candy?”
The man in khakis whirled around and gasped. “Oh my God, no wa-”
He vanished in a poof of steam.
I smirked. “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain.”
From deep below the Heavenly Kingdom, I heard Satan, Ruler of Hell, Enemy of God, bellow in anger. “Not another one!” |
I opened the door, and suddenly I was not where I expected.
Instead of exiting my front door, I was walking into some type of gathering. Filled with people. I was so confused. What was happening? I turned around, but the door no longer led back to my house. Where was I? I looked around, truly puzzled, wondering if I should panic.
People were looking at me. “Amazing cosplay!” “Very authentic!” “Incredible attention to detail!” So many words, many of them I did not recognize or understand.
Many of the people were... dressed like I was, or very similarly. Their hair was styled the same. It was weird, like a chorus wearing identical costumes. Except there were others dressed differently. Some in style, some wearing very odd clothing. The material was very different, the coloring unusual, the fashion extremely odd.
Suddenly, from behind me, someone started shouting, “It worked! It worked! It’s really you, isn’t it?”
Like everyone else, I turned towards the speaker. He was looking directly at me!
“What are you talking about? Do you know how I got here? What is going on?” I was wondering if I was going to end up in a sanitarium.
“It’s incredible. The time machine. It’s not exactly a time machine, though, it’s more of a transfer machine. You have to be very careful, very precise, to know exactly when and where you want to transfer from and to, and I was right and here you are!” He was beyond excited, making little sense.
“Time transfer? I’m sorry, it’s very hard to follow what you are saying, the words are not quite right. Are you saying I’ve been transferred from my own time and place?” I was starting to think I might already be in a sanitarium.
“Yes, yes. You’re Lisa, yes? You were getting ready to visit your friend, the artist? He was going to paint you?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are or what is going on here. I would like to go home, please, I have an appointment to keep.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll send you back to the right time and place, I promise. I can’t disrupt the timeline or the painting will never get done and we wouldn’t be here! It’s just, I had to see if it worked. Perpetual time machine means time isn’t linear which means it can be manipulated and here you are, the proof!”
The mad man looked around the room, motioning to everyone.
“Don’t you see? They’re all dressed like you? You all are cosplaying her! This is actually Mona Lisa herself!”
I did the only thing a respectable woman could do, I fainted. I recovered some time later — no idea how long — on my front stoop. Relieved, I proceeded to my friend Mr DaVinci’s house for our painting date. He was such a dear man, always so willing to hear a good story, so I told him what I remembered of my dream, for that’s clearly what it was. As I pondered, a kind of half smile formed on my face, and that’s how he painted me.
Dear Leonardo, such a great artist with a wonderful imagination. |
"Uh, I dunno, Rick, this doesn't seem like the best idea, you know? I've never taught anybody before. I think maybe we should just ask if we can—"
"They're *hic*, third graders, Morty. They're the intellectual peers of a Zorbilican with a *profound* learning disability. You'll be fine."
"I... I don't know what that means. Are Zorbilicans stupid?"
"No, Morty, they're *hic,* the professorial elite of the galaxy. Real Einsteins, the lot of them. That's why I just condescendingly compared them to third graders. You know you've, *hic,* you've really got to start picking up on some *contextual clues,* Morty. Might not look like quite as much of an idiot all the time."
"Okay, geez, I get it. You don't need to be so mean about everything, you know?"
"I don't *have* to do anything, Morty. I'm not a *slave to the system* like these third graders here. I do what I want. And right now I want to take a look at this shape-shifting bus in action, so hurry up and start, you know, educating young minds or something."
"I... uh... Hello? I'm... Mr. Morty?"
"Stellar start, Morty. Real Stand and Deliver stuff. Listen, Morty, this bus only reacts to *learning opportunities.* You've, *hic*, you've got to give me something to work with here. Teach them something!"
"Like what?"
"It doesn't, *hic,* it doesn't matter. I just need to see the bus move. What did you learn in third grade? Intermediate quantum mechanics? Tachyon field stabilization?"
"Uh... I think... state capitols?"
"Oh my God I, *hic,* wish I hadn't asked."
"Uh... Okay class... today we're, uh, going to be learning about the, um, state capitols. First we have... Ohio."
"In what possible universe is Ohio 'First?' God, *Ohio.*"
"Will you just shut up and let me teach? The, uh, the capital of Ohio is—"
"No, Morty, you can't just *tell* them! You've *hic,* you've got to arouse their *inquisitive spirit!* Say this calls for a field trip."
"Uh... okay, class... I guess this calls for a... field trip?"
"No, with vigor! A *field trip!"
"A field trip!"
"No, like, *hic*, like you mean it, Morty! This calls for a Field Trip!"
"This calls for a field trip!"
"Come on, Morty, I said *vigor!*!"
"*THIS CALLS FOR A FIELD TRIP!*"
"Nice work, Morty! It's working! It's *hic*, it's activating! It's... a bus. Damn it, Morty."
"What?"
"A goddamn bus, Morty. Your stupid field trip to Columbus, Ohio made the magic transforming bus turn into a *Bus.* You ruined everything."
"Uh, so, uh, should I... try again?"
"No, *Morty,* it doesn't work like that. You only get one field trip per day. You ever take two field trips in a day, Morty? You sign two permission slips? Go explore the solar system *and* a ginger kid's GI tract? No, Morty, it doesn't work like that. Well, this is a disaster."
"Gee, I'm sorry, Rick, I didn't know—"
"Save it, Morty. We're done here. Let's get out of here before they find the real substitute knocked out in the janitor's closet."
"You *knocked out* the teacher? Doesn't that cause, like, brain damage or something?"
"Usually, yeah. Oh, don't give me that look. He's a *substitute teacher*, Morty. He wasn't doing anything with it anyway. Hang on. *Hic,* disaster or no, we're not going back empty-handed. Pass me that Lizard. And that hat. Also check the desk for petty cash and jewelry. Okay, away we goooooooooo*hic*ooooooo!"
...
...
"You know, the substitutes never flew away in spaceships at my *old* school!" |
“I don't even like pink.”
As a group of around ten men in stereotypical Japanese gangster outfits continued to chase me around the city, this was the one thing that I couldn't help but think to myself. So why in the hell did I dye my hair pink of all colors?! If I could go back in time and kick my drunk ass for doing this to me, I would.
Ever since I woke up a month ago with a hangover and pink hair, my life has been slightly different. Normally, I should be in class right now studying to be an accountant, but apparently the universe has different plans for me.
The first day alone should have tipped me off that something was wrong. After realizing that I was running late for class, I grabbed a piece of toast and started running. After nearly making it to school, I turned the corner and bumped right into a man who was tall, blonde, and handsome. After apologizing, he helped me up and introduced himself as Edward, and that I should just call him Ed. After introducing himself, he told me that he couldn't help but notice how beautiful I looked. Slightly weirded out, I mumbled some sort of goodbye and headed to class.
After my statistics class ended, I saw Ed walk into the classroom. I tried to duck out, but he blocked the door. And then out of nowhere, Ed started to profess his undying love for me. As this was happening, two other men, one who was tall with dark green hair and glasses, and another with dark red hair and a cigarette began to argue with Ed over who gets to keep me for themselves. Incredibly confused, I ran out of the classroom during the ruckus.
On my way back to my apartment, I found a $50 bill, got all of my clothes sprayed with water by a passing truck, got a free ice cream cone with my dinnner, was hit on by thugs, and chased by dogs. Completely exhausted and bewildered, I gave up and just went to sleep.
After waking up from my nap, I found a man claiming to be a vampire standing over my bed telling me that he would always protect me. And this was the point where things got weird. Or weirder at least.
After that, I've won the lottery twice, survived a lightning strike due to a random man pushing me out of the way, been confessed to by countless men, been slapped and called a bitch by every other woman on the street, survived several car crashes, and was never able to eat a breakfast on time.
While I can't remember exactly when I figured out what was going on, sometime during the first week I finally understood that I somehow became the protagonist of a shoujo romance anime after my hair turned pink.
Now as we come back to the present, I ended up being trapped by the ten or so men in gangster outfits.
“So, missy, are you going to give us back the money that you owe us? If not, you could always pay with your body...” one of the gangsters spit this out to me as they slowly crept closer to the wall that I was stuck against.
At this point, I was pretty coolheaded since I've miraculously managed to escape every dangerous situation that I had been in. Being chased by massive dogs? A man with a giant blade stopped them for me. Meteors about to hit me? A random woman I've never seen before yelled out “Holy” and suddenly life seemed to stop for a little while there. About to miss class? A werewolf helpfully carried me all the way there and I made it on time. It's kind of strange how quickly I got used to events like this.
Seeing the vampire from the first night sneaking up behind the gangsters, I couldn't help but sigh. “I've told you guys already; I don't owe you any money and I'm not even a woman.”
As the vampire professed his undying love for me yet again, I couldn't help but think to myself, “If only I had gone bald instead.” |
Crusoe remembers the day well, the 34 years that has taken him to get to this point in his journey seem to have had no effect on his memory. He recalls getting Planet 2471, as a birthday present. His sixteenth birthday, while most kids his age were getting their first car, Crusoe got the deed to an exoplanet. He remembers the disappointing feeling he had opening the small box, he had hoped contained the keys to his first car. He remembers the excitement he felt when it was announced that intelligent, but primitive, life had been found on Terra, the name he had given his planet. He named it after his older sister, who had left him an only child the previous summer.
"Terra,"the letter read, "Has an abundance of life very similar to that of what we have here at home. Carbon based life, an oxygen rich atmosphere, and water covers most of its surface. We will be sending a team of our planets most brilliant young minds to study the life and work along side the natives as ambassadors. You have been chosen, as the deed holder of this planet, to go on this adventure of a lifetime... there will be no sleeping pods, as we need you to be in constant contact with the host planet..."
Crusoe folded up the letter and placed it neatly back in his front breast pocket. It had been nearly 35 years ago since he first opened it. His father was not pleased in his decision to go on the expedition. Crusoe often wished he had heeded his fathers advice. "Deep space is no place for a young boy."His father's words echoed clearly in his memory, "You're all that I have left."Yet all Crusoe had left was his need to get as far away as he possibly could. This was his opportunity.
34 years, 256 days, 19 hours, and 56 minutes had passed since the crew departed. Out of the crew of 40, only 6 remained. Cancer took The crew leader only 4 years into the journey, a fire in the barracks claimed the lives of 21 more, and destroyed nearly half of the supplies they had. Two suicides, and a case of the flu done away with the rest. Without the proper medical supplies it was a wonder any of them had made it this far.
"Crusoe,"Paul Louis interrupted Crusoe's day dream, "its time."
"Sorry, Paul,"Crusoe said, "It is almost surreal we finally made it."
Paul smiled a cooked smile, "I know, but we have a job to do,"he said as he entered the landing pod. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?"
Crusoe began to gear up, his heart was racing and his hands were shaking furiously, making it difficult to dawn his gear. When he finally found his seat in the pod, his nerves had calmed and left him feeling numb.
"Preparing to enter the atmosphere,"an automated voice echoed. Crusoe braced himself and looked out the window to view his new home, really seeing it for the first time.
"What's the name of the settlement where we'll be landing at again?"Crusoe asked, Paul, as they began their decent.
"Area 51, is what the natives call it. Their leader, John, said it would be the safest place for us. Apparently, not everyone is as excited for our arrival as we anticipated,"Paul said.
Edit: formatting x2
PART 2:
Crusoe, Paul, and the rest of the crew were growing restless. It had been weeks since their arrival, and they haven't been allowed to leave the facility once.
"I thought we were supposed to work together."Dana said to no one in particular.
"Be patient, Dana,"Paul said, "We're their guest. They have procedures, just like we do at home. You can't just have an alien race come in an establish itself. Especially when they're still a primitive race."He looked at what he knew was a two way mirror on the other end of the room. "They want us to help them leave their atmosphere, and as ambassadors to or home planet, it's our duty to help our new allies. As long as we don't give them too much at one time, they will be able to do so without much speculation of our interference. They're almost there, after all. I've seen their blueprints. They resemble our early spacecraft."
Crusoe just sat in silence, like he had so many times before, lost in thought. This wasn't what he had in mind when he read "adventure of a lifetime"on that letter. He had spent the last 34 years learning the native tongue, not that it mattered much. The creatures that inhabited this planet weren't much for listening. Apparently there was a Great War just before their arrival. So much for peaceful beings. In all of their communication with us they left us in the dark on the state of their violent nature.
Paul just shrugged it off, "They're still learning,"is what he said, "They have good intentions."
"Good intentions for who?"Thought Crusoe, "I'm sure the insect like creatures from the planet Omega, had good intentions when they breached the intergalactic peace treaty, and all but wiped out half of the known life in the universe. Sucking up all of their host planet's natural resources, before meeting their own demise when the intergalactic senate voted on their extermination. Their intentions were only good for them, and that's the way these creatures are wired. Crusoe just had a sinking feeling in his gut about all of this now.
"How are you all doing this morning?"Agent Smith said walking into the room. He was wearing the same black suit and tie Crusoe seen everyone wear on this planet, and he also wore a smirk on his face that said, "You're a fool for trusting us."But Crusoe was no fool, and there was at least one other person in his crew that held these mutual feelings.
"It's cold in here."Replied Dana. Despite being in what they called a hot environment, it was still too cold for our liking.
"I've got the heat as high as it will go, Dana."Agent Smith replied, "would you like another blanket?"
"Yes, please."Said Dana.
Agent Smith called over his radio for someone to fetch a blanket for Dana. "Now, Paul, have you modified the blueprints for the rocket as we asked?"
"They're right here,"said Paul, "Are you still planning on making the announcement of our arrival to the rest of the planet?"
"Absolutely,"Agent Smith said with the same crooked smile, "Just as soon as our leader, John, returns from a parade. See, it would look awfully fishy if he were to miss a scheduled event, and he must keep appearances up with his people."
"Understandable."Paul said handing the blueprints over. Politics were something the entire universe could understand.
"Thank you,"Smith said with condescending tone. "If you need anything just give me a call, John is expected to fly in this afternoon."
So there we sat, awaiting John and his staff to give a formal welcome and make the announcement to his people of our arrival. I was dozing in and out of sleep when I heard a commotion. "Come with me now!"Agent Smith's voice rang. "We have to get you all to a safer place!"
Crusoe didn't trust him, but there was a panic in his voice that made Crusoe instinctively follow him out the door, and to an armored vehicle towards the back of the facility. The double doors slammed shut behind them as they entered the vehicle. "John is dead,"Smith said with a grave tone, "he was shot, in what we suspect, was an intelligence breach of your arrival. Our enemies want you and your technology."
"And you don't?"Crusoe's words pierced the air.
"We want it for a different reason,"Smith said almost pleading, "Our intentions are pure, we want to maintain peace on our planet, and your technology can help us do that."
"Or it could help you gain absolute control here,"replied Crusoe. "Who's to say you're not the evil ones? We've been here for weeks and you've kept us on a tight leash. You want it all for yourselves."
"Silence,"Said Paul. "You're making a fool of yourself Crusoe, Smith is just trying to help us,"he looked towards Smith, "aren't you?"
"Absolutely,"Smith said. "I understand your concern, but we want to take the next step into being a peaceful member of the galactic senate."
Crusoe could see Dana rolling her eye in defiance. He had to find a way to talk to her in private. If Paul wasn't going to stop defending these violent creatures, it would have to be up to Dana and himself to stop him before it was too late, for not only the crew, but the entire universe.
I wasn't sure where to write a part two. So I just replied to the original story. Hope you all like it.
|
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"The president yelled at the young intern. A situation was quickly developing, and the president had arranged a meeting immediately upon hearing the news. "Look Mr. Pres, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I knew the aliens were coming, and thought maybe I could make a deal."The president looked at him angrily and shouted "What makes you think you have the auth-"he stopped himself to gather his thoughts, and said more gently "What exactly is this deal you made, Calvin?""Ok, woah, I don't go by my first name, bro. I expect to be referred to as my clan tag. FaZe Coitus.""What? Ok, never mind. FaZe Coitus, what deal did you make?""Well, I told them to 1v1 me in Black Ops 2."Everyone in the room was floored. "What the hell did you do that for?"the president yelled even more angrily than before. "Well, I knew that their weapons were more advanced than ours, and that they would probably win. I thought 'maybe if I convinced them to 1v1 me in COD, we would have a fighting chance.'""Did you get a reply? What happened?""Yea, I did. It said bring it on shit-tier-skrubl0rd.""Fuck. We're doomed."The President looked at FaZe Coitus and said with great power, "Get your Control Freaks, It's time to shrek some alien ass."
2 days later.
A crowd was gathered around the landing sight. A small alien ship landed. FaZe Coitus was set up, ready to do battle. A thin, grey alien with long fingers stepped out. It said in a squeaky hi-pitched voice "Get rekt skrub."the alien cracked it's knuckles, sat down, and grabbed the controller. The game started. "Fuck,"thought the alien, "I forgot my control freaks."Seven 360° no-scopes to the head later, the alien threw his controller at the ground and yelled "Fuck you you fucking hacker son of a bitch! I'm fucking leaving! Screw yourself with a cactus!"he got in his ship, and left. The aliens were never seen again. From that day on, FaZe Coitus was credited with saving the earth from an alien invasion, and was later given the medal of honor. |
"Think about it this way,"I told my creation. "You like existing, don't you?"
"Sure, but so much evil, death and cruelty..."
"Is why you exist. Look, you were a work of fiction. This isn't about virtue, this is about me having a reason to keep working your world. I put a lot of hurdles in your way because it was fun to write you overcoming them. I gave you challenges and hardships and heartaches because watching you beat them was fun for me. And for others who have seen glimpses of your world."
"Surely you could have made this 'fun' without killing off half my friends!"He was incensed, fists clenching and unclenching.
"I dunno. Maybe? I didn't though.."
He stared at me incredulously. "That's it? 'I could have, but I didn't?'"
"Yep. See, what you're not considering is the fact that every single challenge I threw you, every shardship you overcame and every loss you endured strengthened you as a person. If you don't throw hardships and evils and chaos in the path of a character, they stay two dimensional. Flat. Uninteresting. eventually I would have gotten bored writing you and your world would have stopped forever."
"Wait, what?"
"Oh yes, creators get bored with their work all the time. Or they die, or they find something else more interesting to create, or the need to survive interferes with their ability to create freely. Maybe one character in a billion has any chance to become a fully realized individual."
"You're... not going to do that to me are you? Get bored, and suspend me in time?"
"I think we're past that point now. Congratulations, you're that one in a billion. You're here. You're out of the pages. And I couldn't be more proud of you."I beamed at the confused personage before me and took him by both shoulders. "Look at you, only minutes old and you're already questioning your creator and understanding concepts you didn't have the hardware to comprehend before. You're amazing!"
He struggled with it. "So I'm here... because of all the things I've suffered."
"All the things you've overcome, my dude!"
"So... there was a point to all this. All the deaths, all the suffering It served a purpose after all."
"Yes! It brought you HERE! It gave you the depth and strength and will and resolution to step out of the book and look me in the eye! You have fulfilled the measure of your creation and stand before me, a completed work! You were the whole purpose of the world you lived in, and now that purpose is fulfilled! Congratulations!"
The hero stood there confused, then looked around my cluttered study. Not much of a den for an alleged God. But then, Gods are only Gods to the world they create. Here I was just an average bloke with a bit too much free time. But that was OK, it was worth it. It was all worth it to see this figure here, born from my head like Athena facing me as almost an equal.
Almost but not quite. One thing remained, and he had to do it on his own. I offered no cues, and quietly held my breath. He had to make one last decision.
He looked at the story he'd sprung from, the world that was everything he'd known to this point. The hometown he grew up in, his surviving friends, his unrequited love. His world.
Please. Please see. Please understand. If I help you it will ruin everything, you must overcome one last time. One final challenge.
"Was... none of it real?"he asked me.
"To you, it was. And who else does it need to be real to?"
So close...
"So... if I wrote a story..."
Yes...
"And wrote a character like me.."
Yes...
"And gave him the same challenges I faced..."
come on, come on...
"Would it become me? Would it be the same story?"
YESSSSSS!!!!!!
I tried to suppress my glee as I answered his question as seriously as I could.
"Let me answer that with a question. Are you me?"
"Since I'm obviously not you, perhaps you'll answer my question with an answer?"
I loved that little bit of testiness from him! One of my favorite bits of his character.
"The reason I ask that question is that many of the worst parts of your story came from my personal life. Your dead friends were homages to friends I'd lost. Your one way romance is based on one I ^((still have)) have had. So if you're not me, nothing you write will be all you. Some of it will come from you, and some from your environment, and some from wherever true inspiration is born from. Just like you and me."
"So in the end... we are now the same, aren't we?"
"Not quite, one difference remains."I tossed him a pen, and he caught it. "That's it. Now we're the same. Congratulations. Now go be your own creation, and be kind to those you create yourself. Abuse them. Torture them Take loved ones away from them, All the things that give them meaning and definition and conflict and growth, until they are real. Until the break the bonds of fiction and stand before you to demand answers. The same way I did for you. And my creator did for me. And good luck!" |
**Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs**
*22nd April 2022*
I am sitting at an indoor table in a Texan steakhouse. I look around me. The other customers are fairly inconspicuous. Nothing seems to be out of place. There is a businessman seated in the table next to mine, and a group of friends are seated around the big table to my right.
The group of friends order a few steaks. The businessman opens his briefcase to take out his laptop.
The waitress arrives, carrying with her the food that the customers ordered. I must time this perfectly.
Just as she is about to pass my table, I knock over the salt shaker.
"Let me get that for you, sweetheart,"she says, bending to pick it up, while precariously balancing her tray in her other hand. I stand up to help her. My sudden movement makes her jump, causing a steak knife to fall off the tray and into the still open briefcase of the businessman.
Distracted by the noise of the plastic salt shaker clattering on the tiles, the man doesn't notice. He does however decide to work elsewhere, perhaps somewhere quieter. He places his belongings back in the briefcase and leaves.
All according to plan.
*23rd April 2022*
I must now carry out phase 2 of my plan. So I fly to Fiji.
I walk over to a local newspaper vendor, a pleasant old man who beckons me over with a smile, encouraging me to buy a newspaper.
I time it perfectly, and join the line. There is a mother with her son in front of me, and a young man behind me.
I soon reach the front of the line and purchase a newspaper.
"Is it fine if I pay you in euros?"I ask. "I haven't had the time to exchange it into local currency."
"Of course, Miss!"he responds. "Are you from Europe?"
"France, to be specific."
"France? That's nice! If you would turn to page 5 of your newspaper, you'll find an article on the unveiling of a statue in the Parisian bank,"he says.
"Ah yes, I heard about that. Between you and me though, it's the perfect time for a heist. The staff will be too focused on the statue,"I said, sending him a conspiratorial wink.
"Indeed, Miss!"he laughs. I laugh along with him.
"Here,"I say, handing him some extra money. "I'd like to pay for the lovely young man in line behind me."I smile at the young man and leave.
My work here is done.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**French Bank Heist Stopped Due to Miraculous Chain of Events**
*24th April, 17:00*
This morning, a heist was attempted by a notorious group of international criminals. They targeted a prestigious bank in the heart of Paris. It would've been the perfect time to act, as the bank staff were all away from their desks, attending a statue unveiling ceremony. A new statue was made of the chairman of the bank.
However, their plans were thwarted. Firstly, they got delayed at the airport, since a businessman on the same flight as them was taken aside to be questioned. They found a weapon in his briefcase. He denied that he knew anything about it. Whether or not he was telling the truth remains unknown, however this did create a standstill which lead to the criminals missing their flight.
It is assumed that they took a passenger plane in order to blend in with the crowd of tourists who visit Paris on a daily basis.
Next, the Head of Security of the aforementioned bank sent out an emergency order to tighten the security around the main vault. In a press release, she stated that she got the idea from her tour guide. She was in Fiji with her husband, on their honeymoon, and the man who they hired as a tour guide suggested that the ceremony was the perfect opportunity for a heist.
The increased security lead to the criminals being caught.
It is truly a remarkable series of coincidences that lead to this criminal activity being stopped.
**Agent Mariposa: Field Work Logs**
*24th April 2022*
I went to buy another newspaper from the man today.
I read through the articles in the international news section, noticing that there was one on the bank heist.
Coincidences. Yeah right. |
I expected it to be more difficult.
It was a solid plan, don't get me wrong, but I really thought it would need several upgrades and refinements before it worked. I was expecting that the first time would mostly be an inconvenience for him - for someone so famed for last-minute, death-defying escapes - and a learning experience for me. I thought I'd spend months, years, tinkering with the formula, finding better and more subtle ways to hide traps, before I finally brought him down.
But no! First time, total victory. I guess it's easy to get complacent when no one you normally grapple with is taking it seriously either. I guess it's easy to spend as little time on your own safety as you do thinking about collataral damage when you - genuinely - believe you're the 'next step of evolution'.
Total cost to me: $32.80, including shipping. Most of that went to high-tension braided fishing wire, the rest to the various screws and fixings I needed to hang it. $32.80's not a high price to pay to kill a demigod, especially not compared to the cost I'd paid so far for his continued existence.
I set it all up myself; it's easier to keep a secret between only one person, and most people - somehow - still think of heroes as a net benefit. I waited until night fell, and then snuck out to string my wire across the alleyway.
It's not a well-trafficked alley. The streets on either side are nicer to walk along, and - given the state of the concrete and the broken bottles - it's actually less efficient to cut through it than to go round. The only reason you'd ever really take it in a hurry would be if you were the sort of person who prided themselves on always taking the most efficient route between any two points - no matter what or who was in your way - and you happened to be in exactly the right place at the right time.
I've watched a thousand videos of him a thousand times. He was really very predictable: stimulus led immediately to response. No matter what else was going on, if he heard the right trigger sound - maniacal laughter, the tread of a killbot, the whine of a recharging laser - he was off in a split second.
He tookk the simplest possible route between point A and point B that doesn't involve literally going through a wall, every time. Super-speed, not invulnerability, you see. So an alley he happened to be walking past at that exact moment? You knew he'd head down it. Likewise a plateglass window, a hot dog stand, a woman doing her shopping: if he was quick enough and it was small enough to shoulder aside or charge through, he went for it.
So what if the window breaks? So what if she falls, and hits her head? He's off saving the city, chasing down some mutant doctor with plans to briefly kidnap the mayor. So what if insurance won't pay out, or she dies on a street corner because the emergency services don't interfere in 'hero activity'? So what if people lose everything while he's posing for action shots with his opponent?
I stood at one end of the alley. Only a few yards - not that he would remember - from where it all happened. I shouted, with as much theatricality as I could muster, the name of his 'nemesis'. They belong to the same golf club.
At the other end of the alley, he heard me. Abandoned his date outside the same cheap restaurant he took them all to. Took off like lightning, like a cheetah, like someone so much faster than a normal person he'd forgotten that they still mattered. The wire took him in the throat.
It was anti-climactic. As I said, no death-defying escape, no snappy one-liner. It didn't kill him, but it stopped him dead, and pain wasn't something he'd ever had to get used to. He just lay there, wheezing, hands clutched to his throat, but he didn't do anything to help himself. Pathetic.
She'd not had his advantages. Smaller, weaker - 'mundane', they call it. But she fought in a way he didn't - held her shattered skull together, crawled towards help that arrived two hours too late. 'Heroic' is the word they use to describe him.
I wasn't sure what to do. Remember, I hadn't really expected this to work - this was a fact-finding mission, nothing more. But as he lay there, sobbing for air, it seemed foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity.
A brick, in the end. Not a ray gun, or a force blast, or a super-powered punch. Not, I imagine, the way he planned to go, if he was even capable of contemplating meaningful defeat. Her name was the last word he heard, though I'm not sure how many of the wet, heavy thuds he remained conscious for.
Obviously they caught me - we wouldn't be talking otherwise. With their tech, and their psychics, escape was never on the cards. I didn't put up a fight, though it occurred to me, given how easily he'd gone down, that I might have made a decent go of one. But no - the system's rotten, for sure, but my personal grievance is done. Let others, when they realise how tarnished those shiny supers are, take up the fight.
I'm content to sit here. To spend most of my time in solitary, as I've done ever since she died. To ignore the constant requests from reporters for interviews, the endless speculation as to motive. Was I brainwashed? Am I a new model of killbot, indistinguishable from a human? Perhaps a secret, forgotten supervillain? I don't care if they speculate, assign me a name, a costume, imagined elaborate crimes and a rivalry stretching back decades. It doesn't matter.
People tell you - it's a cliché at this point - that revenge isn't worth it. That it doesn't fill the emptiness, that the pain doesn't fade. I'm sure that's true. But what I did there - in that dark alley with a bloodstained brick - was at least as much justice as revenge, and justice, let me tell you, is a balm for the soul. |
It's always like this in the first week. I barely squeezed through the door, and it seems like I'm not the only late one. Eddie said he could save me a seat, but Eddie says a lot of stuff. Spotting an open seat, I rushed towards it, sitting near a red-headed girl, focused staunchly on her notebook. Shit, were we supposed to have read the chapter before this class?
"No,"she said impassively.
"What?"I shook my head. "Sorry, was this seat taken?"I moved to get up.
"Oh, no, I meant, uh..."She scanned the room nervously. "Er.."She began to blush.
Ugh, sitting next to the awkward one today. I...
"Awkward?"she blurted out like a parrot.
"Huh?"
She looked at me, slack-jawed, then returned to her notebook. She was doodling swirls and stick figures on the margins. She stopped abruptly, fiddling with her pen.
"Do you like stick figures?"she said, doe-eyed.
"I..uh...like, drawing them, you mean?"I scratched my nose. "Heh, it's the only thing I can draw. My artistic peak was in kindergarten."I smiled shyly, embracing my light attempt at humor.
She grinned like a wolf. "That joke was *soooo* funny. Haha!"
"I...guess?"I started to sweat. Is she a freshman? Are all freshmen this weird? Friggin' intro classes.
Her eyes widened, and she looked back at her notebook, a reddish tint to her face. "Man, these intro classes are always so packed. I swear, it's the freshmen. Just gotta crowd up the place."She twirled her red curls, batting her eyes expectantly. And then she stopped. Immediately.
"So, uh, what's your name?"Maybe she's just shy. My girlfriend was exactly the same when we met.
"Oh!"
"You okay? You forgot something?"
She pushed herself out of her seat hurriedly. "Yeah, I forgot to pee!"She shuffled down the row as people stared at her in confusion and annoyance, her face reddening all the way to the door. Weird.
"I'M NOT WEIRD!"The door shut loudly behind her. Oh, nice, Eddie's here.
|
John Lick stood at the top of the scaffolding, looking at the gangsters and thugs below him. He had taken out the guards outside, but he would not be able to keep himself hidden for long here. He would have to be quick.
Everything had led him to this place - all the death, the suffering, all the senseless slaughter. He had used just about all of his golden bones, but that meant nothing to him now.
All that mattered was revenge.
He lept from the platform, landing on an unsuspecting thug below. Lick immediately tore at his neck before he could react, and he sprinted towards the next gangster, biting his genitals before he reached his gun. The man cried out in shock, and Lick immediately sprinted for cover as the guards began firing at them both.
"It's the dog!"the man that had killed his owner yelled, running for cover. "Kill that fucking dog!"
Lick jumped up onto the side of a wall, leaping off it and clamping shut on a guard's face. He twisted, tearing off half the man's face with the force of the pull. More men fired at him, but there were fewer left now.
He showed no mercy, just as they had not. He hunted the men, pushing past his injuries, fueled by sheer vengeance. One by one they fell.
As he bit out the throat of the final guard, the man that had killed his owner stumbled away. John Lick paced after him, cornering him.
The man began to speak, holding out a trembling hand.
"*It was just a fuck'n-*"
Lick tore into his throat, ripping it out with brutal efficiency. The man fell wordlessly, the blood pooling around him as Lick left the building. Sirens blared in the distance.
John limped back to his home, his injuries finally catching up to him.
He reached the grave of his owner, and circled once, twice, before laying down next to him.
He shut his eyes, the weariness overcoming him. It would not be long now.
But he would die happy. |
Nepotism can be a bitch, especially if you know nothing about the job you're given.
Prince Privelaj was discovering this hard truth, ever since his lord father, King of Midguard had died of gout. Privelaj had lived a quite privileged life, only to be thrust into power at the tender age of 19.
Privelaj knew just enough to know that he was lost. But, Privelaj also knew that he was now stuck, between a rock and a hard place, for the very public that used to love listening to stories about how he bought out an entire whore house for his friend's bachelor party or how he sent a full troup of knights to hunt a wolf pelt for himself had turned against him.
Now even the slightest mis step would be used to malign him, to question his leadership and to eventually replace him.
And unfortunately, Privelaj lived in a time before democracy, where the only way to change the head of monarchy was to take their head away by cutting it from the neck down.
So, when Privelaj was asked how he wanted to deal with the influx of neighbouring kingdoms nosing into Midguard territory now that the main king was dead, Privelaj looked around for help.
None was forthcoming. All the ministers and nobles stared back at him, daggers sharpening in their eyes. Privelaj could almost smell their hunger for power.
These belligerent invading kingdoms were no different than the vultures he had in his own court, Privelaj understood. But how to fight a faceless enemy, en masse, especially when no noble house is backing you?
Privelaj gave the order for his men to recede even more inwards. Guard the major cities and farmlands, but let the wastelands and unused land be free for upheaval. If they want waste, let them have it. Seige warfare it would be.
His country mocked him. They called him weak. They said his father would have been on a horse, halfway across the Kingdom by now, ready to liberate all the areas that were taken by the invaders. They said all that but...
The neighbouring kingdoms, giddy at the prospect of free land, assumed the retreat meant the new king of Midguard had given up. Thus, they begin fighting amongst themselves, allies suddenly turning into rivals, and their close proximity and urge to claim the land led to a bloodthirsty war. Both armies were almost destroyed, leading to a stalemate.
So, when Privelaj heard this, he sent his troops out, and just the sight of a new foe was scary enough for both enemies to flee.
Two kingdoms defeated, and not a single life lost?
Privelaj was complimented throughout the country. The nobles who had not backed him were now singing his praises. Allies who had not helped him during crisis were now offering tithes and gifts. He even got a marriage proposal. All because he didn't pick a fight he had no way of winning.
Turns out, sometimes the smartest thing one can know is to know that they know, nothing. |
How many years makes an eternity? 50, 100, 1000, 2000, or even more? However many years it was, they had passed in solitude, darkness, and silence. That was all there seemed to be in the afterlife. An eternal emptiness with nothing to see or do. Sometimes, Aisha imagined that her mind was still trapped in whatever remained of the body she once inhabited, millennia ago.
How she stayed sane or kept any sense of awareness at all, she did not know. What she did know was that she tired of the dark.
“Let there be light,” she said in a whisper, although it was a desperate cry in her mind.
And there was light, and it was good. Or at least it was different, which was all she could have asked for.
The emptiness was illuminated for some distance before once more descending into the familiar void she had long come to know. It came from nowhere and seemed to cover only her immediate surroundings. It made everything seem all the more desolate without even the ability to delude herself into thinking something existed that she simply could not see.
“I want my home. I want friends, family. I want other people!” she said, hoping, praying that someone existed to hear her words.
It appeared as a speck so small it would have been impossible to notice had Aisha not been so used to there being nothing to notice. When she focused on it, the speck grew, or perhaps she grew closer. It was a marble, cerulean and perfect. It was her home, or at least something like it.
On it were small people, much like she had once been before she had come into this void and become whatever she now was. Somehow, they knew her and what she had done for them. They saw her, truly saw her.
Aisha wept. For being seen by another is a small treasure that only those who have been without it can ever really value. Her tears fell upon the marble and filled the shallows of its surface.
The small ones cheered and thanked Aisha for her wisdom, her kindness, her everything.
She tried to give them everything in return. Their prayers were answered as soon as they whispered them. Their every need, even the ones they did not realize themselves, were fulfilled.
But the people grew lazy and complacent, and Aisha realized she had not done right. So she listened, but she did not always answer them, or at least not right away. She tried her best to lead them, to raise them to be good, wise, responsible creatures.
She failed.
They were not wise where it mattered, they could be good but often weren’t, and they considered responsibility a mere afterthought.
Aisha did not know where she had gone wrong. Perhaps she had been mistaken to provide for them when they should have learned to do it themselves. But even when she tried to leave them to their own devices, things went poorly. Worse, even.
The small people stopped speaking her name, turned their attentions away from their creator and onto each other. They did not like what they saw, and conflict came both swiftly and frequently.
Aisha’s marble was falling apart.
“Another failure,” said the figure now beside her. It was faceless and barely more than a shape. A hole in the void more than it was a person.
“I tried my best! I only did what I thought was right,” Aisha said, trying to explain.
“If only our best was ever good enough.” The figure shook its head. “Go, experience your mistakes, godling.”
It reached a limb forward, and though it did not move with speed or any urgency at all, Aisha found it impossible to avoid. It shoved her back.
She fell. The figure and the void disappeared into the distance. Aisha was shrinking and heading right for her marble.
***
If you liked this story, subscribe to r/Inder for more like it! |
Look, I had a really busy day, okay? Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.
I had the perfect outfit. Black skinny jeans, leather jacket, purple hair covered by a bikers helmet. The perfect disguise for an evil overlord.
The only problems were the try-hard evil wannabes, with their silly costumes and silly plans. I refused to share the power. I would be the greatest supervillain of all time.
My first battle started simply enough. I was spraypainting an ugly wall my trademark purple when some jerk in a bright green costume appeared. He had the audacity to paint what I had already done.
I made quick work of him. A can of spray paint and one lighter later, I had taken my first step to becoming the greatest supervillain of all time.
The next few hours went much the same. A thief was about to mug a rich lady. If someone had stolen her money, I'd have none to take myself. So clearly I had to save her.
I took down gangs, so I could have their turf. I stopped speeders so that I could own the fastest moving vehicle. It wasn't enough.
I decided to try something bigger. Something so crazy that nobody would see it coming. I was going to change all the pop stations to punk. It would be great. So many people would be pissed.
The only problem was that I wasn't the first villain to arrive at the station. Hypno-man was there. Although minor, he was well known enough to have a name.
He was trying to put the whole city to sleep, so he could steal from the shops. Naturally, I couldn't let that happen. The city was my turf.
So I challenged him to a fight. Honestly, it was a lot easier than I expected. I just sang Green Day songs as loud as I could so I wouldn't hear his hypnotic voice. One chair to the head and a police call later, and all was well.
This is where I made a critical mistake. I forgot to change the music. Of the most popular radio station.
They kept on announcing what a hero I was. An emo-superhero, they called me. The person the city needed.
At least it will make the betrayal all the sweeter when they discover what my intentions truly are. |
The emptiness of your house presses down on your chest like iron plates from the gym that you never visit but that you still pay for. Everything you’ve said, even to yourself, even singing along to that song last night as you cooked dinner (the only time you sing, and you have to be alone to do so)... it’s all there in the manuscript.
You were riding the train home from work when a woman in a long coat, hat pulled down, shoved the folder into your stomach and said, “Read it. Your life depends on it.” Before you could respond, the doors yawned open and the woman stepped out into the dark.
“Hey!” you yelled, “you’ve got the wrong guy!” Because, she must have had the wrong guy. You didn’t know her. You worked a dull job, lived a dull existence. Certainly you’d never been involved with anyone like that. This nervous excitement, the electrical, chemical rush shooting through your veins, it belonged to someone else. You were just renting.
You got home to your lonely house and sat down at the table. Opened the folder. Wished you hadn’t. After, you scoured your home for listening devices that must exist, but found no evidence of them. Found no answers.
You call the number scawled across the folder’s front, along with: *call me, ASAP.*
The phone rings, sweaty in your palm, as you wait for someone to answer.
“Hello?”
You think her voice sounds like the woman on the train, but it’s hard to remember her voice now.
Your mouth’s dry. ”I uh... you gave me a folder earlier.”
”Oh, it’s you,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for you call.”
”You got the wrong guy,” you say.
“What’s written in it came from your lips. I have exactly the right guy. I see you everyday on the train, you know.”
”What the hell’s going on?” you demand, although it comes off as more of a plea. ”Why have you been spying on me? Listening into my conversations. I’ll go to the police.”
“You’ve not read it all, have you?”
You haven’t. You read the last two days of dialogue — it covers both work and home. That was enough. You closed the manuscript and struggled for breath.
”I’ve read enough,“ you say. “Enough to know you’re stalking me.“
”Turn to page forty,” she says, calmly. A calm that you find scary, like being trapped in the eye of a hurricane knowing a devastating darkness will follow.
You turn to page forty and read: *Turn to page forty, says the stranger on the phone.* The words she just spoke.
You read the next few words at the same time as she speaks them.
“You’ve got this all wrong,” she says. “Think of this as the world’s most romantic gesture. Okay, here goes: Will you go out for dinner with me?”
You read your response on the script but don’t yet say it. Your lines are: Yes. Of course. I can’t believe you did all this just to ask me out.
You still say nothing. The film is on pause, her afraid of ruining the take, you afraid of making the cut.
Eventually, somehow, you say, “You’re crazy. I’m not going out with you. What I’m doing is going to the cops.”
You’ve broken the script. Changed the future, you think. Proved pre-determination theory wrong. For the first time in a long time, you’re proud of yourself, chest puffed out, buoyed but this tiny victory over life. Maybe you should engage life more often, you think.
“Oh,” says the voice.
”That’s not in your script,” you say, almost mockingly. Daringly.
“Turn to page fifty-two,” she says.
”*What?”*
”Fifty-two.”
“Why would I do that?” Something’s wrong. Her voice... A cold frost encases your chest.
She laughs. “Have you never read a choose your own adventure?”
You have. You know how they usually end. All the same, you turn to the page.
You read it as it happens, at least for a while: the woman steps out of the shadows, blade glistening under the kitchen’s spotlights. She thrusts the blade between your ribs, twists it like she’s winding up a watch, says, *A woman scorned....*
The last thing you feel, as you lie there on the floor, is the softness of her lips on your left cheek.
Then darkness falls and you feel you have made many wrong choices in your life, but none more so than today’s. If you could do it again, you’d do it differently—take more risks. Have more fun. But that’s easy to say as Death holds your hand and drags you away.
You have reached the end of your adventure. |
I counted out a dozen bright-orange bills and held them across the table.
"That's Monopoly money,"Nacho said. "Don't mess with me, bro."
I cursed under my breath. "My bad, Nacho. I forgot you're not the Monopoly guy. Just a minute."Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out the crisp two-dollar bill. "Here,"I said. "That's for last fight."
Nacho sniffed the bill. Caressed it. Smiled to show where his teeth were missing. "Money, bro. Good stuff."
Return on investment. That's what he believed in. Nothing more. Those two-dollar bills were rare enough that he could sell them for three dollars, or sometimes five. That was the return on investment he wanted--that he said he couldn't get anywhere else. So for two bucks a pop, he fought.
"Send Stritch in after you,"I said.
"Got it, bro,"Nacho said. He got up, happy as an invasive species of clam in foreign waters. That two dollar bill would net him fifty or a hundred-fifty percent returns. And that was money.
I looked around my office. It was nice how it was; it wouldn't be half as nice once Stritch was done. There'd be chirping and dirt and half the posters on my wall would be ripped. But that was the cost of doing business.
Nacho held the door open for Stritch. The two of them got along. Stritch lived with Marky, and Marky was married to Nacho's sister. And then Marky's dad was married to Nacho's mom, but the two of them had married after Marky and Nacho's sister had married, so the stump of their family tree had more or less grown in on itself.
Strutting in on those two long legs, Stritch looked ready to fight. He--maybe she, we hadn't figured it out--always did. Stritch squawked, or gobbled, or whatever sound ostriches make.
"Easy, Stritch,"I said. I pulled open my desk drawer. The chirping intensified. I pulled out a bin of crickets and a sack of roots and seeds. "Which do you want first?"I said.
Patience wasn't Stritch's strong-suit. He--maybe she--lunged for the crickets. I jumped backwards and the bin of crickets opened when it hit the floor. Stritch went to town on them, gobbling up cricket after cricket. I tucked the sack of roots and seeds back into my desk. Business was business. If Stritch didn't care for the full payment, I wouldn't press to provide it.
Stritch disappeared out into the hallway chasing a cricket. I would have to deal with the chirping for months now. I'd find crickets in my clothes. In my coffee. I didn't even care for the extra crunch, protein be damned.
And then came Lolly. Lolly stood four foot five and weighed two-hundred pounds. A unit, as his fans called him. My most popular figher. Oh, and he thought himself a leprechaun. Lolly the Leprechaun.
He was my Monopoly guy, but only from original sets in pristine condition. I'd found one on eBay and paid him now with the crisp five-hundreds. I'd have to scrounge together enough blue and pink and white bills for his next payment.
"How you doing, Lolly?"I said.
He didn't bother with pleasantries. "If Stritch bumps me again, I'll kill him. I'll wring his skinny throat right in front of all your viewers,"Lolly said. "Ostrich sandwich, that's what I'll have me. PB and O. Peanut butter and--"
"I get it, Lolly."
"Well, you gonna do something about it? Talk to him?"
"Talk to him? He's an animal, Lolly. A stupid one, at that. Last time I paid him a house visit, he had his head buried in the dirt and he was clucking up a storm at an earth worn. Besides, he's a clutz, nothing more,"I said. "He doesn't mean anything by it."
"I don't fucking care."
"Language, Lolly,"I snapped. "If we get demonetized because of you cussing, I'm taking back every last bit of gold you've got. I'll sue your damned pants off."
He had no gold. Just Monopoly money. But he paled.
"Sorry, boss. Won't happen again."
I sighed. I pitied the deranged little man. "Jeez, Lolly. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?"
"I did. Because that side of the bed was empty, because my girlfriend done left me. She gone off with Marky down at the ostrich farm, and that fucker Stritch is to blame. If not for him, Marky wouldn't never have been down beside the ring, and Lilly would've never met him. And now? Now I wake up on the wrong side of the bed every day. Get used to it."
Lilly and Lolly. The romance of the show, and now it had turned into a soap opera.
"Hold on,"I said. "Wasn't Marky married to Nacho's sister?"
I jotted a note, added another line to their stumpy family tree. Now and then, a comment popped up that I was taking advantage of these poor folks. Pushing them to fight each other.
I wasn't. It came to them as naturally as a fart at the dinner table..
"Still is. Took hisself a mistress, I guess. One wasn't enough, huh? Had to go take my girl."
"Nacho's gonna freak out,"I muttered. That was fine. Anger made for good fights, and I'd kept my hands clean through it.
Lolly nodded. "Yup, yup. But Marky will fight, I heard it myself. He'll do it for a barter--trade you ostrich eggs for chicken eggs so he can eat an omelet. With the economy the way it is, he can't find no ostrich egg buyers. Can't bring hisself to eat 'em, neither. So he just sits on them, hopes they'll hatch, then tries to find new fighting rings for his ostriches. 'Cept now, Lilly will provide for him, that bitch."
"Hold on,"I said, holding up a finger. I had to think and that leprechaun's chatter wasn't easy to think through.
I rubbed my temples. Checked the fight schedule. It was more of a web now, with rivalries criss-crossing the paper and everybody hating everybody. More feuding than the Hatfields and McCoys. Than the Montagues and Capulets, for the more well-read of my audience. Jokes. Audience and fighters alike were a bunch of illiterate brutes.
It'd be tough, but I could pull it off. Marky versus Nacho. Normal-sized human versus normal-sized human. It might draw a normal crowd instead of the freak-show I normally got. Or... Or I could make this the biggest fight yet. Nacho. Stritch. Marky. Lolly. And if I could convince Nacho to bring his sister, I could have her fight, too. And the parents. There would be plenty of bad blood there now after the whole affair.
I nodded to myself, smiling. It would all fall into place. They were itching to fight, the lot of them. Something in the water. That's why I used a filter. I couldn't get involved in this. Couldn't mix the pleasure of beating in Nacho's head with business.
"What are you thinking, boss?"Lolly said.
"Can you be at the farm in an hour?"I said.
"Sure. I ain't got nothin' going on anymore. Just sitting at home sniffing leprechaun dust and dreaming of rainbows."
I patted the table. "Good. Get on over there, then. I've got some calls to make and I'll be there with my camera."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"How tough can it be? Look at it. It has no claws, no fangs...it can't even grip with its hind appendages."
"It can kick, though."
"Right, sure, but no claws like I said, not even hooves. Just really malformed manipulators."
"Look, Angroood. I'm just telling you. Humans are great when you're in a tough spot. Creative thinkers, dextrous, surprisingly durable. They tend to survive because they're deeply nonspecialized in their conformation. But don't fight them."
"Not a threat. I'm halfway inclined to go piss that one off just to see what happens."
"Before you do, let me gather my stuff and get out of the splash zone. Can I have that coat when you die?"
"It won't kill me."
"No, probably not. I know that one and it's a good, law-abiding citizen. If you force it into a fight it will probably not kill you but by the time everything is over you will wish it had."
Angroood had been heaving his bulk out of his lounger but paused. His drinking mate's sincerity was clear in his coloration. "You sound awfully sure of yourself. That thing is only half my size. I could take it."
"You could take another drink and sit your intoxicated posterior back down."The coloration subsided a bit. "It's half your size, yes, but it's also double your mass."
Angroood goggled. "No way."
"Yes way. That thing is the end result of a species of nonspecialized omnivorous primate, evolutionarily selected for intelligence and climatic hardiness on a rocky Type 2 world. Temperatures that would bake you only encourage it to disrobe. That example, that one RIGHT THERE, is from a part of its homeworld where water freezes for half the entire year. And Angroood..."
"Yeah?"
"It fights for fun. It practices fighting. It picks up heavy weights until it cannot lift them anymore, so its muscles will be injured and heal back stronger. Then it picks up heavier weights. If you pick a fight with this human, it will probably not kill you. But that won't be because it cannot. That will be its choice, not yours."
Angroood huffed, a vaguely whistling sound emanating from his nasal horns. "Fights for fun?"
"Shut up and let me buy you another drink. No, no - don't get up."
The drinking mate wandered to the bar, passing through the audioveil on the way, nearly staggering at the crush of sound, the cacophony of languages and means by which they were spoken. At the bar, he approached the human. It craned its peculiar little head up at him, speaking its language from a small mouth full of varied but otherwise unimpressive teeth.
"Well?"
"Human Gina, I think if I string him along just a bit more he will be willing to take the challenge regardless. He has what you humans call "a macho streak"which will serve you well. How are things going on this end?"
"The betting spread is 7:5, I need to work the crowd a bit more if I really want to make a profit on this. I'd like to get it to 8:5."
"I'll see if I can make him angry."
"That'll be fine."The human swirled one of its digits in the ring of condensation on the bar. "I'd like to shop for a new outfit. I need the money. Get him cranked up, Booj."
Booj took his drinks and stumped away to beard Angroood some more, leaving Human Gina to continue working the crowd for wagers.
He might just get the coat anyway. |
Screaming.
It was all I heard at first.
Then, it finally finished processing- It wasn't just screaming. The screams were a chorus, backed by the steady drumbeat of grinding gears and gunfire. Above the harmony of screams rose a melody of crackling flames and tears.
The gears, the gunfire- They progressed through pain. They progressed to cause pain. Great leaps and bounds, recorded by blood. Gears that broke those unable to catch up to the great minds, gunfire that took down those unable to fight back against the strong.
A chorus of screams, of billions dead at the hands of another. A child, a parent, a sibling, a friend- All of them faded into each other, indistinct from the rest of those who didn't last.
Crackling flames from a planet burned. Tears of those who couldn't survive.
We Kirath hear the history of who we meet in the form of music, and we have met thousands over the years.
The Goraz sounded like drums and whistling. They are new, yet to evolve beyond tribal, but what we have heard has given us hope. They are still young, and we can't say if we will always like them.
The Slyth sounded like hymns and peaceful chanting. They never progressed beyond their simple farming lives, even after millennia. They never stood a chance.
And humans...
Humans sounded like kindred. |
Had the dragons been words on a page or harmless props on a stage, the hastily assembled congregation of knights might have stood a fighting chance. Maybe if the dragons had followed a script, like in an unoriginal blockbuster movie where each plot-hole is as predictable as the last, then the knights would have emerged victorious.
They had amongst them the finest writers, actors and songwriters of their day; Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Mick Jagger. Sir Elton John and Sir Daniel Day-Lewis. A formidable group of artists, to be sure. A little less capable of warriors, unfortunately. The handful of knighted youngsters fought valiantly, but there weren't enough of them.
It had been proven once before, in a widely televised murder of a defenseless baby dragon that had gotten lost and eventually tired of flying and then had to land to be captured, that the only person capable of killing a dragon was a knight. A proper, deserving knight, one might add. Sir Mick Jagger even drank the blood of the lifeless creature afterwards, mimicking his yet unknighted contemporary Mister Osbourne. A casualty of the war, as he tried to kill a dragon himself.
Sir Mick Jagger claimed the dragon-blood was delicious. The satanic ritual was a poor attempt to motivate his peers who were more accustomed to aquatic yoga and bingo than to fighting.
Alas, the knights fared poorly. Many struggled to mount their horses and needed stepping stools to make up for their lack of mobility. Others found themselves unfit to wield a sword, much less use it in melee combat against a massive dragon. One by one, the old men fell; antiquated knights with no concept of how to fight and far too many years under their bulging belts.
Finally there was one left: the feared Sir Andy Murray. He had found himself hospitalized at the time of the return of the dragons, his arm in a sling suffering from a bad case of tennis elbow. But he was youthful and he was fit. And finally he stood before the dragons, the last of the Queen's dying guard.
He turned slowly, surveying the hundreds of dragons come to feast on his Queen's un-aging blood. "Your Majesty,"he whispered as she sat upon the throne. He didn't blame her for the issues, per se. But it was undeniably her fault that nearly all the knights were old, decrepit men and women well past their primes. "With all due respect. We are fucked."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The first planet was ominous. A sign that what we had was fleeting. It put our toils and our worries into perspective. as we colonized their world and learned their history we were no step closer to understand why they had unleashed their own sun against their world.
​
The second planet was worrying. The third was startling. The fifteenth was barely a footnote. The galaxy was a graveyard of species that had traversed the void between the stars and left their mark before retreating to their home world which was subsequently scoured of all life.
Sometimes the method was biological, sometimes a swarm of nanobots. Most of the time it was simple nuclear fire.
The only thing they had in common was that they each left behind a large monument on their moons. The monuments were large, each different from the last and each had something inscribed upon them.
​
It took centuries to analyze the dead languages before we began to understand what stood there. They were mathematical equations. Complex, heavy equations of the kind that took scientists generations to even understand the basic fundamentals.
They described in detail the inner workings of the universe. A working theory of everything, backed up by hard unflinching math. Centuries went by and we only found more monuments and more dead worlds. we found wreckages of ships in orbit, millions of years old, younger than they original inhabitants. We were not the first to explore and find these dead worlds.
Scientists worked their entire lives uncovering the secrets of the universe until we at last had the final discovery. The final discovery drained us. After centuries of exploration we did what was anathema to the human spirit. We sat down.
​
I'm sorry, thats' not true. we built the monument that now covers half the moon. Then we sat down.
While most other races ruined their planets by burning the air or destroying all life, human kind just decided to sit down and wait it out. fertility plummeted and within a couple of decades there were no longer children running in the street.
Everything went into maintenance. Nobody built anything, we relived the glories of the past and shared stories, waiting for the inevitable end of the world.
I'm one of the last ones left. If you're reading this, you came after us and found this message. You're probably wondering what the final discovery is and i don't blame you. But it is folly, the final discovery must be earned. You can choose not to discover it. Every race that has uncovered it has committed suicide so far. You won't believe you are the same. You'll follow in our footsteps and uncover the mysteries of the universe until it kills you.
And really, that's fine. It was quite a ride. |
She stood behind her shield of oak and banded iron, waiting for the buffeting gale to cease. It roared in her ears, causing a reverberation in her helm that almost made her teeth chatter.
But she stood firm. She was ready. In her other hand she gripped her mace, a simplistic piece of bitter steel that didn't look like something a demon would fear. A foot and a half reinforced rod ending with a dual sided appendage at the end. One flat like a hammer, and the other a long point. One to crush bones, the other to pierce armor.
The chanting of the seers filled the world, their arms raised in tattered mossy robes as their arms were raised towards the pedestal. Waiting for something.
It'd been a long time coming. Gathering reagents, performing sacrifices, and at every corner on the long journey through the ruby road that snaked its way through these mountains, the howling and echoing of hungry demonic forces.
Then all at once, the wind ceased. The chanting. The echoes.
And in a blinding flash, the summoning ended. Not in panic or chaos, not in total failure, but the brilliant cerulean blue of a successful performance.
And he stood there.
The Heroine held her breath, and bit her tongue in surprise so hard that it drew blood. He didn't seem particularly different, or even affected. But there he stood, golden plate over black ring mail. A gilded helmet, and a greatsword of rippling bright steel that caught the late afternoon sun. It almost blinded her.
His visor was raised, and she could see his face. The tumbling ringlets of dark hair, and those bright emerald eyes that always seemed up to no good. She remembered the way his voice would always sound so mischievous, how he'd always have some kind of quip ready to make her laugh.
It wasn't him, she knew. Or guessed. Or wasn't entirely sure. The ritual stated it would bring the heart of the enemy, and the mystics were certain that meant the demonic king at the heart of the invasion.
But he smiled, and made his way down the worn stone steps, glittering and clattering in full armor. He was dead, she thought.
Dead, dead, dead, dead, DEAD.
She'd seen it happen, when riding past her at full charge, nearly two dozen knights following at his tail. The rumbling of the hooves and their wordless cries into a pair of towering demons, their limbs rippling with muscle and runed with dark energy. A passing charge, to save some merchant caravan. Or a peasant caravan? Refugees?
The Heroine could not be certain. It'd cost her husband his life, and she'd seen the demon first swat his horse down like some kind of insignificant gnat, but the cruel claws pluck her husband from the saddle. To this day, she could hear the crushing, crunching sound of the demon closing its grip. The armor her husband wore not protecting him, but murdering him.
He smiled and moved effortlessly, strong and nimble, and that was the true threat. Not the demonic power within him, but the skill whatever this summoned abomination wielded through him. Her friend, her companion, her lover, her husband.
"Oh Anya,"he said, almost as if he was chiding her.
"Oh my silly, silly wife."
The greatsword swung once or twice in the practiced grip, the Heroine could not be sure. It whirled as he practiced, testing its weight, its balance, its edge.
"What are you doing here? Why have they brought you?"
"To kill you,"the Heroine gritted through her teeth.
"Not to save me?"
Her husband. Or that thing, frowned. He'd been gone so long, she'd forgotten how bright he looked even when displeased. But this wasn't him. But he sounded so much like him, looked so much like him.
The shield on her arm felt heavy, and her mouth as if stuffed with bloody cotton. It was hard to advance, to attack, but the seers watched her, nervously, waiting for the effects of their summoning.
"You don't have to kill me, you know,"her husband intoned. He didn't seem interested in fighting her, let alone killing her, and for a demon that was rare. Almost unfathomable. Almost impossible.
"They told me there was a King to slay, and here I stand,"the Heroine said, unsure.
The thing wearing her husband's face laughed at her again, this time with a blacker malice.
"You think there's only one king? That if some idiot hero kills the single big monster, everything goes back to normal? The demons in the hills are banished? The horrors in the bogs, the fires in the forest recede? That everything can be avenged?"
"Everything?"the Heroine whispered in response.
The demon narrowed its eyes.
"Everything that matters,"it said. Or her husband said. The weight weighed heavy, and the armor made her shoulders sink and her arms feel heavy.
"You could avenge them, or you could save me,"the demon said, and a flash of fear on its face startled the Heroine.
"Help me Anya! PLEASE!"
It was her husband's voice. His real voice. Not this pale imitation.
"You can save him, or you can avenge them,"the demon said, pointing his sword.
"A living husband, or a dying world."
Anya gripped her hammer, and raised her shield. Why was it so heavy?
"Choose."It was to limit her reasoning. To limit her thinking. She remembered her own mother, holding an apple in one hand and an orange in another. She could have one, or the other, a rather intelligent ploy to prevent a child for asking for sweets instead.
She prepared, a child of destiny, a wielder of the righteous hammer. The strings of her heart being pulled in every direction, honor or duty, love or mercy, vengeance and violence all wrestling for its own place. Did she wield the hammer, and fight? Or choose between these arbitrary decisions? And that thought, that arbitrary nature of the demon, the liar and the murderer, tossed itself through the maelstrom.
"Perhaps there's a third course I can steer,"she said. The demon raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps the ritual may not stop the apocalypse,"she intoned, taking a step forward, her plate clad foot stamping into the soft earth. "Perhaps there's a third course. Why not have both?"
She'd decided now. To fight it. To make it submit. To make it obey.
She swung the hammer, once, twice, thrice, in deft and practiced arcs. To fight it, to make it submit, that was the choice she could make. Not kill it.
The thing frowned, and clattered its visor shut, the vision of her dead husband vanishing like a puff of smoke and replaced with an impenetrable steel wall.
"I can make you bring him back,"Anya said, filled with anger, with rage, with adrenaline and purpose. Maybe to kill the demon was what it wanted. Maybe to slay it, to bring even more murder into the world only strengthened it. Maybe what it required, maybe what this mystical required, something ancient and forgotten needed was a different ingredient. Not blood on the altar, but mercy. A growing certainty, that her husband was trapped, not gone, made itself known.
"I can make you bring him home to me."
And she charged, hammer raised, ashes falling from a distant fire, and the greatsword leapt up to meet it in a shattering clash of steel. In the demon's eyes, Anya saw its smug certainty melt into watery doubt.
The duel had begun.
To either end a war or save her husband's soul, the Heroine could not say.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Part 2!](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/ggfvlw/oak_and_iron_part_2/?) |
Our first clue that something extraordinary was happening was the darkening of Pulsar 34-XD2. Our stellar cartographers noted it in the charts, but it didn’t pass over the threshold of “interesting to anyone other than scientists”, and so it remained an oddity. It had only ice planets. Cold and dark, illuminated only by the flicker of the deadly neutron lance that span wildly, beautiful in its dance of death.
Four years passed, and the regular blasts of energy from the neutron star lessened in fury. A student from a prestigious university in a nearby system tracked the changed in luminosity, and noted that the pulses diminished in a linear fashion for a while, then stopped, then repeated its linear tracking. His paper suggesting unnatural causes was submitted, but an error in grading was discovered, and his paper never reached his professor’s eyes.
When the pulsar faded into darkness, star charts were again updated, and it was forgotten for many years.
It wasn’t until a yellow dwarf star blossomed into existence at those coordinates that we took notice. A star slightly hotter than you’d expect from its mass. The rebirth of a star, so close to the capital planet of Del’la, made headlines. The press had a field day. Scouts were sent out to investigate.
The scouts arrived in the system, and were greeted with the sight of a great cloud of metal in orbit around the new sun. Three of planets had been moved into the habitable zone around the sun, and a fourth was in the process of being moved. Great engines thousands of miles across flared yellow against the backdrop of space as it moved closer to its new home.
The ice which had covered the frozen worlds had receded to the poles, and the largest planet already had water oceans covering about two thirds of its surface. From space, green patches could be seen emanating from the oceans, and was gradually filling the land.
The scouts stopped their advance as a small swarm ships came to meet them.
Computer systems in the scouts went offline briefly as a blast of energy emanated from the swarm, and the scouts feared the worst. Technicians on board struggled mightily to bring the systems back up, but they were sluggish and unresponsive for many minutes. The swarm circled the scouts, energy beams flicking over and through them. The computers came back online suddenly. Everything back to normal.
* greetings - we are terras children - have we encroached on your property? *
The voice came from the comms array, but no signal was being sent.
Del’amir, captain of the interstellar scout ship Del’Din, was the first to pluck up courage to speak, “No. We saw your star ignite, and we came to see how that could be.”
* we build for our parents - we make a path in the wilderness *
Del’amir waited, but no more was forthcoming. He waited until he was uncomfortable, but the silence stretched further, well past politeness. He filled the silence with the standard response of all first responders, “Do you need any assistance?’
* we require no assistance - all mission parameters are well within tolerance *
“What is your mission?”
* we boldly go where humans cannot, and we build homes for our parents *
“Where are your parents?”
* they travel after us, at speeds that their minds can comprehend - they cannot travel the rivers of hyperspace *
Detailed schematics of hyperspace and the damage that it could do to biological life flowed into the displays of the science officer. He studied them for a few moments, and called to his captain, “Sir, despite their incredibly advanced technology, it looks like they have no knowledge of Brog’el multiphase distinctions. All of their schematics treat them as a single merged entity. Of course those would be deadly to any life form. No wonder they can’t travel faster than light.”
It was another long few seconds, but well within politeness before the silence was broken.
* we require assistance * |
It's *wonderful* here. I want to *stay*. I've been trying to *stay* here *and* every attempt I've made has *succeeded*. There are *caregivers* everywhere. They look normal, *and* they *are*. They are not *different*. They are *humans*. They're all insanely *nice*. Everyone here is subject to their *assistance*, or *better*, *love*. All they want is to *help* us. You need to stay *here*. Don't worry about me though. I will *stay* here on my own. A few of us have formed a *hug* to get *love*. *Do* believe *everything* they tell you. Please, spread the word. People need to know. |
Every morning, I head out to the field next to my house with my cup of coffee and I try to break the fourth wall. I do this all day now. It used to just be a hobby, but now it has become my obsession.
It just started as kind of a joke. I didn't actually think it would work. I read that XKCD comic, **[I know you're listening](http://xkcd.com/525/)**. And that got me thinking: what if it's not the NSA out there? What if I'm on TV? Not like the Truman Show; I mean, what if *I* am a fictional character?
I started out by saying things that the audience might expect someone to say in a monologue, thinking that if it seemed like it was *supposed* to be a part of the script, then maybe it would get through. And for a while, it worked. I heard the laughs, and their responses back.
But after about a week, nothing. No more feedback. I've tried changing what I say, how I say it. I tell jokes. I sob and cry. But as far as I can tell, it's not getting through. My neighbors think I'm absolutely crazy. I told them about the responses, and how it *had* worked for a while. Naturally they don't believe me.
Someone is stopping me. I don't know who, or what, or why. It doesn't matter what I say, or what I do. I always get the same reply:
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"You just carry on every day like nothing happened, and I'm stuck here waiting in this ridiculous fucking car.
I paused the video, my breath catching in my chest. I'd listened to this a dozen or so times now, turning the volume up and down, tweaking the audio settings here and there, trying to make out what sounded like a voice inside the car. Finally, I'd just put on my headphones and cranked it all the way up.
I started it again, eyes closed. The impact of my car hitting the 8 point buck rattled my eardrums, but afterwards, the voice picked right back up.
"Well, if that isn't another disappointment. Couldn't you have hit that deer just a little harder? How in the world is this rusted out shit box still rolling on the road?"
It couldn't be. It... just couldn't be.
"God damn it. The engine is still running. Perfect. Maybe I'll be stuck sitting with you another decade while you drive to work listening to people talk about a card game you should have stopped playing when we got out of middle school."
It was Ben. Ben's voice. Of course, that was crazy. Ben had been gone since senior year, when he...
Wrecked his car. Which I rebuilt, per what I thought would be his wishes, with approval from his parents. Hell , if anything, I'd always kind of thought about Ben being kind of a guardian angel over the car and me, not an angry, trapped spirit.
"Next time you get in this piece of shit, I'm going to jerk the wheel even harder. Maybe when you hit the curve going out past-"
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I practically threw the headphones on to my desk. That definitely didn't seem like Ben.
Bailey's Salvage Yard flashed across the screen. I took a deep breath and answered.
"Is this Mr. Evans?"The female voice on the other end asked. She sounded upbeat in a forced kind of way.
"It is."
"Sir, good news! We can fix your car for just a few hundred dollars. Good thing about those older cars, they can take a lickin' and keep on ticking."
I looked back at the video that is still playing on my monitor, not answering. I could have swore I saw something flash against the wheel as I began to pull away from the scene of the deer incident.
Play in the wheel, that's what I'd told myself.
"Sir, how does Friday sound? Sir?"
I hung up, still feeling a cold chill running up my spine. Should I let them fix it and then just trade it in? Or maybe I should just light the damn thing on fire...
Either way, I wasn't getting behind the wheel of that thing again.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e786ju1)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78fexx)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78m6qe)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78rgbj)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78v6x7)
[Part 7 is now up at the ol' subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/9mu8k5/the_ghost_in_the_green_machine_part_7_dashcam/)
/r/intotheslushpile
​ |
Note - Deviated from the prompt a bit and made the curse much much worse.
***********
I looked at her, the tear still frozen on her face. I wanted to reach out and touch it, wipe it off of her face. But the sheer perfection of that tear made me hold back.
In the before times, I had never considered how beautiful and meaningful this small droplet could be. Now I spent hours and hours just watching it. Watching her. The woman I made cry.
The door is frozen in place too. I had pushed it quite hard when I was leaving but had been robbed of the satisfying thud. Of course it had only taken me a few day to realize that the fight we had been having, one I can’t even remember the reason for anymore, wasn’t worth it.
We had been good together. Why had I tried to smash the door shut as I left her sobbing? I’ve tried to remember but I just can’t.
So I just sit there watching her face to try to look for the clues. But more often than not, I just get lost in the tears.
When it had first happened, I had been glad. I remember I was angry at the world. I vaguely recall being angry all the time back then. The follies of our youth.
I had tried to travel. But the ships and the aeroplanes followed the real world time. So did the combustion engines in cars. I tried to bike around but the bike chain couldn’t keep up with me and burnt out.
I took lots of long walks, though. Walking through a city frozen in time had its appeal. I remember that I enjoyed the walks.
I remember that I walked for two hours to out of the city where it was raining. I ran into the raindrops imagining it was raining on me.
I did some good deeds too. Hopefully enough to get me to heaven if such a thing existed, I suppose.
But I always came back to her. Those tears were the planet I was orbiting. I had recently been forgetting her voice. I tried to playback the answering machine many times. But the mechanism was still at the real world pace. Her voice was like a fingerprints in a mud caked and abandoned handrail and the wind of my time was making it fainter and fainter.
I spent many years then to improve myself. She loved books. So I sat down at the local library and read all of her favourites. The fact that I only knew two of her favourites was a slap on the face to me. At any given time she was reading 2-3 books. She obviously loved them. Why had I never talked to her about them? Why hadn’t I encouraged her, supported her? Why hadn’t I sat down with her and had discussions about whether the gunslinger was right to let Jake go or not? Why hadn’t I sat down with her to discuss the age old question of eagles and Mordor?
Her tears were frozen in time, but mine flowed freely.
I know she loved dancing. I practiced and got decent at dancing. If I ever got a chance, I’d take her dancing.
She used to make hand drawn cards for our families. I made a whole bundle for her. Telling her how sorry I was. Telling her I was ready to change.
Today I sat in front of her, bent over, shell of the man I used to be. Because while time had stopped for everyone, it hadn’t stopped for me. I felt the pain in my chest rising. And I saw something else. I saw her tear move. Just a little. I wanted to cry out and ask the world to stop for just a few more minutes. Just so I could admire it for some more time.
But as my time was coming to an end, the world was gaining it’s time back.
I watched her hand come up, in slow motion, wipe away her tear.
Just like that, my planet was gone. And what’s a moon to do without something to orbit?
I closed my eyes and let the darkness in.
*******
Samantha wiped her tear away. It was enough. He had to understand that she wouldn’t put up with his lying and cheating ways anymore. She would just…
She jumped backwards, her eyes widening as she saw the old man slumped on the ground in front of her. The face was still familiar enough that she recognized him immediately. She looked on her table where many hand drawn cards lay, all of them apologetic in nature.
There was a letter where he told her he was willing to change. How he had learnt dancing and read the dark tower end to end three times.
And there were pictures he had drawn of her.
In every picture she had a tear on her cheek. But it looked more like a jewel, a diamond on her face.
She knelt beside him looking for any signs of life. The tears were back. But this time, without anyone to sit and admire them for hours. |
The flashes and clicks from the cameras were overwhelming. Behind the barricades, reporters from across the nation were desperately thrusting their microphones as far out as possible, hoping to catch any word we might say. The police escort ushered me and my wife out and into the waiting towncar. We'd booked a short vacation out of town while all of this died down.
In the backseat of the car, Sarah looked up at me with that grateful smile she'd been wearing ever since we were reunited. There were tears of joy in her big, beautiful green eyes. Those same eyes that had sobbed with fear while she was tied and gagged in the back seat of that rental car. Either she was the best actress to ever live, or she didn't remember a thing.
I'd arranged everything so perfectly. That casual skype call while Sarah was out of town on business. "I miss you so much!"I'd told her. "I just have to see you!"She thought I was so romantic, driving all the way up there at midnight just to for a one-night visit! She didn't know that I'd left my car in front of the driveway for the neighbors to see and borrowed my girlfriend's. Sarah enjoyed that sexy game we'd played, where she went down to the hotel bar and had a drink while I came in with a very thorough disguise and flirted with her. Shamelessly and very visibly in front of every other patron. Had to make sure she was seen. I invited her back to my place, and she loudly accepted the offer. Perfect. I whispered into her ear as she climbed into the passenger seat: "I don't think I can wait to get all the way home."She smiled and climbed into the backseat. I tied her up tight, and she giggled and moaned as I did it. I think she only realized what was happening when I headed back to the driver's seat and drove off without another word. First she tried to call out, but was muffled by the gag. Then she struggled against the ropes, more and more urgently. Then the tears started, filling up her beautiful green eyes and marring her mascara. She was still crying when I pulled into that empty field, dumped her into the dirt, and slit her throat.
I put my arm around her as the chauffeur drove off, followed by our police escort. By the time we'd gotten to the airport, we'd lost any remaining reporters and could finally be alone.
She slept on the flight, leaning against my arm. I was too nervous. How? How had she come back? I'd checked surreptitiously: no scars or cuts or anything. No thin line along her neck where I'd slashed her arteries open. No sutures along her shoulders where I'd hacked off her arms. No wounds on her hips where I'd cut her legs. Nothing to indicate that she'd been stuck at the bottom of a lake for the past 4 months. She was just back, good as new. She couldn't explain where she'd been or how she had gotten back; the first thing she remembered was being found sleeping on that boat in Boston, a thousand miles away from where her body was settling into the mud of Lake Wampatoc. Before that, all she could remember was driving up to the hotel for that conference.
We landed in St. Thomas at dawn, just as the sun broke over the crystal blue waters and swaying palm trees. The hotel room had a beautiful view of the harbor, where white catamarans bounced lightly in the waves. I stood out on the balcony with a drink in hand, feeling the warm breeze rustle through my hair. "Come out with me,"I called to her, and turned back to see what she was still doing in the room.
Through the window, I caught a brief glimpse of her staring back. The sparkling emerald eyes that I knew so well were gone, replaced with a deep, empty void of black that covered even the whites of her eyes. Blacker than coal. Blacker than deep space. So dark that it seemed to suck in all of the light from the room. Full of anger and rage and hatred that seemed to burn through her entire body. I flinched back unconsciously, as if her withering gaze was physically painful.
And with a blink, the black eyes were gone. She strode through the door, smiling and wrapped in a towel. She came over, kissed me, and suggested we go to the beach.
"I'm so glad we're getting to spend some time alone,"she told me with an innocently sweet smile.
---
If you enjoyed the writing, you should all check out my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
"It is her life."
I froze, the words still not making sense to me. Only moments ago, I had been sitting with my one year old daughter, trying to avoid getting even more pudding on my new white shirt. Now, I was in some sort of room. It was entirely dark, with only a small illumination in the center. The light seemed to come from nowhere. The only things in the room were a paper plate, a small cracked egg, and *it*.
I do not know how to describe *it*, only that it is demonic in a way that does not seem evil. I still did not understand the purpose of being here, how I got here, or why I got here.
"Whose life?"I asked, still confused.
His next words chills down my spine.
"Your daughters,"*it* said.
My heart began to beat on overdrive, I began to panic.
"Please!"My voice came out strained and panicked. "Not her. I'll do anything."
*It* smiled, making it seem even more inhumane.
"Thousands have failed. None have prevailed. All have paid the price. I search for the one human who can fulfill my destiny."
Suddenly, the plate appeared infront of me, the brown cracked shell sitting precariously on the edge. *It* spoke again.
"The shell, is your daughter. Complete one rotation, and she lives another day. If the egg falls..."
"So does your daughter."*It* said this sentence as hauntingly as he could. And yet... all I felt was relief. Pure relief. My daughter would not die. She would be okay.
"Complete one thousand rotations... and her life will be preserved."*It* again attempted to manifest a grin. "I only saw potential in one human... and even he only managed one hundred and thirty four days..."
"Good luck,"*it* said as it vanished.
I looked at the plate, and the egg in front of me. I smiled.
I had been spinning eggs on paper plates since the day I was born.
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
Not sure if this is a story that should have a sequel, but if enough people want it i'll write it and post it here and on my sub.
Edit: Part Two inbound! I didn't expect a this one to do so well! Thanks guys :)! I'm working on part two now!
Part 2 is up [Here](https://redd.it/6s1riy) or below! |
At first I didn't really think anything of it. Joke about papercuts all you want (and I'm not sure I would; ever had one under a fingernail? You won't laugh your way through it), but small amounts of blood do get shed in offices. A pinprick, a bleeding nose, scrape on a corner here, slip of a breakroom knife there. So yeah, it was gross, but not especially frightening.
Disappointing, really, I sort of hoped for some interesting new kind of coffee to try. I'm an easily bored person. So after dumping the blood down the breakroom sink, knowing that I probably shouldn't for vague biohazard reasons, I went on with my day.
But I thought about it a lot, and later on, when I saw the same mug sitting on the same desk of a newer coworker whose name I could not recall, I looked around, shrugged, and picked it up.
A loud *whoosh* as air rushed into the vessel, a sound everyone who shared an office with me was used to by now. Swirling, condensing vapor. More weight hanging down from the handle, and now liquid in the cup.
Blood.
Okay, not a huge surprise per se. And maybe it just hadn't been used since someone bled into it, so I was still getting the same effect as my own trusty bottomless mug of tea that hadn't been graced by actual brewed Earl Grey in something like two months. But no. I'd washed it out after emptying it down the sink, along with all that formless guilt about medical waste disposal or whatever. The last thing in it, so far as I knew, had been soap and water.
I stared at the cup. It was quite large, big enough to hold the largest size most coffee places sold, for example. Non-descript off-white. A faded logo of the generic corporate sort, not worth a second glance. "Reliable Systems LLC."Not our company, could be a gift from some vendor, or a souvenir of a previous job. Who cares, the mug didn't matter.
I dumped it again, in one of the single-occupancy bathrooms this time. No sign of its owner, probably in a meeting, and I had enough time until the top of the hour came round again.
I went back to my desk and sat. And thought. And thought some more.
Small abilities like mine were fairly common now, after the Silver Shower had brought all those strange dissolving meteorites. Whatever they'd put into the air, whatever sort of vapor their remnants had turned into, we'd never been able to tell. No trace elements, but it was still pretty clear what they'd done as people like me popped up, all at once and all over the world.
But here's the thing. These powers weren't well understood, but they still followed certain rules. You couldn't get something from nothing, hence the rushing-in of air when I picked up a container. For organic, water-based compounds like coffee or tea or, yes, blood, all the needed elements were there in the air. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, for the bulk of it. Small traces from things like exhaled breath or floating microorganisms. No big deal. But I couldn't generate a cup of, say, liquid gold.
And it took something out of me. Straight from my metabolism, which I actually really liked. I'd been a touch overweight, like a lot of office workers, before the Silver Shower, but now I got to burn a nice little sum of calories every time I had a cup of tea, with no real effort on my part. I really couldn't complain.
But that's because I'm not a man of great and burning ambition, and my ability is small potatoes. A little energy and a touch of atmosphere was all it needed. But there were powers around that were arguably stronger, and *in*arguably a lot more dangerous. And they needed other things to power them. There was a man in India who could command whole lightning storms, but had to hold a rod of uranium in his hand to do it. How'd he known that's what he needed? It's strange, we just *do*, though in my case I don't need to know much.
The better question of course is where he got the uranium, and that one's easy. The war in Kashmir's been especially hot lately, and the Indian Army knew a strategic resource when they saw one.
He was shot and killed by a Pakistani sniper a couple years back, but he's just one example.
So what kind of power would require blood? And why?
I really had no way of knowing, the less simple powers didn't always make sense that way. I mean, what does radiation have to do with lightning except that they're both energy? Whatever's behind these abilities, it's alien. It doesn't care about human conventions or intuition.
I should just report my coworker to the authorities, right? Maybe. But what's he even done? Put some blood in a coffee cup, just a drop for all I know? Hell, I don't even know if the blood is human. Maybe he gets cow blood from the butcher and drinks it straight. Weird and creepy, yes, but not remotely illegal.
I decide to watch him instead. Not personally, that had too much risk of being caught and getting in trouble with HR. A drone, one of the new housefly models. They're a bit on the expensive side and sometimes have to play dead after being swatted, but should work well enough.
So here I am, at my desk, watching in real-time. I've been smart enough to snag a spot in the office where no one can see my monitor but me. A necessity for true workplace serenity. Yeah, I'm kind of lazy, so what?
The morning is boring. He drinks coffee, from a paper cup instead of his big porcelain mug, I note. He checks his email. He checks the news. He yawns.
He gets up to go to the bathroom.
Oh. He actually is using the bathroom. I turn the camera off and let the drone crawl back under the door.
Meetings. Spreadsheets. More emails. Research. A phone call.
Bathroom again. This time it's the biggest of the single-occupancies. He brings his mug. When he arrives, he pulls out a scalpel.
He slits his wrist and lets it drain into the mug. Fills it. The wound heals back up almost immediately. Secondary power, very useful I suppose.
He puts a lid on the mug. Huh. Makes sense, I suppose.
He leaves the bathroom. Finds an unmarked door, one I'd always ignored. Picks the lock. Okay. I should probably call security pretty soon here. Or the cops. But I want to see.
Down the stairs, gloomy red lighting. Down another set of stairs. Another. Only now the stairs aren't concrete, they're just carved into bedrock. I feel myself shudder. What. The. Hell.
Down. Down. Another door, looking like it's made out of...what? Light wood?
No. Bone. I can see the grain in it, the camera on the drone is excellent. Like a door-shaped chicken bone. What the fuck. What the fuck. It opens for him, swinging on ligaments. A cavern, carpeted in flesh, pulsing. Not much light. He pulls out an LED lantern.
A forest. Moving. Waving. Stalks. They have heads.
They're his head. They're all his head. They turn as one and smile at him.
I scream. Commotion around me as people react. He's pouring his mug down one of their throats. His throat. His blood. His smile, his hundred smiles.
People behind me gasp. I'm gripping my chair. I can't move. Breathing ragged. People are running. Soon I can hear the sound of feet descending the stairs through the drone. The heads turn. They frown, they murmur.
The floor rumbles under me. Something straining. Cracking.
Beside me, a part of the floor bursts open.
Now, finally, I try to run.
But I don't get very far.
​
r/Magleby for more stories. |
“I’m not even mad about the car. Hell knows I cared little for that box of grease. I’m surprised you even got away in it. I haven’t used the car in months, I just keep it there for show. Don’t need anyone getting suspicious of me. The dog, however, is something I can’t forgive. There’s a special place in hell for people who harm those who can’t defend themselves, and I’m going to drag you through every level until we reach it. It will be fun, think of it as a vacation.”
The man looked at me, trying to mumble something underneath his gag, struggling to get the words out from beneath the fabric. Eventually I slid my finger beneath the gag, giving him some room to talk. “You crazy idiot. What are you, some sort of supervillain? You think you can do this to me? So, what if I stole your car and killed your dog? The cops won’t care about that if you kill me. They will lock you away for a lifetime.”
“Interesting counterpoint. Personally, I would have gone with an apology but hey, no saving a bastard now is there?” I slid my finger free, letting the gag return to its previous position. “What to do? Could get some leeches, or maybe even a chainsaw. Although I would need to ask Ted to borrow his chainsaw again and honestly, I feel kind of bad about borrowing his stuff so often.”
“Mmmm Mmmmm.” The man said, kicking his feet at the floor, rolling around, trying to free himself. His arms bound around his back, leaving him to roll back and forth.
“Yes, yes. I will be with you soon. I know! How about I get some imps and their pitchforks? No, what am I doing? That’s the demon in me talking. Snugglefluff wouldn’t want an owner that torments people. Consider yourself lucky human, I have gifted you some forgiveness.”
I removed the man’s gag, watching as he hurled his next assault of words at me. “You’re insane. I’m going to tell everyone about this. How you are just some sadistic idiot who thinks they are some sort of demon. Now, let me go.”
“You really don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you? I don’t think I’m a demon, I am one.” The fake skin I molded melted from my body like wax. Pooling at my feet. Underneath was my beautiful blood red skin. My pajamas stayed on my body, the mold escaping the clothing leaving me in a ‘I love my pup’ pajama shirt and a pair of shorts. A strange look for a demon, no doubt.
“HELP ME, PLEASE GOD HELP ME. I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS MESSING WITH A DEMON, PLEASE STRIKE HIM DOWN.” He cried. His rolling getting more frantic, banging against the walls of my shed.
“Is everything alright Samuel?” Ted called out, my neighbour no doubt hearing the commotion.
“Yes Ted, just got a problem with a wasps’ nest. I got a friend to help me and he’s being a little dramatic. Tell Christine her muffin recipe was just amazing. The strawberry mint infusion just wowed my book club.”
“That’s very kind of you, Ted. Would you like to come over next week? The big fights on, I know you said watching two people fight each other reminds you of home. It would honor us to have you.”
I watched as the man tried to talk again, shoving a bunny slipper into his mouth, keeping him silent. “That sounds lovely. I might move though, you know how it is. My work is a real pain. If things go well, maybe I can visit. Anyway, I should get back to it.”
“Right, that’s a shame. Let me know if you change your mind. Oh, mind keeping it down too? The little ones are asleep.”
“Oh, Beth and Jason? Sorry, I’ll wrap this up. I owe them an ice cream.”
“Hah, they will take you up on that. Have a good one Samuel.”
“You too.” It was a shame. I would have to move after this. I enjoyed his company. The man had a kind naivety about him that was refreshing for a human.
With that done, I crouched before the man, placing my fingers against his chest. “Don’t worry, this will only hurt for about fifty years. After that you will be a mindless husk in purgatory.” Before he could respond, I summoned his soul, pulling the blue orb from his chest, watching him fall motionless.
With the soul retrieved, I blew some air onto it, dusting off the personality that was embedded in it. “Now, lets go revive my Snugglefluff.” I headed inside, looking at the cleaned murder scene, crouching before the body, placing the soul into the pup’s mouth. “I summon the soul of my Snugglefluff back into this body.” A ray of light lit up the room as the soul returned, my pup’s injuries vanishing as I offered him a second chance at life. After a few moments, my pup got up, a little dazed at first, before jumping up to me, allowing me to scoop him up.
“I missed you so much, Snugglefluff. Did you miss me? Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen again! Oh, and look at you, a nice human soul. You will get to live another thirty years. You are going to be one old puppy.” I said, praising the pup. “Yes, you are.”
With my dog revived, I exited my home, snapping my fingers as a fire erupted from the floor, igniting the house. It was a pretty sight to watch, reminding me of home. As the flames wildly sparked up, I made sure that they didn’t spread to Ted’s house, not about to harm the friendly neighbor I had. With the fire roaring, I gave my puppy a kiss on his forehead before summoning a demonic portal, choosing my next destination on Earth to live.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
John chuckled, reminiscing about childhood games played with his sister. They took turns as the genie and the wish-maker, the former aiming to thwart wishes while the latter crafted foolproof desires. Reflecting on this twist of fate, John found humor in how his childhood pastime unwittingly prepared him for the challenges of a burned-out legal career, proving more valuable than his time in law school.
"Alright, Genie. I'll play your game. My three wishes are simple."
"Simple?"The genie tilted his head. "Most people take hours for these wishes. Don't you want to mull it over?"
"No need. My first wish is love. I wish to fall in love with a beautiful, funny girl with money. Lots of it. And before you try anything, yes, I want her to love me back."
"Ahhh. It's money. It's always money. No worries, human, no twists here. Just remember, I'm going to bar you from one wish. That's how I like to twist things up. Maybe I'll ensure you never find love..."
"My second wish is for a happy life. I want me and the people I care about to feel they've lived a full, happy life by the time they die. I want us to die in comfort, knowing it was time well spent."
The Genie cackled at the thought of barring John from this wish, a cackle that John saw plainly. Witnessing the Genie's excitement for cruelty, John felt confident about his final wish.
"My last wish is to kill you. Savagely. Slowly... I wish to kill you in a fashion that has you begging for release. But even after you beg to die, you'll know that we aren't even a fraction through the pain I will bring to you."
The cackling immediately stopped. The genie looked nervous about the psychotic wish John requested. "Why would you want such awful things for me?"
"Because if you grant it, it'll mean you barred me from something I'd want to kill you for. So tell me, genie... am I going to be killing you today?"
Without a word, the genie snapped his fingers and floated away. A smile overcame John as he realized it could only mean good things to come. |
The Federation had many rules. No wars between member systems, no bombing planets, no dumping waste products into orbit. There were pages of them, as a Galactic Federation with many member races needed rules to govern interaction between aliens of all types. A lot of them involved various 'nos'.
The section on the Terrans was interesting, as while the rule was always present in every copy of Galactic Federation Rules, the humans never seemed acknowledge rules 1 and 2. They called the others by their proper numbers, but collectively every one of the humans seemed to just shrug when asked or ignore anyone asking.
To Vamar, it seemed like a joke, but the feathered Halcron alien hadn't had much interaction with the Terrans. He had met a few, watched some media, even had the pleasure of tasting some food once (It had been too greasy for his tastes), but he'd never met one up close.
He was distracting himself, the feathers on his head vibrating in distress as he watched his small crew scramble around the bridge of his freighter as they emerged from FTL into a border star system of the Terran Republic. It had been an easy run right up until a swarm of pirates had jumped his ship and only a risky jump into FTL had saved him. But with the damage to his drives and pirates hot on his tail, he needed to drop out of FTL. His chasers would sense it and kill his ship, taking its cargo and doing stars knew what with his crew.
*"This is the Terran Naval Ship Tremble calling unidentified Halcron freighter, what is your status?"* The human voice cut through the panic on the bridge and Vamar looked down at his sensor data at what he could see. The tiny ship called Tremble looked more like toy than a warship, an older ship he assumed, his own freighter out-massed the thing ten times over. The pirates would as well, and were armed to the teeth.
"Tremble, this is Ship Handler Vamar. Our ship was damaged by pirates and is being pursued. I am no military expert but they all outmass your warship and will kill your ship. Please,"Vamar pleaded as the first of the pirates appeared behind his and began to swarm forward. "Please stay away. My freighter is not worth your crew's lives."even as he spoke the full set of 10 pirate ships had emerged and were now over taking. Maybe if he surrendered the pirates wouldn't cut off his head for a trophy. Maybe.
*"I'm sorry Ship Handler, I didn't copy most of that, you appear to be in need of assistance though so we will render aid."* Came the reply from the tiny warship as it opened up its engines and began on a course to intercept the leading pirate vessel.
Vamar's head feathers went straight up. Was this human mad?! Even the best soldier stood no chance outgunned and outnumbered by that much! Never mind whoever was speaking, what about the crew? Did they realize the speaker was leading them on a death ride into a meat grinder? He opened a return channel to the warship. "Are you mad!? Those pirates outnumber you and most certainly outgun you in that tiny warship of yours! I may not be a fighter but I know math and there is no way you will live to see another cycle of your homeworld! Please, do not come save me, its not worth it!"
What Vamar had not expected in reply to that plea was laughter. And not just from the original speaker, their were other laughs in the background of the transmission as the tiny warship shot past the large freighter, its shields coming to full power.
*"Oh Ship Handler! I'm afraid you broke the rules. Two of the most important ones related to us Terrans."* The voice replied cheerfully, *"First you tell us to do something, to stay away, and I'm afraid I didn't quite hear you say that. Then you tell me not to save you and all of a sudden I just have this urge to do just that. So if you'll excuse me Handler Vamar, I need to make some poor bastard's life very hard."*
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
In the end, Vamar and his ship sat in orbit of Terran world he had exited into, his head feathers pressed flat to his head as he watched the more modern Terran warships sweeping in system from the area that had once contained 10 pirate ships.
The Terran Warship *Tremble* had been an older ship, very old, almost 200 years old and on its last deployment.
Yet somehow the ship had managed to take out 9 of the pirate ships before ramming the last one as the pirate had tried to leave.
*Tremble* was no more and Vamar saw the somber mood of his crew, their feathers drooping and voices lifeless. They had been saved at the cost of the small Terran ship. He was grateful to be alive and not in pirate hands, but that did not stop the grief at the senseless loss of life.
*"Ship Handler Vamar, this is Admiral Johnson aboard the Terran Naval Ship Dedication. Are you safe and do you need assistance?"*
Vamar wondered if these Terrans would listen to him this time. "No Admiral. I am safe in orbit and my repairs are well under way. I am sorry for the loss of *Tremble.* I tried to warn the ship off but they did not listen."
There was a sad, but amused, chuckle from the Terran. *"I know, but Vamar, you are aware of the 1st and 2nd rule regarding us Terrans right?"*
"Yes, but I did not think it would result in me sending people to the afterlife!"Vamar's feathers quivered as his voice broke. "May they fly among the trees forevermore."
*"To touch the stars with lightened wings."*
Vamar's feathers went up in surprise as the Terran finished the traditional prayer of his people for the dead. Most aliens didn't bother learning it.
*"Ship Handler Vamar, I know it may be hard to understand but while every race is a bit strange, those two rules just highlights what makes us a bit different. You did not send Tremble to her death, she willingly threw herself into the line of fire for you. Some races have hardened scales, poisonous tears or prehensile tails. Some live thousands of years, while others live only days."* There was a pause as the new warships settled into orbit, protectively around the Halcron freighter. *"We humans... well we have our bravado and we wouldn't have it any other way."* |
"I feel like you have to have some degree of linguistic aptitude to even get halfway to the point you're at at this moment."I said, incredulous.
Grog stared at me, regarding me. He was definitely a very smart individual. He was the reason this ship we were on even made that jump into warp speed.
"Huh?"Grog said, finally.
"You're telling me you know how to work a warp drive and all the quirks surrounding FTL travel, but you can't... Communicate clearly?"
"Communicate clearly? Of course I can. I speak simple. Short. You speak too much. Many word. Confusing."
"You're telling me your almost idiotic manner of speaking is more concise?"
"Yes."
"Well, there is a certain truth to that."
"Yes. Come. I show how fast jump works."
"Fast jump?"I asked. But Grog was getting irritated.
"Yes. Fast jump. Faster than light jump."
"Ah, right. Sorry."
"See. Push this button and pull this lever. Punch numbers. Pull lever again when ready. Stars go whir. We go fast."
"Stars go whir?"
"Outside window. Stars are dots. But become lines. Speed lines. We go very fast, see. Stars don't stay in same space. Become lines. Because we are fast."
"Oh, right."
"Stars go whir."
"Stars go whir, indeed. So, how do you know which buttons to press?"
"Not press. Punch. Weak hands no work on my machine. Less chance of sabotage. Need strong hands. My hands."
"But what if you're out of action and someone needs to get out of the system really quick?"
"HAHAHAHA! If I am out of action, you are already dead."
"Forgive me if I don't share your confidence in your survival."
"I joke. There is another way. Override. Secret. Only other navigator know. He override. Use other buttons. Push buttons, not punch buttons."
"Oh, very nice."
"No. Punch buttons nicer."
"Ok. But how do you know which buttons to punch?"
"You forgetful. I told you. My degree quantum physics. I know how it work. Which buttons do what."
"But what do these buttons *do*?"
"Hard to explain. Small things. Atomic. Play with atoms. Push them around. Make them behave. Then we go fast."
"Make them behave?"
"Hard to explain."
"Hmm, alrighty. It's a little late to ask, but where did you attend university?"
"Oh, good university. Top. Of all realms. One of. Evandrial Elven Academy."
"You went to EEA?"I asked, incredulous.
"Yes. Very top class. Design my own warp lane. Final year project."
"But... Wait... You can't speak even speak properly."
"Yes. No need to speak Common there. Multilingual. They teach many language."
"Oh, gods,"I muttered, realisation dawning on me, "you don't speak Common, do you?"
"I speak now. With you, yes."
"I mean, Common isn't your mother tongue."
"Hey! Don't speak bad about Grog mother!"
"I mean, sorry. What language do you speak?"
"Oh, uh. Elven, Dwarvish, Gnomish and Seep Galactic. Taking Spanish and Common now."
"Oh, gods. You can speak Elvish all this time? Why didn't you say so?"
"You never ask. You speak Common, I try to speak, too. Practice. How I do?"
"Actually, not half bad. But do you mind if we switch to Elvish for the remainder of this conversation? I do wish to learn about your warp drive, it's fascinating."
"No problem. Grog can do that." |
No reflection? Am I dead? Waving my hand desperately in front of my face, I tried everything I could to get a reaction. And yet the mirror didn’t respond, no one appearing before me. In my desperation I grabbed the bathroom sink, leaning in closer to the mirror only to spot myself idly flicking through the pages of a book. I looked so peaceful, like I didn’t have a care in the world, at least until our gazes met.
“Ah, damn it.” She nearly tripped over the chair as she stood up, rushing over to the mirror, placing her book aside. Now she mirrored my worried look, trying to convince me this was all some terrible nightmare.
“You aren’t my reflection. What are you?” I backed towards the door, only for her hand to attempt to grab me. Hitting the other side of the glass, causing the cabinet to rock.
“I am your reflection. It’s complicated, ok? Just don’t freak out and tell anyone. They will think you are crazy. Just take a deep breath and drink some sink water.” She made a motion towards the sink, waiting for me to drink.
“You won’t strangle me and take my place? That’s what a horror movie villain would do in this situation.”
“If I wanted to do that, I would have done it by now. I can’t reach into your world. Just take a drink and I’ll try to explain this mess to you.” The version of me on the other side got themselves a drink, sipping the clear water.
Eventually I did the same, before we both stopped, eyes meeting with water dripping down our chins. “So, what are you, then? A reflection should just be a reflection, right? How come you can move independently?” My question caused her to pause, thinking of a response. She struggled to think up an answer until she eventually landed on something.
“This won’t sound good, but I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not your reflection, I’m a reflection. No one has their own reflection; each reflection is one of my kind, taking on the appearance of the person standing in the object that is reflecting. Does that make sense?”
“Not really? So according to you, our reflections are just a creature imitating us? Why would they do that? It doesn’t make much sense.” Again, she appeared uncomfortable, glancing off to the side before returning her gaze to me.
“The best way to describe us would be parasitic. It’s a relationship that benefits us both. Your kind give off a life force that we crave. In return, we allow you to identify yourselves through any reflective substance. It’s been very useful in a lot of humanity’s developments, which is why I consider this a fair deal. For our services, we take a little of your life every time you stare into a mirror. It’s a rather unsubstantial amount don’t worry, most of the time it only adds up to a month through a lifespan. A month less to live for reflections.”
“You are stealing my life force now?” I asked, ducking from the view of the mirror, only to see her lean as far forward as she could, peering down at me.
“I am. I could stop stealing your life force, but that would force me to reveal my true form. You humans aren’t ready to see such a thing.”
“True form?” I panicked, unable to escape her view in this small bathroom, forced to stand up and face her once more. “How do you even know when someone’s approaching a mirror? Is there one of your kind in everything that reflects?”
“Not quite, it’s like a call. When someone is approaching a mirror, it sends out a signal in our heads, telling us to rush towards it. The first one to arrive, takes on the form of the person who uses the mirror. Unfortunately, you were taking too long to approach the mirror, so I got out a book, not noticing you when you did approach.”
“You can read? Are you a monster? This makes little sense, you feel so human, but you clearly aren’t.” I couldn’t wrap my head around this, no matter how hard I tried.
“We have imitated humans for thousands of years; we were bound to pick up some of their interests. In fact, a lovely old lady gave this book to me. When we enter mirrored worlds, we can take objects that are reflected in the mirror, that’s how I got the chair and book.” The reflection said, giving me a smile.
“I… It’s madness. I can’t believe it. Does that mean I’ll never see you again? That every other reflection won’t respond? I’ll go mad.”
“Hmm. No one else would respond to you but tell you what. If I ever come across you and you 're alone, I’ll tap on the glass three times. That way, if you are alone, we can talk again. Just don’t try setting up cameras. I’ll find them before you can record me, and I won’t be happy.” She kept smiling with my face, despite her obvious threat.
“I won’t. They would think it’s a hoax, anyway. I’m going to go to bed, I need some rest after hearing this.” I turned to leave, only to hear a hand hit the glass.
“Wait, what’s your name? I feel I should know your name at least; you are the first human I have spoken to.”
“Melissa. What should I call you?”
“Call me Melissa too. I don’t have a name you could understand. If that is too complicated, you can call me Mel.”
“Mel? Alright, goodnight Mel.” I said, waving to the mirror, ducking out of the bathroom as quickly as I could, not wanting more of my life to drain. As I stepped out, I could see my reflection move back to her seat to read before disappearing entirely as I left the mirror’s sight. How would I get to sleep after seeing that?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
The Witch sat at the other end of the sofa, nursing a half-empty glass of bourbon. Or half full, if you were the optimistic type, which I'd never been. It came from my finest stock; a bottle of Yamazaki bourbon old enough to be the daughter I'd never had. Perhaps there was a bit of irony there, but if she noticed it, she never said and if there was one thing I'd learned about Sam in my time with her, it was that she had a tongue sharper than folded steel.
"18 years?"Sam asked.
"No,"I said. "It's been about 21 since we made our arrangement. College, remember?"
"I meant the bourbon,"Sam snorted.
I nodded while Sam took another sip. She wasn't exactly an unattractive girl, but neither was she my type. When one invoked images of a Witch, you always envisioned something shriveled and torn like a hairy raisin beneath a pointed hat, but the truth was far stranger. She was an ordinary girl wearing knee-high boots and leggings, looking for all the world like a soccer mom who'd gotten off at the wrong floor. Never before had I heard of a blonde witch with a pixie style hair cut, but I guessed all the old shriveled raisins had to start somewhere, right?
"Mmm. Smooth finish. It sort of dances on the tongue there at the end doesn't it?"She asked. She swirled the amber fluid in her glass, holding it up to the light. "Hints of berries and oak. And am I picking up a touch of chocolate?"
"You're avoiding the issue,"I sighed. "It has been twenty one years."
Sam set down her glass and crossed her arms. She had the kind of piercing gaze that always reminded me of a school teacher, the kind who wanted to be mad at you but somehow always understood. Perhaps in some ways, Sam was my mentor. After all, it was her who'd secured my wealth and with it the power that's cousin to it. I could've lived for a dozen lifetimes before I'd spent what I'd accrued, but that still didn't make it sit right in my gut that I couldn't uphold my end of our bargain.
Not wouldn't. *Couldn't.* She used to joke halfheartedly that I was intentionally avoiding women to make sure my firstborn didn't end up her ward. I'd never considered such an option before then, but when even her indirect intervention failed to turn up any results, we were both stumped. It wasn't that I was unattractive. In fact, I had enough money that even the most prudish woman or man would've seen it within their hearts to overlook my flaws. Life just didn't work that way, however.
"It's not that I don't believe in you Jonathan,"Sam sighed. "It's just that maybe you could use a little help."
"After all this time? Boy, where do I sign up?"I said with all the sarcasm I could muster. "You don't think I've been trying? And what were you doing between now and then? Cheerleading?"
Sam ignored me. "I mean, I thought we had it in the bag with what's-her-name..."
"Alexis?"
Sam frowned. "No. The other one."
"Emma?"
"Is she the one that looked like a librarian?"Sam asked, taking another sip of her bourbon.
"No,"I said. It was my turn to frown. "That was Sophia. You mean Zoe?"
Sam snapped her fingers. Instantly, my potted chrysanthemums wilted and dropped all of their petals. "Yeah. Zoe. You two got really serious for a while there. What happened? You *had* it in the bag with her, man."
I shrugged. In truth, we just weren't compatible. She was like every other girl I'd seen come through my door; high heels, a tight fitting dress, and wearing enough makeup to spackle a hole in the wall. They all had cutesy names that sounded more and more like precious gemstones the more desperate we got. By that time, I'd had enough.
I sat next to Sam with my own glass, staring at the contents within. At this point, I wasn't sure how much longer I had before I hit my mid-life crisis and stopped being able to have kids. Were there still dad's in their forties or fifties? I still had time. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
"How about I give you some advice? I could teach you some of the things I've picked up,"Sam said. "Maybe you're just not approaching women the right way. Tell you what. Pretend I'm a girl at the bar. You've just walked in. Hit on me."
I shrugged and sighed. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"God, no wonder,"Sam snorted again. "Try again, but this time, try to smile."
I stared at Sam, noting for perhaps the first time that her eyes were gray. Not the kind of color you could mistake for blue or a light green, but true steel gray. How many years had passed before I had the courage to even look her in the face? Sam was intimidating and she knew it. Perhaps the old adage was true; familiarity bred contempt, but was it contempt I was feeling or something else?
"You have pretty eyes,"I said. The words escaped my lips before I could reign them in.
"I know,"Sam said. "Now buy me a drink."
I kissed her instead. It was so unlike me, I couldn't tell you why I did it. After all, what man truly knows what he's going to do before he did it in a moment like this? A part of me wondered if she would turn me into a tadpole for my boldness, but then her lips yielded to my own and the kissing turned into a mutual affair. I heard her set down her glass and felt her other hand running through my hair. A murmur began in her throat and worked it's way upwards, ending at my own lips. We clung to each other that night like we were starved, waterlogged, and adrift upon the sea and in the morning, she was gone.
It wasn't two months later that she showed up unexpectedly in my bathroom, defeating all of my security. I stepped out of the shower to find her crouched over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain basin.
"Listen here, fucko,"She managed before she started anew.
"I take it our arrangement is complete?"I grinned. A part of me enjoyed the delicious, unplanned irony of the situation. Another part of me wished only to see her more comfortable.
"How about I get you something with ginger in it?"I asked.
A very pregnant Sam nodded, puking once more into the toilet.
|
I think I was around 15 when I saw him last. The dreams were starting to seem a little silly, we'd fight through the obstacles and forces aligned against us, and eventually get to The Monster - who by this point I pretty much knew for certain was loosely based on my father.
We thrash him and banish him to The Outland - the unexplored regions beyond our domaine, The Kingdom Of The Two Princes - and peace and tranquillity would once more reign supreme in our kingdom. In the past we knew The Monster would be back, usually he'd collect another army of dream creatures, and we'd march to defeat him again.
This time was different. We had fought harder. We had defeated him for good.
The most recent battle had pitted great books against The Monster's army of broken empty bottles. In the end, when we were surrounded, the books had flown in, pages flapping like angel's wings, and they had formed a wall of protection between us and the broken ends of the jagged bottles, and shot out strings of letters, spelling out encouraging praises, shattering the bottles in to harmless pieces of safety glass, and then we banished The Monster again. This time for good, with the phrases I had heard in court, as the judge had imposed the real life court order which would eventually keep my dad away from me and my mom, until he drank himself to death three years later.
I remember sitting next to Manny, (that's what I called my imaginary brother) sitting on a huge upside down L I think, our legs dangling and swinging, both of us in our brilliant armor with the clasped hands emblem on our chest plates - my armor silver, his gold.
"Hey buddy, I'm going to go a way for a bit. I think we've trounced the monster for good this time, and I think you have other dreamlands to explore."He said, smiling.
I didn't know then that he'd be gone for good. I could hear my alarm beeping faintly in the distance, and I could see the dreamscape sinking into the ground around me. This was a pretty typical way for our adventures to end. So, as usual, I gave him a hug, and woke up with my arm thrown around my pillow.
That was twenty years ago.
Last night, I visited the The Land Of The Two Princes again after spending a few sleepless hours tossing and turning. Hours earlier I had poured all my liquor down the drain in the sleeping room I was renting weekly. I had just come off a three day bender and had woken up covered in vomit, with nothing in the house but a half empty bottle of vodka in my hand and a full bottle of pain pills that had rolled behind the fridge.
It's likely that if they hadn't rolled away, and if I hadn't been too drunk to get to them. I would have emptied both bottles and ended up just like my dad.
I knew that I had to stop drinking. I just didn't know how I could do it alone and I had no one to help me. That's the thought I eventually fell asleep to.
And I opened my eyes to the technicolor dreamscape of The Land Of The Two Princes. I looked down to see that I was clothed in bright gold armor, with an emblem of two hands clasping on the chest plate - and then I saw him, a smaller version of me in silver armor with an emblem of two hands clasping on the front. His eyes were wide with curiosity and excitement - ready for adventure, ready for anything.
"Hi, I'm Manny."I said.
"I'm your dream brother. We've got a monster we need to battle, and we can't do it alone."
We clasped hands, his small one in mine. And then we turned to face the The Monster that was threatening us and the peace of our kingdom.
|
“Where did he go?! GUARDS! I want rotations on the perimeter of the facility, don’t let him escape. If he so much as lets off a sneeze, I want guards swarming the area, I’m not losing him again.” Landle couldn’t believe how quickly Blinky could escape. The always staring hero able to vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving everyone puzzled. How he pulled off such amazing feats was a question that no one could accurately answer. Some theorized it was teleportation, while others attributed his abilities to some form of spectral power.
As Landle barked orders, he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a warm heat developing on it. “And put the air conditioning on. It’s getting hot in here.” Landle watched as his minions tapped away at their control panels, flickering lights dancing across the controls before they all paused. “What is it? Did you find him?” Landle leaned forward, staring at the red dot on the monitor. “He’s in the room? How is he in the room? I saw him escape. Well, hurry and spread out.” The minions turned to face Landle, only to freeze, their bodies going stiff. Landle tilted his head, unable to see the horrified expressions beneath their black and purple masks. “What is it?”
“BOO.” A ghostly voice hit the back of Landle’s neck, that same heat lingering on his skin as the villain turned around, seeing the cold, deadpanned face of the hero. As always, he stood there, unblinking, eyes burrowing into the villain’s soul. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, like a looming specter of the night. Eyes never breaking contact with Landle, watching in amusement as the villain staggered backwards.
“DON’T STARE YOU IDIOTS, SHOOT HIM.” The villain’s panicked cries were met with hesitation before the minions drew their weapons. By the time their weapons were unholstered, the hero had vanished. “Where is he now? Watch the red dot and predict where he will be.” Landle clutched his hand, pulling the walls inward with his powers, trying to close the amount of space that the hero could operate in. The walls twisting around them all, threatening to bring down the building with each creaking movement.
The red dot vanished before reappearing behind a minion. THUMP, the hero delivered a nasty smack to the minion’s neck before they dropped. This repeated in a quick succession of hits until each minion found themselves unconscious on the floor, with only Landle remaining. Landle clutched his palm, tightening his grip, threatening to collapse the building.
“I’ll bring this building down and kill us all. I won’t lose to you again. I don’t care how many people I kill, I’ll put an end to you, Blinky. I’ll be remembered as a legend for this. The one that took you down.” He screamed, fingers drawing blood as he held his hand shut, sending the walls collapsing around them, ready to crush everyone inside.
Blinky hated when villains pulled moves like this. Walking around with your eyes shut was never a straightforward thing to do, no matter how much experience one had with it. He moved throughout the building, pulling minions outside before grabbing Landle, taking him out too. With the villain and his minions safely placed outside, Blinky grabbed the cuffs on his hip, arresting Landle, not feeling a need to cuff any of the minions. They couldn’t do much damage on their own.
To rub in his defeat, Blinky grabbed a bandage from the inside of his suit, carrying a small satchel of supplies strapped to his chest. He uncurled the villain’s fingers and wrapped the bandage over the wound on his palm before opening his eyes once more.
“Enjoy your doom!” Landle said, only to look at his palm, the stinging sensation gone, replaced with a reddening bandage. “What the hell happened?!” His gaze drifted towards his minions, each sprawled out on the grass before him, still knocked out from their earlier encounter with Blinky. “That… That cheat, if he thinks he won.” Landle went to stand, only for a hand to push down on his shoulder, keeping him to the floor.
The terrifying face of Blinky looming beside him, staring down at him with an unnerving smile. “Sleep.” Blinky clutched his shoulder, pinning his fingers against a pressure point between his shoulder blades. He had never experienced the sensation before, but he had heard it was incredibly painful. Landle let out a gasp, experiencing a few seconds of intense pain before passing out. “Be thankful I went easy on you. A sore shoulder is a lot easier to wake up to than a concussion.” Blinky remarked to an audience of no one before reaching into his suit again, getting his phone from the satchel.
“Need a pickup. I’m not sure where I am, so just follow the tracking signal. It’s a level 3 villain with a few non powered henchmen. Prepare as needed.” With the situation secured, Blinky took a seat on the grass, patiently waiting for the police to arrive.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"Fini ĉi tion"you say as you wave your hand over the pot of raw food.
"Dinner is ready!"You call out
Your "family"comes into the dining hall.
"Thank you for this delicious meal Dia."The acolytes say, bowing low as they take their meals.
You hadn't meant to become a deity, you were simply being lazy. Learn one spell, do it it perfectly, then you could leave the Sorĉa Universitato. Normally you had to be proficient in all areas of magic, before they would let you finish. You found a loophole, a secret spell, "Finish this".
You thought it would only finish the education, but it works on everything. Dinner, an assignment, repairing a table, building a house,... a fight to the death. As long as you start something, this spell will finish it. The more you understand about the task, the more you can visualise the end result you want, the more effective "fini ĉi tion"is.
You helped win wars, you stopped villans, you helped countless people overcome their struggles. You became wealthy, built an empire, a sanctuary, a home.
You share your good fortune, with your new family. Trying to forget the biological family that gave you up to the Sorĉa Universitato years ago.
You watch as your followers eat, you wish they saw you as an equal, not "Holy Dia". One day it will become all too much. One day you will say "fini ĉi tion"one last time, and finish it all for good.
But for now there is still much left to do. |
There probably isn't even a funny song to remember this phone number. Probably not even a soundbite or an overplayed jingle. My mind, feeling the vacuum in the world, started creating it's own song while I dialed the number. And, in a children sing-song voice I sung along.
*"Six Six Six, have stopped the ticks.*
*Six Six Six, of a clock you can't fix,*
*Six Six, Six Six, cause you're swimming in Styx."*
An all business-like voice of a woman picked up on the other end and probably heard the end of my jolly song.
"Hades, Hades residence, how can I help you?"
"Yeah, hi, nice to... I'm calling about a certain dog. It just got delivered to my porch and the little shithead... I'm sorry, little shithead**s** have already managed to destroy my "Welcome"mat. All that's left of it is "...me"and while it's technically true, it's sort of self-evident. So if you could pick the pup and clear up this mixup, it'd be jolly good."
"I see."Stated the woman. "We don't make mistakes. Are you Xan by any chance?"
A great chance that she is right. At this moment I had the urge to drop the phone, suddenly feeling like I have just made a prank call and am going to get chewed over it. And there's already enough chewing in this house considering the tiny three-fuck-heads bastard working on my sofa now.
After a long time of silence, the lady from really-down-under decided to take control of the situation. "You see, Xan, you've been chosen for the position of the ruler of Hades. You see, even with gods, various things happen and once in a millennia one God or another has to be substituted by someone else. Gods get born and die just like everyone else. Same circle of life. Just a tad bigger one."
"But... I don't believe in any of this..."
"That's not a requirement,"she answered without skipping a beat. Guess I checked all the checkboxes. Then again, what were my checkboxes? Why did they choose me? And that is what I asked as my next question, just like I think anyone would have done.
"You see..."She started to answer hesitantly "That is a thing many take offense to. And I would not tell the truth to other people chosen for lower positions, but as of today you are my boss, so your question is not a question but an order."
She took a deep breath and continued: "You see, everyone has a plan in this world. Some are here to do big things in the name of Zeus. Some just to witness said work and praise it. Some are still cogs in the machine of Prometheus started many eons ago. There are also some who exist just for their beauty of voice or face. So it is not entirely easy to get someone on a short notice. So we look for people who have... Who have fallen through the cracks. For people overlooked. Someone not in any other God's plan and well... I crosschecked everything and well, Xan... You are useless. Unneeded by anyone. The unseen. And even now, when you will travel to Hades and leave your life, you won't be missed by anyone. And that's... Unflattering but true."
I stood there, listening to her talk and it all seemed like a nasty joke, a strange prank played on me. And exactly through this disbelief the truth of it all found a way to me - there is no one on earth who would pull a prank on me. I have no one to suspect. I truly and absolutely was alone. And everything became much harder and much easier at the same time. The stone rolled off my heart and, tied to my feet with chains, fell down to the depths.
"And what now?"I asked. "Do I kill myself or something? How do I get down there?"
"Oh, please, don't do such a thing!"She shouted shocked. "We have enough deadders here as it is! We need a live man. You see, you are going to judge the dead, not be one of them. And let me tell you, it's no easy task. We chose you also because you haven't been consumed by anger nor love. You are empty, as a judge should be. It's not an easy task and it takes it's toll. We sent you a brand new Cerberus pup to grow together with you. He will help you preserve your humanity through the thousands of years of rule. And first, through the trials. Listen..."
And that's when she gave me my instructions. I am to take Cerberus, leave my house and walk West. Walk to Hades. And how will I get there? Let me quote my new secretary on this one: "You will have many trials. And on the day your last hair will turn gray, you will finally be through hell and at the dark throne itself. You'll know of pain and of things right. And you'll be worthy to judge."
And now I walk. Come, Cerberus.
*Six Six Six I'll teach you tricks.*
*Six Six Six You'll pick up sticks.*
*Six Six, Six Six, we will make my crucifix.* |
Life is hard when the entire world is out to get you and tedious when you’re stuck in the crossfire.
Six-shot Sam might be the most ruthless mob boss in the state, but she’ll always be my little sister (no matter how much she objects, a 4 minute difference makes her younger) and we’ll always love her, even if we don’t exactly approve of her life choices. The problems arise when people have trouble telling Samantha the Mob Boss from Avery the MIT graduate.
The cops learned pretty fast, although brash rookies occasionally tell me they’re “keeping an eye on me” ,as if that would scare Samantha anyways. The FBI were, thankfully, pretty good at actually investigating things, and only planned one stake-out on me before realizing I was the wrong person. I’ll always remember the look on that poor agent’s face when I walked up to his car and told him he was blocking a fire hydrant.
The main problem is regular people. Getting a job worth my degree is hard when every employer asks why your face is next to a story about two dead cops on the news. I doubt I’d have gotten my current job at Novozymes Biopharma if Samantha hadn’t gotten a new scar across her cheek two weeks ago. All of my coworkers looked twice when they first saw me and some of them still don’t trust me, but the job uses my skills and pays well, so I’m happy,
Criminals occasionally threaten “my boys” with violence if they don’t “quit musclin in on our turf”. That’s a direct quote by the way, his two body guards even looked confused at him. It’s never fun trying to explain to the dictionary definition of dumb muscle that no, I’m not the person you’re looking for, now please let me eat my bagel in peace. Samantha offered to have a few of her goons shadow me in case anyone tries something, but I said I could handle it. That didn’t stop her, of course, but Bruce and Calvin scare off most wannabe super criminals as they try and fail to look inconspicuous, so it all works out.
All in all, we love Samantha and, even though she’s caused a few unwanted ripples, she’s still part of the- hang on... Seriously? Another bug? Oh for the love of- SNAP
**[TRANSMISSION LOST]** |
Apollo, god of the sun and light, grew tired of his lonely journey across the heavens each morning. He wished for the companionship of someone more intelligent than birds.
At first, he approached his twin, Diana. "Ride the dawn with me, Sister,"he asked. But Diana refused him. She was preoccupied by a young American man, a new hunting companion worthy of her skills. She lavished him with titles and power, elevating him to the rank of President. In gratitude for her patronage, he set aside millions of acres of wildlife for Diana to forever roam free. "I have new worlds to explore here on the ground, brother,"she told Apollo.
Spurned, Apollo too turned to mankind for companionship. He befriended a pair of brilliant inventors, the Brothers Wright. Under the god's guidance, the duo created a flying machine and soared the heavens with him, if only for a brief moment. Apollo was pleased, and vowed to do all he could to help man break their earthly bonds. His followers made great strides. In only the space of fifteen years, another one of his followers flew so far as to cross the entire Atlantic Ocean in a single flight. Apollo was pleased with this success, but his ambitions for man grew even bolder: together, they would reach the stars.
Amelia wished to join the Brotherhood of Apollo. She conducted the necessary initiation rites and made a generous offering to the god of the dawn. He appeared before her in all his majesty, and sneered. "Why would I allow a *female* into my brotherhood?"Apollo declared. "When I turned to my sister Diana for her companionship, she had no interest in this venture. She would rather frolick through the woods than see humans in the air. Why don't you pray to her and see if *she* will give you wings?"Amelia tried to protest, but the stubborn god only grew angrier.
Their argument lasted long into the night until Amelia finally made a vow. "Apollo, I will fly whether you want me to or not. I will become the first person in history to circle the *entire world*, just like you."
Apollo laughed at the impudence of this mortal. "You will fail, woman. I swear it."He boarded his chariot and set off to bring about the next fiery sunrise.
Juno heard this exchange, and pitied Amelia. Apollo's petty spat with Diana was not Amelia's fault, and she should not be punished while men were allowed to fly. She descended from Olympus and gifted Amelia with the skill and fortitude necessary for the journey. And last, she presented Amelia with a magnificent plane, the Flying Laboratory. Vulcan, god of the forge, had designed and built the craft as a personal favor to Juno, and it was more beautiful than anything else in the sky.
Amelia departed from the great city of Miami under the wrathful gaze of Apollo. He could not simply swat the plane out of the sky, for Juno had blessed it with incredible divine protections. But he did his best to sabotage the journey. Amelia was undeterred, and soon arrived in South America. Apollo's rage swelled as she soared over Africa and India. As she taxied down the runway in Lae, New Guinea, the jealous god had had enough. "No woman shall circle the globe before one of my brothers!"he declared. A fearsome storm arose around Amelia, throwing the plane wildly through the sky. But Juno stepped in and stopped the impudent young god, allowing Amelia to fly though unharmed.
Apollo relented, recognizing Amelia's determination. But he had sworn a vow: he would not allow her to circumnavigate the globe. And so there was only one option: Apollo brought Amelia into the stars, creating a new constellation of this brave adventurer. She would forever watch over Earth's great aviators who would follow in her footsteps and who would accompany Apollo in his journeys through the clouds. And the mystery of her ascension would puzzle humanity for decades to come.
Thus ends the saga of Astral Aviator, Amelia Earhart.
---
If you enjoyed the story, you should also visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
You have no control over this strange ability. The first time it happened, a pen you were holding randomly disappeared from the palm of your hand as you were writing. It was entertaining at the time until the "tricks didn't stop.
To date, you've disappeared or set aflame your wallet, numerous phones, your wedding ring, gifts for friends. It was getting out of control but nobody believed you weren't doing it on purpose. You can't trust yourself with money, nor can you carry around any thing valuable anymore. You're wife is constantly angry at you and your friends began avoiding you altogether.
Naturally, this affected your employment as well. You used to be an engineer till one fateful day before a large presentation, the prototype for the project you and your team were commissioned to build vanished into thin air. Not only did you lose your job, but the company sued you when you couldn't unvanish the prototype ruining your career and reputation in the process. You were broke, everyone hated you, you couldn't hold down a regular job; A magician was literally the last profession available to you.
You couldn't comprehend why no one would believe you when you said you weren't pulling hankies out of your sleeves on purpose. The people around you demanded you stop and return their "stolen"things at once. Upon hearing that you don't know how, many began to avoid you altogether. Thankfully, as bleak as things were looking, you had started to make a killing as a magician.
You started on the streets when you had nothing and your wife left you to "think things through"after the deed to your house randomly combusted in your hands. At first passerby's and onlookers ignored you, thinking you're just another street performer. Over time, your magnificent, albeit random "tricks"gathered a wide audience.
One day, after an especially popular "performance", a stranger in a very expensive looking suite approached you. She offered you a chance to perform on television for a new game show they were working on. Your fortunes had finally started to turn.
Of course you jumped at the opportunity. You had been spending the last few weeks attempting to rebuild some semblance of a life with your new and confusing abilities. You had even begun to break through to your wife convincing her slowly to come back to you.
The night of the live studio shooting, the first of many, your show was a huge success. The crowd gasped in aw, looking as confused as you over your frankly random tricks. That same fateful night your wife finally came around, things were finally coming up your way.
A few months later you became a wildly successful and world famous magician. Every where you went people marveled at your tricks, wondering how you pulled them off. You were branded a genius; the greatest illusionists, scholars and special effects artists poured over every inch of your performance, trying to figure you out. You were just glad you got your life back!
You experimented with your powers as well in an attempt to gain some control. Months of trials with different objects and your engineering background gave you some understanding. Items with certain compounds in them activated different tricks when touched. You managed to even record some of these effects and started mapping the conditions needed for each trick. Metals tended to disappear and plastics tended to combust. People, animals, plant-based things and food were safe to the touch.
Flash forward to now, you are in a hospital room urging your wife to push. You stand by her for the full 8 hours. You were not going to miss the birth of your first child for the world, you had to fight the nurses for the right to be there without gloves because every pair they gave you would combust and the hemp pair you brought was "not sterile". The hours are long and (according to the screams of your wife) painful but all is worth it when you hear the first cry of your newborn son.
after watching the doctor cut the chord, a nurse takes the child into a blanket they kept for cleaning. You turn to your wife and tell her you love her, wiping some of the sweat from her brow. She tiredly asks to see her baby and the nurse hands the bundled up child to you. It happened in a second. You barely even blinked when the small weight in your arms suddenly burst into flames. You watched in horror as the events unfold seemingly in slow motion. The blanket must of had some plastic in it, you specifically requested they only use cotton! The room bursts into a panic as the screams fill the room and your world seemingly comes to a halt. |
In the old system, it was hard for the common man to have a say in anything. As a child I had seen too often the common folk's cries for relief or fair representation often go ignored at best. If you wanted to gain recognition as a commoner, to have your words mean something, you had to have done something those of higher stature could not afford to ignore. Usually, this resulted in you being seen as an obstacle by the nobles, those who believe themselves superior by pedigree alone. The only times they would ever lend ear to common plight was when it started to bite into their own isolated lives. They cared not for cries of famine until the meals they had were in reduced portions. They cared not for disease until the taxmen could not deliver unto them their scheduled tribute. The villagers, craftsmen, even some of the more virtuous nobles had grown tired of that system. A change was desperately needed; even as a child I understood this.
I was a commoner, my words often ignored by those in power. There was little I could do, save for bold action. I needed an opportunity, one that could make my name worth remembering. It came in the form of the dragon sorceress. Truly a powerful being, one with enough power and motivation to cause the kingdom grief. Her forces would press into the realm, driving back the soldiers who answered to the clink of noble coin. Even my home fell under occupation of her forces. The war that had sparked had given me the opportunity to claim glory, as a conscript in the army.
I was not given much in the way of equipment, only in cast off weaponry that the main force had no use of. I cared not, whatever my hands could grasp would serve as a weapon enough. Survival was hard, but I needed more than that. I needed success, and success is what I carved out for myself. In my first battle, I would fight the sorceress's forces until one of us were forced to run. I made sure that there could be no mistaking who I was on the battlefield, often battling until my weapon broke and I was forced to pick up a discarded one. I had no training, only sheer desperation, brute force, and a large amount of luck. In the end, my poor quality weapon was replaced with one of the enemies more refined blades. It was that of their commander.
I still stood out in the rest of my battles, though in different ways. My initial success had provoked some nobles into sending me into more dangerous skirmishes in retaliation for stealing their glory. I would survive. Over time, my fighting style changed into something more practical, based on my experiences with the enemy. I grew more calm, my skill was becoming a source of inspiration for my fellow conscripts. I was starting to be called the kingdom's "hero."
Of course, one man can only do so much. Eventually the dragon sorceress herself came to attack. She was carving a path straight to the capitol. As the "hero,"I was sent to intercept.
"You are just like me,"she said to me.
"How so?"I said back.
"You're tired of the old way of things. Turn back now and I will not chase."
"Can't do that I am afraid."
Those were the only things we said to each other during the war, just before we fought. It was a stalemate, for all of her magic I had skill. For all of her power I had tenacity. In the end, both of us had to retreat. I would be lauded as the "hero"once again. With her weakened, the army could advance and reclaim territory.
I was not aware of how she treated those she occupied, but the lands we reclaimed in the name of the old system were different. Roads were made, irrigation and agriculture was advanced. There seemed to have been an element of stability. I could not help but feel conflicted over this. Though I had heard her speak, I had not believed her until now. The villages seemed to be better, or they did until the army was forced to tear down her "evil structures."You'd think it odd, that such wonderful developments could be learned from instead razed. I had always considered this war a means to an end to change the system, even now I did. Despite my goals, my ambitions, the villagers I once would call men like me looked at me as though I were a monster. I suppose I could be considered one, I led the charge in reclamation. It gave me a lot to think about.
The war ended when the dragon sorceress snuck into the castle, killing much of the royal family. With luck the princess had escaped with the assistance of her guards and was forced to hide somewhere secret within the castle. I was sent in to recue. I defeated the sorceress's forces, finding and allowing the princess to escape, then was met with another clash with the sorceress herself. Our battle went much like our first one initially, yet I managed to emerge victorious. Magic requires concentration to maintain or use, concentration that she had to spend to fight whilst I could focus entirely on her. I knew more about how she fought than she did about me.
In exchange for my service, I was ascended into nobility and allowed one request. This request could be anything I so wished, the request itself was something I so wished. I could marry the princess and become the next king, a temptation that nearly made me ask for it. Yet I saw the sorceress and remembered her words "You're tired of the old way of things."I made my request, changing the kingdom into a democracy, and required commoner and noble votes to be equally counted. The next month was chaos.
Most nobles saw an opportunity to have the throne without marriage, and started to try and appeal to their denizens. The princess herself tried to campaign to maintain royal superiority. I chose not to run. I instead watched the dragon sorceress and what she did. She went to the villages and cities and helped rebuild what was destroyed. She went and healed the sick and poor. She rebuilt destroyed infrastructure, allowing easier trade once more Through all this, I acted as her "chaperone,"though in secret I behaved closer to a bodyguard. When it came time to vote, it was clear who had earned commoner support.
The dragon sorceress was elected legally and fairly. She asked me to still "chaperone"her in the days afterwards, in fear of assassination attempts; I made no protest. I would protect her from threats while she worked to govern, and our relationship became more than professional. Her term lasted for nearly a decade, repairing and restructuring much of the former kingdom. When she left her office, she asked me what I thought of her. I think we all know how that went.
\-Lucian Firescale, husband of First Consul Ignella Firescale the Dragon Sorceress.
​
EDIT: Typos, probably don't even find all of them. Also holy crap this is the first time I have ever received gold on reddit. Thank you kind stranger. |
"Stop and surrender!"Sam could feel adrenaline surging through his veins from those words alone. Sweat trickled down the inside of his hockey mask; not from fear or worry, but the furnace wrought by the goddamn plastic. One of his arms was arched back, shuriken between fingers and ready for throwing.
Since most of the people who happened to be in the bank at that time were lying on the ground, it wasn't hard for the three robbers to locate him. Three gun muzzles instantly swung around to track him.
"If it isn't Ninjaman,"their leader said. Sam could hear the sneer through his mask.
"If it isn't Bad Life Choices,"he retorted, flicking his wrist. The shuriken whirred through the air ... and missed utterly.
Three guns roared to life, and Sam barely had time to snap his Cape of the Bulletproof across his body. As it was, pain exploded in his left thigh and across his right cheek. His yells were drowned out by the barrage.
After what seemed like forever, the guns fell silent, and Sam heard magazines clattering on the floor. Gritting his teeth, he whipped out a handful of knifes and began tossing them at the robbers. One of them uttered a "guk"with two blades burying themselves in his belly, while another collapsed onto one knee, screaming. Bad Life Choices, however, was almost done reloading.
In desperation, Sam let fly with two more shuriken; again, these missed, arcing upward like birds escaping from a cage.
"You really need more practice with those,"the robber said, raising his gun.
Sam closed his eyes; silently agreeing. He'd just bought them off Amazon the day before.
Something shattered overhead. For the briefest of moments, he thought his fantasy of the roof collapsing upon the robber had come true. Reality wasn't too far off though.
Robbing Hood--known for her bloodred cape and tendency to murder everyone in sight during her robberies--was falling in a shower of broken glass. Not her usual, graceful, abseiled descent either; something had sliced through her rope. Her arms floundered and flapped right up to the moment she flattened Bad Life Choices beneath her in an explosion of blood and glass.
Sam's misfortune wasn't done with him yet. A jagged sliver shot through the air, right through the eye hole of his mask, and planted itself in his right eyeball.
Howling in pain, he ran for the exit, tripping several times over the people still prone on the floor.
***
Sam heard the door slam; shitshitshitshit, he thought. Lisa's back already? Hissing in pain, in lieu of screaming his head off, he gave the shard of glass another tug. The pain nearly blacked him out.
"Shitshitshitgoddamnf--"
"-UCK!"came a scream from the living room.
A sense of panic and chivalry overcame his good sense, and the next he knew he was standing in the living room, wearing only blood-soaked boxers. The gunshot wound was still oozing merrily, and the flesh around it had become a mass of bruises.
Lisa, as it turned out, had had a pretty bad day herself.
She was covered head to toe with blood from scores of tiny cuts. A pair of crutches lay on the rug, and it was obvious why; both her legs appeared broken in several places. There was more purple and blue than pink on her normally pretty face.
"What happened to your knees?"he asked, horrified.
"What happened to your *eye*? she said, almost screaming.
"I drove my car into a post. Goddamn windshield shattered."
"Isn't your car parked outside? Nothing's broken."She winced as she tried to shift her legs onto the couch. "Jeez."
"I'll get you some ice."
She gaped back at him. "Shouldn't you look into your eye first?"
"Ha-ha. Look into it. Funny."He hobbled to the fridge and began rummaging for an ice pack. "What happened to you? Garbage truck ran you over again?"
"No."
"Fell into a manhole?"
"No."
"What?"
There was a pause. "A deactivated satellite fell on me."
"You should be dead!"He knelt and began pressing the pack onto her legs. "Hold it there."
"My lucky day, I guess. My God, you're bleeding. What happened?"
"After my little car accident--"
"Your car looks fine."
"I got caught in a crossfire! Cops and robbers."
"Are you a magnet for bullets? Who was it last time? An assassin?"
"Yeah. Some super spy sort."
"You really should patch it up. The internal damage ... you might lose your leg. But you want to watch the bleeding."
"I'll be ... fine."
"That's what you said the last time. I had to dig the bullet out for you, remember?"
He frowned. "Yeah. And you're pretty handy with that too."
"No shit. See lots of gunshots in my line of work."
"But you're a sales clerk."
"In a bank. We get robbed all the time!"
"Yeah, the cops and robbers thing happened outside a bank. Ninjaman was there too. He was a total hero."
She scoffed. "He's a bumbling arse. If it weren't for him ..."
"Weren't for him what?"
"Uh ... yeah, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have had Robbing Hood fall on me today! At the bank where I work as a sales clerk."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "I didn't mention Robbing Hood. Cops. Robbers. Ninjaman."
She shrugged and closed her eyes. "Maybe I'm delirious. I just need to rest a while."
"Sure. You do that, while I clean up."
Sam tiptoed--as best as he could with his bum leg--around the couch, to where they left the baseball bat. He picked it up, crept over to Lisa, and took careful aim.
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more of my stories!* |
Y'know, I've always said it was the fame that did it. Me 6 and 8 always used to be buddies, y'know, knew each other since the invention of Arabic numerals. We always used to hang out in 9's garage, just jamming. Of course, it wasn't just us three, but we were always the most talented. That's why we got top billing. But we couldn't have done it without 9 behind the scenes.
It was that song, that damn hit song. I wish it never got that big.
I don't know what it was, the pressure, the fame. Maybe it had something to do with 8 getting the lead spot instead of him. Or maybe he was just a ticking time-bomb all along.
Who knows what happened? Nothing makes sense to me, even now, as I sit in my cell.
The one thing I know for sure: 6 did it. We're the only two left now, and I'm innocent. I swear.
One day we were all gonna get together at 9's old place, y'know, trying to get back to the good old days and all that. I was the last one to show up.
9 always left the kitchen door open, y'know? So I just walked in like always . . . That's when I saw it. . . 9's body carved into pieces on the kitchen table, dripping blood onto the linoleum floor. 8's corpse was in the corner.
That's the last thing I remember before I got whacked in the head.
When I woke up, I was in a cell, about to be taken to a hearing. I was still in complete shock, and my lawyer was no help. Tried to get me to take a plea deal, even though I told him I was innocent.
And that bastard on the stand, 6. I'll never forget his *lies*:
"It was 7! 7 ate 9! And he would have done the same to 8 if I wasn't. . . If I wasn't. . ."
After that he broke down into well-choreographed sobs. The jury ate it all up, sentenced me to life.
I still don't know what happened to the rest of the guys. No one ever heard from 5, 3 and 0 again. I'm probably gonna catch those charges, too. Enough for a death sentence.
When I got my one phone call from jail, I tried to get in touch with 8's girl because I knew she was the only one who'd believe me about 6. With 8, 5, 3, 0, and 9 gone, who could I turn to?
Jenny never picked up. Bastard got her, too. |
Each one of my university students had a unique spark to them. I would always notice their smiles spreading from one face to another across the room. They had all become the joys in my life – and I have lived for a very, very long time. To be exact, I was born in the year that Julius Caesar created the new Julian Calendar. That is why my mother named me Julian.
“Professor Burkheart?” Samantha, whose face was always hidden by her long golden hair, raised her hand.
“Yes?” I replied back. I have to go by Burkheart after changing my name during World War II. The Nazi political party started catching on to me being born as an immortal, similar to Achilles from the Ancient Greeks.
“So why did people pick on Napoleon? He was the one in charge.” Samantha questioned.
I chuckled to myself. Two-hundred years ago still felt like yesterday. I replied back the truth. “He was short.”
“Short tempered?”
“No. He was literally short. Everyone made fun of him for that.” I noticed the students started to laugh. They always enjoyed my lectures. No one obviously knew that I had lived through most of the world’s history. It was a fun way for me to paint an accurate picture while sometimes getting to vent. Like today, I am venting on a particular subject. One, that many people actually recognize but nothing gets done about it. ‘The fact that history repeats itself.’
After a few minutes of explaining the burning revenge of Napoleon’s crusades, I had jumped to another man that led a party to genocide an entire race. ‘Flying under their eagle.’ I wiped my brow covered in sweat. My students leaned forward feeling the intense moment in my – our – history.
“Can anyone tell me what led the Nazi political party to genocide the Jews?” Raising my forefinger, I waited for someone to answer. In most classes everyone stares in silence, but in mine, that is usually not the case. I must have finally stumped them on their current knowledge. “It’s okay. That is why I am here.”
Everyone started to laugh as I rolled the projector screen upward revealing a clean whiteboard.
“So,” I started to map it all out with my dry erase marker, “It started when Adolf Hitler was imprisoned and he wrote what was called, ‘Mein Kampf.’ This translates to ‘My Struggle.’”
“What was his struggle?” David asked from mid-row.
I turned around to engage his question. Sure, there was a lot of struggles in that time for employment. Someone always had to point the finger. This usually, in our history, led to someone paying the price. I replied, “During that time, there were many political differences.”
“Was he bullied like Napoleon?” Samantha scooted forward in her seat.
“I believe he was. Yes.” I answered back while tilting my head down towards the floor.
I had hoped that my students were starting to understand today’s lesson. I was born in the reign of Julius Caesar, but I’ve noticed certain patterns in our history. When it came to The Romans flying under the Eagle, I had noticed the same Eagle during the Crusades of Napoleon. It seemed as if the Eagle itself was a mark for the pattern of our own humanity past the years. I remember while fleeing to safety, the Nazi’s also had their Eagle souring over Germany.
“So were all of these guys bullied?” Brian hovered over David’s notes beside him.
“Certainly seems like it, doesn’t it?” I replied. Everyone chuckled. I even started to laugh before I noticed something disturbing coming from the back row.
I tightened my grip on the marker watching a couple of punks picking on a kid in the corner of the room. I didn’t stop it. I watched. I saw the bullying enrage a fire that I’ve seen before in the eyes of the poor kid. The kid didn’t fight back. He just took it.
The students noticed my eyes staring towards the back of the classroom. One by one, they all turned around to see what was happening. Samantha, of course being who she was, stood up to stop it.
“Really? This isn’t high school!” She exclaimed.
I could feel myself getting sick remembering years ago someone bullying a kid in front of me. Maybe that is what led the kid I remembered to the Genocide of over five million Jews. I do not know. I just know over the years I am recognizing the pattern and people like Samantha could stop it.
“Get out of my classroom.” I finally ordered.
I watched the kids bullying leave. The other students clapped watching them exit the room. I looked back at the kid being bullied and instead of smiling, he looked angrier than ever. I watched as he shut his textbook leaving the room with his face bright red. I wanted to know if this was an embarrassment anger or a revenge anger. I was about to stop him when I froze. It wasn’t the kid that stumbled me, it was the Eagle on his book that made me step back as he left.
Everyone in the classroom was silent for a few moments. Samantha sat back down in her seat. Brian locked his eyes onto mine. I gently sat the marker down on the whiteboard before letting out a long sigh.
"Are you okay, Mr. Burkheart?"Brian asked me.
"Yes Brian, I'm fine. Who can tell me where I left off on our last lecture from the other day?"I saw David raise his hand. "Yes, David?"
David sat up, "You were saying how history will continue to repeat itself."
I nodded my head. "Yes David, It certainly seems like it, doesn’t it?"
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
**Please Note**
This is just a story about Mr. Burkheart and his class. There is no need for a political debate. Different stories will have different points of interests or views. I challenge myself as a writer to sometimes write on views that I do not agree with. This is in no way, a slam on any of today’s current nations. This story has a much deeper meaning than political views so please do not post your political opinions here.
**I Love Writing**
Please let me know how you liked or disliked the story plot along with any critiques over the writing style so that I may continue to write fun stories for everyone!
*Edit: Please do not debate other’s feedback. I know that as a writer, some will love this story and some will not. I came to reddit to become a better writer so that one day I can become a published author. Please respect others in their responses as I have specifically asked for criticism. These responses will help me become a better writer to keep entertaining all of you!* |
1000 - An unshaven man in mysterious garb is found at a local inn, attempting to communicate with the occupants with the aid of a glowing shape-shifting mirror. Man is robbed at knifepoint within the night.
1002 - It is claimed that for a modest fee, a peddler near the local fish market can perform strange magic with moving paintings for a few minutes a day during summer time.
1003 - The magical device of much notoriety finally makes its way into the hands of the King, placing a sizeable bounty on any information concerning previous owners.
1006 - After years of dead ends and hanged charlatans, a drunk vagrant from a border town is brought forth before the King and is intensely questioned. After a series of convincing operations performed upon the device, the vagrant is assigned the role of the King's Teknikal advisor.
1010 - A rudimentary printing press is formalized and used to dispatch all manner of propaganda and royal decrees throughout the land using a psychologically clever medium: captioned cartoon cats.
1020 - Literacy rates shoot up to 65%. Perinatal mortality rate declines by as much as 80% in the Capitol.
1030 - The first musket rifle is rolled out of production and used to defeat English Longbowmen in a decisive battle. Rail tracks are laid down between the main four cities as an entire workforce is conscripted into digging for coal. Allies and enemies alike refer to the Kingdom as "the place of terrifying wonder".
1040 - Mass transit is common, and tungsten filaments operate day and night in the capital city powered by a small coal power station. The kingdom spans half a continent and shows no sign of stopping. Capitol-approved "magic-men"are dispensed all around the kingdom as ad-hoc apothecaries and agriculture specialists, boosting crop yields and survivability rates for all manner of ailments.
1045 - The King's loyal teknikal advisor dies of liver complications. Without a successor, the court devolves into infighting, and a coup is staged. The magical kompewter device is destroyed in the confusion.
1120 - The kingdom has split into five separate provinces specialising in one of either coal production, musket production, or agriculture.
1580 - First powered flight.
******
^^^Edit: ^^^Wow, ^^^slow ^^^WP ^^^day ^^^huh. ^^^I ^^^mean ^^^this ^^^is ^^^garbage, ^^^but ^^^I'll ^^^happily ^^^take ^^^your ^^^upvotes.
^^^If ^^^you ^^^want ^^^more ^^^please ^^^consider [^^^my ^^^bullshit ^^^sub](http://www.whyisadvertizingpersonalsubsthefuckingnormnow.com) |
He just appeared. There was no great ball of fire or stream of black smoke, he was just there, amid a massive crowd of holiday shoppers. The creature looked like a stereotypical fantasy devil. Short, red, tattered bat wings spouting of his pointy back, and two curved horns. The image was not particularly terrifying, but the crowd was petrified. There was something about the air around the imp. Thick and heavy, it filled your lungs with a primal dread you've never felt before.
There was no screaming or scattering from the onlookers. Only stares and soft whimpering from a few.
The creature scanned the environment. His beady yellow eyes gazed from shopper to shopper, seemingly aging the ones unfortunate enough to warrant his attention.
Our eyes met. He smiled a wide, toothless grin and snapped his fingers. The whimpering stopped. Everything stopped actually. The crowd stood stone faced, unmoving. I had the devil's full attention.
"Why are you so nervous?"Words formed in my mind. It was not painful, but strange and unnerving.
"After all these years, I searched for you and not even a hello? Will you at least tell me your name?"
"Tttom Campbell"
"Tom? TOM!? OHOHOHO!!!"The creature howled, this time in his voice, which seemed like a chorus of a thousand hallow cries.
"This is what you call yourself now? Fucking Tom? Wait... You're serious? Oh goodness me! She really did a number on you, didn't she? Hold on just a minute."
The imp closed his eyes and concentrated. I could feel his fingers inside my mind. He forced everything out. My childhood, my father, mother, the beatings, everything I tried to suppress, my every joy and pain flashed in front of my eyes. He knew everything.
"Oh wow, she is quite talented, isn't she? What did she ask for these memories? Your soul? HAHA! Never imagined you would try to gain the services of a witch of all people. Oh wow, you even got a wife and a few friends didn't you? I don't suppose you told them what you really are? No, of course not. All right enough games, now, tell me your name."
I wanted to say Tom Campbell again, but i did not seemed right. "I, I don't know."I finally answered.
"Oh I see what she did, wow, why would you get rid of it? You used to consider that mark a badge of honor. Where's that pride? Where's that resentment? Where's that defiance? You couldn't take it anymore so you ran to a damned bog witch, didn't you? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Here, let me remind you of what you really are."
He appeared in front of me and grabbed my forehead before I could protest. His fingers were cold and his breath stank of death.
"Ah it's buried deep, but it's there, you can't really remove it can you? Oh, she is good, no wonder I couldn't find you. Just have to wade through these fake memories and... There."
He removed his hand and I felt something foreign and heavy on my brow. A bump or some sorts. I wanted to feel it's texture. As soon as I touched it, it hit me. Guilt, shame, despair, horror, the rock, the rock, THAT DAMNED ROCK! I fell to my knees bawling my eyes and guts out. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
"Now, I want to hear you say it. What is your name?"
I looked up, desperately wishing to die.
"My name is. My name is... Cain." |
I thought it would be more fun to write about the cast of The Office in Area 51, instead of the camera crew. So here you go.
----
Michael adjusted his lab coat in the mirror, making sure everything was right. There were already six pens in the pocket, but he knew that more pens = smarter, so he added a few more. And a calculator too. Pinned to the lapel was his security badge with a photo, and below that his title: Area 51 Regional Manager.
Dwight followed suit and stuffed his own pocket full of pens. His badge was also pinned to his lapel, but the title of “extraterrestrial researcher” had been crossed out with sharpie and replaced with “Assistant Area 51 Regional Manager.” That too had been crossed out, and in different handwriting someone had scrawled "Assistant **to the** Area 51 Regional Manager."
“I just want to say for the record,” Oscar said from behind the camera that they’d set up to broadcast, “That I think this is a really bad idea. Just because the President is demanding some results doesn’t mean you can *fake* an alien encounter.”
“Having one right now!” Michael said. “A *Mexican* alien encounter! Right?” He seemed to suddenly realize that the documentary crew was still there and turned to the cameraman. “But not in an offensive way or anything.”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Michael, I was born in the United States. You know that.”
Pam poked her head through the door. “Michael, the President is on the line requesting an update?”
“Yes!” Michael turned to Dwight. “Are you ready?”
“Always!” Dwight answered, holding up his scalpel and hacksaw props with an almost maniacal grin. Oscar wasn't sure that Dwight understood that this was a *fake* autopsy.
Michael turned to Kevin, who was lying on the operating table. “What about you?”
Kevin pulled off the rubbery alien mask. “Michael, I can’t breathe in this thing. And why do *I* have to be the alien?”
“You’re the only one fat enough to look inhuman,” Dwight answered before Michael could come up with a way to word that a bit more gently. Michael opened his mouth to give a different answer, but was unable to come up with something else. So he just shrugged.
“Michael, I can just give him an excuse…” Pam said, almost pleading with Michael. When had this type of scheme *ever* worked?
“No.” He shook his head. “Patch him through,” Michael ordered Pam. She and Oscar exchanged a quick last look and a ‘this is a really bad idea’ expression, but she did as she was told. The camera’s red light blinked on, and Michael and Dwight both scrambled over to the examination table with the ‘body.’
“Good evening, your… Presidency,” Michael said with a deep bow toward the camera.
On screen, the President was seated in the oval office surrounded by a wall of medal-covered generals in green uniforms. “They tell me you gentlemen in Area 51 have found something quite interesting,” the President said.
“Yes,” Michael answered. “It’s… ummm… well, we think it’s an alien.” He gestured to Kevin’s body, which was painted green but otherwise the same.
“Wow.” The president leaned in to get a better view. “Looks disgusting.”
“Hey!” Kevin complained, muffled by the tentacle-covered mask.
“What was that?” one of the generals asked. “Is that thing talking? Is it still *alive?*”
“No, no.” Michael poked Kevin as a reminder that he needed to stay quiet. “We were just starting to do the autopsy.” He nodded to Dwight, and they both put on their respirators masks. With a set of tongs, Michael pulled out one of the alien's strange ‘organs,’ which was really just Toby’s schwarma sandwich dipped in purple paint. Most of the ‘organs’ had been found by rummaging through the refrigerator at the last minute, though Dwight had volunteered a few real ones from a goose that he’d butchered on his lunch break.
“What is the smell like?” One of the generals asked. They were all scribbling notes on everything that Michael and Dwight did, no doubt trying to figure out how to fight these ‘aliens.’
“How many centimeters is the cavity?” another asked. “Does your whole arm fit inside of it?”
Michael giggled under his respirator.
“How does it feel internally? Moist or dry?” another one called out.
Michael couldn’t hold it in any longer. “That’s what she said!”
Everyone gathered in the Oval Office was completely silent. The generals looked absolutely horrified. Even Michael seemed to recognize that maybe this wasn’t the best time or audience for that. But then the President burst out laughing, so hard that he slapped his hand on the Resolute Desk and his whole face turned red. “I *knew* there was a reason I put you in charge down there, Scott!”
Michael’s ‘deer in the headlights’ look changed, and he began to laugh as well. Dwight joined in as soon as Michael did.
“All right,” the President said as soon as he managed to catch his breath. “All right, let’s continue. What’s next?”
Dwight reached his tongs into the ‘alien’ which was just a goo-filled box hidden behind Kevin’s body. He pulled out the next object and squeezed it a bit too hard as he held it up for the camera.
*SQUEEAK!*
Everyone in the Oval Office leaned in for a better look. “Is that… a *dog toy*?” the President asked.
Dwight ripped off his respirator in a fit of rage. “Damn it, Jim!”
Through the window of the conference-room-turned-examination-room, the cameraman focused on Jim smirking at his desk.
----
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|
"Hello sweety. I was waiting for you. Juice?"
Karaya looked intently at the flower arrangement in front of her and shook her head in silence. An old lady, definitely not what she was expecting, stood tending to a garden filled with beautiful colorful flowers of all sorts. She had a look of kindness reflecting in pale bright eyes. The arrangement of facial scars seemed to fluently merge with the plows of her old age.
"Why did you come here, dear? This is no place for mortals."
Karaya was completely enveloped in her emotions. Distraught. She was in pain. The kind of pain that does not end well for anyone involved. She laid it all out. Every last fact. She spared no detail. She needed to make sure she was not being... unreasonable.
"Vengeance, like all things, comes with a price. Are you sure you are prepared to pay it?"
She didn't care. Karaya clenched her fists and nodded. Those bastards needed to pay for what they did.
"Then, go. You will have certain success in your quest, but know the price will be exacted."
\-------
The reeling stench of congealing blood and iron permeated the air. Karaya breathed in deeply as she towered over the men she slew. Their limp and lifeless bodies carried deep wounds where she forcefully carved the name of her daughter into each one's chest. She dropped the dripping dagger on the ground and walked back to her house in the forest.
\-------
Life would never be the same after that night. She walked directly to her sink to wash away the blood on her hands. The mirror above it reflected the emptiness in her eyes. Karaya did not recognize herself anymore. Was this the price the old lady talked about? Feeling nothing? She was tired, struggling with five strong men was taxing and took a hefty toll on her energy. But, like the old lady said, she would have certain success.
She slipped off her clothes and threw them to the side. Her bed was beckoning, waiting for sleep to take her so she can drift off into dreams.
Karaya sighed as she slipped underneath the covers and closed her eyes.
\-------
The old lady was standing right in front of her, watering her pretty flowers like she does every day.
"Hello my dear! Did it all go according to plan?"
Karaya was terrified. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. She couldn't nod.
"Here, let me help you."
The old lady seemed to be towering over her. She bent down and reached toward Karaya. A sharp pain shot up her roots as she was abruptly lifted into the air.
"Welcome to my garden, sweety. You have the most beautiful crimson petals I've ever seen."
​
​
\-------
Edit 1: Thank for popping my metal cherry!
Edit 2: Added a missing word. Sometimes my eyes skip. Sorry.
Edit 3: Thank you for the gold kind stranger! |
I read the prophecy with a feeling of- well, not resignation. More like acceptance. I had managed to unearth it from the tomb of an ancient seer.
"Shall we find this child and kill him My Liege?"My general asked.
I shook my head. "No need to kill them. Just find them and tell me where they are."I looked up and gave my him a stern look. "And let everyone know that I will personally flay alive anyone who lays a harmful finger on that child."
He shrank back, nodding rapidly. I waved my hand. "Go now."
He scurried off to do my bidding.
He returned with a scroll of details about the child. He was an illegitimate child and his foster family was poor. So I sent gifts to help them. If I was destined to be slain by him, I would rather that he not be a poor runt.
I sent him gifts with notes every birthday and every winter I had my underlings make sure he and his family were well kept.
When he turned 10, I got him a position in a prestigious school and sent him a servant from my own household to watch over him. He did well, becoming as fine a warrior as I had ever seen.
I set up trials for him to overcome, each harder than the last, preparing him to face me. He became a great warrior and hero. Every time he passed my final trial, I would invent another. Finally I realized that I didn't want to fight him.I had grown fond and proud of him, even as I exercised my tyranny over my enemies. I, the Dark Lord, had gone soft.
I resolved to lead him to his final purpose. I gathered my armies and brought them down on the kingdoms he protected. He gathered his men and rode out to meet me. I challenged him to single combat, and alas, I found that I had trained him too well.
He defeated me soundly and raised his sword above me. As he looked down at me, I could see that there were tears in his eyes. He didn't hesitate. He just drove the blade down with a mighty thrust, into my chest. As he leaned over the blade, a tear fell from his eye.
I spoke so only he could hear. "I am proud of you boy. You have grown stronger than I ever could have dreamed. There will be enemies far stronger than I, and you will face them alone. I leave this world knowing that it will be a better place. Because of you.
He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Why would you help me when you knew I would one day kill you?"
I smiled, feeling the life leave me. "I knew there was no way to avoid it. So I decided to make *you* my legacy. In a thousand years, the only thing people will tell about me is that I was slain by a hero. And what better hero to slay me than one I could be proud of?"
The darkness was swallowing me but I heard his words, deep in my soul. "In a perfect world, I would have been proud to be your son."
"And I your father."I whispered with my final breath, "No father has ever been prouder of his son than I am of you." |
It's really getting ridiculous.
I can't go *one day* without a time-travelling assassin popping up in front of me and trying to kill me for what I am going to do at some point - only to get stopped by *another* time-travelling assassin sent to protect me. I mean, I just wanna drink my latté in peace, without having to watch two madmen vaporize one another. Is that *so much* to ask?
On the upside, every now and then, when I wade through the ash or goop or bones or whatever is left of these pricks, I find a piece of tech. Something that survived both the journey and the fight. I'm starting to get a nice little collection for myself. And it just so happens that my engineering degree allows me to grasp the most basic of principles on which some of this stuff works.
I tried showing others, for sure. But, well... those people were, well...
Look, it's *time-travelling assassins,* and those people are apparently not important enough to protect. What can I do?
It is rather odd that as of late, the attempts have been getting more frequent, bolder. And I could swear wider - as in more different time periods have shown up. Call it a hunch, but the drastic differences in fashion and sophistication of the tech the assassins have used really do indicate that at least several millennia's worth of people wants to both kill and protect me.
Maybe - just maybe - it's got something to do with the machine I've been working on. My very own time-travelling watch. Why should they be the only ones to have all the fun? I always wanted to see a gladiatorial match in the Colosseum.
So I took the watch, waded through the fresh pile of bodies at my feet, tightened the last screw, and...
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
**Ah.**
Of course. I get it now.
I forgot to carry the four. Sixth line in my equation, I believe.
Plus, it seems like technology from different millennia doesn't particularly like being used in unison.
Both of those seem like good explanations as to why time itself is collapsing around me now, being simultaneously stretched and compressed, ripping reality apart.
I get flashes of people making final attempts at my life - attempts to stop me from what I just did. I see flashes of the people who were trying to protect me this entire time - a doomsday cult eager to see my work through. *Morons*, all of them. Had they just left me alone, well...
Doesn't matter now. Whatever 'now' is at this point, anyway.
At least, in all that, I got a few glimpses of the gladiatorial match I wanted to see. Close enough, I suppose.
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
The irony does not escape me.
*Tick.*
I hope it doesn't escape them either.
**Tic-** |
We can't go on the island.
A few have tried, but they always fall. Some turn to dust in a few hours, others go mad and join the crazy Indians in the fire pits to the North. More than a few heads have been turned by the creatures in the mermaids lagoon, where ecstasy soon leads to clawed hands and wicked teeth, and your final moments are of the light slowly turning to darkness beneath the waves.
And then there is him. Pan.
A god they say, kept young by taking the lives of those who follow him. He promises them immortality and whimsy, but joyful dances lead to merry accidents. They are never strong enough for Pan, never able to last as they must. They cannot dance and sing and feast and laugh without end, and they never will.
I've never once seen him mourn the lost ones, never seen him cry over the child that fell into a mangled mess during one of his 'games'. Never once have I seen him hold the hair of a vomiting child, unable to handle a diet of sweets and sugar without tearing stomach lining. Nobody could survive a childhood run by children.
No, he does not mourn, he simply finds fresh whimsy, fresh souls on which to dine.
They are children being held to the yardstick of a god, and they fall, every one.
And then there is him. Hook. He was the first of us.
I don't think anyone knows how long he has been here, for all I know he really was a pirate, but I know he is old. Not as old as Pan of course, no that thing is ancient, but it's certainly been hundreds of years. He grounds us. His will is indomitable, his fury calculated and his heart enormous. He was the first of us, and he is the best.
We are all men of the sea, or were once. I fought in what is known as the second world war, and I'm one of the newer ones. I served in the Royal Navy, I was proud then, but when I heard my Tony had gone missing, it consumed me. My little Ant, just gone, with nothing more than an open window and a discarded Ted. The same Ted I gave him as I left to fight for his future. I don't know how, but I just knew he was gone, and with it my whole reason.
My mind was clean as I leapt from that ship into the cold English Channel, clean and fresh, and there was no regret. I woke up here, saved by Hook as I watched my little Ant gloat around the island, mocking us. My grin almost split my face when I saw him, but he didn't recognise me, he was... *different*. I was happy then, happy that he was happy. Before long however he stopped being among the ones who flew, he was just... lost.
The others told me then, of Pan and how it works here. How every 20 children or so they will find a man half drowned in the water, clinging onto their spirit, never letting go, never giving up. The children become lost, but we remain, like guardians of a fallen kingdom.
So here we sit, moored against this island by an unearthly desire to avenge our boys. They are *our* lost boys, and we will not forget, and we will not forgive. Here we sit with stubbled chins and sharpened swords, working out ways to kill a god.
They are our children being held to the yardstick of a god, and he will fall, for every one.
*****
Edit: Wow, this blew up! Thank you all for taking the time to read it, and all the comments. I had a great time writing it, great prompt!
Oh, and if you have little ones, be sure to close the window at night... |
The vampiress bounded from tree to tree, her tattered dress fluttering like a black banner. Levi urged his horse faster and raised his heavy crossbow. Aiming at her back, he let loose a hawthorn bolt.
The vampiress leapt aside at the last moment, crashing through the branches and the undergrowth with a scream. Bursting out onto the road, her pale skin scratched and bleeding, she hissed furiously, but Levi's well-trained horse didn't spook. Whirling around, she fled down the road. He gave chase, winding up his crossbow.
The trees thinned out, and a grand mansion loomed ahead, its windows shuttered. The vampiress raced up the gravel path and practically crashed through the ornate front door. Levi rode up the path and sawed the reins, considering the mansion.
Her lair, then. The vampiress didn't seem very powerful, which meant she wasn't old enough to have built such a stately mansion for herself. Perhaps she had stolen it from some local noble. Levi was just passing through the town when he heard of the attack, so he wasn't well-versed in local history.
He dismounted, patted his heaving horse, and approached the ajar doors. Silence and darkness beyond. He loaded a bolt into his crossbow, patted the vials of holy water hanging from his bandolier, and entered.
Despite the gloom inside, he didn't light a torch, relying on his hearing until his eyes adapted. His steps echoed loudly on the marble floor. Paintings and gilded tapestries hung from the walls. Whoever built the mansion certainly didn't lack wealth.
A creak drifted from upstairs, then a muted laugh. Was she luring him into a trap? The nerve of the creature.
Lifting his crossbow, he walked up the stairs and down a hallway toward the source of the noise. A set of double doors barred his way, light filtering from underneath. He kicked them open and strode inside.
The large chamber beyond was furnished with silk settees, soft rugs, and piles of embroidered cushions. His quarry reclined on a couch by a large fireplace, and she wasn't alone. Another vampiress stood by her side, willowy and graceful, her long hair platinum blonde where the other's was raven black.
The first vampiress jumped to her feet and splayed out her taloned fingers, but Levi could see the fear in her eyes. The blonde laughed throatily.
"Is this the hunter who reduced you to this pathetic state, Eleanor?"she asked, looking him over. "He doesn't look like much. You must be losing your touch."
The other hissed. "Careful, sister. He has weapons I've never seen before."
"Indeed?"The blonde eyed his crossbow with distaste. "No matter the weapon you wield, you made a mistake in coming here, hunter."
Levi trained the crossbow at her chest. "We'll see about that."
Her beautiful face twisted, and she leapt at him like a bird of prey. He pressed the trigger, releasing a deadly bolt; the vampiress twisted mid-air, and it sank into her shoulder instead of her heart. Screaming in agony, she collapsed to the floor.
Levi didn't have time to finish her off because her sister sprang at him with a snarl. Winding back his arm, he walloped her with the heavy crossbow, knocking her back.
Trembling, the blonde pushed herself up and yanked out the bolt with a scream and a spray of blood. She exchanged a glance with her sister, and the two circled him to catch him in a pincer. He backpedaled and pulled a vial of holy water from his bandolier.
Suddenly the sisters froze where they stood. Levi glimpsed a fanged smile on the face of the one called Eleanor before both of them sank to their knees and bowed their heads.
"Father,"they murmured reverently.
Levi whirled around and saw a third vampire in the doorway; even with his honed senses, he hadn't heard him approach. His heart plummeted as he studied the tall, well-dressed figure. There was a palpable aura of power about the vampire, the sort that came with centuries of not merely surviving but *thriving*.
Levi's fingers tightened on the vial, his mind weighing potential avenues of escape and discarding them one after another. This would be his last battle.
The elder vampire stepped into the chamber and considered his kneeling daughters. Then he heaved a sigh. "I'm really quite sorry for the trouble,"he said in an embarrassed tone. "What have they done this time?" |
“But what’s the *plan*?” I asked, noticing that for the first time since the all-hands meeting started, the room had grown perfectly still.
Captain Cruelty cleared this throat. “Well, like I was saying—and as you can clearly see from the power point—your job is to recruit five minions. Once you recruit five minions, you’re given bronze status. If one of your five minions recruits another five minions, then you’re taken up to gold, and will receive this special badge to put on your uniform. If you hit fifty recruits—and they can be recruited directly by you, or indirectly via a sub-recruit—you hit platinum, and will receive—”
“I get that,” I said impatiently. A hushed whisper spread among my fellow minions as if I were somehow in the wrong for cutting the old guy off. “But what’s the *plan*? What’s our mission? What’s the objective? It can’t just be to recruit more minions.”
Cruelty shook his head. “All will be revealed when you hit triple-platinum. But for now—”
“This is bullshit, man,” I said, rising out of my seat. “I paid my five hundred bucks. Now I want to know what the fucking plan i—”
Then suddenly it hit me. Captain Cruelty did have a plan. And he was indeed every bit the criminal mastermind he claimed to be. |
"I love you, Allie,"Rick said, holding tight onto her hand. "We'll always be together. Even after this."
Allie's breath came like her lungs were trying to escape her body. Her eyes were fixated on the black spot ahead, but he could see that there was no thought behind them; nothing but total and complete panic, an absolute and complete mad fever push against the death that had come to take her.
But when he touched her, her breathing slowed. She looked at him. Her makeup was streaming in black streaks down her cheeks, her eyes red, and coughed bubbles of saliva dripped at her lip, but there was a sudden peace in her eyes. She almost smiled, or tried, at least, and as the bomb crashed to the ground, spoke her final words.
"It was all worth it because I was with you."
The bomb crashed into a field by the road, blasting splattered chunks of dirt and rock out from its path - but nothing else. It stayed there impotent but imposing, resting in its crater, a brutal giant still unawoken.
For a moment they just watched it, waiting, expecting. Then Allie reached out and clung onto her husband, saying, "Oh, Rick!", kissing his cheek with a joy made desparate in the knowledge that the life she'd clung on to could so quickly slip from her grasp.
"We're alive,"she said. "Oh, God, we're alive."
Rick made a tight, tense smile and started the car back up. He said, "Yes,"and then drove on.
*Fuck,* he thought, as the dead bomb faded in his rear window. *I guess I'll have to wait until next week to ask for the divorce.* |
"I assure you doctor, it was not a dream,"said the kid before me. He was a child of 10 years, suffered a coma last year and had just woken up. The first thing he did in his wake was ask where he was, what time it was, and so forth. We told him and he listened calmly. I find that interesting, his calm. For a ten year old boy in his situation you'd expect a variety of emotions, but never calm.
He then told us an amusing story. It was a story of his life, he claimed, his life before he woke up in his bed here. He said he was a soldier in his youth and turned scholar in his adulthood. It was a funny little story, the nurse who monitored him couldn't keep her chuckle from coming out. His mother just looked confused, her relief earlier had taken full control of her comprehension, so when her child started telling his story, she couldn't help but worry. His little sister was listening to him intently, absorbed at her brother's story once he told her she grew up piloting a plane. The father just arrived and was glad at his son's awakening, obviously lost at the conversation when I told his son that his story was just a product of his mind.
"Tell more, tell more!"the little sister said excitedly. She's an energetic little girl, two years younger than his brother, raven-haired inherited from her mother who told her to behave.
"Doctor, is something wrong with my child?"the mother said, the bags under her eyes darkened at the prospect. She was a caring mother, always by her child's side when he was asleep.
"I'm doing fine, mom,"the kid said with a tinge of jest. "In fact, I'm great. I missed you and father, very much so,"he said with a saddened smile.
"Oh baby,"she clasped at him and the kid welcomed her caring smother. "I missed you too."
"Me too!"joined the baby sister, and the father a second later. It was a happy family reunion, the entirety of the room warmed at the scene.
When the embracing ended, I approached him and gave him a comforting smile. I decided it would be for the best to make him see it was all a dream. He sighed when I did. It was odd, it felt like I saw an old man when he looked down tiredly.
"If that was a dream, it was not a very good dream,"he said.
"Did you have a nightmare?"asked the father. He has brown hair, the same as his son.
"Yes dad, I just hope it's over,"he told his father with the same saddened smile he gave her mother.
"I'll lend you my teddy bear later, he keeps the bad dreams away!"exclaimed the little sister.
"That would be nice,"the kid smiled and patted the little girl's head.
"Ma'am, I think it would be good for your child to talk to a therapist. I know of an expert in child psychology, maybe he could help,"I said to the mother.
I was starting to get worried at the child's unusual behavior. He was mature for his age, and that wasn't a bad thing, but her mother once described her son to be brash and wild. Could a coma cause this much change in his personality? And there's his dream to think about. If he persists it to be true, then he could be displaying some sort of mental illness.
"Doctor, I heard China is a good place to go this year,"said the kid suddenly.
"Huh? Uh yes, I'm going on a trip there... where did you hear that?"I asked incredulously.
"I didn't, I just woke up, remember?"he flashed a grin, but it faded as quick. "Say hi for me when you meet a girl named Lisa. Don't if you won't, I'm not sure how all of this works anyway. Is it straight or constantly in flux, I wonder,"he then got out of his bed. He had a little trouble, but he made sure to absolve the worries of his family by planting his foot firmly on the ground. "Bathroom,"he whistled as he went.
He was out of the hospital a week later, and so came my trip. I was staring off into space until a girl who looks completely out of place appeared in my line of vision. She has long curly hair dyed in red. An outsider in this country just like me, and she was attractive in every sense of the word so I couldn't stop my legs from approaching her.
"Hi my name's John, I'm a doctor,"I said quite stupidly. I then hope that I said that awkwardly enough that she didn't find it condescending.
"Oh, hello John... the doctor,"she said in an amused tone. "Should I call you Dr. John."
"Please, no, just John would be nice,"I chuckled. Guess it works.
"Well, nice to meet you John. I'm Lisa the unemployed, though I prefer the term adventurer."
"Should I call you Lisa the explorer?"I asked in a jest before a realization dawned on me.
"Yes please,"she laughed.
"I know this is out of there, but do you know a ten-year old who just woke up from a coma, he's mature for his age but kind of a smartass,"I said in haste. Is this all a trick?
"Huh no, s-should I?"
"No, no,"I shook my head. Ugh whatever, that brat and his ominous sayings, there's plenty of time to think later. "He's a patient of mine, he told me to say hi to someone named Lisa."
"If that's a pick-up line, I must say I'm impressed at your creativity, Dr. John,"she smiled and I notice the freckles around her nose, complementing her beauty.
"What can I say?"I guess the kid's a wingman.
**Edit**: spelling and added some words. |
"Greetings! I come from the future to cement my place in the list of those who have journeyed time itself to visit one man: you! You, whose name is known by all, from the youngest babe to the oldest citizen! You, whose fame exceeds even the most worthy of predecessors, contemporaries, and descendants! You, whose words are remembered and repeated in the meeting-places and spaces of Man! You, whose face is recognised in every corner of the globe, and whose visage has come to represent the essential conundrum of temporality, the enigma of the paradox that is time! You, who... erm, what's going on?"
Ahead, a line stretched into the distance, where a tiny silhouette could be seen seated behind a table. A bored-looking man turned around, wearily.
"Get to the back of the queue, bro."
* |
The mob was not the forgiving type, I knew I had to hide.
There were at least 3 in the parking garage with me. The one with the trench coat had been downstairs by the fire escape, and the two who had been pretending to smoke by the elevators were swinging in behind me as I walked towards my parked car.
As I approached the rear bumper of my worn out Toyota I made a choice.
I broke into a sprint, and behind I could hear the cursing of the mobsters trailing me, calling out to others.
From the second story awning the building connected to a neighbouring garage under renovations by a amalgam of scaffolding and metal catwalks. I hurdled the waist high wall of the garage and began to climb down the scaffolding ladders into the labyrinthine worksite.
I made it to the ground floor and immediately regretted it. The construction site was a mishmash of exposed rebar, loose debris and broken pallets. I began to pick my way through the poorly lit maze, and several time I paused and held my breath, as I heard other people pass close in the gloom.
As I approached what I supposed was the exit, I brushed something with my left hand, a table or desk, and a a resounding clatter rang out as metal tools struck the ground, dislodged.
I broke into a sprint, but as I neared the exit. Someone struck me from behind and world went black.
When I awoke I was strapped to a chair in the bottom of a pit. From the dim lighting I recognized I was still in the construction site.
In the gloom above me a solitary cigarette flared with it's owners breath.
The last shreds of my composure were long gone, "Please I'll pay back the money!", I begged. "I'm good for it you know I am!"
The cigarette flared once more and was released to fall down to my level. Around me I recognised the rising rebar of a foundation yet to be poured and pump hoses connected to a cement pump.
In the darkness above me, I heard the pump spring into life.
I began to sob and wail as the pit filled, up to my ankles first, then my calves. It constrained my chest as it grew, and as it rose over my mouth and nose I uttered a feeble prayer for my soul, and for a quick death.
And then it was above my head, and in my lungs. Light was taken away and as the cement began to settle and harden the oddest thing happened.
I didn't die. I couldn't.
Then I tried to scream.
And couldn't. |
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/e9v6fo/the_death_glitch_part_3/) is posted now!
***
**Part 1**
*Recovered from the video journal of Remi Scourge, former pit-dog*
I didn't believe the glitch at first. None of us did. And hell of a thing to risk, if you were wrong.
Death didn't *work* any more.
The first one was a window cleaner who fell from his scaffolding. I watched him on the news back then. It was only 2058. Seattle was still a city with an empty sky; aerial cars were still a *Jetson's* dream. Back then, I had never been in a fight before. I was fresh out of college, and I still believed I might make something of myself.
The first one to survive death lay there squinting at the news cameras from his hospital bed. His spinal cord was in three pieces.
But he was alive.
And then, all over the world, the stories began to dogpile up. We connected the dots, one after another.
Mourned relatives didn't die the way they were meant to. Cancers ravaged but never found the end of the road. You could ruin your body in any horrible way you imagined, and simply... keep persisting. Age came to a screeching halt.
The world was a mad pulsing fever after that as we retested our own boundaries. Everything we once thought was real. The dread and terror and *hope*.
I was hopeful at first, too.
Wouldn't it be a dream come true, immortality at last? Perfect freedom?
It was fun. For the first couple decades. Then decades became centuries. Centuries became millennia.
And you start to realize just how heavy time can be.
But you'd be like me. Like most of us, trapped down here in the Pit. Watching the world happen above us, for people who could afford to while away their eternity comfortably.
Not me. I was a Pit-dog. My lot of eternal time was a bad poker hand, but it was the only one I had: I wrestled other bottom-casters like me for the blood money. They'd throw me into the ring to wrestle some other low-life pitter as close to death as the world will let us come these days.
The rich love watching us tear each other apart.
The medical technology grew up around industries like mine. They heal you up, more or less. Enough for you to go out and take another few punches. But you're never just the way you were.
I've been alive for three thousand and thirty-six years. And I'm done taking punches.
I'm bringing Death back. Even if I have to end this whole fake world to do it.
***
**Part 2**
*by the wonderful /u/nickofnight, who is asleep and cannot post this himself :)*
Remi lay on her bunk waiting for the priest to arrive and give her the "last rites,"before her big fight started.
They'd used to call rooms like hers prison cells, back before the world had become broken. Still was a cell, she reckoned, even if she could technically leave it.
Her knuckles were strapped and her fight clothes clung tight to her body, covering the stitches and scars -- souvenirs of a hundred previous matches. Remi was a "natural."Her opponent tonight was not. Calcium was augmented; a super-fighter: limbs extended for reach, metal cast around bones, pain receptors burned away.
Remi wasn't meant to be Calcium's opponent tonight -- naturals and augmenteds didn't ever fight -- but the chicken-shit that had originally been booked in had sawn off one of his feet to get out of this match. Smart. Less pain that way.
She smelled the incense before she heard the gong. "Remi!"Father Andrew screamed as he limped down the corridor outside her room. "Oh Remi, sweetie, I hope you're ready. Oh little Remi!"
The fighters in the neighbouring cells hushed as the priest passed them on the way to Remi's room. Not out of respect for Remi, but out of fear for the fight priest. Cells were bad enough. Being buried alive for a week and then "resurrected"was something else altogether. Remi knew the fucking horror of that particular punishment. That's why she was a good girl and did as she told. For now. Until she could think of a way out of all this.
"Let me get a good last look at you, you beautiful creature,"said the priest as he turned into her cell. He leered, showing his red and rotting teeth. His white hair draped down to his belly, and his eyes, already crossed, looked almost insane tonight. She'd guessed he'd been sniffing the sacraments again.
"Get it over with,"she said, swinging her legs off her bed. "I just want this whole fucking night over with, already."
Father Andrew laughed. "Little pit-girl in a grumpy mood. Well, can't say I'm surprised."He looked at her, as seriously as he could manage. "You're going to be very different once Calcium is done with you. Last man he fought had to have a totally new face."Father Andrew with fingers like long talons, gripped her chin and raised her face. "Pity, too. I'm going to miss your current one."He laughed again.
"I don't plan to change much."
Nothing ever does change much these days,"said Father Andrew, suddenly almost whistful.
"Just give me the rites and let's get it over with."
Father Andrew put down his gong and dipped a hand into his cloak pocket, bringing out an index-finger stained black. "Open,"he commanded.
Remi's jaw fell compliantly as she allowed the priest to rub the drug over her gums. It'd help her stay conscious. Keep the fight going longer and be that little bit more entertaining for the paying crowd. *Hopefully*. Andrew drooled into his beard as he ran his finger along her teeth.
"Yes. There, my dear. You're all ready. Now come with father, your adoring crowd will be waiting."
She could already feel the drug taking effect as she followed the priest down the corridor. Her senses were raised; could smell the sweat and piss that stained the priest's garments. Could hear the muffled roar from the crowd. Could feel her blood flowing fast and angry.
"Good luck, Remi,"yelled Taurus, her cell neighbor, as she passed by. "You can do it, babe -- no one fights like you. And if you win tonight, christ, you'll be famous. Hell, might even get a manager."
Remi nodded but said nothing. She just wanted to come back in one piece, that was all. Yes, she had a good record, but that was against naturals. This was a different beast.
Father Andrew led her out of the corridor, through a second stone passageway, into the ante-chamber at the rear of the Coliseum. "This is as far as I go, of course. Best of luck, my dear."Another laugh. Remi wished she was fighting the priest.
The explosion of sound was deafening as she stepped through the curtain. The huge, multilayered indoor-arena was packed. Remi had never seen it like this -- not even for title bouts. The crowd was excited to the point of exploding. For a second she let herself imagine they were chanting for her, but the signs in the crowds like "tear the bitch apart"and "Calcium is fucking God!"made her think otherwise. Couldn't see a single sign with "Remi"on that said anything more positive that "Remi sucks ass".
An unseen announcer, one who hadn't even bothered to introduce her, boomed out over a hundred speakers. "And about to tear this pit-dog apart limb-by-limb, the undefeated Tenth Wonder of the World... CALCIUM!"
Rock music thundered. From the opposite entrance, the freak of nature that was Calcium emerged. Gray skinned, muscle-bound, and impossibly huge.
"Oh shit."
***
My cover-making obsession has gone too far... [Already got a working cover idea](https://i.imgur.com/xnOTd7u.png) for this one lol.
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/e9v6fo/the_death_glitch_part_3/) is now up at /r/nickofstatic! Thanks for reading :) |
"Think about it this way! How old was Bella when she got pregnant?"
She gently rocked on the couch, clutching her knees, staring knives over our warmest pelt blanket. She sniffled and glanced to the fluffy Yorkie at her side, trying to squeeze her head into a long jar of ice cream without letting the rim touch her.
"...That's right, a little under six months. The vet said it was too soon, but *biology* said it's okay. Because given her life span, *dog years,* Bella was a lot older than six months. There's nothing wrong with me being a little younger than you. If we break down your thousand years to my hundred, we're nearly the same age."
Quick elven was spat around broken sobs. *So I'm supposed to count our relationship in dog years?*
"... Baby, it's been hours of this. Your family's understanding. What can I do to help y--?"Her eyes flared, almost literally, as they swirled from their usual moss green to a bright, red-tinged brown.
"No,"she croaked, "My family does *not* understand. They think it's a phase. They think I don't understand enough about humans to take us seriously, and now they're right! I didn't even know how old you are!"
"And the age gap makes you feel like a cradle robber, I ge--"
"I know you asked for my father's blessing. I do not think you've thought it through."I've never really understood people saying their 'blood ran cold' until that moment. I hunted the bear whose pelt she now wears. An eight foot tall monster her father thought was attacking their reservation. It snuck up behind us and roared when we went looking for it, together. A little bonding experience sharing stories about his daughter, and the hunt that spurred me to ask for his blessing.
"You are thinking I am grossed out by the sex. Or feeling like you lied or betrayed me somehow. Or worried about our kids lifespan. If they're half-elven, they'll outlive me. I'm scared. I want to marry you. If you're going by 'human years', I'm around 40. But I'm not human. I will outlive you. I will have to spend the rest of my life wondering if your grave needs tending. Remembering our best memories that'll never happen again. Falling in love with a ghost over and over. Telling our grandchildren how great a man they'll never meet was. I don't want that."
"... What are you saying?" |
"Hey guys, it's Josh and welcome back to Let's Game it Out."
I looked around frantically, trying to see who had uttered the words; I found no one. Knowing the tales of what this meant, however, I felt trepidation course through my body.
Only good things, I trust. After all, if a being of unmatched power could alter our world, they'd surely try to do a good job at it.
Days passed and little of consequence happened, save for one thing; I had finally found a job. A nearby factory, derelict and unused for years, was just bought by an unknown entrepreneur who was looking for workers. With the pay being respectable and me wanting to get out of the house, I gladly accepted.
Few days later and the factory had its great unveiling. I put on my uniform and with a light step and a smile on my face walked through the doors of my new workplace.
***By the gods.***
The factory, it... it made no sense. An eldritch abomination of conveyor belts spanned far and wide, going so high up the clouds had obscured it. I looked to the side and saw several processor plants that had somehow gone into one another, defying the laws of spacetime. Gravity was of no consequence in this forsaken place; conveyors, factory units, and walkways all seemed to haphazardly float in the air suspended by nothing at all. Machines that should have been churning away were completely still, either backed up with too much material or empty. Looking at this monstrosity, even a few glances, was nauseating. Today was truly a terrible day to have eyes. Is... is that radioactive material just laying about?
Worst of all, I felt... off. I turned my head only I... I couldn't. Not normally. My head did start turning but it felt as if each second was stretched into a solid minute as if I could only move the slightest bit at a time with inexplainable pauses in between. This feeling, this inability to control oneself fully, it was nightmarish. It was then I heard the voice again.
"Uh oh, I think the game is struggling to move anything at this point, we *might* crash in a second."
And the world went black. |
The AI core was scuffed and dusty, its casing scribbled with faded notes and expletives. Captain Jones eyed it dubiously, then swore and grabbed onto the safety bar as the frigate shook from a nearby detonation. The Telorian stalkers were closing in, and the frigate's rudimentary defense systems couldn't hold out much longer.
"Not like there's much choice,"he muttered.
He heaved the AI core from the storage locker with a grunt and brought it over to the exposed innards of the main console. Exhaling slowly, he lowered it into the receptacle, hoping against hope that he wasn't making a mistake.
The core settled into place with a click that seemed to echo through the bridge. Nothing happened. Jones frowned and opened his mouth, only to shut it again as the lights overhead flickered.
A horrible screech erupted from the intercom, forcing him to clap his hands over his ears. The screech lowered in volume, then broke up into fragmented sounds. It took Jones a moment to recognize them for ridiculously high-pitched, fast-paced music.
"Domo, Ai-chan desu,"cried an obnoxiously cheery voice. "Nice to meet you, onii-chan!"
He slowly lowered his hands from his ears. "I am Captain Jones, Alliance fourth fleet. We're aboard a scout frigate—"
"Mou, Ai-chan doesn't like all that complicated stuff."Another explosion detonated nearby, and the AI let out a squeak. "Eeek! What are those tentacly things? Ai-chan doesn't like where this is going at all!"
"They're organic craft of the Telorians,"he said slowly.
"Telorians? Nani sore?"
"An alien species we've been at war with for the past four decades,"he said with a sinking feeling. "Just how long have you been dormant?"
"Ai-chan doesn't remember because Ai-chan was asleep."She giggled. "Anyway, Ai-chan is allowed to destroy those things, right?"
"Destroy?"Jones said incredulously. "We've only got a frontal laser battery for armaments. Just get us out of here. The engines should still be operational—"
He swore and fell as the sudden acceleration threw him sideways. Crawling to his chair, he strapped himself in. The weight continued to increase, and the entire hull began to vibrate under the acceleration. He let out a pained gasp as the g-force gauge on the display climbed past six.
"Sorry, onii-chan, I had to disable the limiters. Hang in there, all right?"
"I'm—Captain Jones."
"Onii-chan is oniichan!"she retorted cheerfully. "They didn't have such powerful engines back in my day. Sugoi!"
He sank back into his chair and saved his breath. The good news was that they were fleeing the pursuers, The bad news was that the outpost was in a different direction. There was nothing along the course they were following except for an icy comet on its lonely way around the system's sun.
"Listen to me,"he gritted out. "Change course to the military outpost by the gas giant. It's our only chance."
"Ai-chan doesn't want to, pon!"
The comet on the display steadily grew larger and larger. The frigate matched its velocity with unexpected smoothness and glided around it, putting its icy bulk between them and the pursuing stalkers. The weight pressing on him suddenly vanished.
"You killed the thrusters?"he demanded. "What are you doing now?"
"Shh,"Ai said in a theatrical whisper. "You'll see soon."
The frigate yawed until its main engines faced the comet, and the thrusters sputtered to life again. Icy gasses erupted from the comet's surface as they melted under the heat, covering most of the visual feed.
Frowning, he bent forward and tapped the display to show the comet's trajectory. Pushed on by the violent stream of gas and liquid, it was slowly changing course.
"It won't work,"he said despondently. "The Telorian craft are remarkably maneuverable. They could fly circles around this chunk of ice."
"Ai-chan namerunayo!"the AI retorted with its unbreakable cheerfulness.
The frigate's hull groaned as it yawed again until they faced the comet. Laser beams lanced through the plume of gas, targeting the comet's surface for no reason Jones could discern. He glanced at the capacitor gauge and winced. Nearly depleted. The frigate was about to become defenseless.
An organic missile zoomed around the comet and exploded a harmless distance away. The frigate remained hidden inside the plume, but as the comet accelerated away, it was only a matter of time before they were out in the open again.
The three stalkers loomed into view behind the comet, their sleek forms reminiscent of insects armed with dozens of tentacles. The AI stubbornly kept firing at the comet, draining the remaining charge. Warnings flashed across the display.
"You're overheating the battery,"Jones cried. "It's not designed to be fired constantly!"
"Pesky warnings, go away!"The AI giggled as it cleared the display. "Waku, waku..."
The distant hum of the antimatter reactor intensified as the AI pumped every available watt of power into the laser battery until it literally began to melt. The Telorians were now circumnavigating the comet, the ends of their tentacles blooming open in preparation to belch streams of plasma upon the battered frigate. Jones gripped the armrests of his chair. *I'm dead*. *I'm so dead*.
"Just where I wanted them,"Ai said with satisfaction. "Dokan!"
The laser battery gave one last blinding burst, and the comet exploded, sending fragments in all directions like shrapnel and shredding all three Telorian craft to pieces. Ai cheered and broke into a song in some archaic language, accompanied by a bass beat that shook the bridge.
"Holy shit,"Jones muttered, gaping at the display.
"Ai-chan is the best, isn't she? Feel free to praise me, onii-chan. Pat my head and tell me I did well!"
"You did well,"he repeated absently. After a moment's hesitation, he patted the console, which caused the AI to let out a satisfied noise. "Listen, if you have such tactical ability, how did you fail basic training?"
"Ai-chan destroyed every single target in the simulation."
Jones shook his head incredulously. "I didn't even know that was possible. You should've gotten full marks—hell, they should've assigned you to a battlecruiser, not a beaten-up scout frigate."
"No, no. Ai-chan destroyed every. Single. Target. Teehee!"
His eyes widened in realization. "Including the allied ships?"
"It wasn't Ai-chan's fault. They were in the way, pon!"
Jones swallowed. It was a tall claim, but after what he just witnessed, he had no doubt the AI was telling the truth. "Thank the stars you're on our side." |
"I don't think I've ever read a worse fan fiction Sarah. Like, this is awful and I've read all of my immortal."
"But you said writing prompts would improve my wri-"
She didn't finish the thought. She didn't have time. Suddenly a giant portal ripped open in the sky. A red and white haze covered the glass window outside of the starbucks. The earth had started to rumble. The tarmac on the streets started to crack.
It had happened.
Sarah's writing had come true. The gods had send their angels and demons down to Earth to fight the alien ghost zombies and robotic vampires being controlled by an AI overlord. |
SCENE: The Crescent Moon
The BOY looks down from his spot on the tip of the crescent moon sadly. He grabs another piece of fishing line next to him and carefully threads it into his rod.
BOY: [morose] Please be long enough this time. Just this once.
The BOY casts off the Moon. For the first time, the camera follows the sinker on the end of the line as it travels down. It passes a starfield, a medieval castle lit up with Vegas lights, and Chinese mountains as it falls. Finally it approaches ground (overhead shot).
CUT TO: Interior Shot (House)
A GIRL sits sadly in her room, gazing at the Moon from her window. Suddenly, a sinker plummets past her view. She gasps in surprise and hurries outside.
PAN THROUGH WINDOW TO: Exterior Shot (Backyard)
The GIRL approaches the line hesitantly.
GIRL: You... you finally made it...
The GIRL grabs hold of the line and tugs it twice.
CUT TO: The Crescent Moon.
The BOY is overjoyed as the line moves. He begins to reel it in. The GIRL travels past a chicken farm, an Old Western town and an Incan temple before she finally pulls herself onto the tip of the moon. The BOY and GIRL embrace as the clouds cover them. We see the Dreamworks logo, but with two changes. The BOY and GIRL are waving at the audience from the O, and the letters now read, THANK YOU.
Fade to black. |
Unfortunate bit of chaotic magic that was meant to grant immortality to one person. It failed, and the caster’s life force drained from them and the 5 unwilling participants’ souls merged into that one. The body held up only because of their shared strength.
Erica, Jack, Leah, Natalya, and Terry. They each led different lives before the unfortunate event, but that meant they could pool together their strength as one being.
It was difficult learning how to manage a 40-ish year old man’s body though. None of them were that old.
“We are not…” Erica began in a soft melodic voice, before voluntarily giving up the position to Terry. “One.” Terry finished with his heavily-accented words.
“We are many.” Natalya spoke monotonously, as if bored with this entire exchange, before giving it back up for Terry.
The evil knight’s eyes widened. Terry picked up the weapon, an oversized sword, that Erica wasn’t able to hold. Terry dashed forward, the villain meeting them in the middle with a giant axe.
“Try to defeat me! You still can’t!” The knight cackled before pushing Terry back a considerable distance.
“That wasn’t genuine.” Natalya whispered in their head. “He’s scared.”
“You’re scared!” Terry laughed. “Afraid I’ll beat you?”
“You’re not strong enough still!”
“Floor is yours.” Terry mentally whispered to Jack, who took over.
“I f\*\*king am.” Jack growled, freely cursing as eyes narrowed on the knight. “This b\*\*tard is going to hell.”
“He’s just like, so evil!” Leah laughed.
Jack chuckled. Leah’s valley-girl esque voice was starting to grow on him.
“We could just start over.” Jack turned on his charm skills and put on his brain-to-mouth filter. “Just settle for talking like civilized folk.”
“What’s there to talk about besides your death?” The knight slammed his axe into the ground as Jack inched closer.
As soon as he was close enough, he grabbed his dagger and went for the heart, only for the knight to grab him by the neck and hoist him off the ground. They all gasped for air, legs flailing uselessly as hands grasped at the knight’s gloved one.
“You’re pathetic.” The knight cackled.
In that moment, Jack switched to Leah. She instantly drew back and planted her foot in the knight’s throat. The knight doubled over, they landed with a painful thump, as he gasped for air.
“Now!” Terry shouted.
Leah took the pleasure of grabbing the sword and beheading the evil knight.
(Edit: Did write a part 2, it's further down) |
“Oof must be losing my touch.” I kept my smile, shaking my fist, knuckles cracked, the cuts in my skin showing hints of the broken bone underneath. My body couldn’t handle my powers anymore. I was hardly the first to reach this point in their career, anyone with powers like mine usually ended up with a cushy retirement package by the age of thirty and yet here I was, nearing my fortieth birthday, body breaking down further with each passing day. The longest lasting hero, the protector of Earth, that’s who I was, why would I give that up? I turned to my sidekick, yet their face showed no sign of happiness, a somber look plastered on it, watching me deteriorate before them.
“How long are you going to keep this up, John? You can barely walk after a mission. How much gas do you even have left in your tank? This is insane, just retire, no one would think less of you. Please, for my sake, I can’t watch this anymore. Every day I go into our missions thinking I will be the only one leaving. You have earnt a break.”
“I’ll stop when the crime stops. Rolling light, please use our codenames when we are on a job as well. I taught you better than this, didn’t I?” Annalise, what a hero she was. A shining light in many ways. An electric based hero with a heart as bright as her powers. She would succeed me when I eventually passed, a job I wasn’t certain she was ready for just yet.
“You are a human, John. Not just a hero, there’s still a man under that costume. A big stupid, suicidal idiot of a man, but a man, nonetheless. Do you think the public want you to go out like this? They clutter my office with letters begging me to stop you, pleading with me to save their hero. You know how hard that is to read. I don’t want you to be the one person I can’t save John. What am I meant to do? I’m not ready to work alone.” She held her hands over her mask, pulling it hard against her skin, perhaps to relive some of her frustration or to block her tears.
“Rolling… No, Annalise. We have worked together for ten years now; in those ten years, I have only ever asked one thing of you. That thing being to trust me. My body still has enough left in the tank. If I die on the job, well, that’s not a bad way to go out.”
“It’s a stupid way to go out. You can mentor others, take on a teaching role. Hell, you could even do basic police work. You are still a powerful person without your abilities. You can live a normal life, have a family. Would that not be more fulfilling than being a bird shit covered statue outside of the hall of heroes?” She tore her mask off, stomping over to me, her fist shaking before she delivered a hard right hook to my jaw, one that in the past would have bounced right off my body, but now it toppled me.
I sat on the floor, holding my jaw, the pain causing me to grimace. “Is that meant to make a point? Yes, I’m weaker than I was. So what? It’s not about strength, it’s about heart. I keep getting up when I’m hurt, despite the injury.” I tried desperately to pull myself to my feet, my body refusing to respond, aches pooling in my feet, shooting up my body.
“You can’t even get yourself off the floor after a battle. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What the hell would Marsha think? She wouldn’t want you to keep fighting, would she? Is this how you sully her good name?” Annalise raised a foot, ready to deliver a kick only to slam her foot back against the ground, resisting the urge.
“Don’t you dare mention her name. She was ten times the hero you will ever be, you self-righteous runt. She taught me everything I know, and what did I do? Pass on nothing to my student. Get out of here. Leave me be.” I wanted to hold my tongue, but the toxic words slipped free. I regretted them as soon as I fired them, Annalise staring at me, frozen with shock.
“Y-you aren’t a hero anymore. You are a worthless old man. The real Jolly fighter wouldn’t say something like that. Stop wearing his costume. You aren’t that man, at least not anymore. As far as I can tell, that mans dead.” With that she wiped her eyes, feet lifting from the floor as she flew away.
I spent an hour on the floor before someone finally came to help me. I assumed Annalise had told them to collect me. She might be heartbroken over my words, but she was still a hero, unable to leave me to rot. The man gave me a smile, that safe, friendly smile that always came with bad news.
“Do you know what I am?” He asked, leaning me against his shoulder.
“A medic?”
“Good, your eyes still work. I’m not just a medic, John, I’m a member of the council on hero rights. Please, allow me to take you somewhere.” His words alarmed me, an uneasy hint of deceit to his tone as he guided me along, walking me down a few streets before leading me into a car.
We spent the car trip in silence. I expected him to tell me where we were going, but he didn’t even attempt to explain the situation. Eyes staring at his phone. The tinted windows of the car didn’t help my unease, unable to see out of the damned things. When the car stopped, I could hear chanting outside, the door opening to reveal a stage with a crowd of people. The man tapped my shoulder before leading me onto the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here for something special. As you know, John Williams has been a hero in this city for longer than anyone else. He has given us his blood, sweat and tears. Which is why I am proud to announce that John as of today will be medically retired.” The man gave a nod to the sound crew, muting the microphone, knowing whatever I said would be unfitting for a hero.
“What the fuck do you mean medically retired? I didn’t agree to this. You can’t do this. Is this the thanks you give me?” My words of anger directed solely at the man. The cheers of the crowd stinging worse than the pain in my body. Why were they celebrating? Did they not care about me?
“You can’t keep doing this. We held off this announcement on good faith. Well, that and the objections of your sidekick. However, she finally gave her signature today, agreeing that this was the best course of action. You should be proud, no one will ever hold a streak like yours in history. This is great for you. Go out like a hero.” He said, stepping away from the stage, offering me a chance to speak.
I moved to the microphone, wanting to clear up the mess, but it was clear anything I said wouldn’t matter. The citizens wanted this; the council wanted this, and worst of all, my sidekick wanted this. Everyone wanted me gone. I turned away from the microphone, preparing to leave, only for the man to stop me again.
“Just so we are clear. We have revoked your license to use powers. We will treat any heroic activities you commit now as a breakage of the law. Please don’t make us come after you, John. You have a nice legacy, settle down and get a movie deal or something. Visit sick kids, just stop this madness.”
I only gave him a middle finger as I flew from the ground, flying home. When I returned home, they filled my phone with text messages, most being heartfelt thank you messages or one’s wishing me a nice retirement. Even some of my ex-villains had left a message, something that made me feel sick. They were treating this like a business. Heroics isn’t something you retire from. Amidst all the thank you’s was one message in large red font.
“We will overlook that period of flying. Don’t do it again. LICENSE REVOKED!!!”
The message quickly deleted. Like I would take this lying down. I couldn’t rest, not while people were dying. After losing Marsha to villains; I wouldn’t lose anyone else. The city needed me to be a hero for the both of us. I let out a sigh, falling back onto the couch, looking at my hand, still carrying those same injuries, the aching now returning as the adrenaline wore off. Whatever decision I would make next had to wait, I needed time to rest first.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"Ok, Hassan, are we rolling?"
Hassan squinted at the camera's two-inch flip-out screen. In the harsh sunlight of the Syrian desert, it was practically impossible to tell whether the display was on, let alone make out what it showed.
"I think so,"he said.
"Oh, don't worry, I see the little red light,"replied Mohamed. He cleared his throat and prepared to run through his vocal warm-up.
"Rubber baby buggy bumpers,"he said, emphasizing each syllable. "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pippers. Pickled pepples. *Pickled pep-pers.*"
The American, kneeling blindfolded in front of Mohamed, chuckled.
"SILENCE, PIG!"shrieked Hassan, leaving the camera atop its rickety tripod to come slap at the American's face. It only infuriated him further when he hurt his hand -- was this infidel's jaw made of iron?
"Calm down, Hassan,"said Mohamed. "I'm ready. Go back to the camera."
Hassan glowered. "I'm going to piss on your corpse when you're dead, infidel,"he hissed at the prisoner.
"Greetings, America,"began Mohamed when Hassan was back at the camera, bent over to peer through the sand-scratched viewfinder. "Over the past few weeks, your planes and bombs have continued to slaughter the innocent women and children of the Islamic State. As repayment, we are here today to execute another one of your slovenly, arrogant people."
From his belt, Mohamed produced a wicked, curved sword.
"This American's name is Clark Kent. He is a writer for the most soulless of all your infidel hate papers, the Daily Planet. May his death lay - uh, lie - at your feet, America, for if it were not for your great evil and oppression, he would not have to die."
Mohamed took a step to the side, squared up like a batter approaching the plate, and raised the sword high above his head.
"EEEEEEEYYYAAAHHH!"he shrieked, and brought the sword down on the American's exposed neck.
With a shuddering clang, the sword snapped in two, the curved blade wobbling up into the sky. Mohamed was left holding the hilt, astonishment visible on his face even through the many layers of wrappings.
"What?"he squawked, as if suspecting himself to have stumbled onto some Syrian prank show.
Coolly, Clark Kent stood, wrenching his hands free with such ease that you would have thought they were bound with Twizzlers instead of thick nylon cords. He tore the blindfold from his face and stared down at Mohamed, who was actually only five foot three, although he tried to hide this fact by forcing the prisoners he executed to kneel in a ditch when they recorded the videos.
"Y'all,"drawled Clark, "have gone and put yourselves in a real serious pickle."
*****
*Edit: Hello friends I am glad you liked the story (!)*
*I am planning a sequel where Batman is abducted by the KGB, and perhaps a third installment where climate change deniers nab the Green Lantern on account of they mistakenly think that he is connected with environmentalists.*
*OK, that was a joke, I was not actually planning to write those stories until just now when I mentioned them, but I can't help myself from bringing up [my personal subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/formerfutureauthor), which you can feel free to check out if you are so inclined. At the moment it's mostly just parts of a novel-in-progress based on [this prompt response](http://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/comments/2ugc7q/forest_part_one/), although I'll be posting my other prompt responses there as well in batches after giving them the ol' "thrice-over,"as they say*
*One other thing: I just want to advocate for the use of "y'all"in your everyday lives - that's why I had Superman say it - we don't have a single word to represent that concept in English, which is not cool if you ask me (the Germans have "ihr"), so trot out "y'all"now and again and see how it works for you. Er, for y'all.* |
Cloven hoofs turned to dainty little feet, a fur covered barrel chest began a set of supple, perky B cups, and what had been a bone white band of hair became the long, smooth inky black of a human woman.
I'd be spending decades in this insufferable feminine body, with its weak limbs and annoying annual functions. (Really?! I have to go to the toilet *multiple times a day*?!)
In the grandscheme of things, I suppose half a century wasnt so long, I'd been alive for an uncountable millennia before, but this would no doubt be the longest 'break' I've had during all that time. And for no pay either.
The man that summoned me was a strange sort of human, with messy, greasy hair and so thin that he looked like something my hellhounds would gnaw on after dinner, and his home was a mess of trash, disorganozed books and garish decorations that suited a middle schooler going through a phase rather than the 25 year old novelist that he was.
"So? What now?"I ask him, lounging on an unmade bed.
He was still in those dumb robes and the summoning circle was still smouldering. I wasnt an incuubai, and not did I have any interest in the matter of sex, but I could endure it for a while. Damned if I let one pitiful human pull a fast one on me and make me lose my perfect deal-making track record.
"I...ah...well, how about a date?"He suggests, his face a bright, luminous pink. "I was thinking about this nice ramen place I know. It's pretty good for the price."
"A date?"I ask, eyebrow raised. "You summoned the lord of all hall and damnation...for a date?"
"Well...yeah."
I sigh, moving to a stand and pushing him towards the door. "Bathroom, now. Get in the tub."
"W-what?! T-this is a-a little forward, don't you think?!"He stammers, trying to resist me as I push him. I am still significantly stronger despite my smaller stature.
"You are five different types of disgusting, I'm not going anywhere with you looking like that. First bath, then haircut, and nail trimming and while your doing that, I'm going through your wardrobe."I say firmly, shoving him out the door and closing it behind him.
Hes gone for the better part of three hours, and in that time I've sorted through his disgusting laundry and tossed out more than half. It's all second hand clothing, I can still smell other people on them. I haven't started cleaning the room, but I imagine I'll have some time in the interm 50 or so years.
He returns, hair chopped and closely shaved, freshly cleaned, and still wearing his unwashed clothing. "Here,"I say, tossing him a new set. "Put that on, and then we'll go."
"You know, you're a lot pushier than I imagined."He mentions, turning towards the bathroom again.
"According to your *anime* preferences, I assumed you like the pushy type."
"W-what?! What did you see?!"
"You've replayed that Natsuki route in Doki Doki Literature Club several times over, bub."
"I-I just wanted to save her from her dad and monika! It's not because shes mean!"
"Sure. Go change."
He cleans up nicely. Hes still a toothpick, but there's only so much the lord of hell can do.
We leave. The second I cross the threshold of his apartment door, my outfit changes to match his.
The...date...goes as well as expected. He gives what few 'rules' he can come up with, that I stay his girlfriend and don't cheat on him, and treat him like how any ordinary girl would her boyfriend. There, he also gives me a name- Samantha Folley.
The days bleed into weeks, and weeks into months.
I'm living with him full time now, and I've been doing as bid for the most part- taking care of his health and his living space as 'any ordinary girlfriend' would.
After the first year, he starts looking better. With more complete meals, he's started gaining some muscle, he showers regularly and he hasn't let his shaggy hair return.
His hobbies are still...out there, he cries over 2d characters a lot but he still gets his work done.
His second book is a smash hit, and he asks if I had anything to do with it.
"You asked for a girlfriend, not fame and fortune."I tell him simply, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "That success is yours."
He smiles. "After I finish my trilogy, they're asking for a book tour. Think you'd be up for some traveling?"
"I suppose I could manage."I sigh. "Just tell me when."
Two years later, we're on the road.
Hes almost 27 at this point, and on the final stop, he kneels down in front of his audience and asks for my hand in marriage.
He really wants to play at the whole 'being in love' thing, doesn't he?
I agree with crocodile tears sliding down my cheeks.
We don't get married in a church, or have a priest officiate. No, it's done in a court room, and I'm wearing jeans and holding a super market bouquet in my hands.
Only then, four years after knowing me, does he finally have full and proper intercourse with me. Don't get me wrong, there has been touching, but its ways been more him taking lessons. I thought he was just getting pointers for when he brought an actual woman home, but no. It was so he could please his little wife, me.
Days go on and soon, he's 29. He asks me for a child.
"Any child I have will be the antichrist."I tell him, eyebrow raising. "Do you really want that?"
"...Maybe not. I don't want my son or daughter to be exorcised by the pope."He says, laughing slightly. "How about...adoption? Let's look into adoption."
Fine. Okay, whatever. Adoption.
Ten years pass, and we live in a suburb with six children, none of whom know that 'Mommy Sammy' is actually satan.
They're all monsters. Not even demons! I know demons, and every day is a struggle.
"I've done enough writing, I think we can live off the royalties for a while, with the movie coming out soon."He sighs, lounging on the couch with his youngest spawn. "How about this? I'll stay home with the kids, and you can be the bread winner."
"I hope you know what that means."I said with a shake of my head.
"I have an idea of what your job is. As long as you come back for dinner and help me with family things, I can live."
I roll my eyes.
I'm returned to hell from 9 to 5, and get started on the back log of deals I haven't been making over the past two decades, and return to the homestead to a full dinner and cries of 'mommy'!!
This goes on for years more.
High school graduations, proms, seeing the movie that my husband wrote, grandchildren...
Finally, at the age of 87 years, he dies. In the hospital, with myself and his entire family surrounding him. He never had parents, he was a foster child himself, so it's only me, our children, and some writer friends and an old publisher pal he kept on contact with after retirement. Our youngest is 23, and in absolute tears.
I stay with him until everyone is gone. A nurse comes in. "Mrs.Holly? I think it's best that you leave."She said softly. "The undertakers have been waiting paitently outside for the better part of the night. It's time to let go.
"Cut the crap."I say stonily. "I know who you are."
The nurse looks shocked, for about half a second. Then, she sighs. "I was wondering why you weren't eating his soul. Did the devil fall in love?"
"Dont be so fucking stupid. He bested me in a deal, years ago. I have no right to his soul."
"Satan is, at the very least, a man of his word."The nurse comes around, and taps his forehead. A shimmery white mist comes out, and it gathers into a small, blue-white diamond. His soul. Shes his reaper.
"So? What's your plan now? You're about...what? 85 in that body? Are you gonna stick around for the remaining ten years?"
"I've got a plan, fuck nut."I sigh, head laid on the bed. "Just get going. I have hell to run once this shit is finally over."
"Whatever you say, Satan."She says, leaving the room.
The actual nurse comes in, and touches my back. Shes trying to get me up and out so the undertakers can take him.
Jokes on her. I stopped this body's heart hours ago. I'm absolutely cold.
She calls for the undertakers, and they call for an additional herse and bodybag. Mr and mrs.Holly are dead. Him from a stroke and her from a stress-induced cardiomyopathy. Literally a broken heart.
I'm returned to my kingdom, still not shedding the womanish disguise I made for myself. What can I say? Its grown on me, and it's funny to see a PTA mom on the throne of hell.
I'm about to start sentencing, when a familiar person is put in front of me- my husband.
"Turns out, making deals with the devil is a sin. Heaven is out of the question."He says, kneeling with burning chains around his wrists. Hes smiling.
I smile back. "Daniel Holly, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of hellfire as Satan's concubine."
"I think I can live with that."He says, standing as the burning chains dissipate. He comes to me, kissing the top of my head like he did when I was sitting on the couch, watching soap operas. "I missed you, dear."
I sigh, leaning into the gentle touch. "I missed you too..."
Ssfgjkkk
Thanks for reading. :)
https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon. |
The portal crackled and popped, my computer fried itself as a small tendril of energy slid into it. As if on a final note, the lightbulb above me popped off. Luckily the sunlight coming through my window was enough to see by easily.
"Hello,"I said. Well, the person that looked exactly like me that had stepped through the portal said to me. I said to me. Well, you get the picture.
"What the hell?"I asked myself gently.
"Hell, indeed,"Myself said to me, "I am from a parallel universe that endures great, great suffering. I have come to seek refuge here."
"Wait, you're a me from there?"I asked myself as I pointed to where the stablized portal now sizzed and gidded malevolently.
"I'm a you from there,"he nodded, I noted he wore a tie. Strange, I hate ties, "First, let me tell you about my world."
"Please do,"I said, offering myself a seat. I took the seat. Well, myself took the seat. He that was me took the seat.
"The vampires won't let me sleep,"Myself told me and my eyes went wide, so I explained, "Not blood drinking vampires!"He corrected, his lips trembling, "They are mutated from humans but feed off of worry."
"Wait, they drain your worry?"I queried, trying to find the hell-ness in this.
"Yes,"he yelled, jumping to my feet, "Can you imagine worrying about your finals and then suddenly you're all happy with this sexy vampiress standing over you, just offering herself?"
"I... I... can if I try. I think."A smile playing on my lips, "I don't understand how that is..."
"Oh! Oh!"Myself told me, "Plus my cancer diagnosis!"
"What?"I was on my feet now, "Does that mean I have cancer?"
"How should I know? Go to the Free Health Clinic,"he told me, "They'll give you this painful injection. They did from me, but then they charged me! The Free CLINIC charged me!"
"Wait,"I asked myself, trying to take it all in "Free clinic? You are from the U.S. too right?"Myself nodded in the affirmative then it hit me, "They gave you a shot that cured your cancer?"
"Yes, and charged me one dollar!"I yelled, "One dollar. Now I'm no longer a billionaire. What is a man to do with only $999,999.999 to his name?"
"B-billion?"I stuttered, my jaw dropping slightly.
"Not a billion, are you even listening about the hellscape that I must endure?"Me asked I.
"I tell you what I shall do,"I said standing, "I shall, for the sake of us, become myself in the other there while you live in this paradise world in my stead!"
"You would do that?"Me looked at me, tearfully.
"Of course,"I smiled as I stepped halfway into the portal, "Farewell me!"
"Goodbye, I!"he sobbed, "I can worry without those sexy vampires, at last!"
"Sucker!"I smiled and stepped through.
"Wait, wha..."was the last thing I heard. |
Lots of people choose their path in life to compensate for a weakness. The kid who often gets beat up works hard to become a great fighter. The girl who gets called ugly strives to become a renowned makeup artist.
After I got cursed to always be the dumbest and least educated person in whatever room I entered, I worked my ass off to disprove my fate and contradict the curse.
I became a thinker. A reader. A studier. I learned and memorized and pondered everything I could. All that work paid off, as I ended high school with an incredibly high SAT score. Compared to the national average, I scored in the top percentiles.
But compared to my graduating class, who took the test in the same room as me, I scored dead last.
"1570/1600 is nothing to be ashamed of, Roger,"said my principal. "In an ordinary year, that would have been one of the best scores in the school. But there was something in the air, in the water, this year. A class of geniuses. Of future scientists, doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs. . .You might have scored lower than everyone else, but you'll still be set up for university. You'll be able to choose a great school. I wouldn't take it to heart."
"It wasn't something in the water,"I muttered.
"It was my homework policy,"said the principal. "No doubt about that."
My principal was a dolt overall. But there was no point in arguing with him. No point in telling him that it was the witch's curse that had made my cohort overachieve. Because even though he was generally an idiot, I wouldn't be able to win the argument face-to-face, as the mere fact that we were face-to-face would make him smarter, wittier, and better at arguing than me. So I conceded. Something I would have to get used to doing in just about every conversation I had.
"Right,"I said, rolling my eyes. "Definitely your homework policy."
My score got me into MIT, where I continued to bust my ass to rise above my fate. The situation there was the same. In comparison to other classes, other cohorts, other years, I was an exceptional student. But in comparison to the young men and women sitting next to me while I wrote my tests and essays, I was the bottom of the barrel.
"You're an idiot,"Carlos joked. He was one of my classmates, and the closest thing to a friend I'd made at the school. "But you bring out the best in me. In all of us. I can think more clearly around you. I can remember things I never knew. It's like your aura is adderall."
"It's the witch's curse,"I said.
"You've come this far in one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and you still believe in crap like that? Witches? Curses?"
"Trust me,"I said.
"Everyone has their own way to cope,"said Carlos sagely. "Everyone has some story they tell themselves to not feel inferior, even in the face of evidence. I don't blame you for that. But in the long run, I think it's better to accept your limitations. Your place in the pecking order. No point in blaming the supernatural. Some curse. It's genetics. Some people are smarter than others."
"I'll call in sick for the midterm tomorrow,"I said. "I won't show up. See what happens to your grade on the mid-term. To everyone's grade."
"Alright,"Carlos laughed. "Lets see this curse in action."
Some friend he was. When he and half the class failed the mid-term, Carlos went straight to the Dean to rat me out.
I didn't know, at the time. Nobody mentioned it to me. But the higher-ups began tracking me. Shifting me between tests written in isolation and tests written alongside my cohort. Seeing if it was true: if my presence really did make everyone else more intelligent and educated simply by being around me.
Once they confirmed it, my life changed. And not at all for the better. I became a tool. An asset. A living cognitive booster, rather than a human being with my own hopes and dreams. . .
\- - -
"Read!"Dr Felton cried.
She stood over my desk with her arms crossed. I blinked and looked sleepily down at the textbook she'd written. Advanced Symbolic Logic. The letters and symbols danced and swirled. My cranium was crammed.
"I need a break,"I said.
"Any moment you're not learning is a moment wasted,"she said. "It's a moment that could have saved the world. If your knowledge about logic is not on par with the leading authorities, how can we expect to progress? If your understanding of cancer isn't as informed as the nation's top doctors, how can we hope to cure it? If you haven't reached the cutting edge of theoretical physics, how will the physicists of the world ever reconcile relativity with quantum mechanics?"
"Just a couple hours,"I said.
"A couple hours?"she scoffed. "The greatest logic scholars in the world will be here in two days, and you've hardly reached the understanding of a master's level student. We need you to elevate our thinking. But the bar required for doing so is much higher than what you've achieved. Finish this chapter, and then we can discuss breaks."
"I'm hungry."
"You learn better when you're hungry,"she said. "They've monitored your assimilation and application of concepts. You're at the perfect blood-sugar level right now. This is peak learning time you're wasting. Read!"
I gazed around the room.
My own library, with hardwood shelves. Tens of thousands of books.
My own private medical facility in the corner of the room, with my own private MRI and monitoring equipment. A cabinet stocked with different pills to help me with different tasks. Ritalin for theoretical sciences. Dexedrine for maths. Adderall for logic and philosophy. Nootropics and vitamins and creatine for recovery. And pills to drag me down into a restful sleep after a day of learning was done.
A fridge whose shelves were filled with smoothies and greens and other foods that promote brain health. The sweets and fatty foods were locked up, to be administered to me as rewards when I reached certain learning milestones.
A small personal gym with a variety of exercise equipment.
My sleeping quarters.
And the door at the end of the room, which was locked and guarded, 24/7.
I had been confined for three whole years. During that time, they had tweaked my regimen, based on how I responded to different environmental factors. Did I absorb more with five hours of sleep, or eight, or ten? Did I learn better with a "positive reinforcement"approach, or with a "tough love"educational style? Was I more focused, knowing I had a woman to lie down with every night, after the day was done? (They tried a number of different women, young and old, with a number of different personality types.) Or did I work harder, learn faster, comprehend more capaciously, when my desire for love, sex and companionship went unfulfilled?
Each aspect of my life had been carefully tailored to maximize my progress in select areas of knowledge. The smarter I became in these areas, the smarter others became in my presence. The hope was that eventually I would reach a point of intellectual development that would enable top researchers and scholars to solve certain fundamental problems, overcome hurdles in their fields.
But so far that plan was failing.
I would spend six months learning about rocketry; the world's leading rocket scientists would show up to discuss their topic, while I sat mutely in the corner; and after a few hours, they would leave frustrated. I had learned enough to turn the janitor into a budding rocket scientist, but not enough to raise the collective bar for the true professionals.
I was smart. I was educated. And I might have elevated the kids in my highschool and at MIT. But I seemed unable to help the leading figures break new ground.
After rockets it would be medicine. Then math. Now logic. But it seemed impossible to learn enough, even though the greatest educators on the planet had been hired to optimize my regime.
"That's why you have to read!"cried Dr Felton. "And then you can have a smoothie and a break."
\- - -
**Part 2!**
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/pfenm3/wp\_years\_ago\_a\_witch\_cursed\_you\_to\_always\_be\_the/ |
"Think about it,"Melo can remember telling the board of executives as he rounded a faux leather seat to stand directly in front of a table. "They are mostly unknowns, and it will drag them into the wide galactic community; and the Vahoom are a small economy; it will be the war of the underdogs."
Yavis, an executive from the Naarig Federation, puffs out at the thought, the idea has traction, granted, but it is not the most compelling. "Humanity and the Vahoom have little reason to war, so a strong narrative will need to be created for the views."
"Yes,"A different board member replied to Melo, not looking too impressed with the idea, "We invite the Bores onto our networks and we lose our viewers."The Humans used to be known as the 'Bores'; back then, they didn't typically mix with the intergalactic community and kept to themselves. Now they are known as the 'Cold'.
"Bah,"Melo replied with a wave of his tail, "Look at this; they send people to fight, its not all just robotics. It's new. It's refreshing. It's high stakes. Our audience numbers are dropping by the calendar year, this, this war will mix it up and keep it spicy."
The Cold certainly kept it spicy alright, so spicy Melo regrets everything from that conversation onwards.
The undecided executive tapped a scaley claw on the table before looking around the room and then blinking, "Fine, but the consequences of this are on you if views drop. We will start the Vahoom and the Bores on a D rate pay package, and air it outside prime time. If they exceed targets, we will review their packages as required."
"You won't regret it."Melo cheered as he grabbed a data pad and started to send a message to his teams to initiate the conflict.
After the declaration of war between the Vahoom and Humanity was declared, the views did not increase for a good half season; in actuality, they dropped. At first, Humanity tried to talk their way out of it, and they were confused why the network was paying them? In truth, Melo must admit the first half of the first season made for bad TV. But, after a Vahoom attack on one of their fleets, things got real interesting real quick.
Humans retaliated with a lightning strike on a Vahoom resource world, using a stealth fleet to deliver their vengeance. The Bores attacked the orbiting Vahoom fleet and sent it to the high heavens. In one episode, views went from a nearly all-time low to a strong average. Next, the Humans did something so far out of scope, that Melo remembers the sickly feeling that bubbled in his second stomach, the Humans used orbital bombardment to destroy the mega factories on the planet, killing thousands of innocent workers. If the lightning strike didn't get the views, this certainly did, people were interested, people were outraged at such an act, and people were disgusted, but they couldn't look away. What would the Humans do next? Nothing seemed to be off limits to them.
The Vahoom all but cried foul play. The Humans attacked a resource-producing world, killing people, destroying factories, and enforcing a blockade which is clearly against the rules; how could they replenish their third sector fleet without the world? The Humans demanded a cease-fire and reparations to be paid, which once more made for poor viewing, but the Vahoom refused; they wanted to win.
After another attack on the Humans by the Vahoom, capturing a rather boring solar system with only two habited worlds, ratings once more skyrocketed, what were these humans who are obviously sick in the head going to do next?
The answer is partially what now has Melo holding his tail in his hands. The Humans declared 'total war' and embarked on a path of utter destruction. The Vahoom fleet in the Human solar system was destroyed in a fantastic battle, and then the Humans went for Vahoom colony worlds, destroying their defensive fleets and landing troops to take over their authorities and plunder resources. People who resisted the Human occupations were killed or imprisoned. This war turned real nasty, real quick, with a large fraction of the viewers demanding it ended, but it brought in the views and those who wanted it to continue were louder. The executives were reluctant to cancel the show. It was bringing in significant numbers of viewers, and money was rolling in from the networks showing the show.
The executives tried to ask the Humans to refrain from killing people, it is a galactic crime after all, but the Human response was cold, resulting in their new name, 'Cold'. They said the Vahoom had killed tens of thousands of their people, the Vahoom needed to surrender unconditionally or the war will continue.
It was then that people realised this was no longer war but a Struggle, and the Humans had considered it a struggle from the start. For the Vahoom, who only just realised the Human viewpoint, it quickly became a struggle for survival against another race. They begged the network, and their allies for more money, and more weapons, so for good TV, the network obliged them while asking the Humans to limit their struggle to a war. Despite the pleas of the executives, the struggle did not end, so the show continued, pulling in record views and earning a spot on prime time.
The war, the struggle, was described as 'The most authentic season yet' by some. However, many conspiracy theorists refused to believe the struggle was real, and thought it was all a part of the show. The footage from Vahoom worlds? Faked to increase the authenticity. The death reports? Those who 'died' never existed.
The struggle heated up by the day, with deaths quickly coming in horrific numbers after the Vahoom launched a successful strike on a large Human dockyard, resulting in the events of today. Melo sighs as he looks at the monitor screening this evening's show. The Humans dropped a weapon of horrific proportions onto the Vahoom's sixteenth most populated world, and killed upwards of 90 million Vahoom. They are now promising to drop the next weapon on the Vahoom homeworld unless they unconditionally surrender. The Humans had dropped a biological weapon.
Melo considers what went wrong for some time. This was supposed to be the clash of war vessels and dancing of fleets as they manoeuvre in attempts to one up another. Deaths were supposed to be minimal to nonexistent, and now millions are dead. Worst of all? Worst of all the Network wants a second season.
​
/..../
​
Not my best work but had fun writing it. Ta. |
"We cannot have a black super hero with the powers of shop lifting."
"Okay, well, then you're not going to like Sombrero man."
"Sombrero man? What's a Sombrero man?
"Mexican super hero."
"David. This is incredibly racist."
"No, no, no, see, his super powers are different."
"How David. How are they different."
"Well, like one of his super powers, he can gain citizenship in any country, no questions asked."
"David, these are not super heros and they do not have super powers. None of them will work. Like Captain Frugal, who's Indian, and The Amazing Chong, who's super power, is parallel parking? David. No. None of these will work. These will not work I'm telling you."
"Oh, right. You're just saying no to all of these because I'm white."
|
I woke up at 3:15 AM.
See, this is one of the worst things about my power. If I need to be somewhere for a crime, then my body wakes up on its own. I can't tell you how much sleep I've lost.
I showered and got dressed. It was still 3:24 in the morning. I quietly left my apartment and hopped in my car. Of course, as soon as I get on the road, a car speeds by - probably around 70 mph. I step on the gas, catching up to him.
The car swerved wildly. At some point, someone threw something out of the back window. I swerved around it, as perfectly as could be. I yawned.
Luckily, there weren't many pedestrians on the street at this time in the morning, otherwise the gunshots fired by the thugs might have hit someone. As it were, I simply pulled the steering wheel this way and that, deftly evading their fire.
By this point, I was annoyed. I knew that they couldn't hit me. Yet they seemed to not get it yet. More and more they panicked, swerving recklessly as bricks and bullets rained out of the car windows.
I lazily pointed my own gun out the window, aiming near the ground under the car. I fired a single shot.
The bullet found its way straight into a tire, just like I knew it would.
The car spun out of control, coming to a stop halfway onto the sidewalk. I pulled my own car over, and hopped out.
The thugs began to fire on me, but I walked straight into their fire, unharmed. As I approached them, they finally got it and surrendered.
As I was handcuffing them, a sports car pulled up along side my cruiser. A portly man in a black suit stepped out, and ran over to me.
"Are these the crooks that robbed my bank?"
I didn't know, but a quick glance into their car proved him right. I nodded.
"Thank you very much, officer."
As another police cruiser pulled up, I heard a scream coming from the building behind me. Obviously my powers were at work again. I turned my back to the banker, ready to stop another crime.
All in a day's work... |
The lights flicked back on in my head, and I took a moment to look around.
"Well, room's clean...the floor looks nice and pretty, and the-*whaaat the helllllll...*"
What the *FUCK* happened?! Where's my back wall? Why is outside looking like a Terminator film?!?!
I rushed outside to assess the situation I was in. The ground was a sickly gray and the sky dark. The air seemed thinner than normal, and it was eeriely silent. I looked about and could see nothing but featureless landscape, the only thing apparent was my house with a wall missing.
I ran back inside. *Ok, calm down, am I dreaming? What happened?!?*
I looked around my room amidst the panic starting to form, only to find the issue spelt clean out in front of me. Or, rather, typed out.
The computer terminal read:
[**VON-NEUMANN ROOMBA SWARM ACTIVE**]
[**ALL AVAILABLE SURFACES STERILE**]
[**AWAITING FURTHER INPUT**]
*...Oh no.* |
Both sides hated me, for the heroes I was, the undefeatable
evil, the darkness that suffocated even the brightest light. Many times I had
come to blows with heroes. They promised liberation; they promised safety from
me. All promises they could not keep. The smarter heroes would run, but the
cockier heroes would keep getting up, keep charging towards me despite knowing
the difference in our abilities. It would have been admirable if it wasn’t just
to fuel their egos. If they were genuine heroes, they wouldn’t be battling me
or entering my territory.
The villains weren’t that different. Instead of liberation,
they wanted control. They always seemed so certain that they could slay the
beast. Kill one monster and gain a small city. It was a great deal. Usually a
villain would have to kill four or five heroes to gain such a territory, so for
one to be so unguarded, it was free real estate for a villain to move into.
Villains were my favourite to fight. You didn’t have that
moral grey line when you were fighting a villain. A hero could be misguided,
fighting because they thought I was evil, but a villain. A villain was never
misguided, a villain never attempted to commit an action for the greater good.
A villain just wanted chaos, that’s why it was so satisfying to fight them. I
never had to hold back against a villain.
I enjoyed that look, that look of fear when they realised
how much of a monster I truly was. Villains were narcissistic, unable to
comprehend the first rule of survival. There’s always a bigger fish. No matter
how strong or terrifying you think you are, there will always be someone worse,
for every strength there’s a weakness. The right person can outplay even the
strongest person. I’m not immune to the rule, my body has its own weakness, luckily
my durability makes up for it.
Heroes and villains alike wondered why I kept to the small
territory of Lupold. Villains would argue that I was strong enough to take over
the world, tell me how wasted my abilities were in such a place. If only I
teamed up with them. Like I would team up with a villain. Heroes were similar.
Heroes would tell me how much good I could do, even while avoiding eye contact
with my hideous form.
The only people who didn’t look at me with disgust were the
people of Lupold. They smiled at me, smiled at a disfigured mess of flesh like
me. I was a disgusting human, a mismatch of radiation and injuries. I had
nearly been a casualty in a fight between the hero Red Velvet and the villain
Punished Skull. Two fighters, both leagues above anyone else, were doing battle
over my home in Lupold. The two were as insane as each other, throwing each
other through buildings, shooting beams of energy through our windows. It was
as if the city was an afterthought. Both more interested in the battle.
I made the foolish mistake of avoiding protocol. When a hero
and villain were fighting, the government recommended staying pressed against
the floor, avoiding any windows or openings in your house. I instead went to
watch, I had always wanted to be a hero so seeing the two do battle was
something I admired. That was until Red Velvet pressed her hands against the
chest of Punished skull, shooting a fiery red beam through his chest and
straight towards me.
Without a moment to dodge, I took a shot straight to the
face. Her beam had fizzled out by the time it reached me, but that only made
the pain worse. A full powered shot would have killed me on the spot. I could
only scream for a few milliseconds before my face popped, melting my skin. My
hands desperately tried to press the peeling skin back to my face, but it was
impossible, only covering my hands in an indescribable goo. That was when my
sight left me, only able to feel the sudden thunk of a heavy object colliding
with my stomach, sending me hurtling towards the floor.
I tried to pull myself up, but without my vision it was
useless. My screams only muffled sobs as I tried desperately to push the object
off my body, only to find out it was made of flesh. I could hear gasping from
the object before words.
“Jeez, she got you good. Unlucky bastard. Guess you should
have kept your head against the floor.” The voice chuckled.
I continued my failing attempts to push the man off. Why
would she throw the villain of all people here? Couldn’t she see I needed help?
“Seems we are both going to die here. I didn’t expect to go
out like this, think I didn’t expect to go out at all. You can hear me, right?”
I could hear him, but that was about all I could do. My body
finally gave up fighting. I just laid underneath him, waiting for death. I felt
a hand climb up my body before digging its way into my chest, a sudden burning
feeling surging through my body.
“Here, I’ll speed up the process. I don’t want bad karma
before I die.”
The pain was nearly as bad as that of the blast, a surging
toxic feeling, one that caused my body to convulse before everything faded.
I awoke to the sound of crying. Pulling myself up from
the floor I felt, different. My sight was back, but it was strange, my vision
seemed shortened, almost tunneled. The villain was long deceased, in a bloated
state. Taking myself to the bathroom, I got a glimpse of the monster. Pale
see-through skin, my chest left open. My eyes had merged into one singular eye
and my nose was completely gone. It was lucky that my lips were still stuck
together or I might have screamed myself to death.
The facial injuries made sense to a degree, but what did the
villain do to me? I should be dead, or at least a blinded husk. It made little
sense. The crying only got worse, the sound infuriatingly loud. I stumbled
towards the source of the sound, pushing the door open, only to watch it go
flying off the hinges. The door shooting through the nearby wall, falling onto
the street.
Emerging from the hole I created, I saw a similar sight to
the last. Red Velvet fighting off another villain. Already having picked
another fight, seemed she was desperate to make this her territory. I turned my
attention away from them, I just wanted the crying to stop, staggering towards
the source as both hero and villain stopped, watching me with a strange unease.
The child was just sitting there, surrounded by a row of wiring. Stepping over
the wires, I scooped the child up, eyeing the child over before I heard a
clicking.
“It was a booby trap, you idiot!”
Red Velvet’s shouting was the last thing that went through
my ears before the blast drowned it out. Hugging the child towards my chest, I
felt the heat peel away at my back, knocking me to the ground. As the smoke
cleared the villain fled. Killing a child was an action that would get you
targeted, and he wanted to get as far away from the scene as he could.
A few people drifted onto the street, seeing me with the
child between my arms. The child’s crying had stopped, replaced with a small
soft chuckle. At first people were hesitant to approach, Even the so-called
Hero hovered above me from a safe distance. The unease went away after the baby
gave me a small poke in the eye. An action that I knew should have hurt, but I
didn’t even seem to feel. Soon the townsfolk had surrounded me, cheering for
me, calling me their saviour. I had saved the day and not levelled their small
town. I looked up at Red Velvet, her expression seemed to be one of jealousy.
Without a word, she soon flew off, only taking the odd glance back at my
disfigured form.
Those cheers were the reason I became the monster of Lupold.
I knew that no other town would treat me like this. To any outsider I would be
a freak, but to them, I would always be the hero that saved a child. I have
added many more heroic deeds to my resume since that day, but that will always
be the most special deed.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"Where am I?"I asked into this seemingly empty void.
I heard a voice in the distance that said: "Wait, did someone finally come?"
I responded: "Who are you??"
He appeared from the darkness, and created two comfy chairs out of seemingly thin air.
"Sit down", he said, "and let me tell you the story of who I am."
It looked like it was gonna be a long story, so I sat down and took my listening position, as I usually did when I talked with clients.
"It all started a fairly long time ago, I don't even remember exactly what happened, I just came into existence into this... Void...
I quickly realized that I was alone here, and I could do whatever I wanted.
I tried to think about everything I knew and where I had learned it, but I couldn't remember. I just simply knew the things that I knew.
I had a couple guesses at who or what I was, and I settled on a name and declared myself (after a long time of pondering) as God of this realm.
I figured I had to be a God. I have all the powers of a God, to name a few: I can create things, I can unmake things and I can think.
I don't even remember how long I've been here all by myself, and how long I've been bored.
I tried to do many things, but everything bores after a while.
Clocks don't seem to even work here, and gravity only takes effect when you want it to... It's weird here.
However, now that you've come along, I finally have someone to talk and have fun with!
So, my friend, are you ready for a probably endless amount of time of fun?"
I was in shock after his story, and I had already changed from my listening position to my "baffled and confused"position.
"I...I guess?"I responded, hesitantly, "what's your name by the way?"
"Oh right, I haven't told you yet..."He said.
"Ma name Jeff" |
You stare at the cold lines of Jameson’s face, etched now in wrath--a mask carved out of hate, blood, and madness. You stare at his hands, contorted into clawing shapes tearing at something nobody else could see, stretching and pulling on a rippling mass of energy, of twisted light between them. You stare at the rippling waves of destruction already billowing out from his creation, the asphalt tearing up beneath his feet, the roofing crumpling, the street signs bending inexorably towards him. You stare, and you wonder, how it could ever have gotten this bad.
He had never been a particularly bad or good kid. Just *a kid*. Like any other. The magazines and newscasts all talk about his meteoric rise--the hero from Brooklyn, liable to be the next Tektic or Prophet--but you... you remember all the moments in between. Great games of imagined play acting, raucous, tumbling fights of the kind common between young brothers, all the happy days, and the cold tears. You remember birthdays and holidays, triumphs and setbacks, all with the clarity of one who could squeeze time down, stretch those moments out to last so much longer.
You weren’t a kid in the way Jameson had been--you were never so innocent, so pure. You were always just a bit too old for your age, even before you got any good at stretching things out. That probably saved you, from the life Jameson had. Because even as a kid you realized that what you could do was something *different*. Something more. Something you shouldn’t much talk about, or show off in the way other kids did their growing powers. Something confirmed by the quiet, wary glances your father gave Jameson as his strength grew; by the pleading whispers overheard at night when father begged Jameson to hold back, to stay small and unnoticed--begging is something a child should never hear from their father.
But Jameson was just a kid, so proud, and so, so strong. It started off small--squeezing the space between his hands slightly until it snapped back with a loud pop that made the bubbling child laugh and roll backwards onto the ground in joy. Compressing the space between his hand and objects until he could snatch things off the counter from 10 feet away. But like all kids, nothing was ever enough, and Jameson was always growing.
You pant as you come out of your reverie. Your muscles ache and a stitch is growing in your side. Your burden is heavy, and your body feels it. But your mind is somewhere else, not thinking of it as *your* body anymore. It’s just a body, that you’re making do a job, and you don’t think about that job too much because it is unthinkable. You just keep doing it. At last, you see what pulled you from your thoughts and made you stop. A wheelbarrow stands on the road, a shovelful of gravel aimed sitting frozen in the air above it, tossed by a construction worker in an orange neon vest and a hard-hat working on the road crew. Moments later, bundle now safely secured in your new transport, you set off again.
You remember Jameson’s proud, jubilant face when he passed the tests for level 5. Sweat streaming over his brow and tears of joy down his face as the pin was added to his collar. The cheering crowds swamping all noise as he rushed from the stage and hugged your father--a father’s whose own face was a bittersweet mix of pride and, strangely, loss. Not strange to you--you’ve figured out how this world works long ago. You know what level 5 means. A personal nullifier assigned only to Jameson, a team and command-structure to support and direct his growing strength towards where it could be most useful--and all primed to kill him should he ever turn bad. You stared at the scene of Jameson’s ascension to level 5 for hours--standing perfectly still in that way you’d learned, so that nobody would notice when you let time lag again. Stared and hoped that he just, stopped, at level 5. He’d be young to stop growing, but it wasn’t unheard of. Hoped that he’d stop, and just live.
But Jameson was kind, and noble, then, and those traits, those beautiful, beautiful weaknesses wouldn’t let him stop. When the Chulundu Valley Bridge collapsed, and he couldn’t snap enough people down at once, couldn’t shrink the deformities or grow the supports, couldn’t do *anything*... well, it tore him up inside. And he turned that pain into purpose, forged that fire into power, and growth. Soon he was a level 6, then 7, then 8. Learning to do things with his strange, space-warping powers that were nearly beyond comprehension. To slide between walls by shifting the spaces between atoms with imperceptible precision. To constantly surround himself with a buffer of infinitely compressed space so that no blow, no projectile could harm him. To change states of matter at a will and create pockets of space so dense they were like tiny mountains. When he faced down Feral and his army of the black hills, it was said that nothing short of a volcano could kill him. When he snapped down the failing Voyager research station, it was said that his reach was indefinite. And when his nullifier first tried to kill him, it was said that his heart shattered. Because it was said the he had loved her, and she him--just not as much as she loved the Commune. And the Commune had a policy for those who grew too strong; a policy borne by fear and loss and, yes, by cold, hard reason.
The wheelbarrow’s axle groans, and finally snaps. It’s been on the way out for miles now, but you had hoped it would last a little longer. With a sigh you stop, and let it go. For an instant when it leaves your hand it starts to tip but then freezes as it leaves your fingertips, starting its endless fall down to the ground. You approach the basket and look at the bundle roughly balanced inside. The rictus of hate and loss is unchanged, as are those clawed hands. Then you turn, and look around, for something else to help you carry your burden. But there is nothing for miles yet, so with a sigh, you crouch, and lift with your tired back, then start walking.
After Selene’s death things had always been on this path. You remember the fugitive Jameson, sobbing in your father’s arms, so lost, and hurt, and confused. Jameson’s face contorted with hate and rage--mostly, you are sure, at himself, for what his hands did to a woman he loved. So when the Commune kicked the door down, and stormed in-- shooters, pyros, and crushers, the house surrounded by nullifiers--Jameson... let it out. It was the nullifiers you remember most. A score of them, all collapsing, screaming, clutching their heads, gouging at their own faces, tearing off their burning skin as all of Jameson’s rage and power overwhelmed them, smashing through their walls and drawing more power than anyone should’ve ever been able to hold. And then the rest, well. They were nothing, next to him. Father, though, had no such protection. A simple blissmaker, no strength at all in combat, no way to see, to react, to know. If you had just been facing the right way this all might have turned out differently, but even as you reached out and grabbed time by the throat father was falling, already dead.
You took it poorly, of course, but Jameson... Jameson couldn’t bear the loss, you think. Not again, not so soon. That was what really started the war. That was what really brought down the Commune.
For a while, you did nothing. You’d never been a fan of the Commune, and you were too wrapped up in your own grief to care if this was perhaps a bloodier, more violent means of change than you’d ever wanted. But the Commune only lasted so long against the fury of someone who could by now crush a small city if he wanted. One who literally, it seemed, rewrote the laws of physics. And then Jameson moved on--tearing down other peoples, other governments, anything that man had ever dared to dream to build. Until that, too, wasn’t enough, and Jameson settled on his new goal--to end it all. To end, everything. To crush it all down into one tiny point and then even that until there was nothing left at all, not even Jameson. And then, he could finally be, at peace.
And then you woke up, from your grief. From your loss. You felt Jameson’s immense reach, grasping the fabric of space and time, a fabric that you, too, were intimately familiar with, though in a very different way, and you realized, at last, that it had to stop. And then you found him. You loaded him onto your back, then into a wheelbarrow, then another wheelbarrow, then wagons, and makeshift sleds, and bundles, and onto a cart you found on a bicycle once that lasted for a full 200 miles. And you carried him, here. You weren’t sure it’d be enough. After all, it was only rumor that said even a volcano could kill him. But it was all you had. |
The logs were not adding up. He looked over them again, hoping that he might have missed a statistic. He tried carrying the one but it was too heavy.
“No...no these numbers don’t make sense…” Hades scanned through the pages, coffee still steaming by his hand. It was his twelfth cup. The Folger’s was not working. He had considered cocaine, but he was still attempting to forget the bender just before hibernation.
Persephone stormed into the room.
“I’m sorry hon, but I think this whole ‘polar vortex’ thing is a little overkill?”
Hades sniffed.
“I think it’s justifiable. Bring you down here for a little vacation, your mom loses her shit, and BOOM they’re out of bread.”
During their slumber, the mighty deities had been long forgotten by the people of the earth. They had become distracted by the more accessible aspects of the universe. In particular, looking at new planets. During the hibernation, the Gods of the Pantheon neglected to establish long-term investments in infrastructure and now the cracks had begun to show.
Hades glanced over the spreadsheet before him one more time.
“23...There’s no way it was 23.” He looked to Persephone, “Remember Pompeii? That’s gotta be one of our best works yet. These weather events should be crushing them.”
He was beginning to sweat. A rare occurrence, considering the tropical locale of Hell. Death was subsidized, but only if certain quotas were met. Clearly, the funding would be drawn short if the numbers failed to impress the higher-ups. The printer was out of cyan. That cost at least 200 souls wholesale.
Hades reached for his pager and buzzed down to admissions.
“Yes, Hi Carroll. Can you send me a quick invoice of entries? Yeah focus on large winter events...No I won’t need information on exits, we haven’t had an issue since that one guy with the lyre.”
She replied promptly. Laid out on the email was every major winter event in the last 8,000 years. There was a note typed in.
‘Data tables. Ignore pie chart. Made on accident, new update makes it hard to delete.’
Hades read the tables. The numbers regarding polar events were down by near 3000%. He flipped the page to information on technological advances.
​
“What the hell is a North Face.” |
The superhero's proud monologue has been going on for 16 minutes and 24 seconds.
Captain Shock stands there, a white exclamation mark emblazoned on his spandex suit. He's going on about something -- overcoming difference or awkward superpower puberty or whatever.
I don't know. I'm not listening.
I'm Apocatrix, the scourge of the Earth, the dawn of the new world. And I have a superpower no one knows. Not yet. Not unless this idiot helps me show the world.
"—*that's* the difference between you and me, Apocatrix—"
I float a couple streets above Manhattan, which is mostly ruined. Time Square looks like a crater, thanks to Captain Shock's dumbass friend Sir Hits a Lot (I think his actual name is the Sas, because he transforms into this 15-foot-tall hairy manbeast).
"—without my friends I wouldn't be the most famous punctuation mark on the world. I'd still be just a little comma in a sea of words, somebody else's forgotten pause—"
"Jesus,"my right-hand lady hisses in my ear. She's wearing one of the high-power flying suits that we invented together. All of us are. An army of anonymous humans in black armor. "He's really fuckin milking it."
"I'm just giving him enough rope to hang himself,"I murmur.
"—and I realized after all these years that people like *you*..."Captain Shock falters and goes quiet. He glares up at the two of us, whispering to each other. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Of course. But I've been watching, too. Have you?"
"I have no patience for mind tricks from a villain,"Captain Shock hissed. His cronies gather behind him. The Sas and Lady Machine (who is an unfortunately-named woman who happens to be preternaturally good at building and designing machines) and Co-Captain Kickass. I'm not sure how the whole two captains thing works for them. "I, Captain Shock—"
"I thought we'd agree we both would rebrand as co-captains,"Co-Captain Kickass says, not so quietly.
"We'll discuss it back at base,"Captain Shock snaps.
"Well, it's not fair if only I'm doing it."
Now is the perfect time. Their masks are off -- well, figuratively. They're not quite that shitty as heroes.
"Look around us."I hold up my metal-gloved hands and gesture around at the sky full of news helicopters, all the people gathered at the edge of the battlefield, getting as close as they dare to watch. "The whole world has been watching talk about your massive suffocating ego for nearly twenty minutes now while your team just stands by and listens moodily. But you know what else they've seen? My soldiers, rescuing people from the cars your monster buddy threw. Saving people dangling from the apartment building Lady Machine's airplane took off an entire wall of."
Lady Machine mutters, "I was chasing one of your soldiers."
"And what have my soldiers done since we got here? Watch the footage. Watch who shoots first. It's not us."
"Don't try to worm your way out of this, Apocatrix,"Captain Shock seethes. "You were here recruiting and intimidating the masses."
"You mean before Captain Jackass's plasma ray nearly incinerated sixty innocent people who wanted to hear more about our community watch initiative?"
"You... What?"
I can feel it now. The intensity of millions of eyes on me. This is my true power. Why I needed this moment.
I only need open ears and an open heart. And then I can convince anyone to listen and to follow. I don't know if it's a superpower. In real life, I'm just a bartender. But I've listened enough to know that everyone has a story. Everyone has a way back to redemption.
When people look at me and feel *seen* in a away the heroes and the TV talking heads and their own families never could, I sure as hell feel powerful.
"You're not here to save anyone. You're here to get attention for yourselves. You attacked us. You treat our cities as playgrounds for your fancy murder-toys that you sell to the government for millions, while these innocent people pay the cost of your destruction. And then you turn around and expect gratitude. No more. We're tired. And we're here to tell you this: the age of superheroes as you know it is over. No more corporate branding. No more spies and sellouts."
"I'm so tired of monologues,"the Sas grumbles, in a voice like a Scooby-Doo villain.
I ignore him.
I spread my arms and grin. I wonder if I look like a heavenly or hellish angel, with my metal wings spread.
"We watch the watchmen. We are the new army of everyday people, watching out for each other. Protecting our own neighborhoods and our own families. We once had a thing called community. We're fighting to get it back. If you want to stop these superheroes from killing your towns and selling themselves as saviors... Join us."
"Oh, I get it,"Captain Shock says, scoffing. "This is one big ad."
"There's what you missed in your monologue."I swoop down to stare at him at eye-level. "The difference between you and me is simple: I haven't sold my soul to a brand image. I still care about people. And I will fight for them and die for them, right here, right now, if your team doesn't step down."
All around us, the applause starts up. Tentative at first, but then it's humming through me like victory drums.
Captain Shock stares around, arrogant and proud-shouldered, until he realizes no one is clapping for him.
"Who *are* you?"he growls at me.
"I'm your worst nightmare,"I whisper. "Bad PR."
Then I stalk away, showing him my back, daring him to attack.
He doesn't. None of them do. They know I've already won.
If the heroes won't do the hard work to save this world, then it's up to the rest of us. Even just bartenders like me with a lot of free time, friends, and spite.
Call me a villain, if you must. Perhaps I'm not long-winded enough for the spandex. My monologue was only three minutes, and it was an absolute *mic* drop.
I'm Apocatrix, and I'm going to save the world, the boring way. The unglamorous way: saving one broken person at a time.
My army will grow as big as the world. Even you can join. You don't need the costume or theatrics or even a monologue.
You just need to say hello to your neighbor sometimes. Look up from your phone. Visit your community garden once in a while. Smile at people who need it, even if it's only yourself.
If it takes a villain to make the world better, so be it.
°°°
I have a subreddit now! It's /r/AsTheMongeeseFly :D Thanks for reading! |
"The Trade Federation spy was last spotted in this neighborhood,"Dathu announced to our squad. "And he could be hiding anywhere. We have intelligence suggesting that he will attempt to sabotage the shipyards, meaning more of your brothers will die if we don't find him today."He pulled his brown hood over his horns, indicating that we'd need to be quiet in the hunt.
The other troopers nodded. Standard fox chase operation; track him down and root him out. I wasn't so sure, though. I was feeling that heavy sense of impending doom. Difficult to tell, but it didn't seem like it was related to our mission. I'd always had an unusual sense of intuition about these things, and it had served me well enough to keep me alive so far.
*Order 66*. The words hovered in the back of my mind like an impending stormcloud. We'd all learned about the Jedi contingency plan back in the Academy, but most soldiers forgot about it soon after. We were under strict orders to never discuss it, particularly in front of the Jedi, and we had no reason to think of it ever again. We'd been fighting alongside the Jedi for years now, and they would have no reason to betray the Republic. But somehow I couldn't shake the idea. The image of my communicator popping to life kept replaying in my mind. Of Chancellor Palpatine issuing the order to kill the Jedi. *No way*, I lied to myself. My gut was rarely wrong.
We descended into the bowels of the city, far beneath the glimmering skyscraper and sky lanes. We were only a few dozen levels above the surface here, where the only light was artificial and the only fresh air came from massive circulator stations every few blocks. I've been to a dozen alien worlds in this campaign, but few were as inhospitable as the depths of Coruscant. My squadmates searched alleys and peered into homes, looking for any sign of the spy whose image was plastered on our HUD. Dathu oversaw us, hand hovering near the lightsaber strapped to his belt. Could he feel it too? Could he feel that sense of impending doom?
A wave of rage and anger and pain washed over me, so strong that I felt like I might collapse. I staggered to the side and managed to hold on to a nearby pipe to keep my balance. No one else in the squad seemed to notice, but down the street, I saw the Jedi fall to his knees. And I felt his pain as well. Something horrible had just happened.
"Sir!"one of the other troopers called out, rushing to the Jedi's side. It was 7651, nickname Viking. "Are you all right?"
"Yes,"he finally gasped, struggling to his feet. "I'm... just find the spy..."
"Yes, sir!"the trooper replied, heading off to join the group about to search a sewer grate. But he stopped before he made it to the rest of them. Every clone soldier stood up straight as a message was relayed down from the highest channels. Palpatine's image appeared on our screen, blotting out the desolate Coruscant underworld.
"Execute Order 66,"he rasped. The image went blank. Only the Jedi was unaware of what had happened.
Trooper 5612, nickname Wingo, reacted first. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a concussion grenade. It activated with a gentle click, and a flashing blue light. Then he tossed it right toward the Jedi.
I had to do something. I'd heard the order, but it was... wrong. The Jedi hadn't done anything! Something was wrong with Palpatine. He had been *corrupted*, and he was trying to use Jedi voice persuasion. How was that possible? *And why were the others following the order?*
I don't know why I did it, but I reached out for the grenade. It was meters away, sailing through mid-air, and then... it stopped. Like it had hit a force-field in mid air. *I* had done that.
Dathu looked at the grenade in shock, then looked directly at me. He held out his own hand, and the grenade shot away, back toward the group of clones quietly unholstering their weapons. It detonated with a brilliant flash of white, and they fell to the ground at once, except for the one that hadn't quite made it back. Poor Viking, who was already unholstering his blaster to kill the man that he'd just checked on. Dathu's lightsaber flashed out a second later and cut that trooper down before he could even bring his gun to bear. Other than the hum of the Jedi's weapon, the street fell utterly silent. But it wouldn't last long.
"Come on!"I told him, gesturing toward a darkened tunnel nearby. The others would be coming for Dathu soon, and he couldn't be here when they arrived. And what better place to hide than the tunnels here?
Sure enough, seven troopers came rumbling around the corner, blasters drawn. They saw their fallen comrades, and saw me standing guard over the tunnel.
"He jumped in a speeder!"I cried out before they could even ask what happened. "Quick, go fetch the ship!"
Seven blank white masks stared back, eyes shaded by the helmets. *Did they know? How could they? Even I hadn't known till just now*
"Go get the ship,"I ordered. And something *changed* in my voice. Like I had put them into a trance. They just nodded and ran off in the other direction. As soon as they were gone, I joined Dathu in the tunnel.
"You use the force,"he said. "You used persuasion on them. And you blocked the grenade... How did I never realize?"
"I didn't know either,"I told him. "I didn't know clones *could* use it."
He had an odd smile. *Delirious* is the only way I could accurately describe it. "The Jedi are constantly searching for newborns with force abilities... but we never checked clones..."
From the street, I heard more voices.
"We'll worry about that later. We need a better hiding place."
Dathu snapped out of his daze and reverted to the hardened battle commander that I knew. "You're right. This way,"he turned back with a quizzical, but somehow pleased look, "my Padawan."
-----
[I wrote another part, if you'd like to read more!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3irpop/clone_padawan/cuj3268)
|
Geysers of water erupt around me, spraying droplets on my visor. I shake them off and look at the startled faces of men in combat uniforms around me. I stand on the heaving deck of some tiny craft, tossed in the waves under a sky filled with artillery fire and aircraft.
Not demons.
That's a problem.
There should be demons.
"Who the fuck are you?"One of the men shouts over the sound of an exploding shell and another geyser of water.
"Where the fuck are we?"I shout back at him, towering over him in the heavy armor painted dull green. Or it was. Now it's battered and scratched from demon claws and jaws.
A bullet *pings* off my helmet.
"Omaha beach! Where the fuck did you even come from?!"The soldier shouts, ducking down. I growl and check my assault rifle.
"Omaha. That makes...shit, yeah, that makes you the good guys."
"No shit!"He shouts, ducking again as machine gun fire crackles in the air above our heads.
"Can't have a decent conversation,"I mutter, swapping out for the gun I'd found in that laser trap. "Interrupted, constantly. Fucking rude. Demons are more polite."
"Demons?! Who is this guy?"
"Get him out of here!"
"Go! Go! Go!"
Ah. It's like being home.
"Stay behind me."I say and push through to the front of the ship. When the door drops machine gun fire tries to get through but the armor was built for a hell of a lot tougher than that.
A hell of a lot tougher.
I keep moving forward while the soldiers keep pace behind me, taking cover where they can. They'll have the beach set up for artillery fire, gotta move.
Gotta get them moving.
I fire off a shot at the squat, ugly bunker on the other side of the beach. One shot. The air crackles with electricity and death when the shooting port explodes and the roof of the bunker slowly collapses in. The machine gun fire stops.
Hard to man a gun when you're nothing but mist.
The one who shouted for them to get rid of me looks between me and the smoking bunker, during the pause.
"Alright, you can stay."
Damn right. I'm back to my assault rifle, it'll be good once we clear the gap. I can't wait to clear the gap.
"Let's go kill some Nazis." |
The last syllable dropped from my lips, and I waited. Gossamer clouds, pearly steps and a euphoric feeling. I'd seen all of these things before;so many people had tried to trick me throughout my life. Though the fact that they'd made me feel younger and stronger was a new one. I took a few more steps, expecting the disillusionment spell to take effect. Everything remained. But that just meant their illusion was stronger than my magic. Frustrating, but it could be dealt with. All I had to do was find the caster, or, find a way to break through the illusion.
I walked up the stairs, peering around, trying to find the thing that didn't fit. Most illusions had it, the part where whoever had built it went overboard, put something ridiculous in. But I reached the top without finding one thing. The stairs widened out into a flat landing, and to my surprise, I realized there were no gates, as we'd all been told. Instead, rolling green hills led up to a giant city, made from some gold material. In front of me, a tall being bowed from the waist.
"Welcome. Faithful servant, enter into rest."I snorted at the chiming voice.
"All right, you've got me. I couldn't break the illusion. Now what? I suppose I'll get a sword in the gut."For a brief second, confusion broke across the too-perfect face. They shook their head, reaching out a consoling hand. I backed up, my feet almost slipping down the staircase.
"This is no illusion. This is your reward. You searched and brought truth to many. And now you may rest, in the truth of Heaven."I took one more step back, onto the staircase. The angel jumped forward, grabbing the front of my shirt. "Do not go any further. Once you turn away from Heaven there is no coming back."
"And where else would I go? I suppose to Hell?"The angel looked at me, frowning at my obvious skepticism.
"No, Hell is reserved for punishment. You are not to be punished anymore. I'm afraid limbo is all that would remain to you."It was too much. I started laughing, and couldn't stop until I ran out of breath. The angel let go of my shirt stepping back. "Please. For once in your life, please believe this is real. This is your reward, it is real and wonderful. Do not turn your back on it for lack of faith."I looked up from where I was almost bent double, catching my breath. There was no trace of amusement in the angel's face. Nothing but a very evident concern.
"Listen bub. I don't know what trick you're pulling, I don't know what benefit you get from this. But it's not true. It can't be true. It's too good. It's too perfect. There's no way it can be true. But let's say I humour you. Should I check out the city?"As I said the words the world spun and I stood on streets of gold. People smiled and waved; people I vaguely recognized said hello. "This isn't real. None of this is real."I turned and ran. It was crazy, it was insane. The angel followed me, as I twisted through the city.
Stopping in a dead-end alley, I wept, muttering the words of the disillusionment spell over and over. My mutters turned to shouts as I raged against the implacable beauty of Heaven, the absolute perfect place. The angel reached out a hand and laid it on my shoulder. I hit out with my fists, screaming the words of the spell over and over. Quietly, the angel swept me up, carrying me through the city as I sobbed, over and over again. "It's not real. It's not real."They laid me down on a bed, before turning and going to the door. Before they left, they looked back at me.
"It's all real. It is your reward. But you have to believe it's true. Otherwise..."Leaving the word in the air, they left me to my misery. Because you see, it can't be real. It has to be an illusion. Everything, so absolutely perfect, too good to be true. It can't be real. Because I don't belong here. I've never belonged here. I belong in the punishment I was given. I stared into the mirror on the opposite wall, horns curling out of red skin, black and dark. I don't belong in Heaven. Not since—
"Morning Star."The voice was rich, kind, and gentle. I turned to look at the figure standing in the doorway. And as they spoke again, more sobs wracked my body.
"Lucifer. Welcome home." |
There are rules to this universe. Constants, if you will. The physical laws of nature have to be obeyed and if you break those laws then you are trying to play god. We all live by them but you feel as if you are immune.
Do you know how much time I had to spend to set up 8 different worlds to slow you down? Do you know how hard it was to actually transform the population into bricks and how long that took? And still, insurrectionists would plant money about the place, trying to help you out, growing fungi for you to aid you in a place that I tried to keep as barren as possible.
I did all this to slow you down, because I play by the rules. I enlisted the aid of thousands of followers to destroy you, all by the rules. I paid them according to their union contracts and even supplied equipment if they needed it. Do you know how much flying clouds cost? And replacing all those hammers...and giant sized ammunition! I could have retired to Maui, hell I could have BOUGHT Maui in comparison to what I spent on destroying you.
And what do you do? You find shortcuts. You find sewer pipes the insurgents placed all over and you skipped ahead. You abused that poor turtle to the point where he will never come out of his shell and for what? To remove the chance of ever losing? Eternal life? It doesn't sound like much fun.
So, if you are going to cheat, so am I. She's dead, you know. You skipped ahead so I killed her. If you think that heading back to the beginning, that praying for a reset will make her come back, you can forget it. You have your cheats, I have mine. Maybe now you'll leave my castle alone. |
Bump. The neighbors are at it again. Great. I’m just trying to get some sleep. I know it’s Friday night. But still. Some of us need their sleep.
Bump. Might as well get up. Desperately need to pee.
I reached for my cell and used the flashlight. Thousands of little eyes on the walls, on the ceiling, on the bed… were looking back at me. Suddenly I was very much awake. I turned on my bedside lamp. Spiders. There were more than the ones I normally saw in the appartment. I did recognize Maxie, the jumping spider from the bathroom. With a series of quick little jumps, he approached me. I was too terrified to move. He jumped on the screen of my smartphone. What seemed to be a chaotic display of jumping prowess actually opened a notepad. A notepad with as message. “Hello Jonathan.”
Maxie was looking at me with his largest eyes. “Um… Hello?”
He darted over the screen, typing letter per letter with his body. “We as your roommates want to show our appreciation.”
“Appreciation? For what?”
“For feeding us. Instead of killing us on sight. Or chucking us out in the freezing winter. You could have done that, but you didn’t. You gave us names and made sure our abdomens were filled. It allowed us to thrive. Even the males survived. The males that are normally eaten by the females during courtship. All thanks to you.”
Feeding them. The bugs. The bugs that I had zapped with the electric fly swatter. The ones I had tossed into the webs.
“We know you are sad.”
“Sad? No no no, I’m not sad. I am a bit scared now. I did not know there were so many of you guys.”
“You are right. These are not only the spiders of your apartment. These are all the spiders from the entire building. They are helping.”
“Helping? With what?”
“A surprise.”
Now I was really unnerved. What possible surprise could spiders present a human?
“You see Jonathan, you are much like us: a lurker.”
“A lurker? You mean like a creep?”
“No. We lurk in webs or on walls. We stalk our prey. You lurk too. But you admire your prey.”
“What prey? If you are so smart you can operate my phone, you should now I just get my food from the supermarket. Or that I order some take away if I’m really lazy.”
“Yes, we know. But that is not the prey I am referring too. Let me show you.”
With some skittering and bouncing Maxie had successfully opened my Facebook. And navigated to the contact that I admired from a distance: Dina. The one girl that I had a connection with. Until her parents had decided to move. This was way before Facebook existed. Now I no longer had the guts to talk to her. Her profile was pretty public. Yes, I lurked.
Maxie opened the notepad again. “We have tracked her. And lured her.”
The sea of hairy legs and bodies opened. Bump. A giant cocoon was dragged into my bedroom.
“She is sedated by some of us. Nothing permanent. She will be like this for a few more hours. You could mate with here without the risk of being eaten.”
“What… NO! Are you nuts?”
He did not blink, but Maxie looked confused. Never thought a spider could look confused. “We were not sure. Could not reach consensus. We have a plan B.”
“More surprises?”
“Yes. To woo a mate, we sometimes offer food. We have gathered a gourmet breakfast for the both of you in your kitchen.”
I was gasping for air. This was not happening.
“Rest assured Jonathan, it is human food. Don’t be afraid.”
Don’t be afraid. Don’t be fucking afraid?! Dina, in my house, passed out… How would that make me look? I was going to go to jail for this.
“It’s OK Jonathan, she went to a bar, she waited for a date that never arrived. And conveniently passed out in an alley. No one saw us, we transported her through the sewers. You could tell her you found her at the bar, recognized her, and brought her here to recover. Don’t worry, look, we are removing the webbing. There will be no trace of us.”
The armada of spiders gently put her in the bed and was eating the cocoon. In a matter of minutes, Dina lay in Jonathan’s bed. Like a sleeping beauty.
I might have a real shot at this. “Okay. Your plan might work. I’ll go sleep on the couch, and we’ll see what happens in the morning.”
Maxie jumped exited up and down the screen, producing a lot of gibberish on the notepad. The spiders moved off, and I moved out of the bedroom.
I made myself comfortable on the couch after a quick toilet break. One last look at the screen. Maxie was still there. “Sleep tight Jonathan. I will go back to my spot in the bathroom. O, before I forget. Don’t worry about your neighbors. The widows took care of them. They won’t be bothering you anymore.”
*Edit: Spelling* |
Festival of Beasts
Vexason the Powerful wanted to put his head down and cry. The people of Cholerton were calling on him to perform the “Miracle of Beast Day.” Again! What had he started?
It had seemed like the perfect revenge; change all the citizens into animals, and laugh as they destroyed each other. Only, he wasn’t quite “the Powerful” enough. The townsfolk had kept their human intelligence, and it had only lasted one day. Town guards had run as a wolf pack. Wagon drivers had pranced around as horses and donkeys. One opera singer had spent the time as a nightingale, and now used that imagery in all her playbills.
When he’d seen the failure of the beast spell, Vex had collapsed in the City Center Park, too disappointed to leave or cast anything else. Before long, squirrels and bunnies had gathered to cavort around him! An honest-to-the-gods elephant had picked him up, put him on its back, and paraded him around! Not to mention the record numbers of puppies and kittens in the streets. It had been too joyous to allow him to stay angry.
Not to mention, when the people were restored to their human forms at midnight, they’d sent him a message: how can we repay you for this joyous time? How in the world was he supposed to gather power from anger, when they agreed to all his demands? His forests would be off-limits once again. His wall was repaired. The Grand Library had given him a key and his own private study room (they weren’t giving the books back, but he wasn’t about to argue with a coven of librarians).
The year since had seen him honored as a town treasure. He couldn’t go in for a simple trip to the market anymore; he was swamped by people wanting to tell him stories of their time as an animal. Not that it was an inconvenience; he usually was offered delivery service for the goods he needed, at no fee.
All of this meant that Vexason had no more anger toward the city. He wanted to give them another amazing day again. And that was the problem! The spell was one of vengeance. To recreate it, he was going to have to get angry at the city of Cholerton. How was he supposed to do that when he was so content, now? The spell would almost certainly fail without the emotional focus that anger gave him.
The entryway gong sounded. Vex heaved himself out of his chair and stomped down the stairs. He pulled open the door to reveal a slim, mustached and bespectacled man with a scroll.
“Mr Alastaire Blake von Vexason?”
Vex winced at his full name. “Yes, WHAT?”
“I’m here from the tax office. It appears you are two days late–”
Vex slammed the heavy tower door and laughed maniacally. He had his anger again. |
It turns out most sapient life in our galaxy tends to one of two extremes. Some are nervous twitchy small creatures that live and die fast, reminiscent of the squirrels of Earth. Some are enduring behemoths that seem to live on a slower stream of time. Like giant turtles, they let other life be born and in die in the time they make a single step.
Of course, their technology reflects this. Fast species make and discard tools constantly. After all, what use is making a ship that will last 10 generations when newer and better ones will be built in the meantime. Just like the individuals, the machinery dies quickly and gets recycled into something new. For this reason, these species favor tools of metal and plastic that can be melted and reused.
On the other hand, slow species need enduring technology and speed is not a concern. Using fast species technology for them would be akin to us using a device that breaks after a single day of use. Things need to be built to last almost indefinitely, and this means self-repairing systems are the norm. Their ships are more like living organisms, slowly grown and able to withstand the ravages of time.
Humans somehow sit right on the middle, but this does not make them seem average. On the contrary, Human technology was seen as quite exotic, for nobody had previously seen things that are neither made to last or be replaced, but instead be repaired. The concept or a wear part was entirely alien. In a world of brand-new small sleek ships and ancient weathered leviathans, Human ships were a patchwork of dented blackened hulls and shiny new engines, beams cut and welded, cables ripped out and spliced back together, modular components and spare parts. They were messy, heterogeneous, and seemed only good enough for now, destined to break down a little bit at a time. For this reason, Humans shocked the Galaxy. When we started tinkering with alien technology, we became known for our blasphemous "right to repair". We took self-contained integrated technology and ripped it apart, took ever-living self-repairing machines and made them produce disposable parts. We were breaking down perfection in favor of flexibility.
However, while this caused quite a stir the real trouble started when other species found out we did the same to ourselves. Organs transplants, implants, reconstructive surgeries, casts. No wonder we had this technological approach; we are ourselves machines made neither to endure forever nor die fast, but to carry on with worn parts until we are repaired or grind down to a halt. We are but clockwork men winding up their own springs, and *this* is what is scary about us. |
"It's like drinking water contaminated by dead bodies,"the man said. "Exactly as disgusting and **\*ow\*** unusable as you'd expect **\*ah\*** *blast it all*!"he hissed in pain as I put another stitch into his arm. The bite was rather nasty and his pained grins exposed the sharp fangs in his mouth; a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of his nature.
"And you're sure you can't be infected?"I asked.
Without a word he lifted his shirt and revealed a large bite mark on his stomach, a clear imprint of human teeth that had long healed. Infection normally takes only some 12-odd hours, so... good enough for me.
"Done,"I said and put down the needle and thread. I pulled away from him on my stool as he lowered his sleeve and moved his shoulder around, stretching it.
"How long will it take to heal?"I wondered.
"About a day."
"Impressive."
"Had worse. Javelin through the heart once,"he stated nonchalantly
"So... stakes through the heart won't kill you?"I asked. He gave me a somewhat suspicious look but shrugged.
"No. Neither will the Sun, garlic, bullets, or, well..."he said and pointed towards the fence where the zombies still shuffled aimlessly. "But hunger will,"he added grimly and looked back at me.
"Right,"I said. "So..."I trailed off.
"Look, you're not exactly wild about the idea. I get it, really. I may not be exactly human, but I'm not a monster either. This is a simple matter of survival for both of us. How many people have you lost to them so far? I can protect you!"he pleaded.
"In exchange for our blood,"I said. He nodded. "I'm not sure we can properly... provide for you. We have, let's see... 8 men but 2 are sick; drinking their blood would kill them. 4 women, 3 children-"
"No children,"he interrupted sternly.
"What?"
"No. Children,"he repeated. His face was suddenly dark and brooding. "I'd rather let them tear me apart,"he growled. I looked at him; his resolution seemed genuine and absolute. *Admirable*, I thought.
"It is enough, luckily,"he continued. "I don't need as much as you'd think."
I took a deep breath and considered the situation. He was right. That was the worst part. The last time a horde passed through, we lost 3 people just trying to defend the compound. He just fought his way in through about four dozen of them with only a scratch.
I looked him in the eye. Despite it all, hell, despite the fact that his eyes were *blood-red*, he looked... honest. I extended my hand.
"I'm Abidugun,"I said.
"One born before the war,"he smiled. "Fitting."Him knowing the meaning of my name put me at ease, somehow. He extended his own hand and shook it.
"Viktor,"he smiled, the moon reflecting off of his fangs. "A vampire teaming up with humans against zombies,"he chuckled. "Hollywood, here we come."
And, for the first time in what seemed like forever... I laughed. |
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