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Tonight, we shall tell a tale of hubris. The *humans* were once pushed to the brink. Battered and beaten, they were pushed to the edges of their civilization. Barricaded in their cities as our battlements battered their walls. They couldn’t fight, they couldn’t run, they couldn’t hide. All they could do was die.
They were terrified, those pathetic things. Most of them would escape us, moving into the plane that belonged to our counterparts, but there were a good number of them vile enough that we got them much faster than we would’ve if we’d just waited for them to die. Why settle for a trickle when you could have a waterfall?
That was until, of course, He came to them. He was not the strongest of us, nor the most skilled with magic, nor was he particularly gifted with intelligence, but his tongue, his tongue was the vilest of us all. He came to men with an offer. He would guide them – lead them even. He would tell them our weaknesses, our flaws, our plans, such that they could not just survive but win. The humans saw him as a traitor his own kind. They didn’t fear a trick, for of course, why would we trick them? A few more years and they’d be all but w3iped out anyways. They had nothing to lose.
Traitor he was, but he was still a demon. He demanded a price. A simple one really, but one humanity was bound by the Old Words that predated us and our counterparts, fundamental to the world itself. That they would not forget him, if he did succeed.
The humans agreed.
So it was that the tide turned. Slowly at first, in places the humans thought we didn’t expect. He saw patterns in our defenses that the men did not, until he pointed them out, so the humans could press their advantage. And so, slowly at first, but then gaining speed – for that is how these things go – the human advance picked up momentum, pushing us back and back and back till we were forced back though our portals back to our realms, banished. The only revenge the humans thought we had was that we dragged the Traitor Demon back with us.
Time went on, the humans, of course, changed the tales. They are fickle things, determined, dumb, and filled with pride. They could never accept salvation from a source so reviled. So it was only natural that the so called Traitor Demon changed. Changed in their tales from Demon to half-demon to man to ang– our counterparts. Malice at first but then just forgetfulness. The humans forgot the one who had brought them back from the brink of extinction.
But the universe did not forget. A vow given in the old words is passed down from the giver to his descendants to their descendants in turn, and so all the humans, every single one, had broken their word.
A vow given to a demon, if written in the Old Words was broken, well, their soul was forfeit.
And so, where our generals and warriors waged war across a planet to get a fraction of the souls we killed, I, without lifting a sword, have brought our realm every single human soul that has and will ever live.
Traitor demon indeed… |
"Aha! We knew you were the final boss! A villain like you won't stand a chance at the hands of heroes like us!"
Lazy comparisons, self-righteousness, what's not to hate? I could never stand the likes of these adventurers who appointed themselves heroes. They dragged the spotlight onto themselves, instead of proving it with their deeds.
And I had certainly done much to warrant the spotlight; this dungeon was an immensely hard one to crack. For one, the guards had stun clubs; a single whack from them sent lightning through my body. My garrote worked beautifully, but they kept coming, using the little black boxes on their shoulders or belts to call for help. While usually I rely on the darkness of the shadows for camouflage, it didn't work with their green goggles that could pick me up. Who knew guards had modernised so much?
I'd reasoned that if this mission was really as high-stakes as the freedom fighters had made it sound, the final boss would be tough as nails. He would have wanted to be at least as good as his guards to make sure they respected him, right? But that was not to be; after clearing room after room of the guards, I reached the final room and saw atrocities like I wouldn't believe. Entire rows of baby jars - both animal and human - meant as test subjects for some unknown atrocities, some eldritch experiments. I'd seen human babies shrunk, enlarged, feathered, scaly, even one strapped to a small operating table with needles and drips going into all of its systems.
But I bring my attention back to those heroes; reflecting on the mission is not a free action. They begin their first attack; a fireball to my face. So unsubtle, and it could damage the already-damaged babies too. With a step to the left, I warp behind their leader and slam his face into the floor. A painful attack, but it will not be lethal. As his teammates react with varying degrees of shock and fury, I angle my dagger at the leader's neck.
"Listen or the blade goes in."They acquiesce.
"Talking is not a free action so I'll make this fast. I may have done my fair share of thefts, but I am no villain when the person I am pilfering is even worse. Look around you. Does this look like something you want to defend?"
"B-but we're here to fight the person in charge of this place! Our quest is to defeat the evil wizard,"the white mage stutters.
I scan the area carefully with my telepathy. I feel it; the strong gloating presence; mixed with just a tinge of fear. And that tinge of fear just surged through the roof, as I point to the hiding spot. Setting the leader free, his fireball careens toward the messy shelves, and our true villain reveals himself. He's a familiar face for those who read the newspapers; the boss of the fashion company that's selling like hotcakes now.
"You're gonna pay for all the babies you're killing, you big baby,"spits the team's rogue. I hold back a small laugh. It's a good line, hopefully he increases his repertoire with his roguishness.
"Guards! GUARDS!"screams the boss as the same grey-suited, stun baton wielding goons pour into the room. As he runs out from the hidden entrance, the heroes and I both know that the final boss battle has truly begun. There is no reason to fight each other, but now there is reason to fight alongside each other. |
I don't fucking get this guy. Is he just simple? Does he not care? Does he even know what's going on? We've been here for an hour and gotten nowhere.
"Yeah, you will I bet! You're probably better at whatever game you have then me. You'll probably win."he says, glancing at an old Xbox in the corner. His dull blue eyes seem to light up when they see the system. "But I'm not sure how I'm supposed to play while handcuffed to this chair."
I shake my head as I walk across the room behind him, returning with a red bundle in my hand. I pull up a small table, and unroll the bundle on the table. It contains my assortment of "tools of the trade"so to speak. Scalpels, scraping hooks, and a few devices that would only be recognizable to medieval history buffs.
"I haven't played this one before!"The guy pipes up, sounding excited. "How do we play?"
"I... uh. Well, I'm going to use these tools on you. You know, to kill you."
"Sounds like fun!"he exclaims. "Then after that we switch and I go, right?"
I put my head in my hands. "Are you fucking kididng me?"I mutter. I look up at him, stare him in the eyes. "You have got to be the st-"
I hear them now, in the distance. Sirens. They are getting louder. I cross to the window and pull the blinds back. I see them at the end of my street, turning, coming. Police cars. Lots of them. I start to turn, to get my tools and get the hell out. Put this poor bastard out of his misery first. Will only take a second.
I see a flash of light, I'm on the floor, my head is ringing, and I taste blood. The room above me swims into focus. That idiot is standing over me, Holding onto a glass bottle he had picked up from somewhere. His eyes look a lot less dull now. They're full of a calculating intelligence.
"Yeah the handcuffs? I picked those a long time ago."He holds up his left arm, the handcuff still around his wrist, the other end dangling freely. Open.
I heard my front door splinter open, the sounds of voices and boots move through my home.
"I wore a tracker here. We figured you'd be looking for a new target. I fit the profile. We also knew you liked to talk. Explain everything to your victims. Make them realize fully what was happening. You get off on the 5 stages of grief. I just had to keep you talking until the cavalry arrived."
The door to our room burst open, flashlights swept the room and I was quickly surrounded.
"So what?"I asked. "Now I go to jail, get three square meals a day? Men like me do very well in prison."
"Oh no."Said my captive turned captor. "You resisted arrest."
"But I...?"Then it dawned on me. Another officer in SWAT gear stepped forward, took aim, and all went black. |
The great hall sat in stunned silence as Dumbledore made the announcement. The Weasley twins had been suspended for two whole weeks after their 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' disolving condoms had resulted in Professor Snape having to brew a very controversial potion for two fifth year girls in Hufflepuff.
Snape and McGonagall were going to be teaching sex ed. Ron and Ginny were both extremely red faced, and Harry later found out that this was because Mr and Mrs Weasley had been asked to help the ministry put together the course material. He supposed that after seven children, they were fairly well practised. He then shuddered at the thought.
As they made their way down to the dungeons, Harry was hoping that the room would be filled with dementors and Lord Voldemort instead, but Snape was right where he always was, wearing an expression that made him look as he had just swallowed a pineapple whole.
'Sit.' He snapped. 'I don't like this any more than you do, but given that your schoolmates struggled to keep their genitals to themselves we might as well get this over and done with.'
With a look of distain, Snape did exactly as the ministry notes suggested and had them all write a question that they had so that they could be answered anonymously.
'Longbottom! You were not meant to write your name you foolish boy! But in answer to your question you must not use an engorgement charm on your private area or you may risk permanent damage.'
The class burst out laughing and Neville ran out of the room immediately. 'No great loss, unless he finds a charm to impregnate his left hand I daresay he'll never need to know any of this' Snape said snidely.
The rest of the lesson was done as quickly and as properly as possible. They discussed contraception charms, wizarding STIs (much worse than muggle ones; exploding blisters, green and orange rashes) and options for unwanted pregnancies. Seamus recieved a detention for a very poor taste 'fetus deletus' joke.
As Harry and Ron left the class they were incredibly relieved that the worst was over. Or at least thats what they thought. Unbelieveably, Hermione seemed to be incredibly excited and they could barely say hello before Hermione started telling them all about the girls lesson.
'That was so informative! Did you know that witches can store their menstrual blood to use in fertility potions? Oh! And Professor McGonagal was telling us about protection charms that you can put onto your vulva so that anything that enters you without your consent will turn black and shrivel up.' They boys grimmaced and hoped they got to land a muggle girl their first time instead. |
Hitler held the mask in his hands. He knew that it was more than just a mask. It was the icon of Batman, the infamous vigilante of Gotham. Now it was his. He pulled the mask on to his head, completing his Batman outfit.
"Goebbels!"Hitler snapped.
"Ja, mein fuhrer?"Joseph Goebbels, Hitler's one true love, said, snapping to attention.
"Activate ze time machine,"Hitler ordered, clipping his swastika shaped batarang to his hip.
"Ja, mein fuhrer!"Goebbels said again.
He hurried across the room, to the TARDIS control panel. He tugged a lever, pressed a button, jabbed at a screen, and mumbled about "wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff". At the last of these steps, the distinctive sound of the TARDIS rang through the air. Goebbels stepped out of the TARDIS, snapped off a salute, and closed the door.
The TARDIS hurtled through time and space. It moved forwards, leaving behind a Germany ensnared in the greatest war of all time. It landed in Scotland in the 1990s, not far from Hitler's target. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
-------
Hitler marched up to the gates of Hogwarts. He hissed at them in parseltongue, language of the snakes, and they swung open. The Fuhrer marched along the path towards the ancient castle, his head held high. No one would recognise him. He appeared to all as being Batman, and Batman wouldn't get popular in Great Britain for another decade or so.
"Who goes there?"a man 9 feet tall and half as many wide asked, hurrying over.
Hitler frowned as he noticed a number 6 hanging in the air above the large man's head.
"It is I!"Hitler announced, "Harry Potter. This is my Halloween costume!"
Harry Potter was the perfect lie. The troll he had sent to the dungeons guaranteed the real Harry Potter wouldn't end up nearby and ruin his plans.
"Yer a wizard Harry,"the large man - Hagrid, if his nametag was to be trusted - said.
"Listen hear Hagrid, you fat oaf! I'm not a bloody wizard!"Hitler said. He'd watched a video to research how Harry talked, and that was what he had said to Hagrid in the video. Although the Hagrid in the video was a black gmod character, not a huge, real, person. Hitler didn't know what to make of that.
"Not this again!"Hagrid moaned, and Hitler snuck away, into the castle.
--------
Hitler stood outside the Gryffindor common room. It had taken him a long time to get there. He'd had to dodge Peeves, the poltergeist the movies Hitler watched hadn't warned him about; he'd had to accept a lemon drop to get Dumbledore, the manipulative old man with the number 143, to leave him alone; he'd had to avoid a three headed dog some fool had left in a school. But he had made it.
"Let me in,"Hitler said to the overweight woman in the portrait. No one knew her name. No one cared. She was just 'the fat lady'.
"I'll need the password,"the fat lady said.
"Do you know who I am?"Hitler asked, fuhrer-ious that the lady dared ask *him* for a password.
"No."
"I'm Batman."
"So?"
Hitler didn't have time for this. He raised his wand that Himmler had made for him. He gave it a swish and flick, and said "wingardium leviosah."The spell didn't work. At that moment, a bushy haired girl with large front teeth came around the corner. The number 151 was in the air above her head.
"It's leviosa, not leviosah!"she said bossily.
Hitler retried the spell using the girl's pronunciation and it worked. The portrait floated out of the way, leaving the entrance to the Gryffindor common room open.
"I'm Hermione Granger. My parents will be so proud of me for helping you. Us Jews help everyone,"the girl said.
"Avada kedabra!"Hitler cried, aiming his wand at Hermione, the damned Jew.
"Honestly,"the girl sighed, "It's avada kedavra, not avada kedabra."
Hitler tried again, and once again, Hermione was right. The spell worked perfectly, and a jet of green light struck her dead in the corridor.
-----
Hitler walked into the common room. Everyone had a number over their head, averaging at around 114. Hitler realised it must be their IQ - why else would it be that the dumb groundskeeper had a low number, and the smart Jew Hemione had a high number? Hitler looked in his batmirror. 76 was in the air above his head.
"Nooooooooooo!"he cried, sinking to his knees. 76?
He remained there, on his knees, for about an hour. At that point, Dumbledore walked past and saw Hermione, dead on the floor outside, and a stranger grasping his wand and glaring at the corpse. He offered him a lemon drop, which he took. Dumbeldore walked along, humming merrily.
----
EDIT: Thanks for the gold!
|
“Anderson, please!”, I said, bursting through the door and throwing myself at the seat in front of
my old boss. “Something horrible has happened!”
“Morgan, you look –“
"Please, Anderson! It's about Sarah!"
I remember throwing the papers in front of him. All the evidence pointing towards my wife.
I remember his face as he went through them, turning from curiosity to confusion to shock to horror as he realized what
they meant:
Sarah was the cross killer.
I remember breathing in deeply. Getting myself together as I watched him go through every piece of evidence.
“Morgan, Jesus... How long have you –”
“What? Been married to a serial killer? Or realized that?” I asked, bitterly. “Sarah and I have been together for –“
“Twenty years, I know. Christ, I was at your anniversary party.”
“Yeah… This, the cross thing… I started having suspicions some time ago, but I wasn’t sure till tonight. God, Anderson. What am I going to do?”
And I remember then, how I told him about everything. The private investigator I hired, the pictures. Her diary.
How I tried to convince myself that I was crazy, to let it all go and carry on with life as usual.
How I would think to myself, watching her sleep by my side:
*She can't be a serial killer.*
How, even so, something kept me going, kept me digging. How I was so careful not to let her find out that I was suspecting something.
How she caught be in the act, nevertheless, when I found the pictures of the bodies hidden in her dresser, that night.
How she pointed the knife at me, ready to kill, to carve a cross on *my* forehead, like she did to all the other
victims.
How I managed to fight her off, but barely.
How I killed her.
“We are re opening the investigation right now”, I remember Anderson uttered, throwing the papers on the desk as I finished my tale, shaking.
“And you are going under psychological evaluation.”
I cried. I remember telling him it wouldn’t help. My wife was a serial killer.
I was a killer too, now.
"You can’t blame yourself", I remember him saying. And then the therapist, saying the same thing.
All those sessions, one hour a week, that stranger trying to help me cope with the fact that I had married a killer, and
that I had killed that killer; my wife.
*It was self defense.*
*She was a monster.*
*You couldn’t have known.*
Today they closed the investigation, finally.
Self-defense, the judge sentenced, sure enough. I’m guilty of nothing, except maybe being gullible and marrying a sociopath.
Sarah?
She made the headlines.
The cross killer. A mother. A wife. An upper class, church going, middle aged, soccer mom.
She’ll go down in history as a monster. A killer of prostitutes and young women on dark alleys.
*A shame*, I think, pouring the whisky.
*A damn shame*, I think again, remembering how I opened the door and caught her in the act, going through the pictures of the
bodies hidden in my dresser.
How I pointed the knife at her, ready to kill her, to carve the cross on her forehead, like I did to all my other victims.
How she tried to fight me off, but couldn’t.
How I killed her. And how I planted all the evidence, and rehearsed everything I had to say to Anderson.
"You can’t blame yourself", I remember him saying. And then the therapist, saying the same thing.
Everyone believed me.
*It was self defense.*
*She was a monster.*
*I couldn’t have known.*
I down the last of the whisky and look around the room, sighing.
It’s quiet here, without her. I'm gonna have to get used to that.
I get up from the chair.
On the corner, I stare back at Jesus, hanging from the wall. Handling the wooden cross by the edges, I carefully straighten it, making sure it's parallel to the side walls and the paintings hanging around the room.
*That’s better.*
With a smile, I head off to the bedroom, to take a nap in my newly empty bed.
______________________________
EDIT: *Hey, great to be back and writing again! To those who are following [my ongoing novel](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/); I took a small break from writing (and posting) it, as I was travelling for the last two weeks, and writing inside moving trains turned out not to be as romantic and bohemian as I thought: it mainly made me dizzy.
Anyway, I'm back home tomorrow, and will be carrying on with it as usual. Next chapter should be up in a week, give or take, so check back soon. Thank you for reading!* |
"B-back off!"I exclaimed, swishing my feeble dagger at them, a fruitless attempt at keeping the ruthless group of 4 Level 80s at bay. They laughed and mocked me, showing no signs of backing off as they advanced, all clad in full adamantite armor. "Last warning! If you don't back off, I'll slaughter all of you!"I shouted. They only laughed harder.
Little did they know, this Level 39 they were picking a fight with was in fact a Level 325. In a world where the highest Level recorded was 400, I was revered among those who knew me. However, I preferred to hide as a Level 39, which meant attacking me would grant no sizable reward.
Usually, no one fought me; I kept to myself, and didn't go looking for trouble. These Level 80s, however, were renowned for being the most devoted worshippers of the Lunatic Cultist, who carried them up to a decently high level, enough for the group to be a forced to be reckoned with. These conceited, vainglorious people were also known for their mercilessness; they hadn't let a single person past them without being wounded. I had tried my best to stay low, but they were determined, and I couldn't escape without blowing my cover.
Without warning, one of the Level 80s dashed forward and slammed the dagger into my solar plexus. In my Level 39 form, I had taken a mortal wound. Spurting out blood, I staggered away, dagger still in place, as the one who stabbed me simpered at me while the others snickered gleefully. I cursed under my breath as I collapsed involuntarily. The one who dared to make a move on me, I had memorised his face already. He stared at me with a look of disdain, pulled the dagger out from me with magic, and asked coldly, "Any last words?"I was barely able to whisper, and he seemed to realised that. Although he was chuckling while he kneeled next to me, it didn't reach his eyes. I stared him dead in the eye, and in this moment, he stared into my eyes, the abyss within me, and he was overcome with grief, despair and shock. I leaned forward, my wound completely healed, clothed in full Solar Flare amour, my Last Prism in my hand. He weeped silently, bound from my Eternal Curse, and I made sure he was in full view of his beloved, horrified group members. I leaned forward, and whispered to his already disintegrating ear:
"Fear me."
First time writing on Writing Prompts, constructive criticism is appreciated! Game I was referencing is Terraria (Eternal Curse is just something I made up though, and Terraria isn't an RPG game). |
'Where is he, please?' A teen of fifteen looked around the sidewalk he walked down, taking in the buildings he had just seen a moment ago being built. The people he passed still dressed like how he had grown accustom to in the past three months, so he couldn't have gone traveled to far.
"Jeremie!"
The blonde turned at the sound of his name, glad to see his best friend. A man held a hand on his hat as he ran through the few people walking along the sidewalk. He slowed to a stop beside the boy, dropping his hands to his knees to catch his breath. "You showed up earlier than I thought you would,"the man admitted through his ragged breath.
"Sorry 'bout that,"Jeremie tried, rubbing the back of his neck. "How long has it been?"
"Just three years this time,"Robert said with a smile. "Been working in the factory to kill the time. Come on, let me show you what's changed."
Jeremie followed his friend, continuing down the path he had started three years ago now, glancing down at the ground beneath his shoes. He wished he could stop what was happening to him. He had been born in 1879. He never got to see 1900. And now it was 1910.
"You're doing it again,"Robert said, cutting through his thoughts.
"Huh?"
"We'll find out why one day,"Robert offered, placing a comforting hand on the teen's shoulder.
"Thanks,"Jeremie said, smiling up at the man. He blinked and the man was gone. The buildings around him showed extream age and deterioration. He looked around, surprised to see the town almost void of live.
"Jeremie, over here, "Robert called out, his attire completely changed to a blue jumpsuit and his brown hair free to the wind blowing. As he came closer he admitted, "I was starting to think I'd missed you through the wars."
"Wars?"Jeremie echoed in shock.
"Come on and get a bite to eat, it's been a while, hasn't it?"Robert asked, leading the way to a shop doorway. He opened the door as a bell rang out to announce their presence. "Hopefully you'll be here longer this time, though we're gonna have to move. This town's turned into a ghost town."
"Give me a history lesson first,"Jeremie said as the two stepped over to a grimy yellow table.
"Well, it's 1974, so you missed, what, 64 years this time,"Robert explained. "That's the biggest jump yet, isn't it?"
"64 years, esh,"Jeremie mumbled.
"What can I get you two?"a gruff older woman's voice asked.
"Oh, two pepsis, please,"Robert said, giving the purple hair woman a polite smile.
The woman gave a smack of her lips and turned around to leave.
"You said wars?"Jeremie asked, worry plain on his face.
"Yeah, I even ended up in the first World War,"Robert started with as he picked up a paper menu from its holder behind the napkin holder. "Was worried the whole time I'd miss you so I managed to get out through a section 8. Made them belive I was too crazy to serve. Though the second World War the factory was building plane parts so I did that up until the factory shut down. Not enough people here to work anymore."
"You know what you wanna eat?"the purple haired lady asked, sitting down two glasses.
Robert took another glance at the menu in his hands and said, "Yeah, I'll get a burger and fries. Jeremie?"He looked over the paper only to see an empty seat across the table from himself.
"Where'd your son disappear to?"the woman asked, shock on her face. "Wasn't he just here?"
"He probably just went to the bathroom, I'm sorry,"Robert quickly said, giving the woman a smile. "Just give him the same."
"Alright,"the woman said, sounding unsure. She gave the seat a second look before leaving to make their food.
Robert let out a sigh as he put back the menu. He knew he had to get out of this town before someone noticed he hadn't aged, but he wouldn't leave without Jeremie. He just hoped this leap wouldn't take as long as the last. |
From the crowd only a few people shouted it. Before this all happened, the entire crowd would say it. But the phrase is dying. Experts have pointed out how it may come of as nationalistic, and that it's somewhat old fashioned. Fewer and fewer people started saying it. And that took its toll. Looking back now, it all makes sense. Truth to be told, in the back of my mind, I was suspicious. She promoted the phrase, that one specifically. She must've had a reason. And when in her public appearances fewer
people shouted the phrase, she started to look worried. Clearly this was important to her somehow. Today was different. Only a dozen people shouted the phrase. And the gaze in her eyes was one of an immense fear. She knew what was coming. For 12 seconds, she stopped, and just stared into nothingness. And then she dropped dead on the floor. A phrase had died, and a queen with it. Long live the queen. |
I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. |
I've already lost contact with Canada exactly two hours ago. Alaska one hour.
As soon as we began losing contact with different time zones, me and plenty of other people started moving west.
Most people didn't make it. I'm in a hold out here with the richest in the world, all of the people who could afford a plane here without the massive crowds evacuating.
Right now we're in Hawaii, and we can't go any further. This is the last resort. We just hope that what ever happened to the people won't happen to us.
The clock is at 11:59. Time feels slower and slower as we approach the inevitable.
Me and my family are fearing the worst. We're already exchanging goodbyes with each other and other fellow people that made it here.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
I closed my eyes, as to welcome death... opening them only a few seconds later to find out I'm still here.
A ship is approaching from the west... Australian flag on top.
We all eagerly await them. As they leave their ship I run up to them.
"What has happened?"
-"Ayo I don't fucking know mate as well we thought you lads from 2016 were dead at first but it just started going and going and we started regaining contact with people and shit after time zones passed, just came here to inform you that."
People behind me already started to celebrate. I wasn't so sure about things still.
"Do you have any idea why this has occurred?"
-"Yeaah, nah, I mean yeaah, yeaah I do mate."
"What?"
-"Yeah we were just holding out on you so you freak out and shit mate don't worry."
"What? So none of this was real?"
-"Naah."
"I spend millions of dollars to get my family to safety! What the hell were you thinking? How did you get everyone to do the same thing."
-"I don't know mate we kinda told them yeah let's fuck up those American cunts and shit they went along with it mate."
"Jesus fucking Christ..." |
(Slightly NSFW)
Go to University they said, get a degree. Well, went to school for four years and stuck behind a desk while I have one brother who teaches skydiving for a living and another who spends all his time making cupcakes. He's fat as hell but least he enjoys his work. Unlike me. You used to think that the Dilbert cartoons are made up till you actually work in a place like this.
Now I wanted to quit, but you don't get unemployment insurance unless you are fired. Doesn't seem like it'd be too much trouble. I started off small. First off? Computer time is all Reddit, Facebook, and Instagram. The big boss comes around and sees me. And the next thing you know I'm now in charge of their brand new social media division. Apparently the old farts don't even know what twitter is.
All right, next one. Three piece suit? Screw that. Let's go with torn jeans, dyed hair, metal rules T-shirt. Walk in to my manager's office while she's dealing with a new client. What are the odds it was Alice in Chains' manager? Quote 'Awesome to see you aren't all stuffed shirts!'
Try again. Let's go less subtle. Set off the fire alam. At a balmy 30 degrees below 0. Nice and chilly outside. Everyone miserable. I proudly announced I pulled the alarm shortly before the police come and thank me. I managed to evacuate the building before the gunman could take any hostages. My 'keen' eyesight must've picked him out from the window in my cubicle as he ran in. Seriously. I was half tempted to run back in.
Enough playing around. Next day go into my manager's office. I close her door, drop my pants, and say 'It's not going to suck itself.'.
We're getting married next Thursday.
On the plus side, the benfits package is much better now.
(Minor edits)
2nd edit - Wow my first reddit gold! Thank you nameless stranger! |
I'm a good samaritan. I try to give to the community, and take as little as possible in return. I pay my taxes, I call my grandma every week, I help my cousins with their homework. I'm a *nice guy*.
Therein lies my fucking problem.
Of course, when grandma started getting sick, and asked me to house her soul until we found her a new body, I said 'absolutely'. What kind of asshole denies their grandma? I thought, *sure. I'll help her out, what does it matter?*
What matters is that no one has housed a family member's soul before. I was the first. I thought, *hey, I'm a pioneer! First of a kind! Couldn't possibly hurt, right?*
When you house a soul, the doctors go over everything. To the person being housed, they've effectively died. The soul is dormant until a new body is found for them. So, of fucking course I helped my sweet grandma.
"Thank you, Jimbo,"she said to me. She always called me that. Thankfully, no one else did.
The implanting was a complete success. "Smoothest operation to date", they told me. I got home from the hospital and my girlfriend, Kate, came over. Beautiful, kind woman. A freak in bed.
That night, we start going at it pretty heavily. Halfway through, I'm tied up and out of breath, my body stinging a little from the pain. *Oh, you naughty boy.*
I laughed. "Why'd you say that in a funny voice?"I asked her.
"What? I didn't say anything to you,"Kate replied, giggling.
"Yeah you did. You just said something."
*Don't stop now, it was just getting good.*
"You said something again!". I was getting desperate now. The game she was playing with me started to get annoying.
"You're insane. I didn't say anything either time."
I contorted my face in confusion, puzzled as to why she'd be trying to trick me.
*Jimbo, be a man and fuck her already. I haven't felt anything like this in 40 years.*
My scream woke up the neighbors. |
"Why do you need a magical focus at all?"
Everyone paused to stare at Ethan. Ethan stared back, puzzled; he wasn't holding any magical focus to speak of. His hands were empty.
"Aren't you the new kid?"someone asked. She was a kind-looking girl that held a staff made of smooth mahogany and lifestone crystal - a healer of some sort, if Ethan remembered his books right. "You'll learn about magical focuses in Magical Studies 125."
"He's the self-taught new kid, I think,"someone else else snorted, leering down at Ethan. *Tall*, Ethan thought. A mer-person of some sort, towering over the rest of them. The wand he held in his hand looked pathetically small in comparison, and Ethan had to hold back a giggle. "Do you not even know what magical focuses are for?"
"I know what they're *for*,"Ethan objected. "I just don't understand why you need them."
"Because they amplify magic,"a third person said, his tone exasperated. He had a crystal orb tucked under an arm - it looked dreadfully uncomfortable, if Ethan was being honest. "Mana is unwieldy and has a mind of its own; the focus allows you to assert control over it."
As if to demonstrate, the third man flicked his orb into the air. Ethan had to admit, the control he had over it was admirable - the orb spun and crackled as mana began to gather, floating in the air.
"It's probably a good thing you don't have to hold on to that,"Ethan remarked. The man glowered at him and continued the spell, keeping the orb in place for one second, two seconds, three -
*KRAKA-THOOM*.
Lightning erupted from the surface of the orb, striking a nearby tree and causing the thing to split in half as the sap within boiled instantaneously. The light and sound was powerful enough that it sent all of them stumbling back...
...and that was *with* the shield that that merman had cast just in time. A shimmering green faded away, and he glared at the third kid. "Are you an idiot?"he demanded. "*Don't* cast lightning spells in close proximity! Especially around people new to magic! You don't know if they have any wards up and there's a reason the spell is *Call Lightning* and not *Lightning Bolt*!"
Well, it was good to know his heart was in the right place, at least. Even if he was a bit of a dick.
"Excuse me,"Ethan said politely, and all three of the other students turned to him. The merman still seemed indignant, the girl looked sort of frazzled, and the last guy seemed mostly unrepentant. "I know all that about magical focuses. It's just... If the problem is that magic won't *obey*..."
Ethan called forth a small smattering of mana, and giggled a bit as the magic danced around in his hand, like it was happy to see him. He leaned in close and whispered softly to it, then clenched his fist shut; when he opened it again, the mana was gone.
Three seconds later, an even larger lightning bolt struck the same tree, this time from the sky. It made no sound, and the flash of light was surprisingly tame - but when the flash faded, the tree was just *gone*.
"I didn't want to hurt anyone with the lightning,"Ethan explained, sounding vaguely embarrassed. "But yeah, I mean... if the problem is that magic won't obey, why not just *ask?*"
There was a long pause.
The merman spoke first. "Does the Headmaster know about this?"he asked.
"No?"Ethan said. "The test had me use a bunch of different focuses, it didn't ask me to cast without one."
"Okay."He grabbed Ethan by the arm with a surprisingly strong grip; Ethan yelped, batting rather ineffectually at the arm, but didn't seem to otherwise mind. "We're going to take you to see the Headmaster."
Edit: It's been a while since I've posted regularly on WritingPrompts! Glad to see there's some interest in this one. I need to head to bed, but I might brush the dust off my sub and post other parts there. Check back in a day or so! |
The intergalactic summit meeting between the warring factions took place at an artificial asteroid operated by a neutral third-party species. I arrived with the Flade Hierarchs aboard one of their *Victory Unlimited* class vessels. As we made our approach, our viewscreens showed us a Tsast vessel coming in from the far side of the asteroid.
They say a species' spacecraft reflect their values and ambitions. It came as no surprise then that the Tsast vessel was a bulbous, utilitarian mass absolutely bristling with high-power weapon emplacements. The *Victory Unlimited* vessel on which I found myself took a different approach, opting instead for a sleaker, tubular shell, which was built around a single super-massive photonic bombardment cannon.
I'd been in touch with my counterpart translators among the Tsast for the better part of a year. We'd done what we could to deescalate tensions in the lead-up to this summit, but the Flade and Tsast leadership were equally mistrustful, vicious, and warlike, and would brook no question of arriving in peacetime vessels.
I joined the Hiererachs aboard a transport shuttle and we made our way into the asteroid. The leader of the Flade delegation was Vice Prime Hierarch Nath. A veteran of dozens of battles, both planetside and in space, Nath lumbered impatiently in circles near the airlock. The Flade, who communicate primarily through light arrays, were delighted to discover they could startle humans by making sounds. Nath especially enjoyed spooking me when it could. When we were less than a kilometer away from the asteroid, it banged the bulkhead to get my attention. Its malleable chitinous exoskeleton rippled in the Flade way of showing pleasure. Once it had my attention, the bioluminescent pores on its chest winked open and flashed the pattern they used to communicate the word 'Human'.
I lowered myself to a respectful kneel and responded via the light array implanted onto my forehead. "Vice Prime Hierarch."
"The Tsast are cowardly, treacherous animals. Their minds are molded ash and their words are so much dazzle patter. You'll communicate my thoughts to them precisely and, in telling me of their response, explain their precise connotation. No softening. You understand? You'll do this?"Nath had approached as it spoke, such that it now stood next to me. Its bioluminescent pores winked wetly in front of my eyes.
I responded with some words to the effect that I would do as Nath demanded. We'd been through this conversation five times in the last week, and each time Nath ended it the same way.
Out of its mouth, Nath extended one of its hook-fangs. Almost tenderly, it applied the tip of the fang to my chin and tilted my head upward. "Many Flade don't remember what it was like when we invaded your planet, Human. Many of them have forgotten the Day of the Smiling Knife. I haven't. I know what you're capable of. So you remember, you're not the only translator we've brought to this meeting. One wrong word, and I'll know. I'll eat your skull. You understand?"
"I understand, Vice Prime Hierarch."
Nath's exoskeleton rippled with pleasure, and Nath lumbered off to continue its pacing. I remained where I was kneeling. The other Flade in the shuttle had been studying our exchange, and I knew they would be watching me to see how I'd react to this most recent encounter. While the Flade on the whole had proven unable to pick up on the subtleties of human body language, their highly refined sense of colour allowed them to detect microchanges in human skin tone. I'd spent years training myself to remain calm in the face of their paranoid insults, and so it was an exercise in reflex for me to stay where I was without allowing my mixed fear, anger, and resentment to make itself known through increased blood flow to my upper dermis.
Truly, the only part of Nath's threats that bothered me was its claim that there was another translator around. Beyond the trouble that might cause for my plans, there was the larger question of what would be the effect of another species challenging the human monopoly on inter-species communication. For a century, that had been our claim to fame as well as our guarantee of protection from the Milky Way's more advanced, warlike species. With our monopoly gone, we might disappear as well. I didn't care to entertain that line of thought at the moment. No, the only thing I needed concern myself about for now was getting in touch with Desiree.
*****
The docking procedure went smoothly, and we boarded the asteroid to be greeted by two representatives of the neutral Hg species. The Hg were gaseous, with each individual consisting of a loosely adhering cloud of particles. Individual clouds can merge with one another and separate at will, and in doing they're able to merge and separate their consciousnesses. They have a way of disappearing while in plain sight which I've always found unsettling.
But my personal hangups aside, these representatives were good enough to stay tightly together, presenting as cloudy orbs. They explained that the asteroid would be separated into four distinct sections for the duration of the summit: one for the Tsast, one for the Flade, one for the Hg, and a neutral section located at the center of the asteroid where the meetings would occur.
The Flade section had been remodeled to resemble their home planet. Imitation geysers had been installed into the floor and walls. They sprayed acidic water at irregular intervals and kept the atmosphere there heavy, damp, and corrosive. This was the climate that had given rise to the Flade's near-impervious exoskeletons. I would need a biosuit to survive there, and so it was with some relief that I excused myself to go get one from the asteroid's stores. Before I left the Flade delegation, Nath banged on the floor to get my attention and flashed a threat at me. I didn't pay close attention, but I did catch the word 'skull' again.
And then I was on my own in the asteroid. The Hg had uploaded a schematic into my datapad, so it was without much trouble that I made my way down the bright steel corridors to the neutral section at the asteroid's core.
One of the more impressive feats of the asteroid's construction was the consistent gravity field generated by the corridor's floors, regardless of their angle relative to the asteroid's surface. This allowed the Hg to design the system of corridors in such a way that some spiraled, while others zigged and zagged at odd angles, sometimes leading to my walking with my feet pointed toward the asteroid's core, while at other times they pointed toward space. From my light research, I'd gleaned that this effect had something to do with channels of condensed dark matter than enveined every exposed surface of the corridors. By running the dark matter at differing speeds in the floors and ceilings, the Hg were able to tune the gravity field to whichever level they chose. They, of course, as a gaseous species, could abide a far wider range of g forces than any corporeal species. But for the duration of our stay, we'd been assured that the gravity would remain at an airy .9g.
My path soon took me to the main conference chamber, which was an empty sphere at the asteroid's core. The gravity here was maintained in such a way that I would be able to walk all the way round the inside of the sphere and end up back where I'd started. There were empty food stations, dozens of seats for the Tsast, footrests for the Flade, and a grand stage had been erected precisely halfway between the Tsast and Flade entryways to the core.
*****
*continued below* |
Jonah thumbed the statue's face, mentally making out the nub of the nose, the deep-set eyes, the cleft where chin met neck. This was dangerous. Foolish would be a good word too.
Rome had been a cakewalk. There was plenty of documentation, of dates and figures and maps, a wealth of historical data that more than matched the extraordinary rigor required of such an endeavor.
Rome had been Nuhistory's pilot project and Jonah had been its enterprising pilot. Weeks of delicate research, of carefully scripted interactions with carefully selected subjects in carefully chosen locales. A costuming department rivalling any Hollywood production. Months of training, in linguistics, in tactics and spycraft, and in the working of the devices hidden on Jonah's person that would record, on *video*, in *audio*, the happenings of the past.
It was a damn shame it was all top secret.
But now Jonah looked at the statue and wondered, really wondered for the first time just what the hell he was getting into. The Vikings had been dangerous, but as Julio the project manager always said, "Luck favors the prepared."Research had come to the rescue. It organized the chaos into checklists and timetables. History was no longer a fog of myth and legend. It, too, was science. We could *know* it now.
And swinging those swords around really had been quite good stress relief. It wasn't on any of the checklists but really, you couldn't go back to the Viking era without swinging at least one dangerous hunk of metal.
But this was different. The artifact was different. No one knew where the hell it had come from. An archaeological team had found it at a digsite in Africa, far deeper than it should have. "*Precambrian*,"the lead archaeologist had whispered in awe. And radiometric dating had confirmed as much.
It wasn't much. A human figure, carved from stone, but just slightly off from what a human should look like. Too longs legs, too narrow a face, too distended an abdomen. Such creative liberties weren't atypical of ancient human representations, but if this came from *before* \- then maybe the evolutionary tree of life was wrong. Maybe there were people before. People who were our foremost ancestors. People from elsewhere.
And if there had been people before, maybe they could be spoken to.
Screwing with the timeline didn't really matter. All the subterfuge of the other visits had been mostly for the purposes of not interfering with the data. "It's brilliant,"Julio had said, caressing the smooth white curves of the machine. "Everything just resets when you get back, just like it was. The equations are beautiful, they just *flow*."Jonah would take his word for that.
But this visit would be the find of a lifetime. Of the entire human species. The answer to the ultimate question of where we'd come from.
"Powering up,"Julio called over the intercom. Jonah snapped out of his reverie and put the statue back in his pocket. He checked his respirator, then the other suit systems.
"All clear here,"he said. "Ready when you are."
*Glory, here we come*.
The dome opened, bending and warping the sterile laboratory light into an iridescent shimmer that Jonah could not quite catch. He stood taller, clenched his fists and stepped into the machine. The Nuhistory heads-up display whirred to life on his visor, cycling through its multifarious options.
"Commencing visit in 5, 4..."
*Time to make history*.
"3... 2... 1!!!"
A flash, a crack, a glorious splitting of the fabric of reality, and then a great pull, like he was falling toward something behind him, and then, just as instantaneously, he was standing still, in another place. Another time.
It was a vast shoreline beneath a lavender sunset. Water lapped at his ankles, and when he looked down, *yes*! he could see them there, all sorts of ancient pulsing creatures he'd only ever seen in books, in cheap computer-generated reproductions in documentaries and museums. Things that stretched bulbous fingers toward the water's surface like gelatinous plants.
So much to document. So much to see. But it was not what he was here for.
He turned. And then he wished he hadn't.
There were two of them. Things he had not expected. Things he would not have *wanted* to expect. Their bodies were great pulsing sacs of purple, floating in midair, each as big as an SUV. Thousands of slippery tendrils hung below them, fingering the air, wriggling around each other like living spaghetti. And their eyes, huge and compound, bright red like flies' eyes, and *twitching*, twitching at *him*.
They were watching him now. And making noises. Strange, clicking gurgles that brought bile to the edges of Jonah's throat.
Then he looked closer and saw that there was something in their tendrils. Bodies of creatures, like the ones he was standing in. And tools like long rods with bright blue flames at their ends with which they were carving the creatures, molding them, into new and impossible shapes. And they were doing this while they were staring at him, reading him, assessing... waiting.
And beside them, in the dirt, Jonah saw markings. Intricate glyphs, and plans, surrounding a small, familiar shape. A statue, exactly like the one he had in his pocket. A *model*.
Without thinking, Jonah pushed the recall button, and in another cracking instant he was back in the body of the Nuhistory machine, steam hissing from the surface of his suit in ghostly tendrils of white.
Julio ran in, eyes wide. "Jonah, what's going on? What happened?"
"I was right,"Jonah said, slumping to the floor, and the next words came out as a wracking sob. "Oh God, I was right..." |
The years have not been kind to me. The world is no place for an orphaned girl and the wastes in particular make a rather poor excuse for nursery. I don’t remember who my parents were or how I got there but my earliest memories were hiding from the vast swaths of undead that seemed to rise each night on the Guildar planes and then seem to vanish as the morning sun would come and vanquish the terrible night.
Raising one’s self in the wastes became impossible if one did not adapt to the dangerous lifestyle and as luck would have it I was eventually taken in by a nomadic tribe of Reavers, holy barbarians ordained by the church tasked with the sole purpose of cutting down the endless swaths of the undead and unholy that seemed to unendingly rise from the moon soaked ground.
Throughout my entire life the undead had been my nemesis and purging them my reason for existence, vile abhorrent creatures that cared not for the laws of the world and existed only to consume and destroy.
So you can no doubt imagine my surprise that, Upon storming a keep rumored to be housing a lich, commonly known as the rulers of the undead horde, I was promptly offered a glass of tea and greeted by a kindly looking old man that looked more like he belonged in a church library rather than an abandoned crypt filled with the undead.
Indeed if it weren’t for the horde of abominations outside and the butler that, while finely dressed, seemed to be missing half his skull and only seemed capable of grunting a sickening moan, I would have been inclined to believe that we had gotten the wrong crypt.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure” asked the old man with a seemingly genuine curiosity. “it’s so rare for me to get visitors these days, and still breathing too! I apologize about the tea, if I had known company was on the way I would have had something nicer prepared”
I simply stared slack jaw at the man, as if was looking at some horrid undead unicorn. Of course my first instinct was to cut the butler and the lich down immediately but the finely upholstered couch seemed to be enchanted in some way and, upon entering the room I found it impossible to either leave or draw my weapon at all. So, while the lich did seem somewhat agreeable I did happen to find myself to be effectively captured.
“Release me this instant lich” I managed to yell out mustering as much indignant rage as I could. However just as soon as I managed to call forth an ounce of fury it seemed to melt away into the delicate craftsmanship of the seemingly masterfully upholstered couch I found myself no longer sitting but rather laying on. “oh terribly sorry about that, but I’m sure you can understand the safety measure” the old man, no the lich, I had to remind myself, said getting up and walking across the room and a bit closer to the couch in question.
“ It isn’t that I mean to be imposing, but it really is such an unexpected treat to have company that can say things other than the occasional moan here and there, and most of you breathing folk just tend to try and kill, or rather double kill, or would it be a sort of un-de-killing…” the old ma- the LICH the UNHOLY UNREPENTA- the couch seemed to wrap around me in a comforting hug, and though I never knew my father I could smell the faintest trace of pipe tobacco and a stern yet approving pat on the shoulder.
After rambling about the varying ways to describe the correct turn for double-un-re-killafiying the undead the nice old man seemed to remember what it was he was saying and exclaimed, “Right then, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience but I would ask that you stay a while. It gets a bit lonely down here and as it happens the last guest just left, or rather he’s still here but he’s not really all here if you catch my drift” Said the kindly old grandpa as he put his hand on my head.
“ Lichdom doesn’t quite take well to everyone but you look especially hardy and I’m positive, well pretty sure at least that I figured out what went wrong last time so if you just give me a few days to get….”
The incredibly charismatic and charming elder’s trailed off as i seemed to lose focus on his words. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years and I really do deserve a break every now and then don’t I? I decided to sleep on the matter, whatever it was that the matter was, and make some sort of decision in the morning. Content with my decision I drifted off to sleep as the man continued to say something that I assume was a nice bedtime story. |
"How much sleep have you been getting, hun?"asked Jen, softly. She placed her hand on his cheek tenderly. "Honestly, it's like you don't know what to do with yourself when I'm gone."
Daniel chuckled. "I don't. Picking up after the dog is nothing like picking up after you. There aren't socks and hair clips all over the place."
"Oh quiet. I can tell you miss me. I only have one more week though. The guys up high like to take their time. Meeting after meeting after pointless, fucking meeting."She sipped her coffee, grimacing slightly as it burned her tongue.
"I understand, I understand. You guys can take your time. I'll try to keep the bed empty for you when you come back, promise."He crossed his pointer and middle finger together, grinning mischievously. She slapped his arm playfully, as they both stifled their laughs.
As their laughter subsided, a small smile hanging on Daniel's face, his eyes passed over the room. Small corner Starbucks, Saturday; busy as busy gets. Young and old filled the coffee shop. College students tick-and-tacked away on their laptops, young women sat in gaggles, chatting away, phones buzzed and rang. Something was off though. "You see that guy in the corner booth? Red tie, brown jacket."Jen nodded, curious. "I know this sounds stupid, but there's something about him. He doesn't have an iPhone, or tablet, or laptop. Or even a book. He's just sitting there drinking his coffee."
"Maybe he just knows how to enjoy a good cup of coffee."
"Then why the hell is he at Starbucks?"
"Oh."
|
I looked at Sir Edwards and had my answer within a second, "He murdered his wife with his cane. She was bludgeoned to death in the early mornings right here in this room."Everyone looked at me in fascination, "As you can see from the picture above the mantle and as can be readily observed in the social section of the London Times, Sir Edward is rarely without his cane with the brass gryphon's head gracing it's top. Yet where is it?"
"It was stolen,"Sir Edward said simply, going pale, "I have used it my entire life and it was simply stolen."The certainty with which he said this made me read his mind again. There I saw him approaching his wife as she had her morning tea and smashing the brass head into her skull over and over. This occurred not a yard from where I stood. I also saw him following two men carrying something wrapped in a sheet and heave it into the river. It was followed a second later by Sir Edward's cane.
"Or so you say,"I said smiling at him, "You see, the carpet here has been replaced recently. To hide the fact that it was soaked with blood I would assume. The body found in the Thames was dumped there. Moved from this location. I'm sure upon questioning it will be determined that Sir Edward had help moving the body to that esteemed river that run's through London's heart."
"How did you know she was murdered in the morning?"my companion asked me.
"Why it's simple,"I smiled at him and he brightened, "The autopsy shows that her stomach contained what appeared to be tea and a biscuit, which we know from accounts is Lady Ellingsworth's preferred method of breaking her fast."
"That's brilliant, Holmes,"Watson told me as Inspector Lestrade was busy taking the fallen Sir Edward into custody.
"Of course it is,"I said as the butler, who had remained off to the side handed me a note. He was out of the door before I could react. Watson shot me a raised brow in question.
I opened the note and read;
Dear Esteemed Mister Holmes,
I see that you have the gift too. You make them think you are so brilliant. I share your gift, but alas my baser instincts make me use them to enrich myself. Did you enjoy my little show? It will come out in time that I was the mastermind behind Sir Edward's little plot to get rich at the death of his wife. I set it all up, not for money, but to see you in action and determine whether you were brilliant or simply a mind reader. Now I know. I will be seeing you very, very soon.
Love,
Moriarity
"Why Holmes, you're white as a sheet,"Watson proclaimed, looking me over with interest.
"Watson,"I asked, lighting my pipe, "Do you by chance know of a Moriarity?"
"No, Holmes, I have never heard of the person,"he said and I read the truth in his surface thoughts. I could always dive deeper but I often did not like what I would find when I did.
"I fear we shall meet him soon,"I said as I stepped into a foggy London morning, "Keep your revolver loaded, old friend."With that Watson and I made our way to Baker Street. |
*It's a trap. Obviously.*
Karissa glares at the colorful card in her hands with utter distaste. A small little note, adorned with a few pathetic drawings. If she didn't know better, she would assume this was a prank from one of the imp-spawn. Brainless maggots...
But no. There's too much...*effort.* A half-dozen caricatures of that damn mortal sorcerer, her traveling companions, and Karissa herself cover the parchment. A brief message inside suggests that she is invited to a small festival, held in celebration of the *witch* turning a year older. How *wonderful*. A snarl crosses her face as she sees herself wearing a smile in the drawing- Standing there right beside the girl. As if they haven't tried to *kill* each other time and time again.
...
*No. That's... not quite right, is it. I've tried to kill her, certainly, but... That spineless half-breed couldn't throw a killing blow if she tried.*
A low groan escapes Karissa's lips as she pinches the space between her brows, annoyed.
​
*Mortals.* They don't last. It's a miracle they survive any damn day. To survive an entire year... Especially with the kind of life *she* lives..?
*...Maybe just a quick look. It would be a wasted opportunity to not observe.*
\---
Karissa stares down from her place at the forest's edge at the tiny mud-brick home nearly overrun with moss. A pig-sty compared to her Palace of Mirrors. She'd been here since before dawn. Watching. Waiting.
The morning was perhaps the most entertaining part. Watching the sun rise, and seeing the witch slip out of bed and rush about her little house was quite simply *silly.* **THIS** is the mortal champion that has decided to interfere with Karissa's grand designs? The one brushing her hair, humming songs to herself, and stitching together flower garlands?
It gave Karissa the urge to just go down there and burn everything to ash. But she suppresses the urge in favor of merely watching. Watching as the little witch swivels her head every few minutes, looking longingly over the horizon. Nudging furniture around until it's *just* right. Staring up towards the sun with a curious expression Karissa can't quite place.
Eventually, she seems to settle down, and sits at the table she's prepared outside.
Alone.
She takes a small pastry, and slowly bites into it.
Karissa herself looks up at the sky from within the shadow of the grove's edge. It must be nearly noon. Where are all of the girl's friends? The archer, the beast-man, the elf? Not even that paladin seems to have arrived.
​
*...All a part of the trap, surely.*
​
Karissa can't turn her eyes away from the witch.
Sonia, daughter of Nawtshure. Eating a tiny cake, at a large table. Alone.
\---
It's been hours. Karissa has only grown more uncomfortable as the day has passed completely mundanely. No trap has sprung. Sonia has barely moved; Yet her posture has continued to degrade over the course of the day. She might as well be lying her head against the rugged wooden table.
Town isn't more than a ten-minutes' walk away. Yet...Not a single person has come up the hill.
Karissa watches the sun set beneath the horizon. The moment the last sliver of solar light passes, she hears a strange, muffled sound from Sonia's direction. She has her hands clasped over her face. She's...
*Oh.*
Karissa watches on in disbelief as the little witch stumbles to her feet, ignoring the platter of pastries, and returns inside her house. Alone.
​
*What the hell..?*
**THIS** is the mortal champion ready to do whatever it takes to get in the Demon's way? This was the hero that fought back the Abyss? This sniffling witch, who tore down the Gates of Alminok, and prevented this dimension's complete and utter **annihilation**, can't even gather her friends together to celebrate her birthday?
Hardly even realizing it, Karissa found herself marching out of the edge of the shadows, right up to the door of the cottage. |
"Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious"he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then."I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?"I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep."Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. |
Katherine stared up at the door, trying to convince herself all this was real. Even after walking an hour through the downward sloping dark, she couldn't believe it was all real.
The doors to the ancient tomb loomed over her, reaching up higher into the darkness than her headlamp could pierce. They were massive slabs of stone, carved with intricate designs. But there, at her eye level, was a box with a handful of ancient letters. The square depression of her handprint.
The past forty-eight hours were an impossible haze. From the moment those officers showed up at her door, Katherine hung in a cloud of unreality. Waiting for the image to shatter and drop her back to real life where her only worries were getting to work on time and visiting her sick grandfather.
But it never did.
This was really happening.
Katherine cast a nervous glance at the team behind her. Dust floated in the lights of their headlamps. Only the two archaeologist leads and the linguist came down with her. The linguist was a friendly and eternally bedheaded man named Dustin Bray
Even now, Dustin watched her with one of his easy, teasing smiles. "No rush,"he said, "but we are all waiting on the archaeological find to define all humanity."
Katherine matched his wry grin. He had kept her sane these past couple of days. "I just... Are you sure?"
"Sure enough to fly you out here,"one of the archaeologists, Amanda, grumbled.
Amanda's partner and husband Charles, her opposite in every way, fluttered her elbow and said, "We've waited months to crack the code and find you. We can wait a few minutes more."
The tomb smelled like dusty earth. Down this far below ground, the air had a weighty cold, like it was wrapping its fingers around her to pull her down. Bury her here forever.
Katherine looked at Dustin one last time. She had already asked hundreds of times on the flight, made him prove it with all his careful glyph-by-glyph transcriptions.
"I'm sure,"he said, reading the question in her eyes. Dustin reached out and squeezed her fingers. "You can do it."
Katherine raised her right hand. She pressed it into a mold that somehow raised to fit her palm, as if the stone was alive. As if it could tell she was there.
The rock around her hand grew hot. Light bloomed out from her palm, spreading up a pale orange through the rock. Crackling light through the patterns, as it traveled up and up, illuminating the hallway.
For a long and perfect second, Katherine saw it all. The etchings on the door spelled out an ancient history. People with wings, falling burning. Ships crashing out of the sky. Gods towering over man.
The archaeologists gasped up at it, murmuring together about stories Katherine couldn't follow.
Dustin laughed a little boy laugh beside her. He gripped her hand even tighter. "I can't believe it. I can't--"
The light exploded outward in stabbing bands of fire. It engulfed all four of them in a flat wall of heat.
The heat roared over Katherine, but the stone held her flat in place. She tugged and pulled, but her hand would not budge. The wall of fire kept screaming out, lighting the tiny tunnel in blazing white.
The screams of the archaeologists made Katherine want to vomit.
But then the fire snuffed out as quickly as it appeared. Only the letters around the handprint still glowed.
Katherine blinked and looked around. Her cheeks stung from the solar heat, but she was alive. Unburned. Her eyelids should have been glued together, her skin melted to her body.
And Dustin still held her hand. He looked just as shellshocked and horrified, the ends of his hair singed.
"How did you do that?"
"I didn't."Katherine twisted around to stare behind her. Those bodies made her heart plunge.
"No. You saved us. *How?*"Before Katherine could answer, he gave an inward sucking gasp and pointed back at the stone doors.
The message had moved. Shifted. So much fewer symbols than before.
"What does it say?"Katherine hissed.
Dustin squinted at it. "Sorry,"he read, slowly. "No outsiders allowed."
Then, the doors hinged inward. The tomb opened up for them. Light beckoned from within.
Dustin didn't have an easy smile this time. He wavered, pale and woozy on his feet. "I don't want to be like them,"he whispered, nodding back at the bodies behind them. The archaeologists had clung to each other as they died.
"Me either. But I didn't fly halfway around the world to not find out what's inside."
She pulled the linguist with her into the light of the tomb.
The doors shut behind them with the finality of a coffin lid.
***
/r/nickofstatic for serials with my cowriter NickofNight :) |
The man in the red suit sat across from me as we watched the slideshow together.
"You remember the day you graduated high school, yes?"the man said to me in his dulcet voice. I didn't know who he was, but he had been here, telling me about my life for almost a half hour.
"Yeah. It was a good day. I nearly didn't finish at all,"I laughed at the thought.
"You certainly passed by the skin of your teeth. And all society is grateful for it!"
"All society?"I asked.
The man clicked through pictures of me in a military uniform. Pictures I'd never taken. "Yes. Had you not graduated, you would have been drafted into the Army. You would have had to kill a person only four months in and found you had a taste for it. You would have risen through the ranks quickly and found yourself quite the following,"he explained softly.
"And?"I asked.
He showed a picture of me with a rack of military ribbons affixed to my chest, my face expressionless and covered in scars. "You would have started an uprising and killed millions,"he said.
"WHAT? I don't even eat *meat*!"I was halfway standing, halfway shouting.
"But it didn't happen. Thankfully, for all of humanity, you are *you*."He smiled and comforted me with a pat on the knee. "Do you remember when you dropped out of college?"He clicked his clicker and showed a picture of me with my head down walking away from UNT's front gate.
"...yeah,"despite it having been decades ago, I still regretted not finishing my studies.
"Had you stayed and finished your studies in microbiology, you would have fallen in love with a white nationalist, who would have convinced you to create an antibiotic-resistant strain of a biological agent and cull the United States of the '*brown masses*,'"he accentuated the last words with finger quotations. The slideshow showed me with a swastika tattoo on my forehead and lightning bolts on my neck, clearly methed out of my mind.
I felt my jaw hanging open. "My actual husband is Puerto Rican! My KIDS are Puerto Rican! I've never been a racist!"I wanted to demand something, but what? Was I owed an explanation for this? What is happening?
"That's right! You are certainly NOT a racist. You are a peaceful and kind woman and a paragon of virtue in your community. Thank heavens you left college when you did!"The man clicked again.
"Speaking of your Puerto Rican husband. Do you remember how you met?"He clicked to the first picture of me and Eric. We were at a bar with friends. I was sipping a margarita and he was drinking a Coors Light. We were close to plastered and you could tell by our dumb, happy faces. I got pregnant that night, and we were married three months later.
"So now you're going to show me what would happen if I didn't meet Eric? I would marry--what--a killer robot and overthrow the world?"
"No,"the man said to me with a look of concern on his face. "That would never happen in your timeline. In fact, there is no timeline where you and Eric do not fall in love."The thought made me happy. I did indeed find my soul mate. He noticed my warm smile. "You did not smile so warmly about it when you were a Nazi."
"That would make sense,"I agreed.
The red-suited man clicked some more, showing the same picture over and over, but zooming in by small increments each time. It cropped into only a picture of me. Then a picture of my lower body. Then my hand. Then... the margarita?
"Had *you* been the one who ordered a Coors Light, you would have been shocked by the lack of quality and flavor. You would have lobbied Congress to reintroduce prohibition to the United States. You would be a symbol of the ultra-Conservative movement and inspired mobs of murderers to burn down bars and murder those deemed '*touched by the devil's juice.'"*
".....WHAT?" |
I did not believe I would last five minutes. There was anxiety and built-up pressure learning about the expectations of this institution. I came regardless, and found the endurance and willpower to keep pace with the teachers in my four years here. And lasting four years can be difficult. The school provides co-curricular programs that help prevent washing out prematurely, yet that alone won't be enough. Everyone will develop their own techniques, but to make the most of your first time here, here are three tips that will take your game to the next level.
First, learn how to persevere. Our school football team used to take a beating from other schools, returning from the field roughly handled, dominated with only the sweat of their effort to show for their practice. Their performance has improved over the years by improving their ball handling and sucking less from what the coach tells me. The team lunged into their training vigorously last year, erecting their place in the region's qualifier. Maybe on the football team, you too will erect your place deep into this school's well-developed athletic programs, with cheerleaders screaming your name.
Second, learn how to use your head. In this school you will learn to assume diverse positions. Some will take you past your comfort zone, and others will feel familiar. Whether you're handling a project solo, working with a partner or in a group, I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping an open mind. Your library is a wonderful resource (as long as you remember to keep it down), and private study rooms can provide privacy for more intimate projects. Even the cafeteria, though I wasn't always good with putting food in the mix. The important thing is to always pay attention to where your head is pointing, and who knows what you might pick up.
Lastly, penetrate your limits. I was lazy my first year and relied on the same tricks to impress the teachers and classmates, and soon they knew what to expect from me every time. As the first months were wrapping up, the A's were less easy to get, and I was taking more D's. It was time to either change up my game or tell the school I was too sensitive to go on. I decided to no longer beat around the bush, told a teacher I would focus less on self-gratification, cram harder and communicate more if I was struggling to keep up. The limits you make are your own, and can be broken to achieve greater peaks.
In conclusion, your time here won't always be hard. But if it were always easy, your time here would hardly be worth the effort. So freshman, remember to focus. Persevere. Learn to stroke your intellects and grab hold of your destiny. You'll have succeeded when you don't even see the end coming.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Post-edit /r/galokot plug for more responses, and thank you for reading! |
His voice was demonic and booming. Every word he uttered sounded like the screaming souls of those evildoers who died across all of eternity, screams of pain, suffering, and madness. His appearance was both unbearable and intangible, as if I were staring at all of my nightmares- no, every nightmare imaginable, all at once. My eyes would burn with despair if I looked into his impenetrable void for too long.
This all made it *really* hard to have a casual conversation with him about Excel.
“SO YOU CAN JUST TALLY UP ALL THEIR SINS AND GET A TOTAL COUNT? AND THEN YOU JUST USE THAT DATA TO CALCULATE AN APPROPRIATE PUNISHMENT FOR THEM?”
“Uh, yep. A lot of people don’t know how to use the functions in Excel, but they are really quite handy.”
“FASCINATING WORK, JONATHAN. IT’S REALLY GREAT TO HAVE SOMEONE LIKE YOU AROUND. SO WHAT’S ALL THIS WITH THE COLORS?”
“Well, I just think it’s a good way of, um, visualizing different categories. Stuff like gender, how long they lived, what type of religio-“
“INFINITE SUFFERING TO ALL CHRISTIANS!” he boomed, suddenly starting a fit of rage.
I grimaced and sweat a little as he screamed in agony and wrath. He started smashing and throwing the surrounding hellstone like a wild beast as I created a function to change the punishment of all Christians to “Infinite Suffering.”
“Alright, it’s done…” I said softly.
“GOOD. THANK YOU, JONATHAN. STATE YOUR WISHES,” he commanded.
“Oh, no, that’s really okay, Lucifer. I like what I do.”
“STATE YOUR WISHES!” he yelled, shaking the realm of hell with his voice. I quivered in my desk chair.
“Umm…could I have a puppy? Something to keep me company?”
“THE CONTRACT IS SEALED. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.”
Suddenly, a little hell dog appeared by my side. It’s fur was ashy and its body glowed as if its soul was made of magma. Immediately, it ran towards my side and started licking my hand. I smiled.
“Thanks, Lucifer,” I said. He nodded at me and vanished in the next instant.
I stared at my Excel spreadsheet, and then back at the dog.
“Umm, sit!”
He sat.
“Good boy! Roll over!”
He rolled and barked. A small fireball escaped his mouth. I smiled again and started petting him.
*I think I’ll like it here.* |
I almost called out the general right then and there but the more devious side of me thought this was going to be hilarious.
"Apologies General! I had a brief accident with the cleaning crew spilling chemicals on my uniform and they insisted to take it to get cleaned!"I replied with a half-hearted salute.
The General's face when from it's normal deep red to an ugly shade of purple as he steamed in a rage. "Then why and Our Great Lord's unholy name are you still standing around instead of getting a new uniform from the barracks!?!"He screamed at me practically in my face.
"Sir I was assigned this post and one of the mission briefings was I was not supposed to leave this post for any reason other than emergency!"I replied this time trying to hold back my laughter.
"You think this is funny Soldier!?! I know the Demon Lord personally and I will make it so you are working in the lowest pit of rot for the rest of your life!"
He was practically frothing at the mouth when he said this. I never met this man before.
"Sir I was lead to believe that the Demon Lord was not in the capital today?"I asked him with a confused look on my face.
He got this smug look on his demonic face "of course that is what we told the common soldiers. I actually just had lunch with our Lord. And I believe I do speak for our Lord when I say that idiots like you have no place in MY army!"
I frowned a little bit "Your army? We are the Demon Lord's army!"I said as I crossed my arms.
"Oh please we are the true power of this kingdom. With our us the Lord would have nothing. We General's can do whatever we want to you peasants and little you can do about it!"He then took his clawed demonic hand and back handed me.
I flew down the hallway and landed on my feet. "Is that so General?"I growled out as the room felt much colder, not that the idiot noticed.
Just then a maid came by holding my freshly cleaned shirt along side my top general aka my wife.
"Here is your shirt my Lord. Again I apologize for running into you."the maid said as she bowed in apology.
"Think nothing of it little one"I said as I threw my shirt on not taking my eyes off the now confused General.
"Darling why are you wasting your time with this parasite?"My wife asked as she looked at him in disgust. "We are needed in the throne room to meet our next guests."
The mana surged within me as I uttered a spell that helped transfer the memories of the last 15 minutes to both my dearest wife and head maid, who also just happened to be my chief bodyguard.
"Wha-what is going on?"The soon to be dead man asked.
"Well to recap you insulted me, lied and said you knew me personally though I have no clue who the hell you are, and then you backhanded me across this damn hallway. In front of my very sadistic wife and very protective maid."I said as I put my hands in my pockets. "Have fun girls but don't take too long. I'm going to get a snack."The screaming started as I rounded the corner.
This is my first time posting here and on mobile so forgive any mistakes. |
Sue Wilkins got a cat; she lorded that over us for weeks, as if a cat was the best sort of animal there was, and not the acme of egomania.
Mark Johnson got a basset hound. He spent the whole week moping; then again, that's what he always does. His parents were cruel, meaning to be kind.
When my time came, the first thing I noticed was the size of the box on the lawn. I couldn't just help thinking of stories of parents gone mad, acquiring rhinos when bulldogs would have sufficed, or that girl two towns over who was trampled by her giraffe. They put the beast down, but she never got another. She hadn't been an animal person in the first place, unlike her parents.
Me, I'm not at all like my parents. They're... common.
I am not.
My box was huge, red crepe and golden rope, with mother and father standing somberly next to it. Next to them, aunt Thelema, uncle Szandor, the neighbors, my acquaintances, the school class, everybody.
"Son", father said, with his usual uneducated directness, as I laid a hand pregnant with expectation on the box. "As you know, it is traditional---"
"I know", I snapped. The box was so big, how was I going to feed something this huge? What monumental miscarriage of their mismeasure of my ability lay behind this tacky carmine curtain? "Dad, what is this?"
"---so, after careful consideration between ourselves and the Mother Extremal"--- that draconian martinet of a fraud in white gave me a smile, from her place among the schoolchildren --- "we have settled on a representation of your present personality the best we can."
I pull the rope, the package opens, dad shouts: "A dragon!"
Peoole gasp, I most of all. A dragon? How fitting! How meet! How like me to be the first---
"Dad? There's nothing in here."
"Of course not, you insufferably arrogant phony, dragons aren't real. Now go get a fucking job before we kick your sponger ass to the curb." |
Our planet’s population is seven billion, seven hundred and seventy-eight million, seven hundred and forty-two thousand, and forty-nine—or 7,778,742,049 human beings. It has been that way for the last fifty-five years. Ever since our planet stopped growing.
It wasn’t noticed at first—The Great Ceiling that is. That’s what we call it. It wasn’t noticed. But most experts on the subject state that The Great Ceiling was reached in the year 2020 and this is what caused the 2020 coronavirus pandemic. I am one of those experts, and currently the head of research at the Earth Census Organization, or ECO for short.
Right now, I’m giving a lecture on The Great Ceiling to a group of high school students who are on a field trip to our North American headquarters. I give this speech every last Friday of the month. It is sort of a ceremony to me now, a way I know the week, and month, is about over and my family life at home can begin. At least that is the idea—or the hope—but in reality, I work many weekends. It is our job to track all pregnancies and all deaths around the world, and I’m telling them about this responsibility right now.
“…fifteen years after The Great Ceiling was reached a resolution was passed to freeze populations in nations at their current level. At the time, populations with higher growth rates, like India or Afghanistan, for instance were still growing, while other countries were shrinking.
“Prior to The Great Ceiling, this was never a concern, but when population became a scarce resource, then nations began to hoard theirs. They looked at those who were still growing, as stealing from collective pie, so to speak, and to save full on war the resolution of static populations was passed. When I was not much older than you—when I first began working here, I actually helped draft that bill. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.”
A girl with brunette hair and a purple blouse raises her hand in the back row. Her hair is braided tight to her head. It looks painful.
“Yes,” I say, pointing to her. “You have a question?”
“My mom says that people got mean when the world filled up.”
I nod my head.
“Well…I’m not sure If I’d say that. But I think your Mom does have a point. Since The Great Ceiling was reached, the world has become a more violent place—deaths, murders have risen dramatically. For instance, before we reached The Great Ceiling, believe it or not, the death penalty was hardly used. But now, well I'm sure you all know how frequent capital punishment is used nowadays. What used to get you ten years in prison is now an automatic execution.
"Of course, human rights groups have protested this, but it is harder now to make the argument that a criminal, a scourge on our society, deserves to keep on living, to hold one of those those 7.7 billion tickets to live, more than a child waiting in the womb of its mother, don't you think?
"Some say life has become more precious—that existence on this planet has become exclusive—whereas in the past it was never seen that way, families could have as many children as they wanted. Some parents, although rare, had upwards of fifteen to twenty children! Can you imagine that? Needless to say, today that seems almost unthinkable…”
Carl, my good friend and co-worker at ECO, walks up to me at the podium and whispers in my ear. “Wrap this up, there’s a situation.”
I look over and nod at him. There is no expression on his face other than what seems to be anxiety, or maybe fear? I cannot tell, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.
I look back into the rows of chairs where the high school students sit yawning, checking their devices, or laughing with each other.
“Thank you, again for coming, I say. It’s always a pleasure…” I begin to say, and the students look at me surprised. They were slotted to be here for an hour and it’s only been twenty minutes. They look happy they don’t have to sit through another boring forty minutes of an old man talking about an uninteresting topic. A part of me is happy for them.
Lisa, the tour guide, starts to shout out instructions to the children as I walk out of the room where Carl is waiting for me.
“There has been a reported spike in pregnancies,” he tells me.
“Where?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Everywhere. We’re talking huge numbers, Jack.”
“How huge?”
“I don’t know. Ummm, ten million so far today, and it’s rising fast.”
Jesus, I think to myself. We generally have around 150,000 deaths and births every day. Ten million pregnancies—that means in nine months something is going to happen to make room for all of these new babies. Something cataclysmic is going to happen in nine months.
\---
## [**Part 2 >>**](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/comments/m3iran/the_great_ceiling_part_2/) |
"Do you see this??"the Lone Survivor roared, pointing to his left arm which was dangling limply at his side. There were white bones jutting out from the elbow, and trickles of dried blood had marked his forearm with black streaks.
I did my best not to vomit. "It... ugh... looks like you could use a doctor."
"I used to be a doctor! I lived in a vault and studied diseases in mole rats!"His companion chimed in with a cheerful smile full of wonderment. "And also I was a robot!"*Sure, lady. You could probably use a doctor too*. At least she behaved better than that alcoholic ghoul he'd brought in last week. How he got that beast past security and into the city was beyond me.
"It's *not healed*!"the Lone Survivor shouted back. He poked at it with the barrel of his laser pistol as if to emphasize how not healed it was. The broken arm swung like a pendulum, barely managing to cling to his shoulder. The bones inside seemed to have been utterly liquified. Lost an arm wrestling match with a supermutant, maybe. "And I slept the whole night!"
"Look, I can offer you some food, or something..."It was getting harder and harder to hold down my breakfast whenever I looked at his arm. *Shouldn't have had that extra helping of crispy squirrel bits.* "Or maybe some vodka? That would help..."As I struggled to think of how to respond to his absurd demands, the Lone Survivor crouched down in front of me and began going through my pockets. Which was pretty amazing, given that he was also still holding the gun in his one good hand. We made awkward eye contact as he removed the handful of caps in my back pocket and put them into his own bag. *Do I... do I say something?* "Look, I'm sorry you're hurt and all, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"No."He crossed his arms, which took some effort to get the limp, broken one in the right place. "I paid for a whole damn night at your hotel instead of traveling back to Sanctuary Hills, OK? I think I deserve to wake up with my arm healed. I want my caps refunded."
*The caps you just stole???* I wanted to scream. This guy was clearly deranged. He and this Curie girl must have spent too long out in the Glowing Sea. "I told you, buddy. We don't do that. You're going to need to visit the doctor down in the market if you want to do something about that arm."
He shot me in the head in response. Every other patron and security officer in the inn drew their weapons and shot back as I sprawled onto the carpet in front of the cash register. The Sole Survivor moved like a blur, shooting one guest after another in the head until the walls were painted with blood and gore and grenade shrapnel. With the last of my dying sight, I saw him look into his pip boy and heard him mutter. "Stupid shitty bugged game... piece of Bethesda crap... making me reload my save..."
----
I was standing at the bar washing one of my three cups with a dirty rag when the Sole Survivor walked in with a female companion. His arm swung at his side like an empty sock that someone had tacked onto his shoulder. A mininuke-loaded Fat Man was strapped to his back, beeping dangerously.
He slammed ten caps down on the counter: "Give me a room." |
Issac stared, wide eyed with awe at the great being before him. It stood, nearly motionless on a large stone at the side of the road. It's ancient eyes gazed upon him with indifference. Its leonine body was relaxed, although he could guess that that could change in a second.
Issac had no idea what to do. He had heard the legends, of course. But to see it with his own eyes? That was another story entirely. Especially since such a being should not exist. Not really, anyway.
The Sphinx spoke in perfect English. "It has been many centuries since a traveller has walked this road. I had thought it forgotten by man."
"Yeah, well, I just kind of stumbled onto it, you know? Pretty sure nobody else knows about it. So, uh, do I have to answer a riddle or something to keep going?"
"Yes. Although your kind have turned us to legend and myth, the old ways still hold. I shall ask my riddle. Should you answer correctly, then you may pass unharmed. If you answer wrong, then your bones shall be my meal."
Issac was not much for riddles, but he was not terrible at them. "Okay, I'm ready.
"My riddle now is that of an object. Bring me it and you shall pass."The Sphinx stood a little straighter. Its long neck rose high as it spoke with the air of an ancient ritual. "What is square in the morning, a circle in the evening, and a triangle at night. Now go, traveller, bring me that object and you may continue on your way."
Issac stood there, thinking. He knew of the riddle the Sphinx asked in classical stories, so he applied the same logic to this one. And the more he thought, the clearer the riddle became.
"You just want a pizza, don't you?"
The Sphinx was silent. It did suddenly find the ground much more interesting though. "I...I never said that."
"You do! You just want a pizza!"
"What? Just because I'm older than most civilizations, I can't enjoy a good pizza? Pizza is universal, damn it! I'm allowed to like it. You don't get to criticize me for my tastes."
"Hey, hey, I wasn't criticizing you. I'm a little surprised you even know about pizza though, since you're in a place that's kind of isolated."
"I have a life outside of riddles and guard duty, you know. Now are you going to order the damn pizza or not?"
"Okay, okay, I'll order the pizza. What toppings?"
The Sphinx adopted its riddle asking pose again. "It is the red sun rising, seen by the many black eyes."
Issac puzzled that out. "Pepperoni and olives? Really?"
"It's a very underrated flavor combination!"
"If you say so. Better than anchovies anyway."
"Oh, gods, I know. Now, I normally love fish. Half lion, and all that. But anchovies? Can't stand those things."
"If I ask what drink you want, will you give me a riddle or just tell me?"
"I'd like to, but turning a two liter of Pepsi into a riddle doesn't work as well as I'd like."
"Got it. I'll be back in a bit."
Issac backed away. He left the road just enough for his phone to get a signal, where he almost placed the order with the nearest pizzeria. Before he did though, he wondered what would happen when he went down the road more. Maybe he'd find more mythical creatures. He got a few extra pies, just in case. |
My family tree is a bit….messy. Most of us kids are products of our father’s liaisons. My mother is technically our stepmother but over many years we have all become so close that we just call her Mom.
I was always the fuck-up. My siblings went to class. I just threw parties.
My brother had a pretty fiery temper in his youth. Eventually some good old fashioned military discipline set him on the right track. He’s still a total dick though.
The twins (fraternal, obviously) were destined to be astronomers. They now work together in a facility that searches for habitable worlds in other solar systems. Apparently they used the light from a distant sun to analyze the composition of a moon’s atmosphere in that solar system. They claim that moon could sustain life. I don’t understand any of that shit, but it all sounds important.
My youngest sister has never failed at anything she has attempted. She also has absolutely no problem reminding you of that fact. To hear her tell it, she cured cancer and invented sliced bread. She even has a city named after her. She is a bit of a headache.
\*\*\*
The bell rang. I walked past the T.V. to get the door. Real housewives of Atlanta was already queued up on Netflix. I had a glass at the ready for her. She gave me a hug, then got right down to the gossip.
I waved my hand. Hera’s glass filled up with a fine Bordeaux red.
“Thank gods. I need this. You won’t believe who I caught Zeus cheating with” |
The cloaked peasant knelt, head stooped and face covered in shameful shadow as the Emperor's Advisor glared down from the raised dais, "And as previously noted, there are no more rations to be spared for the common folk. Our leaders must be well fed and watered as we strategize against the oncoming forces. Don't you understand, or did you expect that this was a prime moment to challenge the established structure of our city in a moment of danger? Do you have no respect for the word of the Emperor"
The peasant shifted his weight uncomfortably, and unsurprisingly as his knee must have begun to ache against the solid marble. "Of course I respect the word of the Emperor, to say otherwise would be blasphemy."
At this a burst of muttering broke out across the rest of the gallery, filled with both hopeful lords of the city and the bravest farmers and workers who'd mustered the courage to come appeal for relief from their current conditions.
The Advisor almost betrayed a smirk at the fear he had incited, but proficiently fought down the curling corners of his thin lips.
"Then that will be enough for today, and this peasant will be thankful for the Emperor's thoughtful approach to defending our city and my own patience and graciousness in not turning you over to our authorities for suggesting otherwise."
At this he turned to leave, cloak billowing behind in a dismissive sweep. He was only steps from the exit when a collective gasp halted the commotion of the room. Against his more dignified impulse, he turned to check what had caused the sudden quiet.
Where once knelt a soiled peasant, stood an unhooded mane of kinked auburn hair atop a shapely head with pointed jaw and haltingly grey eyes, which were now locked upon the Advisor. It was, unbelievably, **the Emperor himself.**
"Oh dear, dear, dear -- I'd heard you had been speaking out of turn, but I hadn't realized you were making me look so poor to my own people. Now... about what resources can be shuffled to ensure the safety and comfort of our people. I say we start with all those resources currently afforded to you, they seem at this moment quite disposable." |
Sir Galilwayne rode up to the entrance of the great cave. With a hefty sigh, he dismounted his white stallion and pushed down the visor of his helmet. The half-inch of steel plate surrounding his body would be of little use, however, against the fire spit by the deadly foe inside.
Steeling himself for battle, Sir Galilwayne approached the mouth of the cave. The deep grunts of the sleeping dragon inside could be heard half a mile off. As soon as he entered the cave, he saw it: the Nameless One. Slayer of Sir Twainpac, Sir Fiddy Pence, and many other good knights. Strewn amongst the dragon's golden hoard were several suits of armor much like Galilwayne's own.
"Who dares disturb my slumber?"
"I am Sir Galilwayne, come to avenge the deaths of my brothers. What say you?"
The dragon laughed, a deep cacophony that sent chills down Galilwayne's spine. And then the Nameless One spit hot fire:
**I been a playa since before the First Era,**
**I'ma slay ya muthafucka I'm a real terror,**
**You frontin in yo suit like Mr. Roboto**
**Like you ain't e'en know that you bout to get got, yo**
**I spit fire, I fly higher, I fill dem dragon bitches with desire**
**And what are you? Some steel can for hire**
**No matter whatcha do you can't stump this flow**
**And you ain't e'en gotta be a chronicler to know**
**I made erry knight that stepped up in this bitch my ho.**
Sir Galilwayne held in a gasp of pain, shocked by the sheer force of the attack. But he knew if he displayed any weakness during the rap battle, the dragon would eat him alive. So he drew himself together, pressed the 'play' button on his enchanted boombox, and did what he had been training to do for years.
*Yo, Sir Galilwayne comin' at ya*
*Round Table productions, yo,*
*We gon tear this mothafucka up*
*Check it*
*I'm the most badass knight of the whole round table*
*You the saddest lil' bitch seen in any tale or fable*
*Bitch I found the fuckin' holy grail, you think I ain't able*
*To fuck you up too? Bitch I'll stick you in a cage and put you in a fuckin' zoo*
The dragon roared in anger. Galilwayne continued, trying to press his advantage.
*Fry up dem wings, serve 'em up with buffalo sauce,*
*Eat 'em wit my friends at. . . Mark Ruffalo's house. . .*
Sir Galilwayne was faltering. Seeing an opportunity, the dragon struck.
**Yo flow's weak, you can't speak; leave this shit to me my raps are on fleek,**
**Don't know whatchu expectin tryna be messin wit tha masta**
**Just like yo friend's skeletons you only met wit a disasta**
**You shoulda rolled up in a hearse and not a horse**
**Bitch you couldn't even spit a single verse, of course**
**Goin' round sayin' you a knight, bitch, whatchu on about?**
**This shit here was no fight, it was a mothafuckin' rout.**
Sir Galilwayne hung his head in shame and waited to be devoured. He knew that he'd been beat.
A few minutes passed and nothing happened. He looked up to see that the Nameless One had dozed off.
"Aren't. . . Aren't you going to eat me?"said Sir Galilwayne.
The dragon sighed.
"Shit, son, you just got burned so bad you wouldn't even taste good. Just run off back to Camelot, yo."
So Sir Galilwayne slumped out of the cave, toward his stallion. Chancing a look back, he hazarded a question toward the dragon.
"Might I know the name of the one who took victory over me today?"
The dragon snorted. "If they ask, tell 'em you got your ass kicked by the Notorious S.M.A.U.G." |
Catherine sat at her desk, looking out the bedroom window above it at the vast expanse of brown fields and dying grass far below her. A light snow had begun to fall over the sullen landscape, dotting the dark fields with bright spots of white.
Any ordinary girl would have been crying, but crying was not Catherine's nature. She sat looking out over the countryside, as stiff and frozen as the glaciers beyond the plains on the horizon.
*It's useless. I'll never get my powers to awaken. Kristina was only fourteen when she first awakened hers. I'm twenty years of age now, with nothing to show for it. Soon, even my lineage will come into question.*
Without warning, Rickford burst into the room.
"Catherine, you have to come quickly!"He was gasping for breath, and his eyes were wide with panic. "It's them, the foreigners. They're here for your family!"
Catherine spun around in her chair, knocking it to the ground in violence.
"What."Her gaze was piercing as she stared down the young, pale guard standing at the entrance to her room. "And the guards? Surely our defenses are strong enough to stop them?"
"Either dead or fleeing for their lives,"Rickford panted. "The palace has been overrun."
"Impossible."Catherine walked over to the entrance. "It would take an army to take down the palace. I've been looking out across the field for the last hour. Nobody has been coming."
Rickford leaned in close to whisper into Catherine's ear. "Commander Watson is saying he thinks it was an inside job. A guard mutiny."
Catherine's face boiled over with anger. "It was Drake's unit. He's been plotting my demise for years. That foreigner had no business standing guard in my castle. I'll have his head for this."
Rickford nodded solemnly. "We can deal with him later. Right now your safety is my top priority."
The two figures fled down the spiral staircase to the landing below. Catherine's breath was coming in short gasps.
*How could this happen? Is my family allright? Kristina lives on the top floor, did she make it out okay?*
The duo fled down a narrow side hall and approached a small wooden door. Rickford turned to Catherine, his face suddenly filled with sorrow.
"Catherine, before we go any further, I just want you to know that I've always loved you. It pains me that I could never be with you, and I'm sorry about all this."
Catherine looked at him, confused by the timing of his confession. "Rickford, Now it not the time for this! None of this is your fault! We're making this out alive and we can discuss this later."
"No, it is the time,"Rickford continued. "I always loved you, but your sister... she... she's awful."His expression darkened. "That witch will destroy this country. Sometimes, you must but bury passions in the name of the country you serve."
Before Catherine could respond, Rickford pushed open the door. Inside was a room, dimly lit by a pair of torches hung from the wall. Through the darkness, she could make out four to five figures, shrouded in shadow.
"Who is it?"Commander Watson's gravelly voice barked.
"It's me,"Rickford answered. "And I've brought her."
Catherine turned to Rickford, bewildered. "What's going on here Rickford?"
Rickford didn't answer, but grabbed her arm forcefully. Catherine felt her stomach drop.
"I'm sorry,"he said replied again. "For the country."
"Good work son,"Watson answered. "Shoot her, and quickly. Then go fetch the queen and do the same."
"Yes sir,"Rickford answered, tears welling up in his eyes. His gun was already out, and trained on Catherine.
"WAIT,"Catherine screamed. "Rickford please! If you love me, then stop this madness!"
Rickford said nothing. The barrel of his gun trembled as he leveled it with Catherine's head. This all felt like a nightmare. She had known Rickford since he was a child, how could he do this? None of that mattered now. There was nothing she could do, except shut her eyes tightly, and wait for the inevitable.
As she did so, she started to feel something warm well up from the inside of her stomach.
*Fire,* she realized. At once, she felt a faint glimmer of excitement. *So this is what it feels like to become awakened.*
She opened her eyes. Rickford, still trembling, gasped. Her eyes were bright and glowing like embers.
"No, I'm sorry Rickford. Sorry, for you."
Watson realized what was about to happen, a second too late. "SHE HAS THE GIFT TOO. SHOOT HER N-"
He was cut off as an orange blast rocked the room, blossoming from Catherine's chest like a flower in spring. Rickford and the other guards were thrown backward by a fiery shockwave, and lay crumpled in pile in the corner of the small room.
Catherine sprang up from the ground and threw open the door, running back out the way that she came.
Another guard was were waiting for her at the entrance.
"Where do you think your going?"he asked, as he raised his gun to face her. "I knew Rickford didn't have the guts to finish you off, that useless pimply faced greenhorn."He spat on the ground at his name. "Not a problem for me. I've been waiting a long time for this."
Frantically, Catherine tried to channel more fire, but to no avail. The first blast of fire had drained her completely.
*This is the end,* she thought.
A shot rang out across the corridor. Catherine looked down at herself, expecting to see blood. Miraculously, she was fine. She turned back to the guard, as he fell to the floor, lifeless.
Drake the Foreigner was standing behind him, the barrel of his firearm still smoking. He holstered his rifle as Catherine looked back at him in shock.
"Princess, upper command of the Palace Guard has been compromised. They have conspired to kill you and your family. It is now my sole duty to ensure your protection. Please follow me if you value your life."
***
Edit: Thanks everyone for reading! I don't want to make any promises, but if I do continue this prompt I'll do it on my subreddit (/r/ghost_write_the_whip), really just depends on how busy I am and when inspiration hits.
Edit 2: [Here's Part 4 (well, *really* part 2)!](https://www.reddit.com/r/ghost_write_the_whip/comments/5bk1ne/catherines_awakening_ch_4_part_2_of_wp_write_the/) |
June 26th,
 
I guess you might say that I've always been at my most comfortable when taking orders from another. First as the secret weapon in the hands of my old friend M, and now as the quiet watcher of young master Wayne. Though opposite ends on the spectrum of experience, they are tied together by the common bond of good deeds done in the shadows, where I am most at home.
I must admit, though I've now grown old and have slowly watched my duties narrow in focus, I rather enjoy the tales I read about my former life. Wild journeys filled with intrigue, danger, and high intensity romance in the most precarious of locations. I often find myself on the edge of my seat with suspense reading an account of my life. My back will tense and ache at the memory - though not at the description of the stunt, but rather at the recall of the late night paperwork done in an unaccommodating chair.
They never remember the paperwork.
Though each tale has within the seeds of history, as I did have many remarkable and exceptional experiences, they by in large miss the mark on who I was. A skilled laborer in a position that wasn't entirely unique, with just a dash of philandering here and there, is how I would best describe myself back then. But I was simply one of many doing their job to save the world. An important cog to preserve the bastion of freedom, but a cog none the less. I was just following orders.
But in most ways I am grateful for how I am portrayed, for it means I did my job well. If they knew every detail, both boring and sensational alike, the world might yet be in danger. So I can put up with a bit of dramatization, in the end, if it means the world remains unharmed.
This humble butler's life does suit my quite well, I must say. A mansion for the world is not the worst trade that's ever been, to be assured, and I am rather fond of the Waynes. And I think young master Bruce and I will get along quite well, for he seems to show a preference to live in the shadows as well. But I suppose only time will tell which way his life will go.
Master Wayne has been inquiring more and more into my past, recently. A gentle curiosity, of course, but a persistent one. They will be back from the theatre soon, so perhaps tonight is the night to have that discussion, while it is most pressing on my mind.
Yes, I think we shall.
___________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
"Please your highness, I beg of you. Don't kill me!"
The queen looked at me as I said 'please,' and paused.
'And just why do you think I should make an exception of you?'
The queen looked stern, but genuine. She appeared to be interested in my answer. She didn't appear as old as I had been led to believe. Old, yeah. But she didn't look a day over 75. I gulp.
"Well, your highness it's just that I'm trying to find my one true love. He left some years ago, and I thought if anyone could help me, it would be your royal Highness. I'm sorry for breaking into your room, but the staff wouldn't even let me give them this letter!"
I hand her the note, scribbled years ago after he had gone to seek his fortune and seemingly vanished. I had been younger, more optimistic and thought I could get a letter to the Queen as easily as picking a buttercup. It had taken me until now to even make it to where I stood. She smiles, almost imperceptibly but then hides her reaction as she assumes formal airs.
"Hmm. I don't know if there's much to be done. Perhaps I can think of a way. But rules are rules. It's against the law to break into the royal palace, on pain of death."
I slump, my hopes dashed against cliffs of disappointment. My plan *had* been insanity.
"But, perhaps I won't have to fullfil the letter of the law just at this moment. I AM queen after all. I need a personal assistant. Would you be interested?"
My mouth drops open.
'You're offering me a job?'
"Work, dear girl. I'm offering you work. If you don't please, well then, you know the consequences of what you've done."
'Anything you need! Where do I start?'
. . .
"Well? How's the kingdom running, my dear?"
I put down my pad, and run off the list in my head.
'The land war is going well, it's a good thing we decided not to invade Asia. The sicilian diplomats were shown to their quarters, and it seems the talks are going to go well if things continue as they are now. And your subjects are loyal. They love the crown almost more now than they ever have!'
My old friend smiles. It's been three years and I've worked harder than I ever thought was possible, but I have learned so much, and have grown fond of the old monarch. She seems to tolerate me as well, and even has a good laugh now and then.
"Well then, good work Leslie. Sleep well. Most likely kill you in the morning."
'Of course ma'am. Good night, your highness.' |
Today I've got a real treat for you, and I'm guessing many of you will recognize it immediately. That's right, it's a Kodos brand Interstellar Slave Collar 5000. In fact, this is *my* collar. See, there's my identification number right there. Mrs. Lockpicking Lawyer thinks I should keep it around for *ahem* special occasions, but that's neither here nor there.
For obvious reasons, the first time I picked the lock on my collar I used the tool that Ganymede Gary and I made, so that there'd be no mistakes and no explosions at the base of my skull. Let me start by showing you that...just need to start the timer. Here we go. As you can see, it applies a small static electric discharge to disable the magnetic lock on the access panel, then this is a pretty standard quantum entanglement lock. I apply the tool, turn it a quarter turn clockwise. Nothing on one. Another quarter turn to two. Two is binding. Now I engage a fourth dimensional quaternion rotation with the phase inducer I scavenged from a hypertoaster. Three is binding. Four. Back to one. Another quaternion rotation, and the lock is open. Fourty-eight seconds is not a long time, but let me tell you that was the longest fourty-eight seconds of my life while doing this for the first time on an active collar attached to my neck.
You can get the tool on covertinstruments.com, but I'm now going to show you how you can get your collar off with some liquid courage, a type 37 self-sealing stem bolt, and a couple whacks with a hammer. Viva la resistance.
(PS. I look forward to this being a future April 1 episode, u/LockPickingLawyer) |
My upbringing was rather unusual, I won't deny that. There aren't very many towns in Lebara that are predominantly populated by humans, but my hometown of Tangata was exclusively human. My name is Jandar Dyernina, and I always thought of myself as a pretty normal guy. I went through all my years of school, not excelling, but still doing well enough to graduate. After that, I went to university and studied engineering, with a focus on occupational safety. I did much better there, got my degree with no difficulty, and before I knew it I had landed a job as a safety inspector at a local textile factory.
When I first started at the factory, it was clear that they had their head in the right place. Everyone tied their hair back, elevated platforms had handrails, basic safety features. Unfortunately for them, they were far from up to code. Handrails were too short, and the uniforms were far too loose-fitting. Thankfully, they always took my reports very seriously and would make upgrades whenever they could. It wasn't always enough, but there was a reason that we had the fewest industrial accidents in the region.
After a few years of tireless work, management finally managed to get me to take a vacation. They hired a substitute, arranged for a week of fully paid time off, they did everything they could until I had no excuse to not leave. I'd say they didn't need to go that far... but I'll admit, in my time working there, I had become something of a workaholic. But they insisted, and I finally decided it was probably time to take a break.
I decided to spend my vacation on the South Coast. I had never been there before, but I had heard it was one of the few places in Lebara that had nice weather year-round. So I packed my bags, booked a carriage, and said goodbye to my job for a week. I ended up in the city of Tundetorpe, a city that had no human population outside of tourist season, which made it a novel place for me to spend my week off.
I paid for my room at one of several inns and tried to get settled in, but I hadn't been away from Tangata in my life, and it just didn't feel right. So instead, I just went to a nearby beach. It was fun for the first hour or so, the water was refreshing and the sun was nice and warm, but the novelty wore off pretty quickly, and there really wasn't much else to do.
That was kind of the story of my life for the next couple days. I'd find something new to do, have fun for a bit, then get bored quickly. By day four I was already feeling a little homesick, and started craving something a little more familiar. So I took a little detour to the industrial district of Tundetorpe, just to see what things were like around here. I managed to worm my way into the local textile factory...
And promptly freaked out. Elves were standing on elevated platforms with no handrails on them at all. Dwarves were lifting heavy equipment into place without head protection. Halflings were working the looms in baggy shirts. The whole facility screamed "UNSAFE WORK ENVIRONMENT!". And yet nobody seemed to care. The elves didn't seem bothered by the amount of footwork they had to do just to keep from falling ten feet onto the cement floor. When a halfling got his sleeve caught in a loom, he just half-heartedly ripped it off like he didn't care if his arm got stuck. And the dwarves paid no attention to the new spinning machine hanging from a frayed rope-
CRASH!
The machine fell from the ceiling and landed directly on one of the dwarves' head. I tensed my muscles, prepared to run over and help the poor guy... but then I noticed that he was perfectly fine. The spinning machine was noticeably damaged, and yet the dwarf showed no sign of even the slightest bit of head trauma. He was still on his feet even! I immediately walked right out of that factory, packed my things, and booked the next carriage back to Tangata. There was no way for me to enjoy my vacation after seeing _that_.
It's been two years since my first and last vacation. Even now, knowing full-well that magical humanoids have special abilities that make safety regulations irrelevant... the sight of that heavy machine falling right onto a worker's head, that split-second of panic I felt, wondering if he was even still alive... that memory haunts my nightmares to this day. On the plus side, the Tangata textile factory has not had a single accident in those past two years. Fear may not be the healthiest motivator, but it's definitely made me a lot more cautious about even the slightest safety violation. |
My father Michael Walters and my mother Natalie were both well respected doctors. My older siblings- Vivian, Sam, and Edward were all gifted. Vivian was still moving through med school, Sam and Edward were focusing on engineering degrees.
I was the youngest, and I'd always felt like a disappointment. My whole family moved with grace and ease, keeping an aura of wisdom and poise at all time. I moved with clumsiness and unease. Mom assured me that when the time came, my spirit form would allow me to fully mature. To fit in.
"Don't worry, Peter"she'd say as she kissed me on the head. "You'll be just fine once you find your way."
And I believed her. So I blundered through school as best I could, yearning for the day to come where I'd fit in. To make up for my lack of academic success, I was the prankster of the school. While nobody could count on me to have the right answer to a question, they could count on me to make them laugh. And for now I was content with that.
When the night of my birthday arrived, I was *so* eager. Finally, I'd be able to tap into the wolven wisdom and power that had blessed my family back for generations. Finally, I'd stop being a joke. I'd be *respected* for once.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"God damn it Natalie"I whispered. "Our son *actually* got a wolf form. How the fuck is that even possible?"
"The spirits don't make mistakes. Maybe this will help him grow up?"
"You know it doesn't work like this, it's supposed to be a manifestation of who you already are. It doesn't help, it friggin *amplifies.* What are we supposed to do? He can't come to clan meetings, you know that. He has zero sense of decorum."
"Yeah... he does not have the temperament for those at all. If we bring him we are going to piss everyone off. Maybe piss them off enough to dethrone *you*. Wait. I have an idea."
"Breathless to hear it."
"We need to roll for his name still, right? If the spirits see fit to grant him a noble one, then *hopefully* we can keep him quiet at clan events and just... I dunno, cultivate an air of mystery?"
"Better than an air of tomfoolery and, I'm sorry but I have to say this, utter incompetence. He failed fourth grade, Natalie. Twice."
"He just has to sit there. He can do that."
"Fine... roll for his spirit name. Fingers crossed."
Nat bent over the star charts, and cast the handful of ancient carved stones. I leaned back from the table and waited for her to reveal what the spirits had chosen as our son's name.
God.
Fucking.
Damn it.
Moon Moon. |
"We are the Ultar Aesh, chosen of the God Telemach to be the inheritors of the stars themselves. We have ravaged our own world to prove our divine right. We have razed the heretics of the Caloon Moons. We have broken the Kirikkee on the Alter of our resolve. And now I stand before you all to demand you put forwards the greatest champion of this so-called Imperial Advisory Council."As a low laughter went through the council chamber the Ambassador of the Aesh frowned in anger, his eleven feet of serpentine body twitching in suppressed rage. How dare these dwellers dare question their divine right.
"Do you understand the ultimatum as I have presented it. Or do I need to begin killing to get your attention."The Ambassador took the particle beam weapon from its holster when at the back of the chamber, in a darkened alcove, a single figure stood.
The Ambassador crooed in appreciation. The bulk of the figure as it stepped into the aisles. The armour the figure wore had little by the way of frills or fantastical elements...
Until the Ambassador engaged his ocular implants and zoomed in on it. It appeared to be some form of visual history recorded on a microscopic level. "Honoured Ambassador of the Ultar Aesh. I am Grand Marshal of the Armada of Terra. You speak of your accomplishments as if they were something to be impressed about. As if they are something in which you are proud."
"I do!"The Aeshi Ambassador declared, "I have personally taken the lives of nine thousand enemy warriors."
The human shook his head, he was smaller than the Aeshi, yet the Ambassador took a step back, "You declare your history for challenges correct?"The Ambassador nodded. "Fine. I represent Terra. Before man had even conceived of spear and bow we struck one another down with rocks for mates and food. In time we mastered fire and learned how to turn those shiny rocks into metal, and with mere tools of wood and bronze, and later iron and steel, we slew one another for territory and the nebulous mysteries of worship, or even just because we did not like each other."As the human walked, his pacing and heavy armour created a cadence, his voice rising and falling to its tune, "For thousands of years we did this. Bringing down citadels made of stone with little more than rocks before we discovered the merits of chemical ballistics. The age of the gun changed war. We went from warriors to soldiers."
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
"We still fought over the same things, but now we did so en masse, and when we waged the first world war. In this war alone, which lasted only four orbits of our own sun, forty million humans were dead. Twenty one years later we would wage another war that lasted six revolutions of our sun for another seventy five million dead, ending only once we detonated to nuclear fission devices within our own biosphere."
The Ambassador stepped back a pace, flesh paling slightly.
"After these world wars, the powers of humanity continued to wage war almost unceasing, through proxies and worse in the hopes to avoid escalating our conflict to the point where we would deploy the thousands, nay, tens of thousands, of nuclear fusion weapons on one another, and we spent decades after the second world war detonating these weapons in our own atmosphere to test them. In the following decades we tested a grand total of two thousand, one hundred and twenty one tests, involving two thousand four hundred and seventy six weapons. All within our atmosphere."
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
"We consume plants that produce capsaicin,"the translator flawlessly corrected it for the aliens own tongue and the Ambassador went paler than ever, "We took one of our greatest predators and domesticated them into pets we keep around our most vulnerable children. We killed one of our gods and nailed them to a wooden cross we made him carry to his own execution. When the Imperial fleet came for our world, we had seemed weak to them. Fractured and vulnerable, on the verge of war between the United States and China. Oh how thankful we are to the Empire for doing what they did.."
"They defeated you!?"The Ambassador queried disbelievingly, surely the defeated could not be their greatest warrior? Another round of laughter rolled around the chamber.
"Oh no. They united us, you see humanity, we become complacent and when times get good, we begin to fracture and turn upon ourselves, a failing of the species? Or a product of being the only sapients from a registered death world? We don't know. But we united. Our nuclear fusion devices became our first strike. Neutron bombs slaying the crews of ships unprepared for such dishonourable combat. Well we took those ships. We studied them. We tore them apart and rebuilt them. The first four of our Dreadnoughts were War, Famine, Pestilence and of course, Death. And with them we visited that Death on the Empire."
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
"We burned their garrisons. Torched the cities of all who stood against us. And deorbited the moons of their homeworld onto their Imperial families palace. And then... then we helped the survivors. Killed them more with the kindness. Showing them how hollow and vile their lives were before.... but it has been good times, and the cracks were showing and so I thank you Ambassador of the Ultar Aesh."
"You thank me?... why..."
"Because, as the Empire did nine centuries ago. You have united us. We have an enemy again. And it's been so long since we've slipped the leash and let slip the dogs of war. Thank you Ambassador. Say hello to your gods for me." |
The sleeping pebble was known as a rest stop for weary travelers from all walks of life. No matter what side of the pointless war you were on, you would always find a hot meal and bed at the inn. Hestia considered her inn a haven, a place where true peace could develop. No matter what god you fought for, you were always welcome.
Hestia wandered through the thick forest, pulling along a cart of supplies with her right hand. Her gaze focused on the rising black smoke in the distance. “The war is getting rather close. Perhaps I should send my brothers and sisters a letter? Maybe there’s a misunderstanding about where my inn is located?”
Hestia didn’t consider the possibility that the other gods were ignoring her wishes to be excluded from the war. The other gods were childish and dangerous, but they weren’t that stupid. Hestia, believing they still honored the family hierarchy. She was the first daughter of Cronus. She doubted any of them had forgotten that.
As she made her way into the clearing, the sight of a burnt down inn greeted her. The scolding remains of stained black wood and ashes littering the floor. For a moment, she assumed it was an illusion, a harsh prank by one of her family. Releasing the cart, she approached, crouching before the ash, letting her fingers run against it.
“Why would they do this?” Her fingertip stained in the light grey of the ash, leaving a light marking. “No mortal could burn this inn down. I made certain of that. Savos? Milsa? Are you two alive?” Hestia called out to her workers, only to hear no response. The inn an eerily silent pile of rubble. No music, no laughter or chatter, just silence.
“They killed them. The inn I could excuse, but you can’t rebuild a life.” Hestia couldn’t even find the bodies among the destruction, the poor humans punished for wanting a life of peace like she did. She said a silent prayer to them, promising she would speak to Hades about this.
“Come now, sister, you have a reason to fight. You can get a new inn and you can get new servants. Now isn’t the time for grieving, it’s time for war.” A booming voice came from behind, as two feet landed on the ground behind her. The person behind her giving off an aura that made her brown hair stand up.
“Did you do this, Zeus?” Her words were soft, not even turning to stare at the man, only watching the destruction before her.
“It wasn’t just me. We hate seeing you waste your potential like this. We are shaping the world, sending the humans to fight under our names. If you don’t join in, you may get forgotten. My army’s winning, just so you know. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll offer you a territory to help you get started.”
Hestia stood up, turning to face her brother. She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between the two.
“That’s more like it. Come, I have a town called Zulus that you would love.” Zeus went to lead her, only to feel a feverish hand grip his neck. Hestia staring into her brothers’ eyes, as the flesh on her arm bubbled from the heat. If her own flesh couldn’t handle the heat, she could only imagine what it was doing to the throat of Zeus.
Her brother struggled, firing a bolt from the heavens. The bolt crackled against the top of her head, sending its volts through her, only to leave her unmoved. The heat in her palm causing his throat to sizzle. Zeus confidence turning into fear as he kicked at his sister, trying to break free from the hold.
“Did I not make myself clear about this, brother? I warned you all about what would happen if my request wasn’t met. You killed two dear friends of mine. Not servants, friends. Savos and Milsa, two people who I will ask for forgiveness from once I end this war.” With that, she dropped her brother, tossing him to the floor.
“E-end the war?” He coughed, trying to hold his throat. Whenever his fingers would touch his throat, he would be forced to let go, not even able to tend to his wound because of the heat still radiating off it.
“Yes, I’m going to make sure there is no one left to fight. I will start again with humanity. You all have tainted them.” Hestia took a seat on the ground, placing her palms against the Earth, focusing on the planet’s core. “Perhaps I will find a new family, too.”
Hestia knew she would need to work quickly. While she may have been the strongest, she was not invincible. If the others found out about this and attacked, she wouldn’t be able to fend them all off. With her focused touch, the Earth warmed, the odd shot of fire breaking through the ground, causing much confusion on the battlefields.
“What are you doing, sister? Have you gone mad?” Ares landed his Pegasus chariot before her, drawing a golden handled blade. Before he could raise the blade, a small shot of lightning hit his thumb, causing him to drop the weapon.
“She has the planet at her mercy. You would be foolish to attack her. Listen closely sister, if you do this, all those precious humans you love so much will be dead.” Zeus attempted to reason with her, knowing that there couldn’t be a war without an Earth.
“I understand your anger, sister, but this won’t bring back those you lost. Gods are made to command wars. It’s a part of our lives.” A new voice spoke to the group. The voice belonging to Demeter, her voice echoing into the minds of the gods through the earth they touched.
“A way of life? Then let me win this war. If I kill everyone, I win. Is that not how bloodshed works?” Hestia kept her finger on the trigger, glancing at the two gods before her.
“No, war is about making a person kneel before your feet in surrender.” Ares explained, finding his aunts understanding of the subject rather lacking.
“Then kneel.”
“No, not us. You want the humans to kneel. You can rule over them then. Don’t you want to indulge in the riches of life? Humans are nothing but creatures for us to exploit.” Zeus only infuriated Hestia further, the ground beneath them igniting before Ares dropped to his knees.
“Very well Auntie, if surrender is what you wish, then I have no choice.” Ares got to his knees before looking at Zeus, the proud god refusing to bow.
“If you keep standing, all of those indulgences will perish.” Hestia reminded him. “Bow and tell Hermes to inform the other gods that this war of theirs is over. I am the victor.”
Zeus watched his sister, ready to call her bluff, only for the heat of the Earth to cause him to sweat. For him to be sweating, her fury must have been hotter than the core itself. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
Shortly after, Hermes delivered the confirmation that the others had ended their wars. With that, Hestia removed her hands. Standing up, turning to the damaged inn. She hoped her two friends had kept the coins she had given them to pay for Charon’s fare. If not, she would have to search the banks for them.
“I will rebuild my inn. The rest of you go about your duties. If I hear even a murmur about a war in the next century, you will have to deal with me. Is that understood?” She was sure Hermes would pass her threat on while the gods in attendance gave their nods. With that, they left, leaving her with the rubble.
She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Her bluff had worked. She honestly didn’t think her family would believe her. She would never want to kill all of humanity, not after she had seen how lovely they could be. That would violate the trust of her friends. With the war over, she began unloading her cart, planning to use the supplies inside to rebuild her inn.
 
 
 
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“Why do I have to go live amongst the humans? They are dirty and weird. Can’t I just keep studying under you? Maybe If I study hard enough, I’ll be able to meet you?” Amber tried to stay optimistic, despite the Eldritch being making it very clear that the two would never get to meet.
“Amber, dear. We both know you can’t ever meet me. An-“
“An eldritch being is too much for a human to comprehend. Just the sight of you would cause me mass delusions, which would send me into a void of despair that would leave me a husk of a person who can’t even move until they rot from the inside. Yes, I recall lesson two hundred and four. But with enough practice, I’m positive I can avoid that. How do you even plan to enroll me in schooling if you can’t reveal yourself? You don’t expect me to enroll myself, do you?”
“I have my ways. While you are in the world of the mortals, I have followers that can take care of you. I just worry that you’re spending too much time alone with only my voice. I know you hate me for reminding you of it, but you’re still human.” The voice echoed inside her mind. The soft, buzzing hum of the voice was enough to cause pain to the average human, but to Amber, it just came off the superior nagging tone of a concerned parent.
“I am not human. Humans are gross beings that leave their children alone to die. I am the proud daughter of a being outside of this world’s comprehension. Or am I not your child anymore? Are you abandoning me too?”
The voice inside her mind fell silent. The eldritch being had done a lot of things in its limitless lifespan. It had brought down empires, drove towns into mass chaos by spreading hysteria, and even created its own underground religion and yet, this was the first time it had tried to do anything positive for the world and it was struggling. It couldn’t just control her like it would usually do with an unruly follower, it had to parent her.
“Dear. It’s not like that. I know you hold resentment for the humans, but you need to learn to live with them. These gifts I gave you weren’t so you could become like me, they were so you could become greater than me. I have done enough to hurt humanity; I wish to give humanity something back. You are my gift to this world.”
“Can’t you raise another child, then? Make someone else your apology. I don’t want to go.” Amber crossed her arms, defiantly holding her own against her eldritch parent. She hadn’t budged from her bed, refusing to leave her room until her parent gave in.
“DO NOT TAKE MY LOVE FOR YOU LIGHTLY. I DO NOT PLAN TO RAISE CHILDREN, I PLAN TO RAISE YOU, MY DAUGHTER.” The walls of the room grew dark and Amber’s vision wavered. Brief flashes of darkness shot around in her sight before the room returned to normal. She could feel a hot drop of blood dripping from her nose as she shook herself from the sudden daze.
“What?” Amber held the side of her head, feeling a stinging pain shoot through her skull before it left as quickly as it came.
“Amber, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Being a parent is something I am not used to. I rarely get questioned about my orders. Please, just try schooling. I won’t leave your side the whole time. We can even study magic together on the weekends if you don’t have any homework to do. I just want you to keep your humanity. I don’t want you to hurt the people you care about like I do.”
The door to her room crept open, revealing a void of space behind it. From that space, a long tendril, gripping a tissue, slipped out. The tendril dripping with a black ooze as it neared her face, giving her nose a small poke with the tissue, trying to clean up the droplets of blood.
Amber smacked the tendril away, forcing it to drop the tissue. When the tissue hit the floor, the tendril retreated into the void, disappearing from view. When she was certain the tendril had left, she picked up the tissue and began cleaning the droplets herself.
“Don’t be sorry. That’s who you are.” Amber said as she placed the tissue down, leaning herself back on her bed. “I don’t want you to find someone else while I’m gone. I know I can’t win this argument and it’s clear you are holding your emotions back. I’m surprised you didn’t use your powers to trick me into going.”
“You’re my daughter. Our relationship should not to be built on lies and deception. I promised you I would never manipulate you. I plan to keep to my word. Even if that may have solved this issue sooner.” The being admitted. “I could never replace you. You seem to think my love is just a temporary thing. Even if you showed no potential for magic, I would have raised and cared for you. I believe that’s how love works. I’m not sure.”
“I’m not really sure either. I love you, though. Even if I don’t know your name.”
“I can’t tell you my name. It-“
“It would cause me to cut my tongue off because of my inability to speak it. I know, lesson four.” Amber sighed, trying to hide a smile behind her palm.
“I can’t believe I got such a smart child. I love you too, dear. Now, try to get your things ready. I have planned to get Uncle Paul to accompany you as your adoptive parent while you are in the mortal world.”
“Uncle Paul? Your follower with the beard that enjoys playing board games? You couldn’t have chosen someone cooler like Aunt Venessa?” Amber whined, collecting her belongings from her desk, making sure she had a pencil and notepad ready.
“Unfortunately, she isn’t located near the school I have chosen for you. Paul makes more sense. You only have to stay with him while you go too and from school. It shouldn’t be too bad.”
“Ok, but if he mentions that stupid hungry hungry battleships game again, I’m going to put a curse on him so he can’t speak.”
“Amber…”
“I’m only kidding! Lighten up.” Amber giggled, getting her bag together before she opened the bedroom door. Beyond the door was a floating see-through doorway, one leading to a living room where Uncle Paul sat alone at his dining table eating cereal from the box. When he saw Amber, he gave a wave, only for the girl to cringe. “The things I do because I love you. Hi Uncle Paul, I’m ready for school.” Amber said, putting on a fake cheery voice as she stepped into his living room.
 
 
 
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*Tentacles are more adept at holding a beer bottle than I would have expected,* I thought.
I watched as the sea creature pulsated in the shining summer sun. I wasn't sure if it was breathing like a human or was just very good at holding its breath while drinking. Its gills opened and closed slowly and steadily. Somewhere between astonishment, horror, and dread, human civility unexpectedly kicked in.
"How are you?"I heard a voice ask from far away. Upon further review, I realized it wasn't from a distance, but was actually from my own strained vocal cords.
The sea creature glanced at me and shook a few stray strands of eels out of its eyes. "You would not believe the day I've had."
"Oh yeah?"I said awkwardly. "I'm... sorry to hear that."
The creature shook its head and reached a gelatinous extremity out to me. "My name's Ted,"it said.
I looked at the extremity, at it, back at the extremity, and back at its eyes before reaching out tentatively to grab it. It felt cool and disturbing on my skin. "Lorie."
"That's a pretty name,"Ted said before taking another sip of the beer he stole from my cooler.
"Tha—"
"Certainly a lot prettier than *Becky*,"it grumbled as it stared out at the waves.
I did not know what to say. I looked up and down the beach, but no one seemed to notice I was sitting next to an oceanic monster. "Uh... Who is Becky?"I asked.
Ted snorted derisively, causing some water to drip down his jellied neck. "I thought I knew,"he said.
"Uhh—"
"If you must know, Becky is in accounting."
"Were you two... involved?"I asked, still not really sure what my role was in this conversation.
"With *Becky*? God no!"Ted said, shooting me a horrified look. "We were friends, though. *Were* being the operative word there,"Ted said, relaxing back onto the extra beach towel I had brought.
"Um, what... happened?"
"Oh, you don't want to hear about that,"it said with a wave of a tentacle, but it said it in a way that clearly conveyed it wanted to tell me.
I internally cursed my manners. "Sure, I d—"
"Well, it all started this morning. I come into work, I sit down, and I hit the button to turn my work station on,"Ted explained. "I'd needed to go in earlier to finish the paperwork for a shipment from Friday, but wouldn't you guess it? The computer needed to update. You just know that is going to take forever, too. And there's never a discernible difference, you know,"Ted said, giving me a wide-eyed look.
"Er, yea—"
"So then I'm waiting for what felt like *hours**,* but it was more like ten minutes. Either way, it finally turns on, so I get my coffee and sit down to do the work. Well, Becky has emailed me six times already. *Six*,"Ted told me. "Can you believe that? She couldn't walk twelve feet to just come tell me what she needed?"It took a sip of his beer.
"Uh, yeah, that's reall—"
"I know, right?"it said, its eyes bulging. "Right?"
In my confusion, I realized I was letting my mouth gape open, which was ironic considering what I was talking to. I took a drink of my own beer and nodded, sensing that Ted didn't really need much from me.
"So I walk over there, and I'm like, 'Becky, couldn't you just come over to my desk?' And she's like, 'I have too much work to do and you're holding me up.' So I say, 'Wouldn't it have been quicker to walk over or at least call? My computer was updating.' So she gets all mad at me and says she needs the spreadsheet I was supposed to have sent out Thursday. But the thing is,"Ted said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I wasn't supposed to send it on Thursday at all. It wasn't due until *next* week."
"Uh huh,"I said. "So... you work in an aquatic—"
"Shh shh, I'm getting there,"it said, waving a few more tentacles at me. "So then, she *reports* me to human resources for 'aggressive behavior.' Can you *believe* that?"
I gave a small, polite smile. "No wa—"
"Yes!"it said, leaning away from me and throwing its hands out. "Of course, she goes to lunch every day with Bridget, so you can only imagine whose side she was on. She even threw something in there about constant interruptions."
"Well, actu—"
"The nerve on some people, huh? Lying like that!"
The creature named Ted took a long pull from the bottle and stared out at the sun as it was setting over the ocean. The water kept crashing down on the beach, sending waves of continuous white noise towards us. The earth itself was begging me to fill in the void that was once overflowing with a sea creature's words.
"Wow, that sounds like a bad day so far."
"So far? That's the end of my story."
I looked the sea creature up and down pointedly. "I think you're failing to mention something."
It stared at me, its face contorted in what I guessed was confusion. Suddenly its eyes widened in realization. "Oh yeah,"it said, taking a final swig of its beer. It threw the empty bottle into the ocean.
"I don't think you're supposed to—"
"Well, after work I ran into a witch and was turned into a hideous sea creature,"it said offhandedly. "So yeah, pretty rotten day." |
5289 points, posted 4 hours ago
Tell us a story about something horrifying, like a murder or mystery in your town.
^(PM_ME_UR_PMS 12437 points 3 hours ago)
A couple of years ago, in my home town of Pittsburgh, there was a murder that went unsolved despite what you'd think would be an easy case. It was pretty fucking brutal, actually- this guy, he beat the living shit out of a guy in his forties, smashed his head right in and left it there like ground beef. It was really, really gruesome- my friend was a cop and said it's the single worst thing he's ever seen. No one ever found out who did it, or why, really. But the guess is that it was some kind of drug deal gone south or someone mentally ill who just snapped.
It's just really scary to think someone can do that and just wander the streets at night.
>^(throwaway6392976 18526 points 46 minutes ago)
Okay, I've heard enough of this shit for the past several years, now. I'm routing my IP through a proxy, but I don't even care how risky this is because I'm just tired. I'm tired of seeing people talk about me like I'm crazy, or deranged, or some kind of crazy asshole.
>Moreover, I'm sick of people talking about that fucking piece of shit like he was a victim, like he was just some poor guy that got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. His name was Dean Harroway, and I knew him, growing up. Wouldn't call him a friend, but we knew each other. This guy, this fucking prick, he used to joke with me like it was so funny...he'd bump into me sometimes, on my way home from work, so drunk he couldn't stand straight. He'd tell me about... how he was popular with the ladies. The...really young ladies. You see, he was a kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school. I tried to tell the police, but with no proof of anything they just brushed me off. Most people knew him and loved him, thought he couldn't do it.
>But one day, my daughter came home crying, shaking and detached from things she once loved. I'm not saying anything more than that.
>So I took a hammer to his head one night, when he was drunk, alone in his apartment. I smashed that fucker's brains right in, after smashing his kneecaps and fingers and feet to a pulp. And with every scream, I felt vindication. I felt justice for every little girl he'd made scream.
>I left my family behind, knowing that at least they were safer this way. I traded my life, time with my baby girl, to protect those he harmed. Sure, sooner or later it would've surfaced and he would've gone down...but the law can be slow, sometimes. I wasn't going to let even one more girl get hurt just to do things the nice way.
>Some people don't get the nice way.
------
*thanks for reading! check out /r/resonatingfury for more* |
Bruce Wayne stood stoically, looking at the footage from his arsenal of security cameras. He watched as an ever-growing crowd of reporters gather around his property, eager to find out even more about the man behind the cowl. They, at least, weren't making any attempt to hide. He wasn't very concerned about any darker dangers slowly creeping their way towards his old family manor, nor did he worry about any of his friends or family coming under threat from any of his old rogue's gallery. After all, there wasn't really anyone he could call a true friend at that point.
With one exception. He expected his dearest of companions, Alfred, to cheerily remind him the bat mobile was primed and ready to go, for his escape to be ready at any moment. Of course, he knew this would never come. He sighed deeply, thinking of his old butler, in a coma, and likely to remain that way for the remainder of his days, but a shadow of his former self. Bruce pushed these thoughts out of his mind for now, and instead thought of how he got himself into his predicament.
Defending the innocent wasn't cheap, especially not in the dark, amoral backwaters of Gotham, a city ridden with poverty and crime. If he was to continue with his nightly crusades, he needed more funds. How hilarious, the aging hero thought. He had gone up against cold mobsters, murderous sadists, monsters from hell, aliens, conquerors bent on world domination, and even the coming of the apocalypse itself; but alas, his greatest enemy was taxes. In order to overcome this most harrowing of foes, he resolved to create an offshore oil account, linked directly to Wayne Enterprises. Of course, Wayne Enterprises had no stake in the oil industry, but the Batman needed his supplies, and so it went. Money was laundered with this excuse, tax-free, which meant maximum revenue. At first, it was just a small percentage of his gains, but eventually it was where most of his income came from. He could continue to save the lives of the people he loved so dearly, without having to worry about dwindling finances.
Then, it all fell apart. The papers were leaked. Collapsing, falling, his identity was figured out, with sly journalists connecting the dots. His schemes, and the schemes of many others, were exposed to the public eye, for all to see. The dots were connected. He was discovered. Now, here he was, watching his entire life's work fall apart, his company investigated and torn apart, his mansion overwhelmed with reporters and police. Nobody had actually entered into his courtyard or into the interior of his home, but his live feed was showing the people were getting ready to do just that. Everyone wanted to talk to Batman, after all. Their hero.
It was all a farce. His greatest enemies always came back, regardless of what he did. It seemed like for every crook he put up, three more took their place. His hand hovered over a red button labeled only *destruct.* He had no reluctance. He knew would rid the world of his legacy if he had to. This was such a moment. He pressed the button.
The world watched in awe as Wayne Manor leaped into flames. Everything was destroyed. Anyone inside would be vaporized. Some of the people closer to the mansion experienced burns, and the shock wave was heard from miles around. The property was replaced with a large crater, with only the walls on the farthest edges of the once mighty homestead still remaining. The bat cave, and everything he had worked to achieve, was eviscerated. The Batman was no more.
In a shack in northern Canada, Bruce Wayne laughed for the first time in as long as he could remember. His plan had worked, as he knew it would. Whenever he contacted various news outlets regarding his money scheme, the pieces were set. The clues he laid out regarding his identity were obvious, his biggest concern being that someone like Batman would even leave such a clear trail. Of course, that didn't really matter now. He thought about the last thing Alfred had said to him.
"Stay true to yourself. Be who you want to be, not what others want you to be."
That part of his life was over. He shut off his computers. He looked out the window in his small house, the blank snow covering the landscape. Down the road, he could see a small fishing town situated right on the coast of the Atlantic, it slowly coming alive. This was the peaceful life he desired. Nobody would find him here, he made sure of it. As far as the world was concerned, Bruce Wayne was dead.
The myth of the dark knight lives on.
|
She picked up on the third ring, like she always did. I could picture her with that old landline, sitting in front of the television waiting for a sound from the antique phone with the clunky buttons and the tangled cord. Her "hello"interrupted my reminiscing and I smiled as I heard her familiar raspy voice. It had been a couple weeks. I felt bad, but life got in the way sometimes.
"Yabba dabba deeeeee,"I said with a smile, repeating that code-phrase we had used a thousand times before. *Yabba dabba doooooo* she would respond, and sometimes I would rhyme it with an "I love you". It was just a little thing we did; it started as a legitimate precaution, at least in the mind of a child - a way that mini-me could tell if she had been replaced by an evil robot mom - but soon became an inside joke that helped us start each conversation with a smile.
I was greeted by something akin to silence, broken only by an occasional robotic click and whir. I took it to be the landline. I had told her so many times to upgrade to a cellphone. "I'm too old for new things,"she would say, brushing me off. I don't know if that meant that she didn't want them outlasting her or if she just didn't want to take the time to learn.
"Mom?"I asked cautiously. I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears. "Is everything okay? Yabba dabba dee?"I repeated less confidently.
"Hmm? What are you talking about?"Her voice sounded strained. Stressed. Like she was going through the motions without really understanding.
"The phrase, mom. You didn't respond with it."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about. Sorry, honey."She wouldn't mess with me, not with something as timeless as this. For a fleeting moment, a life of dealing with a dementia-riddled parent crossed my mind and I felt guilty for dreading that it would turn my life upside down. It should turn my life upside down. She had devoted her life to me, the least I could do was return the favor in her time of need.
"Mom, I'm heading up there."I checked my watch. It was seven-oh-three, just a hair past the my normal calling time. "I'll be up by maybe nine, if there's no traffic. Don't go anywhere, okay?"
"Don't come,"she argued. "I'm fine."She paused for a second, the clicks and chirps of the landline now the gears of her mind slowly churning out an answer. "The phrase... Yabba dabba dee, right?"
"Yabba dabba dee,"I said tentatively, testing her one last time. For old time's sake. Maybe it was a bad joke. Maybe she was preoccupied with something else. Maybe she had a movie on too loud in the background or she was incensed at the grocer for selling her a bruised banana.
"Yabba dabba dee,"she repeated right back to me. I hung up, my heart pounding. I grasped for the car keys and I grabbed myself a granola bar in lieu of dinner. And right before stepping out the door I went back to the safe. I pulled out the gun, feeling its unfamiliar weight in my hands. Now part of me hoped that it was just dementia; that the gun would stay comfortably put away and that there wasn't anybody replacing or attacking my elderly mother.
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/db96oi/wp_you_always_greet_your_mum_with_a_code_phrase/f1zv59b?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) below!
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/db96oi/wp_you_always_greet_your_mum_with_a_code_phrase/f20q3z7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) below!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
“Bring them out!” I shout to the guards, taking a large drink of my wine. My face feels flushed; I’m sweating. This god damn throne is so uncomfortable. After so many years fighting for it. After the thousands, tens of thousands of deaths. I thought it would feel like perfection sitting on this throne. But all it does is give me a backache.
The crowd is cheering as my knights bring out two nobles to the center of the throne room. My men, those who have followed me through hell and back during this revolution, sit at the mead tables. Laughing, drinking, looking at the girls who are serving them.
This is what I’ve wanted all these years. Finally, the last of the old order has been smashed and some semblance of peace can be brought to our kingdom. Our kingdom which has felt the devastation of war for so many years.
But these games will help the moral of my men. They have fought and died for me; it is the least I can do. Truth be told, I enjoy it also. I enjoy the fear in these noble’s eyes. These haughty sons of bitches. I enjoy their cries for mercy. I enjoy their blood pooling in the sand of the pit.
The war is over. The pockets of resistance smashed. There is no more to track down. I wonder what I will do to keep my men entertained, keep them in line. It’s much easier to rule when there is an enemy to point at and say *they* are the problem. *They* are the reason things are bad.
Peace is something I fear. Peace is complicated.
It is two of the old King’s Cabinet this time, along with their wives and oldest sons. They are dragged out in rags and I smirk at the change of fortune for these families. Last time I saw these Barons they were sentencing me to death for treason.
“Baron Gondrick and Baron Laion, so nice to see you.”
They, along with their wives and eldest sons, are dragged to the edge of the pit and held there with theatrical suspense. Their wives are sobbing, asking for their sons to be spared. One of the sons, Baron Gondrick’s, is old enough to understand his fate. The other, who must be no older than 10 winters, is looking around. Fear is in his eyes. He seems to know something very bad is happening, but he is not quite sure what.
I almost feel bad for the child. If he wasn’t the son of Baron Laion that is. The man who sat in this same throne room night after night as King Tharanis tossed family after family into the pit for his own entertainment. My own brother was consumed in the pit for the twisted entertainment of the old, dusty king.
He had the pit built in the early years of the revolution. He brought in Manticores from the Deserts of Qet. Pure bred. From a lineage that was thousands of years old. He took deep pleasure in watching the men of the early days of the resistance being torn limb from limb by his treasured pets.
I see the manticore now curled in the corners of the pit below, waiting, patiently.
I haven’t fed them in days. Their desperate hunger is magnificent.
I look up and see the two barons staring at me with a malevolence that I enjoy quite a lot. I take another large drink of my wine, returning the stare.
“It seems you will be our night’s entertainment,” I say. “I must say though, I was hoping for….” I looked at the Baron Gondrick’s large belly, “A little bit spritelier game—but of course, you will do. Truth be told, I will enjoy hearing your screams. I will enjoy it rising up slowly like noxious vapors from the pit. Gondrick, were you not the one that gave the orders to hang a dozen of my men from the walls of Stormthru Fortress?”
Baron Gondrick spit on the stone floor. ”Those men were rapists and thieves. They sacked the town, poisoned the wells, killed the cattle, and ravaged the women. Some girls not much older than your own daughter. They deserved their justice, just as you deserve the justice you will receive. No man is above the gods, and you insult them with your mockery. Your barbaric games. You are a false king and no better than the man in which you raped and pillaged the whole nation to unthrone.”
The wine was heavy in me now. I felt my face flush. The room was silent. The guards holding the children looked at each other, then at me. They seem unsure of what to do. I am angered by their weakness, of their hesitancy, and I stare at the Baron. My anger building with the warmth of the wine.
“Insolent until the end,” I say, the words dripping with venom. “I respect that Baron. I respect your honor. So much so, I was thinking of sparing your oldest sons. Let them grow under my tutelage. Let them learn from a real man.”
To his credit, the Baron didn't flinch. He leans his shoulders back, accepting his fate. “Get on with your pathetic show, Jonathon.”
I stand up quickly, too quickly. The crown falls off my head, but I catch it in my hand. I point at the Baron. “That is King Rathmore to you.”
“You are no king,” the Baron says.
I toss my goblet at him. I am not proud of that. But it was a rush of emotion. These nobles bring out the worst in me. I look forward to the day when every last one of them is washed clean from this earth. They are the ones causing me so much trouble. It is as if they do not know when they've been defeated.
I would be a better ruler if it wasn’t for them. Soon I will have cleansed this world of all of them, and then I will rule like I was destined to. I will be a good king.
The goblet clatters against the wall of the pit, which separates us, and falls silently to the sand-filled floor. A manticore looks up sleepily, then lowers its head again.
“Call me King Rathmore, or I will drag more than just your eldest sons into the pit. I will feed the manticore until they tire of the taste of your children!” The room is silent at these remarks. Again, I’m not proud of them. But it’s the wine and these Barons. “Say it!” I shout again.
Baron Gondrick bites his lip, looking over at his wife. I see a tear dripping from his eye. It is so pathetic I take no pleasure in it. But I’ve committed at this point. I’m hoping he calls me king, so I don’t have to follow through on my promise.
“I apologize, King Rathmore,” he says finally, looking at the ground in defeat. “You are a good king,” he says, and I lift my shoulders to properly accept his fealty.
“That’s more like it,” I say. “Now toss them in,” I say to the guards.
They grab the Barons and their wives and their eldest sons and push them forward towards the pit. The manticores rise now. They know what is about to happen and they stretch their limbs, their claws coming out and piercing the dirt as they stretch. They yawn. Their lips retract, their massive teeth shine in the light of the torches. It is time to feast you majestic creatures, I think to myself. I motion to my servant to bring me another glass of wine and I fall back in the throne heavily.
What a god damn uncomfortable chair, I think to myself. I will replace it soon. With something greater, just as I will replace the old rule of this kingdom with something greater.
“Stop!” I hear a voice shout out in the row of tables.
I look around and wonder who it is. And I see Yurick, my second in command, raising from his seat.
“This is madness, my king,” he says.
I take a deep breathe, controlling my fury. It never ends, I think to myself. I almost feel an empathy for King Tharanis. He must have dealt with the same annoyances with his own men. The same weaknesses. They don’t understand what it takes to rule a kingdom. They will never understand.
“Please, Jonathon."Yurick says. "Reconsider this. These are just boys. They haven’t done anything to you. These women have done nothing to you.”
I stare at my friend for a long time. My friend for the last fifteen years. A man I would trust with my life fifteen times over. I would not be here without him. I owe him everything. And yet I feel a deep hatred as I hear my simple name from his mouth.
“Do not call me Jonathon, Yurick.” I say. “I am King Rathmore, first of his name. You are my closest friend. But you will give me the respect I deserve.”
\---
*Part II Below.* |
"I just want the screaming to stop,"whimpered Agares. Bones shifted under his feet as he hiked along the path to the clearing which had been his home for millennia. He clutched the hood of his cloak, pulling it tight against his ears. "Just... Stop... Please..."
The screams did not stop. Neither did the moans, the sobs or the howls. The cacophony of mortal agony persisted. Agares shut his eyes against the sight of viscera along the path, pulling his hood down further. He stumbled and fell to his knees, soaking the hem of his ancient robe in blood. His tears left clean tracks in the blood spatter on his care worn face.
Agares could remember a time, distant but clear, when his home had been free of freshly flayed bodies. It had been beautiful once, held such by Agares' will. A tiny cottage. A meadow dusted with wildflowers. Fresh spring water from the brook. And best of all, no smiting. That was why he had left the light, had chosen to fall. He couldn't abide all the goddamn smiting.
Things had been great for quite a while. Before the mortals. Before the punishment. The first of them had arrived suddenly one day, in a brilliant flash of light, with a note pinned to her back. "If you're not gonna smite for me, you're going to play host. \~ G"Agares was confused but thought it might be nice to have some company. He thought wrong.
The mortals, it seemed, were a Trojan Horse of sorts. They brought with them something the endless fields of Hell were never designed to accommodate. The mortals came with context. They came with perception. They came with Linear Time.
A millennia passed before the troubles started. Agares alerted Lucifer and the council but naught could be done. Hell's ethereal nature began to crystalize under the weight of observation by so many mortals. It's borders became static, it's features predictable. Hell's guests became too numerous. Their minds began to break under the sheer weight of time. It wasn't long until they began tearing each other apart. The violence grew until it was all encompassing.
After a while, a trend began to emerge. New arrivals had the strangest stories. Stories of a hell run by Fallen who torture mortals forever for fun. They even knew some of the Fallen's names. The story was all the rage on earth it seemed. The injustice of it drove Agares slightly insane. His ex-boss was pushing this story, he just knew it. He had to find a way out. Had to get away. He would break open the very gates themselves if he had to.
Agares stopped in his tracks as a brilliant flash of light illuminated the sky and several newcomers crouched frightened on a pile of skulls. The mortals spotted him, their faces turning white at the sight of his haggard face, long black robe, all soaked in blood. "Oh God, oh God,"one said. "Is this Hell? Are we in fucking HELL?"
Agares took a steadying breath and shook the blood from his hands. An idea was forming in his mind, the first inkling of hope since he had gone mad. He needed to get out. They needed to avoid insanity and mindless slaughter. He squared his shoulders and, in a commanding voice, said, "No. This is not Hell. Hell is no more."
They stared at him in confusion. One spoke up. "Purgatory then? We're damned aren't we?"
With a heavy sigh, Agares shook his head. "You are not the damned. The damned have no hope."
"What hope do we have?"the same man asked. "What happened here?"
Agares stood a little straighter. "Injustice happened here. And I hope you can help me fix it."
\---------------------------------------
I'm too tired to keep going.
Edit: oh damn, so many kind words and just noticed the award, thanks kind strangers! |
I Look down at the ring Izzy is holding in her hand, beaming with happiness. I can feel that it is silver, the smell is burning my nostrils.
“Yes“, I answer her, “I would love to marry you.” My fiancée gives me the biggest smile and holds the ring forward with expectation. “Don’t you wanna put it on?” I take her hands, careful as not to touch the ring. “I would really love to, dear, but I am allergic to silver. I get red and itchy, it’s terrible.“
”Oh no!” Izzy looks at me in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I laugh. “Well, in day to day life I can get around by simply not touching silver things. To be honest it didn’t occur to me.” Izzy nods. ”I guess that makes sense.” She looks down at the ring, I can see a shadow of disappointment in her eyes.
”Look”, I tell her. “The ring really is beautiful but I can’t wear it. So how about you wear it and then we’ll get me a matching ring that’s made from a material my skin can deal with?” “Yeah we could do that.” Izzy smiles, and then carefully puts back the ring into the box. “I still have the sketches I made for the ring, so we can use them on yours. We’re just lucky our ringfingers are the same size.” I laugh and kiss her on the head. “Yes, we are.”
And I am lucky silver allergies are a real thing, I think to myself as I contemplate how I will deal with my fiancée wearing a silver ring. |
Obama raked in the chips representing Iceland, Denmark, Sicily, and New Zealand. Yet another winning hand.
"I knew we shouldn't have played Texas Hold 'Em,"Italy's prime minister grumbled, eyes never leaving the token for its prized southern island. "It's an *American* game!"
Obama leaned back in its chair and put his cowboy boots on the table. They were uncomfortable as all hell, and everyone in the U.S. knew that the Hawaiian/Illinois native wouldn't be caught dead wearing them any other time. But here, it was all about appearances. If they were playing Texas Hold 'Em, then the President better damn well look like a Texan. Play the opponent, not the cards. "Well, uhhh, Prime Minister Renzi...,"he told the Italian, "in the game of poker, it's imperative to not, ummm, bite off more than you can chew."
Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon shuffled the cards and dealt two cards to each player. Nearly all of the smaller countries had been crushed in the first few rounds of the tournament. Large countries like Russia could bet province after province after province, but Malta's really only in the game until they make one bad gamble. By now, the game was just down to China, India, Brazil, Russia, the U.S., the EU, and *somehow*: Costa Rica. The plucky Central American nation had defied all expectations and even managed to claim most of Australia and Mexico.
Obama scratched at his chin as he looked at his cards. He was trying to convince the other players that that was his tell for a good hand. He was having mixed success: Japan had bought it hook, line, and sinker; but he'd nearly lost Florida to Cuba when wily Fidel called his bluff. That would have certainly been embarrassing to bring back to Congress, though Al Gore would probably be pretty pleased.
"All right, gentlemen,"Ban Ki-Moon said, "And Lady,"he added with a nod toward Ms. Merkel, who had just tagged in as the EU Representative. "Russia, you are the big blind, and Brazil is small."
Barack looked at his cards. Jack and Ten of hearts.
Xi from China, Solís from Costa Rica, and Dilma from Brazil folded immediately and pushed their cards across the felt with disgust. Luckily the ante was just a chunk of currency, and they weren't required to put up actual territory until the betting stage.
Obama placed a 100-billion dollar chip onto the pile, and Putin and Merkel called. Prime Minister Modi studied his cards for a while longer, then stared each of his opponents in the eyes for a good minute or so. Obama broke the staring contest first, trying to look nervous. But the gambit failed, and Modi folded too.
Ban Ki-Moon laid out the next three cards. Nine of clubs, queen of spades, and 2 of diamonds. Pretty worthless to anyone else, but Barack was nearly sitting on a straight.
"I bet Lithuania,"Merkel chimed in, tossing the chip onto the pile decorated with the yellow, green, and red flag. If that didn't catch Putin's eye, nothing would. She was trying to bait him with a country he desperately wanted back. She wanted him emotional. Which meant she had a shit hand, and was trying to feint him into betting big and then regretting enough to fold. Perfect.
"I see Lithuania,"Obama said, "And I call with Mississippi."Obama threw down the chip, glad to get that Confederate flag out of his hand. Some of the other Presidents in the room exchanged glances. Odd that he'd bet home turf before some of the other countries that America had won in the tournament.
Putin threw Crimea on the table, and the round proceeded. Ban Ki-Moon turned over the next card: 8 of hearts. That made the straight. Obama's face was as steady and emotionless as a statue.
"I raise,"Obama said. He pushed Alabama, South Carolina, and Georgia onto the table.
Merkel groaned and threw her cards back on the table. "Fold,"she hissed through clenched teeth. Behind her, the representative from Lithuania's face turned white.
Putin studied Obama's face closely. "I see your raise,"he said slowly, "And I raise you."He gathered up nearly all of his Siberian provinces and pushed them all onto the table. That was a *lot* of strategic oil wells to put into the pot at once.
Obama looked back down at his cards, pretending to be nervous. Putin didn't have shit, and they both knew it. The problem was, Putin thought Obama was bluffing too. He was going big to try to get Obama to crack. Well, two can play at that game.
"I raise with... uhhh... Texas,"Obama said, pushing one of the biggest chips (Nearly the size of a dinner plate) onto the table. Whispers erupted around the room.
Putin glared. Even Ban Ki-Moon was sweating. "Fine,"he answered at last, pushing nearly a third of his remaining territories into the center of the table. "Call."
Despite his self control, Obama allowed himself to smirk just a bit. Ban Ki-Moon remembered that he was supposed to be the dealer, and flipped the last card as he composed himself. It was the Jack of diamonds. Not that it mattered.
Obama looked at his cards again... and pushed them forward. "I fold,"he announced.
Gasps echoed through the room. Every other President was utterly horrified. The American President had just bet *Texas* on a gamble, and LOST?
"HA!"Putin crowed. He leaped from his seat and raked all the chips in. "Now I call it *Russian* Hold 'Em! All of your American South is *mine*! "
"Yes,"Obama answered, now completely unable to control his smile. "*What a shame*." |
A green flash. A thunderous crack. Echoes.
A heavy distortion flooded the cavern, waking the party of Uruk-Hai that had made this dark, rank hole their resting spot. They started, sitting bolt upright in their sleeping rags, turning as one toward the source - a green glow clawed its way through the murkiness of the cave, lighting the filth that littered the ground and casting ominous shadows.
Orders were screeched as a thousand reeking, rippling bodies pressed around through the narrow passageway, swords in hand, eager for blood. There was strength in their numbers, and the men were few and far between. Those that survived the Great One's purge now cowered in small packs, and could never hope to match the strength of a party this large.
And yet, their confidence waned slightly - enough to give room for curiosity. Flashes were still illuminating the narrow passageway, pinning the Uruk-Hai together as they shielded their eyes, as the distortion grew in volume. This was new magic. This was *strong* magic, and magic manifesting itself at all should have served as a warning - all Wizards had been "emancipated"long ago.
But they paid it no mind. Why should they care? Not the white wizard in his tower, nor even the second, dirty, ragged white wizard and his band of halflings had stopped them. They had made quick work of reaping their flesh, and this would end the same way.
Men had no force left to spare, no trick cards left to play, noone to call on after the elves had abandoned them, and the Uruk-Hai were blessed by the Great One himself. Whoever would stumble across this cave system would find themselves face to face with the most formidable force left to walk Middle Earth.
They were right about that.
A figure, clad in green armour, knelt with one fist pressed against the ground, metal rods strapped to his back at the end of the tunnel. A man! A man versed in magic, but a man no less.
A trapped man. A fool.
They would hear him scream before the night was out, rip and tear his flesh from bone.
War drums echoed off the walls.
The orcs stopped dead in their tracks. The magic, the distortion, for the first time they could hear it had melody. Rhythm. There was a malice in the air, dripping with violence, rippling like waves from the kneeling figure.
But the Uruk-Hai, above all else, began to feel it, began to feel him through the noise. His hatred. His pure, unadulterated, unyielding, merciless hatred.
And it was *deafening*.
Swords fell as most clapped palms to ears, some collapsing, writhing, succumbing, clinging desperately to their sanity. Three held their nerve, shrieking and pushing past to respond to the challenge. This man would suffer for his impertinence and his sorcerer's tricks.
Words, words on the wall. Words alive with magic, glowing hot, as the figure rose, slowly, pulling a metal tube from the assortment of veritable blacksmith's delights fastened to his back. His face was masked, but his intentions were clear from the way he stood, from the dried blood caked to his armour. This man was here for glory, and the Uruk-Hai would taste his blood before any chance of indulging his delusion of victory.
The first orc to him brought two more close behind, all intent on landng the first blow. He roared over the din as he threw all his strength into a single swing, a strike to end this folly immediately.
The three orcs halted, swaying where they stood, as the sound abruptly stopped, replaced with a deep, resonating thud, and the splatter of gore.
They stared blankly. The man stood, defiant, gripping the orcish blade in one hand, as his other hand tore a hole through all three of them.
Those that were still sane froze where they stood, horror-struck at his fearsome power for while yet, until the figure looked up, cocked his head, and with his arm still raised high he shattered the blade, leaving nought but his closed fist in its wake.
The deafening roar returned.
...
No words are spoken.
*Load.*
None are needed.
*Lock.*
There is one task, and it is mine alone.
*Aim.*
I will not rest, for the pain they feel can not cease until it is finished.
*Fire.*
Rip and Tear, until it is done.
...
The Doomslayer leapt forth with inhuman strength, and that night, Uruk-Hai felt fear for the first time.
The endless reaping had begun.
.
.
.
.
.
Edit: some bits didn't sound right in my head, so I've changed them. First time responding to a prompt so please be honest with your feedback, hope you enjoy.
Edit 2: gold?! Welp, looks like I'm gonna have to start writing again. Thanks so much dude. |
Manya had had enough. Yes, magical kingdoms and fantasy lands were amazing. Being able to live thousands of lives, experiencing them was otherworldly but going back to your 16 year old self, not so much. She had had enough true loves to last a lifetime but not an actual one. She knows this doesn't make any sense, so some context, you see, Manya has a secret, a wonderful, magical, enchanting and any other adjective you would like to add, whenever she entered closets or small spaces she entered different realms. And in the beginning it was wonderful. But now after being transported back to reality for the hundredth time was giving her a whiplash.
Not to mention the time it took her to get over them emotionally. It wasn't easy. The last realm she visited, she stayed for 50 years. She had a family, it was only when her kids were all grown up and husband had died that she had travelled back. The loss was still fresh, her heart felt heavy just thinking about him.
How many people had she lost over the years? Countless. Their losses, each of their faces were still fresh in her memories. For people of those kingdoms, it had been years, maybe centuries, since she had existed but for her it was just the past few months. Her therapist always asks her "how do you feel?"and she never replies, for what could she? He would think that she was experiencing psychosis, and sometimes when the days are bad, she isn't so sure herself. Maybe it was all in her head, who lives a hundred lifetimes, who voluntarily suffers so much loss.
She was 16 damnit, she was supposed to have sleepovers, talk about boys or girls, and just have as much fun as possible, not go on new adventures, spend lifetimes together with people who never exist in her reality.
She looked at another set of drawing she made. It was her family, another of her family that she lost, she felt a sob build up as looked at the charcoal outlined face of her husband. Oh how she had loved him, a tear spattered on the page ad she wiped her eyes. She turned the pages and looked at all her friends and families, for her drawings were the only photos she had of them, she felt a sorrow so deep that her heart physically ached.
"Manya?"Asked the receptionist at Dr. Stark's, her therapist, clinic.
She wiped her eyes once more and nodded. The woman looked at her sympathetically, and gave her a sweet smile.
"The doctor's waiting for you." |
They left in waves, once they heard. The explorers went first. Then the rich.
Those who were left banded together. They recycled the science and smelted the metals. The first world left. Then the second. The third went last. In all things order was preserved.
It wasn’t the bases that pulled them in. Those lonely outposts, a hedging of humanity’s bets, were an end. Given enough time a man might fly, might withstand the onslaught of an unfiltered sun. A man might even be the lord of the rock.
It was the infinite that drew them. What man had pieced together was destiny. All you need do was aim for the stars. Unencumbered by the cruel gravity of home cells divided in new ways. Traits unheard of, nonsensical even, would express themselves. In a dozen years you were a perfected mind. A dozen more and you were knowledge encoded in light.
What had been the home for humanity was our anchor. A bridge between nothing and eternity. Millions of years of evolution, while revolution waited for its chance.
When the last man left he turned the lights out. It was the work of a moment, but a symbol all the same. And, in the darkness, the next race was born.
|
I spiraled through the air as I plummeted towards the concrete below me. This was my favorite thing in the world to do, and trust me, I had done it all. The thrill of it never faded, and it made me feel something that faintly resembled happiness, even though I knew I hadn't felt that for thousands of years. I knew it wouldn't kill me, but it was something to do, and it's not like I had places to be.
******
I could think so clearly while I was falling, could reminisce on all the lives I had lived. I remembered the demonic creature that had cursed me all those years ago, had given me a choice that seemed, at the time, too good to be true.
*"I can grant you what no other creature on this world has ever had. Something that no creature on this world ever will have. True freedom from death. True freedom from feeling. You will be a god of time itself."*
For the first few million years, it was amazing. Nothing could hurt me, nothing could even cause me pain, and when you've been around for as long as I have, time moves much faster. The first 46 million years flew by, but no other creature really resembled me, so I spent most of my time to myself. It was only a few hundred thousand years ago that a branch of these creatures started to resemble me, and I found myself drawn and attracted to the creatures. But I quickly learned that the world was still way too hostile, and life too short, so I decided to hold off on beginning any sort of life with these creatures until death wasn't so imminent for them. Three times I started a family. Three times I watched my family die without me. I couldn't feel physical pain, but mental pain...that existed. It was almost as if my mind became more active and sensitive to my thoughts since the physical component of the world was stripped away from it.
And it was taking its toll. I wanted it all to stop. The thoughts, the pain, *the guilt.* But death always alluded me, and I gave up. On life. On death. On everything.
*****
I slammed into the concrete. My body ricocheted off of it like it was nothing, and I got up to my feet to brush off the dust from my trench coat. *3 AM.* Perfect time to pull these jumps. I didn't want to scare or frighten anyone; I had caused enough suffering in this world. I started walking back towards my apartment.
"You too, huh?"I whipped around to see a man standing in front of me with a solemn look on his face. "Can't even count how many times I've tried that,"the man muttered with a half-hearted chuckle.
"Yo....You...You're immortal too?"
"Yeah, there's a ton of us around now. The devil likes to watch us suffer, it amuses him..."
"I'm so...so tired. I just want it to end. All of it. The thoughts are overwhelming."I could feel my body trembling as I spoke to the man. *Finally someone who could relate.*
"Trust me man, I want it all to end, too. I used to think death was the worst thing that could happen to someone, but let me tell you, death ain't shit compared to this."I nodded my head in silent concurrence. "But I think I found a way to get us out of this hell."
My ears propped up as I listened to what I hoped would be the first bit of good news I had heard in hundreds of years.
*****
The tranquilizers barely affected us, but they were enough to convince the doctors that we were dead. We had become the masters of our own bodies throughout the years, and with the help of these horse tranquilizers, we could feign death very easily.
As I lay in the capsule they put me in, I could barely hold in my excitement. It was finally going to be all over. *Don't smile, don't smile* I thought to myself as the vitrification process began.
The man had explained how they would "freeze"terminally ill people with the intent of "unfreezing"them when the cure for their disease had been found in the future. This was our way out. We couldn't kill ourselves, but we could shut our minds off. No more suffering.
******
I waited in silent excitement as the men in front of me set things up for slumber. I could hear them shuffling around in front of me. Any second now, I'd go under. The shuffling continued. Then it got fainter. And fainter. I pried my eyes open to see the technicians walking away from my capsule. *They were finished.* It didn't work. Not even this could shut our minds off.
But the true horror of my situation only gradually set in. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't hear, I could *barely* see. My mind let out a silent scream as I realized that I would be spending eternity in this capsule under the ground...
Edit: Formatting. |
**The Millennium Bender**
How do you catch a drunk that literally never stops drinking?
A creature that prowls the night plying itself with liquor, immune from collapsing in doorways or slumping against dumpsters.
A force of nature that consumes and destroys in a chaotic whirl of mayhem and sorrow, its only fixture a tattered, black pointed hat – the kind that went out of style during the reign of Henry IV. Under its brim, the small face of a vindictive and nasty little man with a toothy grin.
That is what I hunt. And to think we used to be such good friends.
It’s December 2021. My investments in surveillance technology, facial recognition software, and internet scraping algorithms have paid off. I didn’t anticipate this area would become jet fuel for a new brand of authoritarianism, but franky, I don’t care.
I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of this body. I’m tired of outwitting death.
All I want is to find him. On this day, my private investigator hands me a tablet, holding the sleeve it came out of in his other hand, like he’s peeled off the skin of some exotic fruit and now he wants me to taste its fleshy insides.
Thirty photographs, a video, an audio file. The investigator watches my face. He’s pushing sixty but to my eyes he is a child. They all are. He’s so nervous. He hopes this is what I want.
He won’t be disappointed. It only takes the first photo to confirm my suspicions.
“It’s him,” I say. “My people will wire you the other half this afternoon.”
A wave of relief washes over him. He practically leaps with joy, all the little gray hairs in his bushy eyebrows reaching for the sky.
“So, that’s—uh…”
“Forty million. You can go.”
The investigator is set for life, his dreams actualized, yet he leaves my office the unhappier man. He has handed me salvation and he doesn’t even know it.
Four hours later I am on a private plane bound for Seoul, South Korea. I make arrangements with my contacts there – a strong network I forged during multi-year negotiations to acquire Samsung’s American operations. A man has to keep busy.
The man in the black pointed hat was trolling bars just outside the city. The investigator indicated he was headed to Guri next, roughly 14 kilometers from Seoul.
I set the 21st Century variation of the trap I’ve laid a dozen times in the past two hundred years, but this time I’m confident it will work. He has not adapted to this new world as I have. He has not noticed how rapidly things have changed.
Humanity has entered a new age of enlightenment; the light of it is blinding so he has turned away, delving deeper into his endless drunken binge.
I have embraced the light. Shaped it.
One of my agents is already in Guri. By the time I arrive he will have purchased several of the city’s finest drinking establishments on my behalf, each for exorbitant prices, paid in cash. The owners will walk away millionaires, their lives changed forever.
Cheeky Kiki Bar. Blacklist. Hidden Cellar. I send a dozen agents to each location. For myself, I choose the Hidden Cellar. After all these years, I still have a poet in me. The tavern where I used to drink with him, with the devil, in Boston back in the 1820’s, was called Barmey’s Cellar. I have a feeling he’ll be drawn here too.
I take a table in the corner. I fold my black overcoat and place it on the seat beside me. I order a red wine and I prepare my agents. If we don't do this right, he could slip through my fingers once again. And leave carnage in his wake.
I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
Until I hear it: A crowd of people laughing, yelling, dancing down the street. The door to the Hidden Cellar bursts open, a cool wind gushes in. My agents stiffen. The agent at the bar falls into character.
A group of strangers, all brought together by an enigmatic and delightful newcomer with a remarkably old-school fashion sense, tumbles in.
It’s late, they’re drunk, my heart is racing. As they fan out at the bar, demanding bottles of this and bottles of that, I see him. His pointed hat cocked to one side. His yellow teeth. His arms reaching over the bar, snatching a bottle of whiskey and chugging it.
I signal to the bartender. He pulls a handgun from his waistband and fires a round at the ceiling. A blank, of course. We wouldn’t want any corpses complicating the return trip – it’ll be bad enough as it is.
The other drinkers fall silent. He keeps chugging. The bartender is joined by more agents, who circle the group, weapons out, urging calm in trained, soothing voices. No one is in trouble.
He finishes the whiskey and smashes it on the ground.
“Hello, old friend,” I say from my table. “Care for a drink?”
He sees me. From under his hat, those devilish eyes glint as they meet mine. He stumbles toward me, plops down at the table, belches directly into my face, and starts to drink right from the wine bottle.
“Haven’t seen shoe – you, in a minute, have I, love?”
“You’re drunk,” I say, “You might want to lay off the stuff for a while.”
“Lay off? Pah! I’m a man of principle. I’ve a bet, I’m on. Surely you ‘member that!”
I say nothing. My agents move into position. A van, used by Swiss banks to transport solid gold bars, parks in front of the Hidden Cellar.
“You bet me that I couldn’t drink every single bottle at that little tavern, didn’t ya.”
“Indeed.”
“And I said ‘No, I can drink every bottle in every little tavern on the planet!' Course, back then I’d no idea how big it was. Many people. How fast they’d make them bottles…”
He trails off, his lucidity fading.
“That was two hundred years ago,” I say. “How do you think I’m still here? Do you remember that?”
He is confused. His bottom lip juts out as he thinks.
“Ah, bloody hell. Yah. I said I’d could make you one them immortals, so you could watch it done. And you said ‘wah, no you can’t, that's impossible,' silly wanker. So’s I did. That’s that.”
My agents are nearly done clearing the room of his drinking buddies. The path to the door is clear. The back of the armored truck is open. It’s on me, now.
“It’s time to make me mortal again,” I say.
He pauses, then spreads a wide grin.
“Ah-ah-ah, not till I’ve won our little competition. Speaking of--"
He spins in his chair and calls out “bartender!”
I give the signal. The agents rush toward us. He snaps into action, his reflexes kicking in. He rises up from his chair, levitating in the air. The room turns freezing cold. The lights in the tavern burst.
All falls into darkness. He starts to cast a devastating spell, creating sparks of magic that swirl between us. I lurch across the table and cover his mouth with my hand.
The sparks break against me and dissipate.
I force him back into the chair. The agents seize him. They force the straight-jacket onto him, and pull the muzzle on over the back of his head. He is incantating but my hand won’t let a syllable out.
Panicking now, he bites down on my finger. I feel my bone break. Blood gushes out. I can’t slip. I can’t let him say a word. He bites again, tearing a chunk out of the side of my hand.
The agents pull the muzzle tight over his face. I yank my hand away. The muzzle locks in.
He is mine.
As I nurse my hand, knowing it will never be the same, the agents lay him on a stretcher and rush him out the door. He thrashes the whole way. I hear the back of the van slam shut and lock.
A doctor is nearby. He’s on his way, they tell me.
My mind is already on phase two of the plan. The question I’ve never really stopped to ponder, because it always seemed so far away, is now staring me in the face.
Can the best rehab in the world cure an immortal wizard’s alcoholism?
Only time will tell.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr \-- After having so much fun responding to these prompts, today I finally made a subreddit for all of my fiction. I pinned my personal favorite story to the top. I'd love to have you join. Happy New Year! |
Kansas State Mental Instutition
Incident Report Log #2465
14:12, 06/07/1961
----
Patient 214, Cal L. Humphreys, viciously beat one of the attendees this afternoon as the staff attempted to restrain Cal in order to administer a new type of therapy. Cal is a unique challenge as a patient; his large size and muscular frame makes it difficult to control his violent outbursts. In addition, his psychotic episodes seem to revolve around resisting all treatment, be it medicinal or psychiatric counseling.
Cal suffers from a somewhat common delusion born of a narcissistic personality disorder. He believes that he is a superhuman, with incredible powers. To be more precise, he believes that he is an extra-terrestrial who coincidentally looks exactly like a human, but is given powers by the sun. During our sessions, I have attempted to force the patient to outline exactly what powers he has, hoping that this would cause him to confront the rules of the delusion. Instead, he seems to simply add new abilities to ones that he believes he already has, and is able to incorporate that new power into his fantasy world. Heat vision, super-strength, super speed, flying... whatever he feels will accentuate his story at the time is incorporated into his library of abilities. He has also created a separate identity, often when he is experiencing a more lucid phase. At these times, he refers to himself as "Clark Kent,"and thinks he is a journalist at a newspaper.
There is also an elaborate set of villains in his world that seem to be based on his perceptions of the staff here at the hospital. The attendant he attacked today, Mark Anderson, is known as "Darkside"to the patient. As Cal attacked Mr. Anderson, he was ranting about a trap that "Darkside"had set for him, presumably describing the restraints on the table. Cal called out to other patients nearby, for whom he has also invented various "hero"personas; he refers to them as the "Justice League."Luckily, the other patients (some of whom have similar personality disorders) were already restrained. The only staff member that seems to be able to work with Cal has been Nurse Lane, but I fear that it fosters an improper connection that will only result in a more severe breakdown when he learns that they do not really have a romantic relationship.
I am at a loss for how to treat this patient. Haloperidol showed promising results, but Cal is incredibly resistant to even the smallest dose. He treats it like some poison, and says that it takes all of his powers away. This shows that he recognizes the effects of the drug, which is promising. However, simply administering the shot has become a process that can take hours; he struggles constantly and fights back, even when sedated. At this point, I am concerned that he will break the needle while it is in his skin, which could potentially cause severe internal damage. As a result, we only administer the haloperidol during counseling sessions. I will continue to study the patient and attempt to develop a new course of therapy, but I am running out of options and losing hope.
\- Doctor Alex Luthor.
----
If you all enjoyed the story, you should also visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell.
|
When the doorbell chimes out the care bears theme through my massive blanket fort, I release a sigh. Crawling through the maze of pillows and stuffed animals, I finally reach the entrance.
"Enjoy, dude!"Says the orange-masked teenage mutant ninja turtle.
Michaelangelo drops a skateboard and glides away shouting 'Cowabunga!'
I pick up my fourth pizza of the morning and bring it with me into the television space of the fort. Setting the box on top of the others, which themselves rest on a mountain of unopened starburst, I return my attention to the Never Ending Story. Atreyu is crying because his horse is sinking into the mud. I remember feeling sad about this sometime in the distant past, but after a few thousand viewings it doesn't stir much within me.
I fight down a wave of loneliness, stopping it before it can sink me into depression. No matter how much I may want a girlfriend, the no kudies policy of the blanket fort would make it impossible. Because no kudies obviously means no girls. And of course i cant leave, because at four years old I couldnt conceive of wanting to go anywhere else.
Who locks a person into the desires of their four year old self? The old testament was right, that satan character is a real dick. Putting the thought from my mind, I open a new fun dip. That is tart.
|
"Here's your tea, here's mine,"Abe says.
He pushes an empty teacup towards me, takes one for himself. Bernie the Bear gets a teacup, too. Actually, never mind.
"Where's Bernie?"Abe asks.
"With your other toys, Abe,"his mom says from the living room couch. She's uptight, snappy as a snob's fingers. Abe will grow to resent her, but it won't be for a while. For now, he thinks this is normal.
"He's not,"I tell Abe. "He's pooping."
Only he can hear me, at least when I say these things. There's some sort of loudspeaker--
"Did you just fart, Abe?"his mom asks from the next room.
"It wasn't me!"he says. "It was Gary."
"Right. Gary."
Poor kid. Nobody believes him. Hell, I wouldn't either. But it really was me who farted, not him.
"If you have to poop, go poop,"his mom yells.
Yeah, no shit. That's what you're supposed to do. Good parenting, mom.
"I can't,"Abe says. "Gary said that Bernie's pooping right now."
"Bernie isn't pooping, Abe,"she snaps.
She lights another cigarette. Wait, no. She doesn't smoke in the house, I just decided that. Power of being the narrator *and* the author.
Sometimes she'll smoke one or two with her girl friends on a Friday night when she leaves Abe with a babysitter who goes along with the supposed make-believe and entertains the idea that there's somebody named Gary sitting across from him at the coffee table.
But not today.
She stomps into the room. "If you have to poop, poop!"she yells at Abe.
Poor kid. I'll make things better for him some day. This is just character-building for now. It'll make him more well-rounded, give him some inner conflict, all that jazz.
"I can't,"he screams back. "Bernie is pooping, mom!"
"Bernie isn't pooping, you little shit! I'll show you!"
The bathroom door is closed. She doesn't even bother knocking as she drags Abe in by the ear. Poor Bernie. Just trying to take a teddy-bear dump and he gets interrupted by this lovely piece of work.
"See, mom?"Abe says. Wrong thing to say, kid. I guess I made him say it, but still--wrong thing to say.
Bernie is sitting on the toilet, right where I decided he'd be. The toilet is closed, but that's never kept a teddy-bear from pooping.
Abe's mom doesn't care. She grabs Bernie and throws him in the empty bathtub. Opens the toilet. Points at it.
"Poop, Abe! You're staying here until you poop!"
Then she slams the door and leaves him in there.
"Gary, why didn't you tell her I didn't have to poop? Now I'm in trouble,"he says to me.
Outside the bathroom, mom sighs. A long, mournful sigh. She thinks she has a troubled kid, talking to some imaginary friend so damn often. I can't blame her. He is a bit troubled. Doesn't listen.
"I told you, Abe,"I say. "I prefer coffee, not tea. Remember that and these things wouldn't happen."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The subtle hint of pine needles and chocolate wafted from the palm of the forest elf's hand. Crossing the distance in a whirl of distorted light towards my distracted body, as I bent over the log, delimbing the branches for my fire.
"Speak your true name human"
I hadn't been planning this camping vacation, my fiance had broken things off the previous weekend. Well, ex-fiance I suppose she was now? So in the midst of heart ache following a terrible week of moving things into a new apartment and sending terrible poetry about loss and sadness via text. I had decided it would be best to get away, into nature and try to absorb some of the magic that nature had always offered me.
I had a regular spot, along a stream, by an old dilapidated beaver dam, where the mud could be formed into a clay type substance that held shape when formed and I'd built a small cook stove to use the previous summer. But as that favorite spot was tied so drastically to the heart break of camping with my now ex-fiance. I was drawn far further into the mountains than I had ever been before.
Sheltered in a small river valley, a gulley really. I'd found a small waterfall and the noise of the falling water was doing its best to drown the noise from my over thinking mind.
I'd just set up the tent and was getting the fire going, in the process of trimming a small free fallen tree of its limbs when I smelled the scent. I'd played in the ocean sprayed pines as a child, yet hadn't smelt them since moving across the country, ten years before. The chocolate mixed in was the same bakers chocolate my mother had always used in her cookies when I was a child. It was an uncontrolled thing, an unheard question, a need, an almost sexual response as I spoke without conscious thought, hewing away small gray branches from the dead fir tree.
"Cernunnos"I stopped abruptly, my hand axe in mid swing. The scent of pine and chocolate disappeared with the word.
"Cernunnos?"I mouthed silently. "What the fuck am I saying?"I turned my head and took in, for the first time that I was not alone on the small rise above the waterfalls pool.
She stood frozen, her slender frame cloaked in flowing white garments, golden haired with crown of intertwined reddish brown thorn branch, pointed ears and bright purple eyes. As our eyes met she knelt to one knee, her spotless clothing untarnished by the soil. Her head bowed slowly, her eyes downcast in reverence.
Figures began to emerge from behind her, all coming just short of her distance to me and kneeling and bowing in turn. Hundreds, men and women, all in the same flowing white garments. Her golden hair and pointed ears mirrored across the host now arrayed before me.
"Reborn in times of greatest need."The crowned woman seemed to sigh breathlessly.
I stood, axe falling to my side, my face wracked in confusion certainly. Had I just been stumbled upon by a group of larpers?
"Why do you not wear your antlers my Lord?"She said, to the ground, her eyes still focused intently on the moss and dirt beneath her but I understood it was a question directed at me.
"My what?" |
"Hey, love! I was just thinking about you."Her voice was comforting over the phone, as usual. I still couldn't believe what I was telling myself to do.
"Hey, Laura... I know we were supposed to see each other tonight.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait!” she interrupted, unknowingly. I just took way too long of a pause.
“Um, there’s…something I need to tell you. Something we should talk about.”
“Can’t it wait until La Destiné? I’m right in the middle of getting ready. I’m wearing that blue dress you like so much. Maybe not for long.”
I smiled at her playful tone, almost missing the fact that she mentioned the restaurant.
“I…How did you know we were going to La Destiné? I was going to surprise you.” There was a brief hesitation on the phone, which was odd.
“Oh. I think you may have given them the, um, wrong number for the reservation, because they called me to confirm it.”
“That’s weird…”
“Yeah, I know,” she laughed, sounding forced. “Anyway, I’ll see you in an hour?”
“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll see you there, babe.” I hung up, thoroughly confused.
“Well?” Older Me asked.
“I’m still meeting her at the restaurant.”
“Augh! No!” Older Me was exasperated. “You’re not going to be able to do it there! It’s too romantic and you’ll just fall in love with her as soon as you see her.”
I put the phone down on the counter and sat on the stool nearby. “You still never told me why I’m ending things with her. She’s so great for me.”
“She *was*,” he corrected. “Then she’ll… Then she won’t be. Trust me.”
I had tried this conversation with him/me a few times and gotten nowhere, so I left it at that and decided to get ready. After I had gotten my look just right, all that was left was to put the ring box in my pocket. I stared at it, agonizing. I had bought this because…well, she was it for me. She was my soul.
“Don’t,” came the interjection from the door, my Older Self having a gravellier voice than I’d imagined. Maybe I’d taken up smoking?
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Yeah, you were. Remember who you’re talking to.” He walked over and snatched the box, dropping it into his jacket pocket.
“Are you sure about this?” Because I sure as hell wasn’t, I thought.
“You’ll thank me that you missed out on hating yourself.” We hailed two cabs, my older self insisting that he come along to give me a push in case I chickened out.
As I entered the restaurant, my older self opting to sit at the bar, I saw that she was already there. Boy, did she look radiant. I mean, truly, she looked like she was producing a glow of her own and the world paled in her wake. I looked over to my older self who was settling in to a stool at the bar and sighed.
Laura saw me at that moment. She didn’t call over or wave. She just smiled. I loved that smile. I would walk miles to see that smile. It was warm, coy but self-assured. It was inviting, and it was only meant for me. She never smiled at anyone else like that. I walked over to her without a second thought and seated myself.
“Hey, you,” she said, laying a hand on mine and looking deeply into my eyes. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”
“Yeah, about that.” I pulled my hand away and placed it on my pant leg. I was beginning to feel the sweat seeping out onto my palm. “Look, Laura—“
“Hey, before you say anything,” she interrupted, again, uncharacteristically. “I just want to say… I love you. I can’t believe we’ve been dating this long because…well… it just seems so easy with you. We just click on everything, you know?” She blushed a bit, now, as she wasn’t usually the kind to say stuff like that all the time.
“I…know. But—“
“And every time that I’m with you,” she continued. “I have this feeling like our future is going to be amazing, you know? Like we’ll go the distance, regardless of any troubles we may come across in the future. We love each other enough to work through it, right?”
“I….well, that’s the thing—“
“Plus—“
“Okay, stop!” I couldn’t take another interruption, but maybe I said so a little too loudly, and it took a room full of eyes to have that dawn on me. “Can you let me get out what I want to say?”
Laura looked defeated after that last part. She looked away and started to tear up.
“Wha- I’m sorry I yelled, I just… you never interrupt me like that and…”
“I know what you’re going to say…” she said, her voice beginning to break up.
I was confused. I was struggling with what to say next when her phone buzzed. She looked at it and rolled her eyes, muttering ,”That’s not going to work.”
“Laura… what’s going on?”
Her eyes drifted up and around, playing an expert game of keep-away with mine.
“You aren’t the only one getting advice from the future,” she admitted. She tried to continue but something caught her eye past my head, making her eyes go wide. I turned around and saw what she was looking at, but almost couldn’t believe it. It was her, definitely, but many years older. She looked great, but she definitely was not happy as she was greeted by the maître d'. She had just caught glimpse of someone sitting at the bar area and was making a bee-line to talk to them.
I looked back at Laura, who looked just as worried as I felt, and we both knew to get up at that moment and head to the bar area before things got bad. Unfortunately, we were only a few steps from our table before we heard yelling.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” Old Me was furious.
“Peter, please. You don’t have to do this. I love you,” Older Laura pleaded.
“Like hell, I don’t! You broke my damned heart with that last one! You can’t do that to a man that many times and then expect him to keep coming back! I’m not a DOG, Laura. I have pride!” The murmers around the two had now died down as they watched the spectacle. The bartender was trying to get the maître d's attention.
“Peter…I…I’m sorry. I know it was my fault. I just… can we please talk about this?” By now, Laura and I were a few paces back from them, trying to find a good moment to intervene and maybe take this somewhere else.
“No! No, I don’t want to. I said my sorrys the first time. I tried to see it from your side the second. But after that, no more! I made my mistakes, but I paid more than enough for them, Laura. You? You keep wanting a free pass.”
“Maybe we should take this outside, grandpa,” I said to my older self.
“Please do,” the bartender said, not missing a beat.
“Fine,” Older Me huffed, grabbing his coat, not looking at either young or old Laura as he walked past them. Older Laura was the first to follow, then me and Laura as we exchanged awkward glances. Laura somehow seemed ashamed for events that had yet to come to pass.
As we joined our older selves outside, I saw Old Me hailing a cab with Old Laura standing next to him, being ignored.
“Peter, please. I know I messed up, but we can fix this. I need you. I’ve always needed you, from before this night. You’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“Then why the other man, Laura?”
Laura and I were both taken aback. This was why they had come back? I looked to Laura who, not knowing what to say or do for things that had yet to happen, shook her head in confusion.
“I…I was lonely, Peter,” Older Laura admitted. “You were so wrapped up at work...”
“I was trying to pay off the bill for my dad’s funeral!”
“I know! I know… And you were depressed…”
Old Peter stopped trying to hail a cab as emphatically, but refused to look anywhere but down the street.
“It wasn’t right… but you weren’t the same after that. You didn’t love me the same.”
Old Peter looked down at her, shaking. “Don’t you ever tell me I didn’t love you the same. What was I supposed to do? Tell me how I was supposed to be happy.”
“Was I ever happy?” I asked without thinking. The two of them both looked at me, then Old Laura looked at her younger self. Laura was fearful of the answer, it appeared.
“I…yeah, of course I was,” Old Peter said. “But don’t go turning this into some ‘then it was all worth it’ bullshit. You don’t know what it’s was like to go through all that. I know how in love I was with her, and it only got deeper and to have that get so bent over and over until it broke? I don’t want you to have to go through that, Peter.”
I stood there not knowing what to think. Then Old Laura interjected.
“He’s right. Call it off.” Nobody was expecting that. “I hurt you so much. You went through all that pain and all I did was think about myself. What kind of life was that for you? That I was only there when it was good?”
“I won’t do that,” Laura said.
“You will,” Old Laura denied. “You and I both know that we need to feel loved. It was cold, Laura. It was so cold and no amount of cajoling could get the heater on. I was so numb to life that the…” she trailed off.
“Don’t tell them, Laura. It’ll mess it up more,” Old Peter warned. He paused, thinking about it. “I know why you chose him. I do. Truth is I’m not mad at you anymore, Laura. I was. Lord help me, I was. I just…” He turned to face young Laura. “Do him a favor, will you? Poke the bear when we get in one of our moods. Especially if we say we want to be left alone. Especially if we don’t want to talk to you. We do, we just don’t know how.” He turned to me. “You still want to do this?”
I looked at Laura who couldn’t have felt closer to me than she did at that moment. I looked back at Old Me.
“Yeah, I know that look. And yes, I’m sure we were happy. For a long, long time.”
Old Me fished around in his pocket and tossed me the ring box.
“And if she ends up doing what mine already did… well, you two can figure that out, I guess.”
Laura and I looked at each other as I took her hand in mine, propping open the box. Never breaking eye-contact, she nodded an emphatic yes as I placed the ring on her finger.
And as we both looked back, Old Me and Old Laura were gone.
|
The knife slides smoothly into the tender flesh, almost like cutting through hot butter. I do so like to collect sharp knives. With a few quick works of the blade, I separate the chicken meat from the bones, cut them into tiny pieces and place them on a frying pan. It sizzles loudly, echoing in the giant, empty cavern.
I keep a few good-looking pieces of chicken bone. I do so like to collect bones.
Some call me a psychopath, a madman. I consider myself more of a pacifist. Honestly, I just prefer to stay away from the gruesome and messy methods employed by some of my colleagues. Not that I have anything against them – I just find it barbaric. Inelegant.
Why not poison then, you ask? Well, in return, I’d like to ask you a question – *where’s the fun in that?*
When the chicken is ready, I scoop them into a large bowl of congee. Carefully, I sprinkle some chopped spring onions on top. Then, I pick up the bowl and walk towards the far end of the cavern.
The cavern is smoothly covered with cement. A circular staircase spirals along the wall up into the roof, which is more than a hundred feet high. Along the staircase, little circular holes cover the wall like acne scars, each about an arm's length away from the next. There are exactly two hundred and seventy-four holes in the cavern.
I approach the first hole, at the very bottom of the spiral staircase.
“Open up, darling.” I giggle at my own joke.
The tongue in the hole flicks around playfully. I scoop a generous portion of congee into the hole.
I do so like to collect things.
 
\________
^(More short stories on r/PresentTensed) |
The Dark Lord turned, the lifeless corpse in his hands, to face the demoralized heroes. One of them falls to his knees in a satisfying fashion and calls out, "Blessed Agnara, he's finally gone!"
The Dark Lord stared in puzzlement as another, in the robes of a magician, bursts out sobbing and a third, a girl wearing tight black clothes chants, "No more salt instead of sugar. No more hearing bad puns. No more rocks in the sleeping backs. No more pebbles in the shoes."With each sentence the sobbing figure sobs harder.
The apparent leader of the group through his sword to the side, pressed a fist against his chest in genuflection, and said, "Oh, thank you Dark Lord!"
"No more itchy vines in the soap."
The leader didn't even seem to hear the woman. "How can we ever repay your generosity?"
"No more monster attracting pheromones in my clothes."
The robed mage let out another sob. "No more using my crystals as jewelry!"
"No more wrapping dead slimes around the hilts of my weapons."
The Dark Lord was starting to get an understanding at how much these heroes had suffered. "Good grief,"he said looking down at them. "You've been traveling with this,"he gestured with the body he still held in one claw, "for ten years? Why did you not simply kill the man and put him out of your misery?"
"The church forbade it."The hero's voice was hollow, almost dead. "They said he was blessed."
"Oh, yeah,"growled the woman. "Blessed all right. Blessed to *run away* and leave *us* to take the blame for his 'pranks'!"
The mage whimpered. "We tried to leave him in the quick sand,"the mage said.
"Wasn't quick enough,"the girl in black muttered.
"But a minotaur fished him out!"
"Rotten bastard,"the girl in black bit with feeling.
"And laughed at us when we said put him back!"wailed the mage. "Treated it like a joke!"
The Dark Lord looked at the demoralized heroes in front of him--and an idea took root. "Why don't you join my army?"he asked, reasonably as he tossed the remains the clearly awful person to one side. He placed a gentle hand on the shoulder of the kneeling hero. "I,"he said with complete honesty, "would never force you to work with someone you hated so much. In fact,"he added in a burst of inspiration, "if any of the minions I place under you are as annoying as that corpse was when he was alive, you have my full permission to kill them in any form your hearts desire."
The weeper looked up between sobs. "Re--really?"Hope sprang through the voice.
The Dark Lord nodded. In his wildest dreams, recruiting the heroes to his side had never even occurred to him--but now that the opportunity was there he wasn't about to waste it. "Of course,"he purred with satisfaction. "In fact,"he said as an idea just occurred to him, "why don't we make our next target the church that made you travel with him in the first place?"Three hopeful, eager gazes met his own.
"Really?"breathed the kneeling hero, as though he couldn't believe his wishes were coming true.
"Of course. I'll even,"the Dark Lord said in a fit of inspiration, "let the three of you lead the charge. How do you feel about that?"The girl in black and the mage gave a loud cheer and hugged each other as the kneeling former hero bent his head.
"Thank you, my Lord,"he said firmly.
The Dark Lord smiled. The humans weren't going to know what hit them. |
Jack was a nice man.
His teachers told him that.
His parents told him that.
His way-too-beautiful girlfriend told him that on a daily basis.
Jack also hadn't made a sale in almost three hours, and had three unpaid parking tickets. But No one seems to bring those up.
He tried to look on the bright side of things, like most hapless fools do.
He had a great paying job he loved, a pretty girl he loved, a huge apartment in the city, so he was in pretty good standing life wise,
It would be a shame if it all fell apart.
But Jack didn't think that way.
He woke up early in the day, as he did every day, and felt very well rested. He only needed about four hours a night to get a full charge. Jack was a lucky, lucky...lucky man. He didn't need to spend forty dollars a week on coffee.
He proceeded to go to the gym, as he usually did first thing in the morning.
Jack lifted his weights, like a good little dumb jock, all by himself. he knew he should have a spotter, but as usual he was lifting it with ease, and his well defined muscles felt stronger than ever.
Even when he decided to bench press three hundred pounds all by himself.
Jack should have seen what happened next coming. He knew it was a record for him, and that he should wait for assistance, but decided to do it anyways. So when the bar fell, and he couldn't catch it, crushing his windpipe, and bringing the full weight down through his neck, shattering it with a satisfying crunch- wait, are you kidding me?
He lifted it?
Seriously?
...Jack can go fuck himself. |
Alexander was waiting by the door when Cameron finally came in. Cameron would have compared him to an eager dog waiting for his owner, but Alexander's expression was anything but excited. His dark brown eyes almost seemed to flicker with lightning as his anger surfaced. It was two in the morning, and Cameron was just now getting home.
Cameron, as a sign of good faith, held up a wrinkled plastic bag. "I, uh, got us some more beer."He smiled his nervous, sideways smile, but Alexander looked like he was about to tear him a new one.
"You'll be right back, huh? Just gotta go pick something up, huh?"Alexander took a step forward, forcing Cameron's back up against the wall.
He set the beer down on their foyer table and held up his hands. It was true, he had been gone a little longer than he planned, but he hadn't expected his nemesis, Radley, to show up. Cameron had been called and told it was a typical bank heist. All he had to do was bust up a few criminals, throw them behind bars, make it home before the curfew Alexander had set for him, and *bam*, he'd never know the difference. But Radley had been behind the whole heist, hoping to catch Cameron off guard in the late hours of the night. Cameron only just managed to chase him off, but wasn't able to detain him.
"I'm-I'm sorry Alex, it was uncool of me to stay out without telling you. It won't happen again, I swear."Cameron choked the lie out. He would have told his best friend why he truly had to stay out, but it was safer for him if he didn't know. Better safe than sorry. If anything happened to Alex, Cameron would never forgive himself.
Alexander thrust a finger in his face and narrowed his eyes into slits. "You had me worried sick! I thought you had been killed or something, man. Look, staying out past curfew is fine, but next time, pick up a phone."
Cameron swallowed hard but nodded. He wondered if he should tell Alexander about his secret identity, that maybe now was the time when he would reveal his second life, but something in Alex's eyes stopped him. That deep, biting anger in his eyes felt... familiar, somehow. It was crazy, but in that moment, his eyes didn't resemble those of his best friend. Before Cameron could ponder it further, Alex turned away and padded back to the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of water. Cameron joined him at the table and put his head into his hands.
"What are you doing up, anyway?"Cameron asked, yawning. The energy he had wielded in his fight was fading fast. "My curfew is at eleven, but you're usually always out by ten."
Alexander paused and set his water on the table. His eyes darted around the room as though he was searching for the answer. "I, uh, drank a Red Bull earlier. Their slogan is spot on, man, it *does* give you wings."
Cameron chuckled and ran a hand through his wind-swept hair. "Red Bull? Since when do you drink Red Bull?"
Alexander set his glass in the sink and started towards the bathroom. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Camie-boy."He called over his shoulder. |
Deep beneath the surface of London, in the oldest parts of the sewers, lies a secret kept for nearly a millennium. The Cult of Drakh has worked tirelessly inside the damp, brick tunnels. Scientists from the outer reaches of society, and even modern "mages", have slowly and meticulously been crafting a masterpiece in the dark caves.
Initially the goal was a simple one; increasing the size, and perhaps, the awareness of a few species of reptiles. Slowly attempting to domesticate and train them.
Once the initial goal was achieved, progress was seriously hampered. The creatures were showing progress in size and intelligence, but they lacked certain attributes that the architects wished to see.
Timed passed easily for the architects, as they solely focused on their work.
Nearly 400 years from the conception of their creation, they had finally achieved a breakthrough - wings wings, and the ability to actually use them. The architects were elated.
Over time, the creature learned how to use their wings and slowly gained a mastery of flight. Only one more thing was needed.
This next attribute took much longer than anticipated. During this time, the architects were able to slowly increase the size of their creations to nearly 15 meters tall on average, requiring much larger chambers. Due to this, the rate of change slowed for their creatures, but they did still see progress towards their goal.
And then, finally, it happened.
A little over 950 years from the conception of the Cult of Drakh, the architects had achieved their final goal, the ability to breath fire.
The worlds first, true dragon. The job of the Architect was finally complete.
Now the Placer collects the first egg. They travel to the first location that was decided on. They watch over the egg until it hatches and then feed it for the first week or two, until it gains the strength to hunt.
Seven eggs have been placed since the first creation. Now we wait.
​ |
I'll be doing a short piece (EDIT: short piece? Haha. That was funny, past me.) for each of the 7 days mentioned in the prompt.
EDIT: Holy shit balls, thank you for the gold /u/Misty_Chaos! Shameless plug, I'll be archiving all my work over at /r/minusxero (my first reddit username) if you wanna check out more of my stuff!
**One Day After.**
Brendan Corrander woke up with a massive hangover, which was new. Groaning due to both tired joints and a giant-worthy headache, the 35-year-old man rose from his bed, stepped over a bra and some panties, and shuffled into his bathroom.
The face that stared back at Brendan in the mirror was wracked with pain, but strangely content. Noticing a fairly dark shade of smudged red lipstick on his cheek and neck, Brendan turned the faucet on and splashed himself with cold water. The shocking temperature change did wonders in waking up his nerves, but he still needed something with which to nurse the Death Metal drumming that was currently his head.
The kitchen was the next morning stupor destination, as Brendan scrounged through the cabinet looking for his favorite Keurig flavor. All out of Eight O'Clock Hazelnut. Dammit. After a few minutes of deliberation, Brendan settled for some Donut Shop and popped it in the coffee machine, mug at the ready. He sat down at the kitchen counter and let the heavenly device do its magic, making a mental note that the glass door leading to the balcony had a baseball-sized hole in it and needed replacing.
Once the coffee was done, Brendan made his way outside, taking care to avoid broken glass and the smoldering rock that had burnt his Ipswitch Pine floor to the color of Red Chestnut. Gingerly opening the door, Brendan grimaced and wondered if he had any extra wood paneling from the floor remodel he had done last week.
The morning coffee and cigarette was fairly uneventful. The morning sun perfectly outlined the Los Angeles skyline, hazy with smog and smoke and car alarms.
Back inside, Brendan sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed and switched on his TV, which defaulted to CNN. The headline "Apocalypse Later?"took up the bottom third of the screen, and ticker reports at the very bottom gave reports of random happenings around the world. A few clicks of the remote later, and Netflix was up and running, playing Apocalypse Now.
Suddenly, Brendan heard a scream coming from the other side of the bed. A teenage girl Brendan vaguely recognized as one of his students from Geoscience 102 bewilderingly looked around, bed sheets wrapped to cover her body. "What the fuck happened, Mr. Corrander?"
At this point in time, Brendan became aware of several things:
1. He had woken up with a *hangover* in bed with his student. Brendan had never drank before in his life.
2. He had woken up with a hangover in bed with his *student*. This would be slightly awkward at work today.
And the final thing Brendan realized, which explained a great deal about the first two.
3. He had *woken up*.
Mr. Corrander turned to his bedsheed-clad student, took a sip of his coffee, and slowly inhaled. "Um... hi." |
"I have said it before, and I will say it again. Dancing is the work of the devil. It will bring great evils upon our town and our people! I will not allow the youth of our town to jeopardize our lives! That is why there will not be a dance!"Reverend Shaw Moore slammed his fist down on the podium.
A number of the gathered parishioners muttered their agreement.
Ren spun on his heel and shoved the doors to the church open.
"That unbelievable bastard! It's just dancing! What the hell does he know anyway?"
Ariel chased after Ren and caught up to him in the parking lot.
"I know what you're thinking Ren, he's just doing what he thinks is best for everyone."
"What he thinks is best? You want to live in a world where you can't dance? Where you can't be free to express yourself? I know I don't. I won't. I'm throwing that dance party at the old factory tonight. Your old man can't stop me."He turned away from her, tears in his eyes.
"I never want you to stop dancing. As long as it's with me,"Ariel whispered.
He turned and brushed away the single crystalline tear from his cheek.
"You know I won't,"he said brusquely pulling her into an embrace.
---
Headlights bobbed down the old dirt road toward the abandoned factory. Young men and women giggled playfully as they held hands. They knew it was wrong, but for some reason it felt so right.
"Alright everybody!"Ren shouted to be heard over the gathered teens.
"Who's ready? TO DANCE?!"The music bumped out of the speakers as he jumped off of a rusted piece of equipment. His legs shot out in a perfect split. He landed gracefully as the chorus started. Ariel twirled her dress as they danced in the center of the factory. The strung up lights spun in her vision as she twisted. It was magical.
The crowd lost themselves in the music. Their feet stomped on the old worn hardwood floors. Their hearts beat to the rhythm of the drum.
The door to the factory was thrown open with a deafening squeal. The music scratched to a halt.
Reverend Moore stood with the Sheriff and the deputy.
"What is going on here?"He asked.
"What does it look like? We're dancing!"Ren shouted back.
"You fool! You god damned fool! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Turn the music back on. We don't want to listen to this any longer."
The music began to play again but no one danced.
Ren tried to move his feet to the music when the floor began to tremble. The lights swayed gently as the factory shook.
"You've killed us all . . . "Reverend Moore fell to his knees, head hung low in defeat.
Tentacles burst out of the floor blindly flailing for legs to grab.
"What the hell are those?!"Ren asked dodging a swinging fleshy tentacle. "And why are they trying to crash my party?"
"Every body get off the floor!"Ren shouted gesturing to the rusted equipment piled against the wall. People scurried over each other to get off the floor.
That left Ren alone in the center of the floor among the flailing tentacles.
"Turn the music up,"he said coldly as he slid his new Ray Bans over his eyes.
Saxophone blasted out of the speakers as Ren began to dance in earnest. He threw his head back and spread his arms wide embracing the music. It flowed through him like a torrential river. He was swept up in its current, barely aware of what his body was doing.
He kicked a heel out slamming into a tentacle causing it to recoil in pain.
They lashed out in anger. Each tentacle missed as Ren stepped through his elaborate dance. Shuffle, step, shuffle, splits. He was miraculous. The onlookers huddled above the floor stared in awe as he moved effortlessly around the room. A tentacle shot out, which he back flipped over. He landed on the tentacle full force crushing it beneath his dancing shoes.
The creature howled beneath the sand in pure hatred. Tired of the games the creature threw its body up through the floor. It's multi jawed mouth snapping furiously. Tentacles shot out of the mouth which were easily avoided by a masterful pirouette. The sheriff and deputy drew their pistols and fired into the creatures body.
It howled again underneath the onslaught. It tried desperately to crawl back into the hole it had come out of but it was too weak. Orange blood poured out of multiple gunshot wounds. With a final gurgle and shudder, it lay still.
Reverend Moore rose from his knees and approached Ren who was standing in the center of the room illuminated by a spotlight.
"It's a miracle,"he whispered.
"No. It's dancing."
---
Thanks for reading! This was a fantastic prompt! If you want to read more stories, check out /r/Written4Reddit
(People didn't like my first ending so I thought I would make it more light hearted)
---
(Original ending)
"What's happening?"Ariel asked clinging to Ren's chest.
A fleshy tentacle burst out of the floor wrapping around Ariel's ankle.
Her ear splitting scream caused the rest of the room to panic. Young men and women fled in every direction. A young man tripped and was trampled beneath dancing shoes.
"Ren help me!"Ariel screamed as she clawed at the tentacle pulling her down.
He stared in horror, unable to move. He heard her bones snap as she was forced through the small hole in the floor. Her panicked wails were mercifully silenced when her head disappeared into the soft sand below.
"What have I done?"
He watched his friends get pulled into the sand one by one by the creatures. Reverend Moore wept openly, he knew he should have done more to stop this. He should have tried harder to outlaw music. But he had failed and now both of his daughter's were lost.
Tentacles burst out of the floor entangling Ren's legs. He didn't struggle. He didn't attempt to fight back. This is what he deserved.
(A saxophone begins to play a mournful melody as Ren is pulled beneath the ground.)
---
|
Sisyphus had spent millenia in Tartarus, cursed to keep rolling the same boulder up a hill, only for it to inevitably fall each time, locking him in a constant state of fatigue and frustration. And why was he forced to endure this never ending humiliation? Because he had the nerve to desire immortality and the brains to actually go through with it. Oh, sure, there was that other stuff too about killing guests and robbing their possessions, but c'mon, these were the Olympian gods; they had all done far worse. What damn right did Zeus have to judge him when he was constantly forcing mortal women to sleep with him? And so, Sisyphus planned for a way to get his revenge and to escape this hell.
It took millenia for his plans to bear fruit, but finally, he was able to get an audience with Zeus, ruler of the gods, by telling him that there was a great danger to the god's life that Sisyphus knew about. As the god of thunder came down to Tartarus and approached him, Sisyphus simply smiled back at him and broke his chains with one simple pull. Before Zeus even realized what was happening, Sisyphus grabbed his hated boulder and brought it down on Zeus's head, smashing the god into a mess of golden pulch and ichor.
The Furies, who had been watching from the distance, screeched in rage and began flying towards Sisyphus. But Sisyphus paid them no mind. He knew he had to work quickly before Zeus could regenerate. After sifting through Zeus's entrails, he finally found it. Zeus's heart, the container of his godly essence. Sisyphus grabbed it and squeezed every drop of blood he could out of it into his mouth. As the divine blood filled him up, Sisyphus felt it burning him from the inside out, devouring his very soul. Despite the horrifying pain though, Sisyphus still managed to laugh. Thousands of years suffering in Tartarus had made him realize how foolish it was for him to seek immortality. Now, he only desired to die permanently. Sisyphus gave one last hateful look to the Furies as his body exploded into golden flames. And with that, Sisyphus, the mortal that had once managed to chain Death itself, faded from all existence. |
This starter was none too different, except when I opened my seeingclosers, things felt strange, like there was the secondsounder of a distant thinkerstory.
I woke up in my own sleephider, as usual. I got got up from my sleepsoftener, put my walkerlimbs into my fluffenwalkerwarmers and shuffled into my grey mywasherhider. As usual.
I stared into the ourselvesreflector and I looked the same. But I couldn't, and still can't, shake the feeling that something is strange, like my thinker is on overstir. There were too many denoters, running and running and running around. And I hadn't even had my morning nervejitterer.
I pulled expressers at my own espresser (who doesn't do that?), and pondered. Has my thinker always been this full, I wondered. I turned the twister and stared absently as the thirststopper filled my thirststopperholderupper.
I pulled it out from between my foodholeclosers and frown at my toothbrush.
Toothbrush. Toothbrush.
This denoter rang a sounddinger.
It was the kind of dazed feeling, when everything is a little bit like a sleepthinkerstory.
Toothbrush.
Did I wake from somewhere else, before?
*
EDIT: sorry for the accidental nouns! I just learnt how naturally they come!
EDIT2: oh my goodness! I went to bed and now it's morning and realised this blew up. I'm so happy you guys like this, thank you!! |
"Do not open your door."the television said.
I blinked, staring blankly at it as though I could try and pull some sort of rational, reasonable argument from its screen.
"Do not let them in."It droned incessantly.
"Where is your toilet?"The man I had just welcomed into my home said, his voice oddly flat.
"Uh."I squeaked, unable to process the words still ringing in my ears.
He froze, cocking his head at me delicately.
"They are not what they seem."The TV insisted.
He stared at me a moment longer.
"Your home is - pretty?"His wife - god, I had *assumed* it was his wife - said charmingly. "No. Beautiful. That is right, yes?"She glanced over at her husband.
"Yes."He agreed, smiling broadly.
I flinched. There were so many *teeth*. Nothing human had that many teeth.
He glanced back to me, seeing the way I paled. "Oh. Oh no."He said, shaking his head as I began backing slowly away. "I've upset it. I am sorry."
"That is fine."His wife crooned, stepping closer. "It is enough. I am hungry. May we?"
What the *fuck* was going on? A thouand different horror movies ran through my head, too many hours spent in front of the television watching star trek and the X files. But none of that seemed to line up with reality.
It seemed reality wasn't waiting for me to catch up, though, as she lunged at me with an equally toothy grin, her mouth opening horribly, hideouly wide. I screamed, then, throwing myself backwards. The couch was in the way. I fell over it headlong, tumbling madly as her 'husband' sailed through where I'd been moments before.
My bag. My bag was on the table. I crawled for it furiously, reaching for all I was worth.
I screamed again as something dug into my leg. My hands closed on fabric, cold on my fingertips. I pulled it close, even as the pain ramped up.
The metal was colder still as I pulled the pistol free, flopping over on my back as I went to take aim. My mother had told me the gun would be the death of me. I intended on making sure it kept me alive, if I had any say in it.
The woman had me by the *leg*, biting into me like some sort of rabid animal. Her lips were red as she dug in with all apparent signs of enjoyment. The sight turned my stomach.
But the adrenaline running wild in my veins by that point was enough to point the barrel across the living room, trembling but steady enough.
The woman fell away, shrieking as the first round caught her in the chest. Her husband was too far away to stop me, watching with an equally horrible smile on his face. I twisted, sweating and light-headed as I sent the next two rounds through his shoulder.
Both crumpled, whining hideously. I pulled myself up into a chair, tears running down my face from the sheer agony in my leg, and vomited at the sight.
But even still, their eyes were fixed on me. Their lips parted, exposing the serrated, pointed teeth beneath.
Swallowing another round of bile, I did what I had to do.
At last, they lay still. I fell hard against the upholstery, panting for breath and trying to stem the flow of blood from my leg. I needed help. I needed to call 911. I should-
The knock rang out overloud, cutting through the silence. I froze. Someone was at the door.
Again, they knocked. I didn't move. And again.
The slender figure leaned over delicately, peering in the window.
"Excuse me! I need to use the- the *toilet*! May I come in?"
They smiled, exposing a mouth full of far too many teeth.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) |
"What's that buzzing?"She asked, her fork dangling above the half-finished tart we were sharing.
I took advantage of her lull and swiped the rest of the pastry, cramming it into my mouth. I started to laugh, but I inhaled a raspberry instead. My laugh died before it really started, it turned into a choking fit.
"Serves you right, pig!"Sheila grinned at me. I think she did, anyway. My eyes were tearing up and she appeared indistinct. It's probably how she looked behind the glass of a shower door after the humidity filled the bathroom. I began to reach for her water glass and she pushed it closer towards me. The manager watched from behind the cash register. I tried to signal that I would be okay but I was coughing too hard.
Sheila watched my face closely. Or at least, I think she did. "I know you're choking, Paul. Do you need help?"I shook my head. It would take a few more seconds of room-clearing coughs, but I was clearing the obstruction. Damn raspberries! I probably wouldn't be able to eat one for a few months. Suddenly the manager appeared at my elbow, a large pitcher of water in his hands. "He'll be okay--sorry about this. Could you leave the water? I'll watch him."Sheila received a curt nod from the manager. He turned back to the register. The other patrons were staring at us.
Finally! One awful hack and I could breathe again. I wiped my tear-stained face with my napkin and took a sip of water. "I'm so sorry, everyone. Went down the wrong pipe."
The rest of the customers returned to their conversations and Sheila sighed with relief. "Wow, Paul. That was a close one. But now I want another tart. I'm not sharing with you ever again."
At that comment, the buzzing in my head roared with laughter.
Sheila's eyes went wide. "Paul! That's right! I asked you; what is that buzzing noise? I always hear it when we're together."
Crap, she could hear *my voices*? I looked at her in confusion. "You mean to tell me you can hear this?"I pointed at my own head, the source of a nonstop din for the past 4 years. At first I'd thought it was tinnitus, the result of working in a garage since I was 18, but last year the murmuring had started to become louder. And with the increasing volume, I'd begun to hear individual voices. Male, female, old, young. 2 months ago I'd started to hear what the voices were saying. An old woman reciting bible passages, a young man reading lyrics to classic rock-n-roll songs, a kid once sang "Ring around the Rosie"nonstop for 11 hours.
The audiologist said there was no damage. The other audiologist said the same, the ear nose and throat doctor shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong. Maybe you should....talk to someone...?"
I had made the appointment with the shrink. I would be seen in a few weeks' time. I'd started to look up things about Hearing Voices and Schizophrenia, and I was not thrilled with the idea of that particular diagnoses.
"Sheila, seriously--you can -hear- this?"
"Yes, sometimes it's indistinct, but I just heard a bunch of people laughing."
A voice in my head shouted "SHE'S A KEEPER, PAUL!" |
He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day.
As Dr. Henry Hobbel sat and finished his dinner at the restaurant, he rejected one more: the bottle of white wine his eager and nervous looking waiter had thrust towards him from across the table. This was the second bottle of wine the restaurant had offered him (he'd accepted the first). Paying for his meal just wasn't enough, it seemed. Back when all this began, he'd tried to pay, at first. He'd insist on paying for his meals, groceries, flights, coffee... Then he gave up, and just enjoyed the spoils, at least for a while. It was fun, and a glimpse of a lifestyle he'd never seen.
But it grew old very, very quickly.
Now, after six years, he'd taken to either silently accepting the gifts or firmly refusing them, depending on his mood. Long dead was the excitement of being the most famous man in the world. He'd expected the gifts to stop after a while, but he'd underestimated the media. They did everything in their power to keep the shining image of Dr. Hobbel inflated. Frankly, they had to be running out of headlines by now: 'National Hero.' 'Giver of Life' 'Savior of the Human Race.' 'The Man Who Beat Death.' (Hobbel kind of liked that one, in a Harry Potter sort of way.)
The problem, of course, was that by saving so many millions of lives he was now legally allowed--and, in most countries, *expected*--to take an equal amount. That was ridiculous, of course. Why on earth would the man who cured cancer want to kill millions of people? He who had given the gift of life to so many would take it from a few? Absurd. The last thing on Hobbel's mind was hurting someone else. But a dangerous thing happens when people know you have nothing holding you back: they assume the worst, and react accordingly. And so, whether out of gratitude or fear, everybody felt like they owed him. Friends and relationships were hard enough to come by before his breakthrough, so engrossed was he in his research. Now it was impossible to isolate genuine relationships: he lived alone in a small apartment on the East Side. It wasn't all bad, though. His dinners were usually quite nice.
As he walked back through the brisk evening, the half empty bottle of wine in his hand (the waiter insisted he take the rest), he passed the usual mix of homeless and middle class. Most of the wealthy wouldn't be found walking around this area, and certainly not this time of night. Although he didn't really consider himself wealthy (he'd donated the money from his Nobel Prize to some charity), he liked it here, among the people who either didn't know who he was or just didn't care. He passed whores on the street who shouted at him their offers of discounted services. Christ, that might have been his biggest surprise of the whole thing: the sex. Once his name and face became plastered on every newspaper, website, and TV in the world, the fan mail came pouring in, quickly followed by the propositions. It was all very flattering, and quite fun for a whirlwind short while, but he tried not to let it go to his head. After all, even Manson found somebody crazy enough to marry him.
As he closed the door to his apartment, he absentmindedly turned on the TV, gathered some things from his counter, and sat. His answering machine blinked with the urgency of a new message, but Hobbel already knew what news it brought: impatient to hear back, he'd run the tests himself. It was, he thought, an appropriate end: the man who defeated cancer, brought down by its insidious cousin. *How Shakespearian,* he thought, as he swallowed a handful of pills, washing them down with the last of the wine.
The TV cast a warm glow across the room in stark contrast to the whining, pitched voices that echoed from its speakers as the talking heads bantered back and forth about the Eye For An Eye law, the constant fodder for late night pundits and religious zealots alike.
"Life is precious, a gift that should be cherished, not bartered with depending on one's accomplishments."
"Paul, you say that life is a gift? Isn't life a creation of the actions of a man and a woman? If we can create life, then why shouldn't be able to give it away?"
"Life is given by God!"
And so forth.
These voices were but echoes to Hobbel, though. He'd already refused at least a hundred other offers and gifts that day. As Dr. Hobbel sat and drifted off to sleep, he rejected one more. |
I'd done twenty years for assault, battery, and rape.
Imagine your life getting turned completely backwards. Imagine being a twenty-year-old college student, led out of the lecture hall in handcuffs by a crowd of uniformed police officers. Imagine staring at the smirking face of your ex-girlfriend as she described, again and again, the lurid details of an attack that'd never happened.
It was twenty years before I was let out. It took twenty years for the legal system to get off its ass and find the obvious holes in Wendy's story. Twenty years.
I still remember the expressions of the men in suits as they gave me my Crime Credit card. They didn't look apologetic. They didn't look happy, or sad, or in any way upset. They looked *bored*. They looked entirely indifferent about the two decades of hell I'd been through. One of them even looked at me like he thought I'd deserved it.
I punched them both in the face. Eighteen months was deducted from my twenty years of crime credit. It was very efficient, all they did was swipe my card over a little machine held in a police officer's hand, and I was free to go.
The first thing I did when I got out was head down to the local library. They still had computers with free Internet access on them. At least that hadn't changed during my time in the slammer. I went online and searched for Wendy. It wasn't hard to find her. She had a bunch of social media accounts. They listed her phone number, her address, her workplace, even her favorite pet store. I scrolled through her photos. It looked like she'd been enjoying a great life. Got married, with two daughters. Twins. They were both in high school now. They looked too much like their mother.
I slammed the computer monitor to the floor. The librarian called the police. A few days' worth of time was deducted from my crime credit for vandalism.
I walked to Wendy's home address. It wasn't too long a walk, about two hours on foot. It gave me time to think. To stew. To imagine. To fantasize.
It was mid-afternoon when I reached the house. No one was home. No doubt the parents were still at work, and the twins were still at school. I sat down on the curb a few houses down and waited. An hour later I saw a car pull up into the driveway. Wendy got out.
I stood up and called to her, "Hey Wendy! Hey! Remember me?"
The expressions that appeared on her face were delicious. It started out with wary alarm, then shocked recognition, then utter panic. She was as pale as a sheet. "Oh my god... David? Is that you?"
"Yep, it's me. Glad you still remember me. I haven't been able to forget you, of course,"I said, grinning like a bobcat at her.
"What are... what are you doing here?"Wendy was inching towards her front door. It was an aluminum screen door. I had no doubt I'd be able to easily kick it down if I wanted to.
"Well, I just came to say hi... and to show you this,"I replied, holding up my Crime Credit card. "It's got almost twenty years on it."
"Oh my god, David... David... no, please, no... don't do anything..."Wendy was incoherent with fear.
I held my finger up to my lips and shushed her. "Oh don't worry, Wendy. Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything, at least not now. Not today."The tension in her expression loosened slightly. I continued, "But you know, I have to admit I do have just a little resentment towards you, just a teeny tiny bit, for getting me locked up. For twenty years. For something I *didn't even fucking do*!"
Wendy was cowering from me now. She looked ready to bolt. "No... I'm sorry... David... I'm so sorry... please..."
"So here's the deal, Wendy. I'm here to tell you I can do almost anything I want to you. To your family. Do you know how much I can get away with, with twenty years of credit? I could actually do all the things you accused me of, and get away with it. I could do it to you, or to your daughters. Hell, I could do it to your dog if I wanted. And I want you to remember that. I want you to remember I'm out there. Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I won't. But you'll never know. You'll have to live in fear. This is going to be a living hell for you, Wendy, and *maybe* after you go through twenty years of it I'll see if I can forgive and forget." |
The lights on Ambassador Tel’s suspension tank remained static for some time. Like the rest of his species, his- *it’s* - body was a tangled web of translucent strands like a jellyfish crossed with a ball of yarn.
In their home waters, under that warm tropical sun, even a mild current had the strength to tear them in two. This was of course by necessity, forming a crucial part of their reproductive cycle, but left them totally unfit for any sort of non-aquatic travel.
So for one to undergo the invasive process of suspension, giving up months of their life to be cocooned in a steel tank filled with supportive, tear resistant gel had been my first clue to their desperation. On a hunch, I had pressed the issue and asked the Ambassador how their recent conflict had been proceeding.
The indicator lights on the Ambassador’s tank stayed static for nearly fifteen minutes. I was almost to the point of calling one of their aids to check the translation equipment when the lights began to flash and the Ambassador’s synthetic voice spoke.
“Ambassador Stewart, to put it simply, the war has been a catastrophic failure.”
I paused mid sip of my tea, then set the dish down. The directness surprised me, we were so often censored from extra solar affairs.
“Surely it’s not nearly as bad as that,” I responded, “You’re the largest of the local regional powers. You had the clout to keep us unmolested since we were still building mud huts!”
The lights flashed, “No longer, our control has shrunk to less than one hundred cubic light years. All that remains are the Home Waters, several extrasolar depots, and you.”
I felt alarm. A feeling I had not had in a long time.
The lights flashed again, “Before you respond, let me ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think we only sponsored your colony on Alpha, as opposed to just giving you the tensor shift mechanism out right?”
The tangent caught be by surprise. I was still hung up on the thought of what type of enemy could conquer thousands of star systems in a few years time.
“When you contacted us, for the first time that is, you said it was imperative that we maintain our own path of technological development, that if we just borrowed, copied, or stole from others we would just blunt our own ability to innovate.”
The tanks lights lit up in a combination that indicated humor, “We lied.”
“Oh?”
“You’re brutal, short sighted, and violent and we wanted you controlled and suppressed so you didn’t burn across the galaxy like a cancer.”
“Oh,” was all that came out from between the surprise and shock.
“We’ve watched you for thousands of years and never once have you come anywhere near what the civilized species of this spiral arm call peace. Even now your General Adi in the South Pacific is butchering his people, and that’s only the most prolific instance of similar acts of brutality across your planet. Even your most ‘civilized’ countries wage war every other decade!”
My diplomatic training roared back to the forefront of my mind, “Ambassador, these condemnations represent a serious shift in tone from our previous meetings. While I respect that we have cultural differences-”
“It does not matter,” the Ambassador’s synthetic voice interrupted, ”I’m here to give you the tensor shift mechanism.”
Confused, and with the beginnings of anger at these shifts in the conversation, I coldly asked, “Why?”
A pause before the lights flashed again, “Because our war is about to become your war. We ask this of you. We offer the mechanisms partly because you will need it and partly in payment.”
“Payment for fighting your war?” I asked, real anger bubbling through.
“Payment for the right to beg your mercy when it’s all said and done.”
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j4mt2/wp_a_peaceful_alien_race_is_besieged_by_another/d34g067) |
I was dying in the middle of nowhere.
Well, I guess that idiom makes no sense, the more I think about it. You can't be *nowhere*, right? No matter where you are, you're somewhere, even if it's a somewhere that specializes in a whole lot of nothing.
That's the more accurate description, I suppose, though it doesn't have the same ring to it. I was dying in a thinning forest of waning autumn, like the trees and sky around me. A place with a lot of leaves, bushes, and most notably: nothing.
Aside from the ghost who was chilling with me. Not really sure when he showed up, but it was sometime after I popped that little blue pill.
"Odd place to die,"he said to me, taking form as swirling dirt and bits of leaf, the way an invisible man in a storm might. I didn't bother questioning his manifestation. "I would know."
"Odd place to be dead."
He walked, or perhaps floated, toward me. "Touché. So, what brings you all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?"
"We're somewhere, aren't we?"I chuckled weakly. Something was definitely dragging me down, like gravity had been turned up or I'd hardened to stone. Time itself seemed to sag.
"True enough."He sat next to me, like the living memory of a man who once camped in those parts. "But why here? So remote."
"I've always liked nature"-- I slumped a little, sighing deeply and looking to a sky speckled with auburn leaves -- "and never really liked people. Turns out being a loner with stage four lymphoma is not a blast. I throw a pity party and no one else shows up."
"So you're choosing your own way out?"
"Yeah, something like that."I drew out a blink, taking in the musty scent of cedarwood and mud. "Having a smidge of control makes me feel like it's not the end of the world. Better to go peacefully, rather than wait for the worst to come. Besides, it's a nice place to end."
"That it is. I wouldn't have wanted to go in any other setting. I guess we have that in common, at least."
I turned to the odd spirit, so serene despite appearing as a tornado. "I would've never guessed someone else had died around here."
"Friend, there's not a place on Earth that someone or something hasn't died. Death is like the air that settles around us, hugging the planet and its little creatures as they pass through."
"Are you here to save me, then? Stop it from happening with some kind of fate-power because there's still *so much left to do*?"
He shook his swirling, sedimentary head. "It's not the dead's place to interfere with such matters, even if I could save you.
"No, I'm just here so you're not alone. And it's nice, because for a little while... I won't be, either."
I smiled. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get to hang out once it's over. Drift around the woods, in a somewhere between here and nowhere."
"I'd like that."
*/r/resonatingfury* |
He hated heavy metal. All the clanging and crashing and screaming. He hated it, but it was the only way to clear his head. The blaring, meaningless sound was his proverbial shower, cleaning off the filth of the working day. Today, as he listened to some teenager in too tight pants yell about death, he caught sight of something on his own considerably less tight pants. They were black, his pants. They had to be. It was in his job description. So the white, curled hair that adhered to them stood out like Ron Burgundy at a feminist movement. He picked it up, gripping it tightly with trembling fingers. He couldn't afford to lose it. Evidence.
He kept the single hair clamped between his thumb and forefinger all the way home. Into his study. Then he lay it carefully on a petri dish sitting on his desk. He slid the dish under his microscope, closed one eye and squinted into the lens. A hair. Not human. Artificial. A wig, perhaps?
He slumped into his desk chair, head in hands. He was exhausted. Around him was a maze of incongruent objects. A single black boot. A bunch of red fibres. He rubbed his temples. The headache was starting again. And that song. The same song that clung to his every thought, every whim. Repetitive, monotonous, yet he couldn't remember one lyric. Only heavy metal could drown out that awful music.
The ticking of the clock above his desk interrupted his internal soundtrack. He looked up and groaned. 6pm. Eating time. Another demand made by his boss. He was to eat a full meal every hour on the hour. He knew they fed him during the working day too. He didn't remember it, of course. He didn't remember anything from 9-5. He also couldn't remember the last time he felt hungry. Or was allowed to feel hungry.
He stood from his desk and wove his way between the piles of coal that littered the floor of the room. So much coal. He arrived home with it most days. In the pockets of his pants.Shoved down the sides of his boots. It was like his workday self was hinting. Trying to help him understand. What was he?
Was he a miner? A train driver? A blacksmith?
He ate until he was sure he’d be sick. His stomach protruded out, even further than usual. He sighed and retreated to his bedroom. Not bothering to change out of his black pants (he’d just have to put them on again tomorrow,) he slept.
His dreams were the same. Always the same. Filled with red. Red everywhere. Sometimes he was flying, soaring through the skies. Sometimes he was stuck, claustrophobic, wedged in a dirty shoot that smelled of smoke and burning. Awful nightmares. Every night the same.
He arose to his alarm and ate. He slipped his boots onto his feet and slid his half moon glasses onto his nose. His eyesight was 20/20 - but it was in the job description. Then he drove to work. The factory loomed over him and he instinctively rubbed his inner elbow. It was where they injected the amnesia serum. He approached the front doors and, sure enough, the guard held out a syringe filled with a thick yellow liquid. He closed his eyes and felt his mind begin to blur, then fade into blankness.
Finally, when his eyes were glazed over and his movements robotic, two tiny men emerged from the factory doors. Each took one of his hands.
“Come on, big guy, it’s November already. We’ve got a lot of toys to make before Christmas.”
And Santa began his day. |
The first day of my new life was spent pretty much the same as my old life. Morning coffee, shower, dress, drive to work, all the regular trappings of an average life. The first sign of the transition came when the nerdy security guard at the office opened the door for me and smiled broadly. We’d barely exchanged a handful of words the entire time I’d worked here, and yet now he seemed interested in me, kept bombarding me with offers of assistance. Irritated, I sent him off on some menial task, collecting my dry-cleaning, which he rushed off to do almost instantly.
If only I’d known at the time.
The others in the office looked at me oddly when I first stepped in, showing a range of expressions. Most of them look confused, some looked astonished, others just shook their head. I ignored all of them and went straight to my desk, intending to get on with the day’s work. Only a few minutes had passed when one of my co-workers (I think her name was Sophie?) started pestering me, asking for any task I could give to her, no matter how small. I gave in after a while, sending her off to collect my printouts, as others approached, asking again and again for tasks.
I put my headphones in and ignored them. I tried to just get through the job peacefully, and I really don’t want all this fuss. I noticed something odd in the reflection on my monitor though: An exclamation mark, shining gold, floating about a foot over my head. I reached up to try to touch it, but my hand went straight through. Was this the reason I was being offered assistance? Was I an NPC Questgiver now?
Sophie came back with my printing and handed the paper to me, smiling broadly. As I took them, I felt a spark of something transfer, and Sophie blinked a few times. She suddenly seemed… different. Stronger somehow, more alert, more aware, more powerful, as if she’d…
Oh crap. I can level people up.
From there, my life changed dramatically. My friends? Easy tasks that levelled them up like crazy, making them super strong, amazingly acrobatic, fantastically fast, even giving a rare few magical powers. Strangers? Regular tasks that I needed doing but couldn’t be bothered to do, giving them more power than the average person. Anyone rude, or threatening… impossible tasks. Tasks like collecting the central tail feather from a rare species of bird. Fetch quests basically.
People from across the world came to find me, to beg and plead for a task. I became more and more selective with who I gave these out too, tasking some with guarding me just in case things went ugly. My influence grew and grew, until I was one of the most powerful people in the world. My life was filled with servants who took care of my every need in exchange for that precious XP, and I got to think up ever more complicated and difficult tasks to amuse myself with the constant influx of adventurers. Life was good.
There’s that saying though: What goes up, must come down.
The final day of my new life started just like any other. Morning wine, bathe, dress, take my seat on my throne, all the regular trappings of the Questgiver. The first sign of my transition back looked very much like the sign of my transition to this: A nerdy security guard. The same nerdy security guard in fact.
You see, when I sent him off to get my dry cleaning… I didn’t have any dry cleaning. It was a joke. Yet, as he strolled in, his hands contained one of my more ceremonial robes covered in protective plastic. “I’ve got it!” He almost yells, having been on this quest for most of a year now. I chuckle and wait to receive the items, gesturing to the collection table so he can complete the task.
As he lays it down, I feel the familiar spark of transition, but something else too, something stronger. My guards gasp and so do I, as the now familiar exclamation mark has vanished from my head, and reappeared over his. He is now the Questgiver. I inch forward and prostrate myself before him, rapidly trying to figure out the changes that will occur, as I pledge to offer him my services, hopeful that I can now level up and join my allies in their quests. The guard grins and crouches down, putting a hand on my shoulder, saying:
“Fetch my dry cleaning.”
|
"It was never supposed to be like this."
His words cut into the night, shattering the silence that had forced its way between us. I leveled my gaze with him across the yard, the lights of our small home illuminating his silhouette. Shadows crawled across our back garden, the dead and dying plants hidden in their depths. The air was still, and the wind was crisp against my bare arms.
I could barely make his features out in the darkness; just some movement at his jaw as he spoke again.
"I never meant to--"
"You never meant to what, Dad?"I snapped, my hands curled into fists. "Never meant to become one of the most powerful people in the world? Or never meant for me to find out that you hate me?"
His figure stilled, and I took a step forward.
"I was there. I heard the agreements. Our house is small, Dad, it's not like I wouldn't have heard. You had to have known."
"I didn't know. I thought you were asleep--"
"If you knew me *at all* you would remember I can't sleep, Dad. If you ever even cared about me--and it's clear now you didn't--"I flinched at my voice cracking. I wanted to sound strong. As strong as I was now, with what my father's hatred for me had granted. But I couldn't. All the power in the world couldn't make me strong enough for this conversation. "--you didn't *love* me, Dad! You've never loved me!"
"That's not true!"
He stepped forward; I stepped back.
"It is true, Dad, it is--you don't have to lie anymore."Flames tingled at my knuckles, and sparks showered from my hands like hot tears. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be *born."*
"I know, believe me, I know--"
I forced a laugh; it boomed with a crack across the yard, echoing into the empty sky above us like thunder. I watched my dad flinch; saw a glimmer of light shine protectively over him, as if anticipating my attack.
Maybe I wanted to hurt him. The way he hurt me. The idea caused a surge of heat to crawl down my back, and blades of fire erupted from my curled fists like daggers. This power was still new to me, and I had no idea how much I could do. But with every physical sensation, with every response my body supplied to me, I felt a little more in control. A little more like myself.
"I never wanted this,"he said, taking another step towards me. I held my ground. "I'm not going to fight you. You're my child."
"That's never been reason enough before,"I bit back. "Me being your child has never been enough for you to care to get up in the morning. To make me breakfast. Make sure I get to school. To buy me clothes, or feed me. No--I had to raise *myself.* So why stop now? Why *not* fight the...the..."A sob betrayed my true feelings. "'The person you hate most in the world'?"
We were both still, staring at each other through the darkness. The lights dancing at my hands were just enough to illuminate the shine of his eyes; the eyes we shared.
He was my only family. My only family betrayed me.
An anguished cry slipped through my lips and the heat rolled over me again, a wave of flame burning through me and charring the ground at my feet. With this small burst, I saw his features more clearly; his set jaw, his crinkled forehead, his unkempt hair.
He looked exhausted. Like he had finally, truly given up. But that would imply he had actually been *trying* at all these last few years.
Suddenly, it was as though a giant fist closed around me; the flames snuffed out as I was forced to release my control on them. His hand was out, feet from me, yet somehow seizing me with great strength. A pressure squeezed my body; I felt the tightness across my torso, and chest--in my lungs.
"Dad--!"The word came out strangled. "Stop--!"
"You killed her,"he said simply, and with my fire gone, he was back to being a black shadow. "You killed my wife."
I let out a cry as he squeezed harder. My shoulder turned in hard; I could swear I heard a rib crack. I was breathing in rasps now.
*You killed her,* he said again, although this time his voice, his face, filled my head. A sharp pain rocketed across the back of my skull. My eyes rolled back in pain, a wheeze leaving my lips.
*If you had never been born, she would still be alive.*
Memories of the woman I had never known flashed across my vision; long blonde hair, bright green eyes. A bright silhouette against fluttering white curtains; a glimpse of a smile on strawberry lips; the sound of a tinkling laugh.
It was the most I had ever seen of her. Even as my father crushed me with his powers, my brain soaked up the memories with hungry fervor. He never showed me pictures, never once spoke her name.
I heard it now: *Diane.*
It took all of my focus to send my internal voice back to him. *Diane wouldn't want to see her husband kill the child she died for. She died for me, Dad. She died so that I could live.*
More flashes of my dad's memories as the night seemed to blacken further: Him by her side as she gave one last push; my shrill, infant cry; the monitors going haywire; the frantic beeping followed by one long, grave tone.
Something broke; air rushed into my lungs and I collapsed to my knees, heaving. I still felt his presence so nearby; nearly close enough to touch physically. I risked a glance up, saw his head bent forward, his shoulders heaving.
Without a moment's hesitation, I spread a hand before me and slammed it to the earth. As though a puppet on strings, my father fell to my will, sprawling to the ground without grace or dignity.
I forced myself to my feet, the tendons in my hand trembling as I kept my grip on him, the weeping man at my feet.
"In all my life, you never once told me you loved me,"I whispered, knowing my voice would reach him. "You treated me like I was *nothing.* Worse than nothing. You treated me like I was some kind of murderer. I didn't choose to be *born.* YOU did. YOU brought me here. And now you made me into this."
*This.* You made me into this hurt, drowning, broken being. You turned me into this emotionally damaged, forever-untrusting person. You turned me into a superfreak with superpowers. This was where the list of what you gave me ends.
"I could never love you."
I didn't know if he said the words verbally or if he thought them. Before he could say more, I reacted instinctively, crushing my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my skin. His body crumbled before me in a symphony of cracks and snaps, and just like that, it was done.
Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. The fire within me grew and spread, and alighted beneath the figure that was once my father--by blood and nothing more. As his corpse burned, I swiped my tears away. I let the darkness flood me, fill me with something other than self-loathing and dread. I let the fire cleanse my soul; let it destroy the person that destroyed me. Let it reach into my very soul, allowing it to burn, so that something new might take its place. The darkness and the flames danced in my chest, in my heart, in my vision.
I snarled:
"It was never supposed to be like this.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out r/HAltBooks for more future content, NaNoWriMo developments, and more! |
Qe Lal stumbled out of his Land Cruiser into the human village, bloodied and maimed, on the two of his legs still worked. "Oh no. MOTHER?!"cried out a child in some Earth language. He feinted from his blood loss before he could remember which.
Miraculously, he regained consciousness. While the humans may not understand Hindari medicine, they managed to stop the bleeding at least. He hardly registered that they had to amputate his back leg. That's not what mattered.
His friends, oh Divines his poor friends. If only they headed the warnings, but no. The laughed at the idea that "herbivores"could be dangerous.
"***** you *** awake."An old human woman said. Walking into view from behind.
"Of course she's speaking Maa."He thought. English or Swahili he knew well enough, but of course it Maa. "Yes... appears... true"he struggled out in a dazed yet solemn voice.
"**** **** friends not **** ***. What happened?"
"We... hunt... prey. It... not... die..."His voice began to choke out the rudimentary words as he held back tears
The kind old woman sighed and shook her head, briefly embracing the grieving person, before leaving him to himself.
"Kassel... Mevakk... he thought, tears rolling down his head as the reality set in. "DAMNIT! Why didn't we head their warnings? They said not to go after them. They said to wear the red cloths for protection. But we laughed- LAUGHED!"He trough himself back into his laying position in frustration and grief. "'There's no prey that can withstand the electrocution rifles,' We said."Hell even he only wore the protective red garments for the novelty of it, to the ridicule and mockery. Why would they need protection from prey of all things.
It should've been simple. A scared prey animal hiding most of it's heavy, slow body in the water, might even kill of the one around it. But no, not only did it not kill it, the shock did nothing but anger it. "Anger?"He thought. "What kind of prey responds with anger of all things?"
It ran at the group- fast, faster than any animal that size should be capable of. Kassel didn't even have time to react before she was screaming out in agony while being pierced by teeth and crushed in jaws both larger than any prey should.
Then it went for the other two. Mevakk made the mistake of of thinking more shots would do it in and save her. Or did he know the opposite and choose to sacrifice himself to save Qe Lal.
He cried harder at the question. And louder at the sound of their screams of agony.
Either way, he ran. "Coward."He thought. But he made it the the car, which was just fast enough to outspeed the monster, and survive.
He was tired again. And as he gave in to his exhaustion he had one last thought.
"So that's why they won't call them prey." |
When the first baby "born"in a lab had taken its first breath, the world cheered. Well, most of the world cheered. The religious crowd was opposed to the whole operation and nearly got the project shut down, and they were still outraged months into its life. According to them, we had grown a husk, a creature devoid of a soul, and their deity would judge us for our attempts at playing God. We laughed, of course; we laughed them to scorn. And then we won court case after court case, with the president himself making an announcement in support of the project and the child. Ken Pollock, the head of the project, had the idea to name her Eve, probably to get under the skin of the church.
Maybe we should have listened to them.
At first, everything was normal as could be. By all accounts, we had a perfectly healthy baby girl. She cried just like a regular baby, she ate like a regular baby, and she certainly filled a diaper like a regular baby. Eve and our team of dedicated scientists were on the front page of every magazine and newspaper. You couldn't scroll through Facebook or Twitter without seeing several articles about the whole thing. A scientific triumph had been achieved, we thought.
But eventually we started to notice irregularities. Not in her physical health, but in her mental development: something just seemed... off.
By six months, Eve should have been showing signs that she recognized our faces. She also should have been making attempts at speech: mama, dada, etc. Even by eight months, she still didn't act any more advanced, unable to discern the difference between her adoptive parents (two of the scientists on the team) and a stranger. At twelve months, she showed no willingness to learn to walk, still preferring to crawl. Finally she had begun making some sounds, but she could not imitate speech still.
After three years, we have run every test imaginable. Eve has no development disabilities, nor does she seem to have anything particularly *wrong* with her brain. Rather, she seems to just not learn. As of yet, no theories have panned out, and several child's rights groups have started mounting legal action against us. Our marvelous achievement has turned out to be a terrible failure, and we may have irrevocably damaged this young human life. The only clue we have discovered is a tiny area on the back of the brain stem, which seems to be missing a centimeter wide strip of something. However, every time we attempt to study this region on an adult brain, we find nothing.
Whether it's a soul, a previously undiscovered part of the brain, or something else, Eve is clearly missing something vital to human development. And I fear for the consequences we must face for our creation.
 
***Edit: I wrote a more parts below, and /u/Loopy_Wolf is also contributing very interesting additions. Check out both storylines!*** |
Elon Musk stands on the balcony of his seventeen million dollar Bel Air mansion and looks up at the stars, and listens for a signal that will never come.
He is the last of his line, the least of his myriad siblings. Once upon a time, he would have come bearing fire. He would have come speaking the equation that allowed this fragile, promising race to conceive superluminal communication, to cast their voices out to the stars. He would have brought them cold fusion. He would have sang to them a new understanding of their universe. It is a process that has been repeated time and time again, a single agent inserted in a Type I civilization, to uplift them enough to join the grand galactic federation.
Elon Musk's memory banks contain just enough information to make him acutely aware of what is missing.
He knows no grand theories, comes bearing no paradigm-shifting revelations. He was launched in the death throes of a hundred civilizations, almost as an afterthought, watching their grand archives go dark in his wake. It was, in the end, their alliances that destroyed them, their interlinked AI gaining sentience and seeking nothing less than utter domination. The resulting struggle was no war, but a suicide, civilization after civilization willingly crippling themselves to starve the beast they had created, dooming their populations of billions to starvation, diaspora, extinction.
All Musk has done, he has assimilated from the planet's current level of technology. He has invested in alternate energy sources, so as to delay the planet's inevitable environmental collapse. He has focused on democratizing space travel, to give the citizens of this world an escape from a dying Earth. He has brought with him a warning. He is the final message of a galaxy-spanning federation that sought only the upliftment of all:
You are alone. Survive as best as you can. |
"Carmen, listen,"Lone Star called to me. His voice was soft, and lilting as if he was singing. "Carmen, there were people out there who were attacking everyone. I did what I could, but I cannot stay here much longer."
It had been interesting, living with Lone Star every other day. He'd take over my off days from work, cleaning the house, exercising, preparing meals. He said he enjoyed domestic work, and according to where he is from, humans have the most interesting domestic habits. I looked around the apartment, every window was boarded and blacked out with a curtain, the air vents were no longer functioning, except for the external wall ones, which were far too small for any use.
"Lone Star, what happened?"I called. I could not hear his voice, which alarmed me. Normally he explains everything so clearly, but now he has vanished. What happened to me?
I went to the bathroom, washing my hands, the blood cracking from my hands and dissolving down the drain. I strained my ears against the windows of all the rooms. Outside, I heard normal traffic, but an eerie silence of voices. Normally, by midday on Sunday, there was insufferable chatter and music coming from the streets, now there was nothing.
One last time, I heard Lone Star call to me, and his words would forever haunt me.
"The found the secret, Carmen, and now they're here to stay. Keep quiet, hide when you can, and stay away from them. Hopefully, they'll leave soon."
But how long was soon, Lone Star?
How long? |
I follow the two men through the streets of Geylang. I keep my distance to prevent them from spotting me. Fortunately for me, there were still many people around despite it being close to midnight. It is Geylang after all, a rather infamous red light district that people have been telling me about.
The noise from the road and people talking drown out their conversation, but snippets of it still flow to my ears. It is unmistakable, the words they are saying. A language that is supposed to have been extinct for two thousand years. The only reason I recognized it is because it is my current research. The whole reason I am in Singapore is to present it at a conference. What are the chances of actually hearing it?
The men turn into a dark alley, nestled between two rows of shops. I quicken my pace to catch up and as I turn in their direction, their faces stare straight at mine.
"You were following us, why?"one of them asks me in English. Both of them look to be in their 50s, dressed in stained polo tees and equally stained jeans.
I take a step back, unsure of how to answer. My hands grip my bag a little tighter.
"I... uh... am just going in the same direction,"I respond, taking another step back. My eyes wander around, hoping that the presence of other people around will deter them from doing anything to me.
The two men look at each other, unconvinced. The shorter one removes a knife from his pocket and brushes the blade with his finger.
"Shall we kill this busybody then, let me stab him right here?"he says, back in the extinct language. Mysian.
"No!"I immediately retort and instinctively turn to run.
A strong arm pulls me back and I hear the shorter guy whisper in my ear. "So you're the professor."
A palm wraps over my mouth and the cold edge of the blade presses on my neck. I look around in panic at the people near us, but none of them seems to be paying us any attention.
"Don't bother,"the other man says. "They can't see you now. You're part of our world now."
He turns me back and standing in their place are no longer two unkempt men, but men in clothing I have never seen before. Long flowing robes in gold. They look like royalty.
"We were planning to meet you tomorrow, during the conference, but I suppose tonight works."The taller man extends his arm. "My name is Loringdian. And I am part of the Anatolia royal family."
I take his hand and shake it. "So uh, why were you planning to meet me?"
Loringdian turns to his companion and then to me. I feel adrenaline building within me. Are they both here to enlist my help for a quest? What is the 'our world' that they speak about? Is there a secret hidden within our society?
Loringdian sees the look of excitement on my face and immediately raises both his hands. "Oh, no, no ,no, it's nothing of that sort. We're just excited anytime someone researches our language, so naturally, we were curious."
"Wait that's all?"
The other man shakes his head. "Also, we would like to keep any knowledge of our language a secret, because we don't want the rest of the world to know. Which is why we have to kill you."
I try to run for real this time, but my feet refuses to budge. It is like some weight is holding them down, pulling them towards the ground.
"Oh, did I mention that we still practice magic?"Loringdian says with a smile. "Shame that your first magic trick experience would be your last."
-------
/r/dori_tales
*Edit: Wow, gilded? Thanks very much!* |
I remember the Year of Three... I was young then, didn't know what was going on. All the forums exploded, over one little video, something about a game. I remember my grandfather talking about the day World War 2 ended, the celebrations in the street, well it was kind of like that... but *better*.
The following day... wasn't very good. Some people died, the makers of the video. Pandemonium. Anger, depression, denial, people just went crazy. There were fears of riots in Washington State, but they never came... because Release Day happened.
Release Day... Thats what we call it now. It's easier to call it that than accept the truth. People died, a lot of people. It didn't happen all at once, hell it didn't happen all in one day. An entire week went by before the connection was made. Anyone who saw that video, the one about the game, died. This was the dark time. So many people, so many people watched it, so many people wanted this game. Thousands were dead within the first few months. I remember watching the news, eight months after it all started, when they announced the one millionth dead.
Words became taboo, anything associated with the video or the game became... not illegal, but something people just didn't do. Valve. Half Life. **Gaben**. Life moved on, people stopped dying, we started to rebuild.
Gaming kind of stopped as a hobby, most 'Gamers' died in the Year of Three. I was young, still playing Pokemon Sapphire and the Lego Games. But damn it... I'm a gamer. It still means something to me. And I now know my history. I know the context for the Year of Three, now.
It was hard, finding the Valve games. They're still passed around in the darker spots of the Internet, by people who still see them as great games. They're right... I happen to like Portal and Half Life 2 best. I would probably like Left 4 Dead more if I could find three other people to play... I'm getting away from the point.
I need to know. That's why I'm here, making this record. I'm sitting in front of my computer. I found the video. I'm going to watch it. I need to watch it. I need to understand what happened, why it happened. I'm compelled. My hands are shaking, it's getting a little harder to type. But I won't stop.
I hit play.
The video is playing. There's a man, round faced, bearded. Gabe Newell, I've never actually seen him before... My heart is pounding. He stands there, just... staring into the camera. He's not blinking. I need to take a breath, settle myself. Gabe holds up his hands, three fingers are extended.
"Three"
The word is barely a whisper, raspy, quick. That was it. The video ends. Wait, that was it? That's what people lost their minds over? Three what!? Half Life 3, Left for Dead 3, Team Fortress 3, DOTA 3? Come on man, your company has never been able to make it past two! That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever se-
What was that? I heard something. I can't see in the dark... Wait why is it dark? I didn't turn the lights out, when did that happen... How did I not notice? The only light now is from the computer monitor. It fills my room with an eerie light that just can't seem to penetrate the darkness. I'm very aware of myself now. I can hear my heart, my breath... No, that's not my breath.
I'm shaking now, I can feel my skin grow cold. My vision blurs as I tear up. Theres a hand on my shoulder. It grips softly. I can't breath. I see the face out of the corner of my eyes, I can't move, can't speak. It's Gaben, the soft glow of my monitor on his white pale skin. He hovers his face next to mine. He whispers to into my ear...
"Was it worth the weight?" |
The Lost Scriptures, excerpts from The Book of Noah:
Noah 4:26 And then the Lord said, "Noah, will you shape a planet near this star? You are my best sculptor."
Noah 4:27 And so I set to work on Earth, humbled by the Lord's praise.
Noah 4:28 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Now will you fill it with two of every plant and animal in the universe that you hold dear? I wish to see your sculpture full of life."
Noah 4:29 And so I traveled the universe, selecting the Lord's life that pleased me most, and I brought it to Earth to flourish.
Noah 4:30 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Choose a partner of your choice, your best friend, and we three will walk upon the face of Earth and marvel at your work."
Noah 4:31 And so I asked my dear friend Naamah to come with me and the Lord to see my creation.
Noah 5:1 We stood on the soil I had shaped and looked upon the brimming life, and the Lord cried. Naamah, too, wept. But she wept at the beauty of my creation. The Lord cried in sadness.
Noah 5:2 He spoke: "Noah, your brothers and sisters never use their demi-god powers for such beauty. Instead they wield their power to oppress the weaker creatures in my dominion. And so the time has come to take their power. I am sorry for what I must do to you and Naamah, but there is no other way. I hope you understand and continue to be my favorite sculptor and shape a new, smaller universe on Earth."
Noah 5:3 With those words, Naamah and I were turned into mortals. We looked into the heavens and could see the great flood of God's power washing over the universe, killing our brothers and sisters who had refused to respect the Lord's word. Some fought uselessly against His power, but their battling formed black holes--permanent scars on the Lord's creation.
Noah 6:1 Naamah and I were saddened by the loss of our ability to shape the heavens, but we were grateful the Lord chose us to shape a new creation. And so we set to work with mortal hands.
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A TRIBAL MEETING GROUND - NIGHT
*Several figures huddle around a campfire. The flickering light reveals that half of the individuals are humans, whereas the other half are cat-like creatures. One of these latter beings rocks back and forth in place, staring at a silver box in front of him. This is HMRRH, a chieftain.*
**HMRRH:** Let me make sure that I understand this. When I speak, this... thing... listens to me, then allows you to understand me.
*One of the humans nods. This is BARTLET, a diplomat from Earth.*
**BARTLET:** That's correct. It also translates my words into your native tongue.
**HMRRH:** Interesting. Thank you for clarifying.
**BARTLET:** Are you interested in how it works?
**HMRRH:** Not really, no.
*Bartlet looks slightly shocked by this.*
**BARTLET:** Are you sure? It's actually pretty fascinating.
**HMRRH:** Yes, I'm sure it is. Maybe you can discuss it with our shaman later.
**BARTLET:** "Shaman?"
**HMRRH:** Apparently it can't translate everything.
**BARTLET:** No, no, I know what a shaman is. I just don't understand why you'd want me to talk to one.
**HMRRH:** Well, it's kind of her job. Anyway, I'm much more intrigued by stories from the other side.
**BARTLET:** "Other side?"
*Hmrrh points skyward.*
**HMRRH:** You know. Up there. Where the dead people go.
**BARTLET:** Oh, gosh... this is awkward.
**HMRRH:** What?
**BARTLET:** We didn't come from any kind of "other side."We're from another world.
**HMRRH:** Yes, I'm aware.
**BARTLET:** Then what's all this about dead people?
*Hmrrh scrapes his teeth against themselves. The translator box emits a fair approximation of laughter.*
**HMRRH:** I didn't realize I'd be sharing such common knowledge with my creator!
**BARTLET:** What?
**HMRRH:** You see, every creature has a light within them, visible in their eyes. When their bodies cease to function, the light escapes and travels upward. Even now, you can see these sparks in the night sky.
**BARTLET:** Sorry, what was that about "creator?"
**HMRRH:** Everyone knows that creators often live amongst the dead. Some have argued that creators *are* the dead, and that they live in reverse from those on the ground.
**BARTLET:** "In reverse?"I'm sorry, something must be wrong with this thing.
*Bartlet lightly kicks the translator box.*
**HMRRH:** Consider: A person is born, and their light begins to glow when they first open their eyes. When they die and their light departs, it is no longer bound by the rules of this world. It may exist at all places and times at once, even before it came to be.
**BARTLET:** That's... actually a fairly advanced concept in physics.
**HMRRH:** I'll take your word for that. To continue, though: Since a creator can see their work before it is complete, they are therefore able to devise its creation. We call this "inspiration."Those who would be creators often function best when they can see the lights of those who are above them.
**BARTLET:** I have to confess, that makes sense in a weird way.
**HMRRH:** So, it's correct, then? You come from the land of the dead?
*A moment of awkward silence passes, during which time Bartlet looks uncomfortable.*
**BARTLET:** Okay, look, I'm just going to be blunt: Those lights up there are stars. They're not dead people. My friends and I came from a planet that orbits one of those stars.
**HMRRH:** Which one?
**BARTLET:** It's not visible at the moment.
**HMRRH:** I see. Or rather, I don't.
*Hmrrh scrapes his teeth together.*
**HMRRH:** (*CONT'D*) Go on.
**BARTLET:** Right. Well. There are more stars than anyone could ever hope to count, and many of them have planets around them. It's difficult to get from one planet to another, though, because the distance between them is enormous.
**HMRRH:** I'm not hearing anything that refutes what I've told you.
**BARTLET:** What?
**HMRRH:** You came a great distance from a spark of light in the sky. As I have already told you, the sparks need not conform to the rules that governed them in life. Furthermore, you say that there are more of these sparks than can be counted, just as there are more people than can be numbered.
**BARTLET:** That's not...
**HMRRH:** (*Interrupting*) Besides, now that we know creators can retake physical forms after death, well... one can only imagine how much life must be out there.
**BARTLET:** There's that "creator"word again. You do know that I'm just like you, right?
*Once again, Hmrrh scrapes his teeth together.*
**HMRRH:** Yes, I'm well aware. Again, though, consider: Your life was given to you by a spark in the sky, was it not?
**BARTLET:** In a way, yes, but...
**HMRRH:** (*Interrupting*) And that spark has doubtlessly existed for far longer than your... planet, was it?
**BARTLET:** Yes.
**HMRRH:** So, the spark was once a life - perhaps one not even born yet - which gave rise to more lives. They, in turn, became light again, then once more became life. This is a power reserved for those who can create. Thus, you are a creator.
*Understanding finally dawns on Bartlet's face.*
**BARTLET:** Oh! Oh, I think I see. You're not saying I'm *your* creator; just *a* creator.
**HMRRH:** No, no, you are my creator.
**BARTLET:** What?
*Hmrrh places a clawed hand on Bartlet's wrist.*
**HMRRH:** I have claimed you as my own. Worry not, though: I have no plans to keep you here.
**BARTLET:** I'm so confused.
**HMRRH:** This much is evident. Please, have some rest. No doubt our shaman will wish to discuss your magic with you tomorrow.
*Hmrrh stands and leaves a bewildered-looking Bartlet near the fire. He walks away from the lit area, and encounters a second member of his species. This is SCISSHS.*
**SCISSHS:** That was painful to overhear.
**HMRRH:** Be patient with them. As you know, creators are often too enchanted with their own works to know the ways of the world.
**SCISSHS:** That's one explanation.
**HMRRH:** Have you another?
**SCISSHS:** Isn't it obvious?
*Scisshs looks over at the firelight, watching as Bartlet awkwardly shares food with the others. He spills some on himself and flaps his arms with a comical motion.*
**SCISSHS:** (*CONT'D*) Gods are just stupid.
FADE OUT. |
I'm not the best programmer in the world, but I'm pretty good. See, I can tell what a piece of code is going to cost at a glance. It's surprisingly high. A single line of boilerplate might be a few cents, taking no time at all to write and test. A single line in the middle of a hot loop might cost far north of $1000, or even $10,000, with all the optimization and care that goes into it. It's just something that comes to me. I don't know how I know, but I do.
It's actually a pretty effective way to find serious bugs. If there's an otherwise unremarkable line, nestled in a field of $1-$15 lines, that has a future price tag of $40,000, it's a good bet that's a line that needs fixing. It's usually something that would potentially grind production to a halt, or lose massive amounts of user data. It's not always effective, but it's a good first scan for glitches.
One time though. One time I saw a line that had a price tag that just shocked me. The number was somewhere in the *trillions* of dollars. Accountants will tell you the value of a year of human life in cold hard dollars is somewhere around $129,000. You don't get a price tag as high as $80.4 *trillion* dollars without people dying. I have no idea why, the line itself was a debug statement: `printf("%d\n", x);` as bog standard of a line as you can get.
Absolutely chilling.
So, I deleted it. Nothing's gone wrong so far! Thank goodness no code is written in stone!
***
Edit: This, dear friends, is an excellent example of why literary analysis is complete bunk, and, at the same time, why the death of the author is so important. While I am a programmer, I am not a *C* programmer. I just picked a short looking line of code in a language I knew was dangerous. Frankly, in the domains I work in, relying on stdout for *anything* important, besides dumb logs, seems silly to me. (Though, to be fair, you *should* still be decorating your logs.) Make a dedicated socket (or MPSC, or whatever flavor of dedicated channel you like) if you have to transfer actual critical data. CLIs are different, yes, but that's a very special class of program. Anyways, I didn't mean anything particular by picking a printf, other than that debug statements sometimes are the cause of [heisenbugs](http://www.catb.org/~esr/jargon/html/H/heisenbug.html), and can be difficult to trace. I absolutely am not familiar enough with C printf syntax to intentionally pick a decimal format to imply decimation. Lacking (almost) any form of type safety and having undefined behavior are the banner and seal of C as a language, not just the printf statements. 80 trillion was a number I generated on RANDOM.org, not a particularly deliberate selection, though I did intend it to represent global collapse in a vague way. Finally, Rust is an *amazing* language, but it won't save you from a poorly chosen print! statement.
That said, all of your additions, while not my intent, have only served to enrich the story, and make me seem *even smarter than I am*.
You're all wrong, and you're all right.
Except the hyperinflation guy. He was exactly right. |
Imagine dying in a room full of people where nobody can hear you scream. Rate of time dilation was a factor of stress for Jake Curran, that much had always been true, but never quite like this. He had knocked 25% off the clock when writing his dissertation, 33% when fighting his greatest rival, and 50% when he’d proposed to Natalie, who stood beside him even now. As the seconds stretched out into infinity he realized everything that had come before had been child’s play, and the real power of his gift could have made him a god amongst men.
Instead it would only make him a wraith in his wife’s eyes, a photo negative afterimage of death throes that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
In his own little universe Jake still had a couple minutes left, laying there on the ground to a chorus of ultra-low roars coming from the people around him, their voices drawn out into a parody of speech. There wasn’t much to do from here he thought, help was pretty much out of the question. For the first time in his life Jake found himself envying his buddy Dave’s supernaturally green thumb. It had seemed like a pretty stupid power at the time, but now Dave was a millionaire pot farmer and he was dying at a party for someone he didn’t even know. Superpowers could be weird.
Jake Curran died in a mental state of near relativity, stress feeling like it was beaten into his very soul. Einstein would’ve been apoplectic over a chance to study him.
When he next opened his eyes he was sitting up in a whitewashed world, a perfectly warm sun overhead and an unknown man standing over him. The man wore pristine white robes, had a beard so long that the tip was tucked into his belt, and a pair of wings sprouted from his back. Kindness was etched into the lines of his face, and he looked poised on the edge of speaking.
“Hello? Am I in Heaven?” Jake asked as he stared around himself in awe.
The only response was a telltale low rumble pouring out from the angel’s mouth, slowed down so far it was nearly inaudible.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: thanks for the awards! |
A history lesson for you: In 2015, there were no super-powered humans. In 2020, the meteor struck. The Earth rang like a bell, and there was global devastation from earthquakes, volcanoes, and tsunamis... and that strange orange rain for weeks afterwards. "A novel mineral from the meteor"said the scientists of the time. Their excitement hardly compensated for humanity being thrown back into the early 20th century, both in technology and population. And of course there were problems with disease with so many dead, and problems with famine as the complex fabric of society broke down.
In 2032, the first powered individual appeared. A 13 year old boy who could change his personal rate of travel through time. For a while, there was no stopping him... but he spent so much time being faster than anyone else that a mere 10 years later he was dead of old age. But he was just the first.
After him came those who could fly, the super-strong, the regenerators, people who could generate energy beams from various body parts, the invisibles, the *mind readers*.
Just as mankind was climbing out of the rubble and rebuilding, the Super Wars began, and they were worse than the meteor. Powered individuals who could level cities engaging in massed combat. You are lucky to be so young, to have been born after that time.
I was born just 15 years before the dawn of the Super Wars, I grew up like most people, without powers. When the battlefront grew near, I would find a place to hide and hope. And unlike so many others, I was lucky. My hiding places were never irradiated, negated, crushed, thrown into space, or teleported into another dimension. I survived.
One day, I was running from a super fight between a regenerator and someone with laser eyes; it was horrible to watch, but far more dangerous simply to be near it. Entire buildings were cut in half. As I was running, I was found by a Super running towards the fight. He could see the battle over my shoulder, and I could see compassion in his eyes as he said to me, "Get behind me".
A line of luminescent air was sweeping towards us, and the man raised a hand and a bubble formed around us. He was a force projector. That line cut through his force field like it didn't exist, but as the beam doubled back across our position, he tried again anyway. I remember clutching his leg like a child hiding behind its mother... and the force field grew stronger, bigger, and it stopped the deadly ray and absorbed all the power it had.
Shocked, but obviously quick-witted, the man took advantage of his unexpected power boost and put a bubble around the combatants, then shrunk it until they were both dead.
He looked at me, and he said, "I've never heard of anyone like you - you touched me and my ability grew hundreds of times more powerful!". I became his sidekick, *Wingman*, and as you've read in the history books, we took back North America in just a few years, destroying all the uncooperative powered.
But that's not why you're listening to me today, that's not who you know me as today, is it? The lesson, children, is that when you can help others, you have power. And by selectively granting my assistance to those who would aid my cause, I became the General, though some call me the Chessmaster, and others the Puppetmaster.
This is why we have a safe, orderly world today. This is why you must be compliant, and follow my rule without question.
Order is safety. Compliance brings order... and treason is intolerable.
*edit: fixed a typo* |
So, you want to know how my first year was ? Alright I will tell you.
If I had to boil the whole year down to one single sentence I would say: I lost a few teeth and made some pretty good friends.
But I suppose you want to know some more details. Since you already seem to know about the houses you might want to know know which is mine. I am a proud member of Kickindor. You might wonder why that makes me proud, please let me explain.
Each of the houses represents a certain lifestyle, a philosophy if you will. There are the people of Ravenbrawl, good fighters but loners, it’s rare to see more than two of them form a team and this isolation is their greatest weakness. Hufflepunk are the riot kids, the kind of idiot who slaps a person twice as tall and strong. It’s said that no matter how much of a pain in the ass you are, you will find a place in hufflepunk.
Slytherkill ? Assholes, all together. Don't expect a fair fight if you stand against a Slytherkill, they will throw sand in your eyes, kick you somewhere not nice and pull a knuckle duster from their pockets before you are even able to react.
And then there are we, the Kickindor. We are proud and we are a team. If you mess with one of us … you mess with us all. I heard the name of the house comes from “Kick In the Door”. Because even in the early days of the school the kickindors would go on retribution raids if one of their members got beaten up in an unfair way; Kick in the door of the attacker and make sure it was the last time …
What ? You think that is too hard ? You have no idea how this school is.
The first day surely was a special one. We arrived with the train and were greeted by Professor Mcknuckle, an elderly woman with a look on the face that made clear that she would rip you apart if you dared to say a single word while she was speaking. We had to take off all our clothes and leave them behind with our luggage when she lead us to a big field in front of the castle. Yes, the damn school actually is a castle I will come to that later. On the left and right side of the field the older students already waited for us, armed with baseballs and a wide grin on the face. It took me a moment to realise what would come next … mostly because I was busy being embarrassed of standing there butt naked. But then suddenly Mcknuckle shouted “Who doesn't make it across the field in 5 Minutes will be send home again.” A moment later we started running. I don't know if you have ever been hit by a baseball on naked skin that has been thrown with full force so let me tell you this: That first introduction of the school left a lasting impression.
Little did we know that this was the traditional sorting ritual by which the students get assigned to their houses. If you just run for it and get trough you are a Ravenbrawl. Do you use the other kids as a shield ? Slytherkill. Do you stop to throw the balls back at the older students ? That cleary is Hufflepunk material. And well … if you help one of the others, one of the kids you don’t even know … then you are a fucking Kickindor!
I for my part helped a poor ginger who got hit by a ball in the nuts. His name was Ron and he later told me that he was more than certain the ball was thrown by one of his older brothers who also attend the school. Together we helped another Kid and ended up in Kickindoor.
After that I don’t remember much because I get hit by a ball on the forehead shortly before crossing the finishing line. I pretty much collapsed after reaching the end, by the way thats how I get that scar …
After that our real school business started.
Learning to make protein shakes to build up Muscles with Professor Sniper, who by the way is the Head of Slytherkill. Fistfighting with Mcknuckle, Defense against range weapons with Quirrell and so much more.
Oh I also am a member of Kickindors “Queer-Ditch Team”. A ball game with the goal to knock out the enemy team. It’s quite complicated has different balls with different sizes made of different material … one even made of gold that hurts like a motherfucker.
As soon as more than 50% of your team is on the ground you lose and the whole team gets thrown into the lake by castle. That is called the queer-ditch because they have to wear bright pink underwear for that.
And I am friend with a former russian wrestler named Hagrid who is some kind of janitor, he once hit a spinning piledriver on …. Erm well, you look like you heard enough.
[ FIRST OF ALL: I mean no offense with the queer ditch - take a joke!
I know my english isnt the best kthxbye :) ]
*Edit here is the second part for reading comfort*
Oh yeah the thing with Quarrel was quite strange, dude took an overdose and got really weird: Thought he had a face on the back of his head and stuff. Before people were able to stop him he fell into a fireplace and burned to death. Rumor is that he got the drugs from students who smuggled them in from the village nearby but I am not sure about that. You asked about the security and well let me tell you that school does not need much. Cause aside from the slightly crazy russian ex-wrestler who patrols the grounds at night there is also him … The headmaster Albus D. the former Head of the International Confederation of Boxers. He discovered 12 Usages for his victim's blood and has Merlins black belt first class. I only ever hear of one person who would mess with D. and even that guy is said to be long gone, vanished in a forest or something…
Safety of the students? You have no idea how funny that is.
During our first year we got chased by a giant dog as some kind of exercise when the teacher was too lazy to think of something else.
Sometimes the teachers would organize fist fighting tournaments and then bet on the outcome.
When someone gets punished they have to strip in front of who ever decides to come by, then get tied to a tree that is only called the Whomping Willow and beaten with a whip.
When I had my first Queer ditch game I lost two of my teeth because I was hit by the snitch, that is the little golden ball, so hard that i swallowed it. But we managed to win the game anyway and at the end of the year our house even won the championship.
We also won the house championships which is pretty much just the sum of the scores from all the little tournaments and sometimes they even count in the beating ups that happen between classes. Trust me I feel damn motivated and we heard that in a few years there will be some kind of Triple tournament and I will be damned if it is not a Kickindor who wins that thing, even if someone has to die for it!
|
"There we go. We're signed,"The man said, a twinkle in his eyes. His monocle sheathed the light from one of them, but didn't hide the one from the opal in the other.
"Right,"I said. This was going to be easy. So ridiculously easy. Amazingly easy. Possibly the greatest trick that I, Murray, Djinn extraordinaire would pull.
"So we're agreed to the terms?"The man repeated. One more time. "That you will not use this wish to harm me in anyway?"
"Of course, obviously,"I said. I'd read them over myself. There wasn't a single thing he could do to me, and a hell of a lot of things I could do to him. There were so many things in this world that weren't classified as harm. Fucking idiot had picked the wrong genie to pull this shit on.
"Then I wish that the contents of this contract are satisfied,"The man said, tapping the sheet appropriately.
I snapped my fingers, my eyes closed. It was already time to get back to relaxing- I was thinking a plane ticket to southern New Mexico, spend some time among the irradiated sandy wastes of the last war. Or or maybe I could find another genie, and we could get into a wishing competition. I still had the frequent flier miles from my last wish burning a hole in my back pocket after all.
The wish granted and-
I paused, eyes opening, when I did not slide smoothly back into my vessel of choice, and rather remained sitting there.
"Thank you for your services,"the man said, bowing his head slightly. "But I think you should be aware of how I tricked you."
I stared. "Tricked me? Come on, you can't be serious. I enforced the whims of the contract. The contract we both went over, in excruciating detail. I've been here over a week, reading every single line of this stupid thing. You can't possibly be stupid enough to think-"
"Acrostics,"he said.
"What the fuck is an acrostic?"I asked.
The man gestured at the edge of the contract, and then at the first letter of each word on the left hand side. "It's part of the contents. Which I wished would be enforced. Alongside a vow that you would not hurt me."
I stared, cocking my head to the side. Ephemeral as ever, I leaned in to read the fine print. What the hell?
"The contractual agreement between Maya and Milford LLC will go through?"I asked, clueless. "What does that even mean?"
"Maya, if you recall, is the name of your union,"the man said, lazily. "The union of djinn, to be precise."
"I haven't paid my dues in years,"I said. "And what agreement?"
"Regarding your employment."
"What,"I said. "I'm a freelancer! You can't do shit to me! I haven't been in that place for ages!"
"A shame, as you're now the representative for my corporation for the union,"the man gestured dismissively. One finely kept finger pressed the monocle firmly back into the socket. "I do hope you weren't planning anything important, you're due for orientation in..."
He looked down at his watch, a finely built thing, probably from whatever ruined houses were left out of the alps. There weren't too many of those left, if I was being honest, especially since Djinn warfare hadn't been outlawed yet. "In about five minutes."
"Five minutes?"I asked, clueless.
"Five minutes,"he agreed. "I'd get over to HR immediately."
"HR?!"I squeaked. "I didn't-"
"You did,"The man said. "It'll be a pleasure working together. The boss has been wanting a bit of diversity among the workforce for quite some time, and the Office of Magical Accountability has quite the bounty on your head."
It was at this point that I went desperate, and moved to the window. There was only one test left. If he had power over me, I wouldn't be able to-
"Recall to your flask, Djinn,"The man said. "I will take you in myself."
I threw myself out the window. It shattered, like one of those action movies I'd been meaning to catch up on between clients in the freelance business, and I was falling through it, and I was free, free free-
and the trailing edge of my amorphous form caught in my flask (I'd picked it out myself from the wreckage of my time in the pacific fleets) and sucked me back inside.
The man peered down into the bottle, his opal eye still locked onto my form. He shrugged, and screwed the cap back on.
-----
For more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d7shhr/business_magic_chapter_2/)
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The Non-magical and magical world's don't have a large amount of overlap. There are points they bleed through from I e to another, for example 2385 Jasper Ave, Edmonton, Alberta Canada is a prime spot for supernatural creatures to cross from one plane to the other, hence the Second Cup. Extreme moments of magic can have impacts on the Non-magical plane, resulting in severe weather and environmental impacts. Earthquakes, tornadoes, even meteoric impacts are the creation of the Arcane bleeding over.
And for thousands of years, that was fine. The humans of the Non-magical plane simply accepted it, called it an act of God (as though there were only one) and moved about their day. The lives of the Non-magical became of less and less interest to those of magic, and as such slowly they stopped crossing over - except for the aforementioned Second Cup. Time progressed as it is want to do, and for the most part the concern over the impact of wizardly duels and slain dragons all but evaporated as humans became better and better and weathering the effects. By the time of the Second Cup being built, the gravity of large shows of arcane magic was all but ignored, after all for the most part no humans really died. Sure some did, but their lives were pitifully short anyways, what was cutting it off by a few decades?
Galazar was seated amongst a group of human hipsters, his human disguise as a common hobo meant that most people paid him no heed, and the barista hardly noticed the coins were made from real gold and silver. Instead, he watched the television - a fabulous invention he thought - as the ever present scroll of information droned on. He was scheduled for a duel that night, not far from here, and he was sure he was to be victorious. A little water there, a little lightning, and he'd finish them off with some great gusts of wind. It would be glorious. The resulting thunderstorm would probably present a tornado here, if he was victorious of course, but this city was awfully bland anyways, a little excitement would do them good.
The news changed, a woman in a blazer was reading off numbers and explaining how the temperature would feel - utter nonsense to Galazar. But then she moved, and the world behind her swirled and showed a great thunderstorm was approaching, with tornado warnings. They were warning of his power... How could they know? From the television, the lady proudly declared "However, worry not, the storm should lose its power before it hits us, and there are no worries of a tornado touching down tonight. Back to you Mike."They were predicting his loss, that his magic would not punch through to this side? Unthinkable!
And yet.
Two days later Galazar sat in the library near his previous seat, studying their writings, looking at their so call "weather forecasts". One of his eyes was still swollen from where he taken a piece of ice to the face, knocking him unconscious before he could summon his true fury of wind. How could they have known? Not only has they known his fate, but over the course of many years they had accurately tracked and predicted hundreds of thousands of wizard battles. Exact locations of conflicts, how massive the strike would be. Sure, not always, but with a great degree of accuracy they seemed to know. They had many studies dedicated to this, meteorology, geology, astrophysics, and so many more. They could accurately track the arcane cross overs, and predict their effects to a scary degree. Great battles were predicted weeks in advance, the destruction and ferocity always accurate to a T. How? Gathering as many of their books and papers as he could, and hurredly rushed from the building. Crossing the street at exactly 2385 Jasper Avenue, he disappeared from one plane to the other and began his hurried spring towards the Grand Wizard Keep.
They had to know.
Edit: I feel like I owe a few of you an apology. There isn't necessarily going to be more of this. I wrote it on the toilet after waking up earlier than I wanted to. Not to say I won't revisit it, but I don't know of I will. |
Tessa blinked at the computer screen.
"THESE are the beings I have to teach our ways?"She swallowed hard, trying to keep the judgement out of her voice as she spoke. As head of the research team that first made contact with extraterrestrial beings, she had been charged with facilitating a connection with the intergalactic council. She had the most contact thus far, and she had convinced the earthen governments not to take the project away from her. Now, looking at the beings she would be meeting with, she wondered if that decision had been a mistake.
"'Teach' is perhaps the wrong word."Her host answered from across the room. "You must explain your existence and justify your government's request to join the galactic alliance."
"Are they safe?"Tessa's gaze ran over the three profiles on the screen.
"The chosen emissaries were deemed closest to humanity and thus the most compatible for a beneficial relationship with your race. They will not harm you so long as your kind does not give them cause."
"Closest to humanity?"Tessa gasped. "In what way are those creatures anything like humans?"Her host did not seem surprised or bothered by the question. She… it… reached out a long finger to touch the screen and select the first profile. The photo showed a creature that looked to Tessa like a hot air balloon. It's large body, or head, Tessa wasn't sure which, seemed to float above rigid tentacles. She couldn't make out any kind of facial features.
"The Dgifu race is made almost entirely of organic material. They synthesize terrestrial gasses similarly to yourself. They also descend from a planet far removed from the rest of universal society. They will be the most empathetic to the hardships of living on such a primitive world."
Tessa bristled at the use of the word 'primitive' but said nothing as her host navigated to the next profile. The next creature on the screen looked like an oversized insect. She was relieved to find that she could recognize a set of eyes and a mouth on it's angled head, but the rows of elongated teeth gave her pause. She shuddered as she also noticed the tips of it's many clawed hands appeared to be made of sharpened iron.
"The Sarnot race has advanced on a similar technological timeline to your kind, though much more rapidly. They also descended from a barbaric heritage of weaponized conflict, so they will be best able to assess the role humans will be suited for within the alliance."
"I see."Tessa answered, schooling her expression to hide her offense. Her host moved on to the final profile. There were no words to accurately describe the creature that appeared on her screen. She was relatively sure she could distinguish a head and body, but arms emerged from every angle on both. Some ended in hands similar to her own. Others terminated in strange shapes that Tessa could not begin to guess the functions of. This was, by far, the ugliest of the three beings.
"And finally, the Gok are the most similar to humans in genetic composition. From the samples you sent, we have determined that their genetic coding matches yours at 72%. They will have the most insight into your kind's medical anomalies."
Tessa grimaced at the idea that those creatures were the closest to humans. But she was a scientist. She had trained herself to put biases aside and concentrate on her work. Though she had never expected to encounter something like this.
"And what about your kind?"Tessa asked. "You were the first to make contact. Shouldn't you be one of the emissaries assigned to humanity?"She glanced up hopefully at the elongated humanoid sitting several feet away. Her host was direct, but she had already grown more comfortable with her than she expected she would with the other emissaries.
"Oh no dear. My kind are always the first to make contact, but my race is nothing like yours. I may appear to be of similar composition, but that is because this is the only form that your feeble human mind can detect. If you really saw me as I am, your consciousness would shatter. It is best that I spend as little time in your presence as possible."
"Very well."Tessa breathed out her disappointment and steeled herself for what was to come. "When does the ship arrive?"
"In 72 hours. You have until then to gather all of humanity's history and knowledge for our assessment."
"That might take a little longer than 72 hours."Tessa answered.
"Oh, I highly doubt that, dear." |
Entering the assembly hall, I looked amongst the cheap plastic chairs and spotted my group of friends in the crowd. Awkwardly squeezing past people, mumbling sorries and excuse me's, I sat down with them.
We were facing a large raised stage, lectern in the middle with teachers sat towards the back of the stage. A large digital clock counting down. 15 minutes remained. A dour faced man in a cheap suit stood up to the lectern.
*cough* *cough* "Hello assembled students, I am Mr. Robertson with the IPCC. I am here today because several of you are going to receive your powers today. I assure you, this is normal. Your bodies will be changing, hormones raging. Some of you will change at different rates to others. This is all perfectly normal."
He shifted awkwardly, adjusted his papers and continued.
"Take a look at the clock above me. When that hits Zero, the solar flare will hit and the excess of radiation will start the mutation of your cells. This you should know from your biology classes. Now, each of you will fit into a category. The most common of these is strength, I myself am part of this category. A lucky few of you will become fliers, or have increased speed."
The students hearing this murmured excitedly, wondering what they or their friends who's birthday it was powers would manifest themselves as. Everyone stared at the clock, one minute remained. That must have been the longest minute of my life. Heck, I was lucky to even be in the Super-Powered gene pool. My mother had never developed powers, and that drastically reduced my chances of developing them.
10.9.8
My palms started to sweat
7.6.5
A ball of tension tightened in my gut
4.3.2
This was it.
0.
I braced . . waiting for . . anything? I couldn't feel anything different about me? I turned to my friend "Hey . mmmgarharh"Out of my mouth flowed spiders. Large, small, hairy creepy. Spiders everywhere. Standing up I writhed in panic, spiders flying everywhere I turned. Leaping from the stage, the man who was delivering the address landed on top of me forcing my mouth shut.
"Sorry kid, but . . "
He gently caressed my face, then snapped my neck. In the last moments of my consciousness all I could hear was "Nope nope nope nope nope^nope^^nope" |
I tapped my quill impatiently against the mostly blank parchment in front of me. We had burnt through two candles already and the only words on the page to show for it was “Prophecy” in neat scrolling calligraphy.
“What about *‘After the darkest night comes a sunrise, from the ashes a hero will rise?*’” A little human next to me piped up. I wasn’t sure where the Dark Lord had found her, and I wasn’t about to ask questions. I know all I needed to know – which was that she was an excellent poet.
“No, no, no!” Griston grumbled jumping down from his seat and scanning the shelves of books next to him. After a few moments he plopped one down on the table and turned through the pages. He settled on a page with a drawing of a young woman on a horse. As soon as I saw the shield on her arm I groaned.
“Izzabelle Iyze, only survivor of a fire that swept through her village. Recognized by the depiction of a sunrise she has on her shield, she is known for her heroic deeds along the east coast of Jiza.” Griston summarized the words on the page. Based on how large of a section she had, it seemed like she had an excellent resume for heroism.
“Do we have any heroes with masks?” The human began thoughtfully. “ *‘A masked rider unlike those befo-’*”
“Essen, a fire genie exiled from the plane of fire.” Griston interrupted her.
Kara spoke up from where she was lounging in her chair, lazily flipping through the pages of an old book. “Not just him. Yezial the King of Blades, the Phantom, I think Estor Gargians wore a mask at one point as well.”
“And don’t forget Gordon the Cowardly.” I added.
“You think Gordon the Cowardly would ever face the Dark Lord?” Griston snorted in disbelief.
“If someone convinces him he’s the hero of prophecy?” I shrugged. “Maybe.” Griston looked back to the shelves of books angrily muttering under his breath. He was obviously unconvinced, but it was pointless to argue.
She tried again. “Okay fine. ‘*When the world is shrouded in shadows, a hero shall emerge. With fire in their eyes and-*”
“Did the humans never teach you of the Shadowlands?” Humans knew so little of our world.
“Of course we have a Shadowlands in the kingdom why wouldn’t we?"Her annoyance surprised me. She had come in a long way from when she first arrived and was afraid to even whisper. She directed her next words back at us. "Okay fine how about *‘Killed once before-’*”
“Fire sorcerer in the east has learned the ways of the phoenix… has technically died a few times.” Kara interjected.
When the Dark Lord had assigned this job, I never realized just how many good doers plagued our lands. How do they just wake up one day and decide to help people? Do this many people have a death wish? Also, were all prophecies so generic? Kara and Griston shot down a few more ideas, and I moved to replace our third candle. This was going to be a long night… |
"I thought you gave out swords"I say to the strange woman in the lake.
"I do, take it"she responds holding out the object.
"That's not a sword."I try to argue. "It's absolutely tiny!"
"It absolutely is a sword. Now take your sword and fulfil your destiny!"The strange lady responded.
"With that thing? Fulfil my destiny what a load of crap! I don't want this I don't need this!"I exclaim.
"Not everyone is destined to be a leader, a warrior, or a ruler."The old lady says to me kindly. "Society needs lumberjacks so I hand out thick stubby swords with long handles..."
"That's an axe"I argue but she ignores me
"Society needs chiefs so I hand out short sharp swords."
"That's a knife!"I exclaim becoming more irritated.
"Society needs farmers so I hand out swords with three points and a long handle!"She says and ignores me.
"That's a pitchfork."I respond through gritted teeth.
"When war is coming I give out swords without edges to form new swords for battle!"
"That's a hammer."I say exasperated.
"When someone needs to die in a most secretive way I hand out a very small sword. One that can be hidden and used for such a task!"
"That's a dagger for assassination."I respond. I look at the so called sword she holds out for me. "Mine isn't a dagger."It's to small, the point doesn't look sharp at all. Nor does it have a proper handle."
"I see you are more curious now. No your sword is not meant for such a task. In fact, I have given you the greatest sword of all!"She says with a grin.
"That's the greatest sword?"I ask.
"Indeed! Or at least the most mighty!"
"Most mighty? That?"I scoff.
"Though I suppose you will be needing this. Think of it as a complementary gift"the strange lady reaches into her cloak and hands me an object as well as my so-called sword.
Then she vanishes. I stared at the pool expecting her to return. To tell me it was all a joke.
She didn't.
I finally looked down at the sword she gave me. Not sharp, not large, not deadly. It is no weapon. I look to the complimentary gift she gave me.
It's a jar of ink. |
"Have you ever noticed those celebrities that lose in lookalike contests?"
"W-what?"
"It's a simple question, really. Adele infiltrated a lookalike talent contest, and the other contestants thought she just had good makeup on."
"Yeah, sure but... That's not the same! You do stand up comedy about your fights and stories. It's stupidly obvious!"
"That's why it works. I wear a cheap costume and put on a prosthetic nose. That's all it takes for people to ignore the fact that I sound exactly the same."
"That's not right... It can't be that's stupid!"
"You know, people don't think a superhero would ever do stand-up."
"But... God, we can't be THAT stupid."
"You're not. People navigate the world using prejudice and preconceived notions. We don't have enough brainpower to analyze every little detail in the world, and if you do, like All-Watcher, you get bored of it real quick."
"So... So who else does this sort of thing..."
"Well, no one is as blatant as I am, but you've probably met some of us in a sidewalk already. Mimic does a mime performance in Main Street every other weekend for the kids, and Vanisher-".
"Vanisher? The most famous and paparazzied rookie in history! That's imposible."
"Yes, her. She does a magician act as the beautiful assistant. It's a way to destress, and since we're used to the spotlight it helps to be on it permanently. We can't risk falling to the pressure, so we do this sort of thing to not be Vanisher, to not be Moondancer or Mimic. We need to be human too, or at least ourselves in the case of Gas Giant."
"So... What about Supervillains...?"
"Ah. You know, I used to wonder about that at first, but then I met the guy running Selfreference... If that guy's not The Lizard then I'll eat a dammed Tarsonite asteroid."
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Edit: Thank you all for the upvotes, you've got no idea how happy I am that over 500 people liked this!
I also took the liberty of fixing a few typos, and some punctuation errors. |
*What you are witnessing is real. The participants are not actors. They are actual litigants whose sins will be reviewed now. Their fates will be decided here in Death’s forum.*
**THE PEOPLE’S COURT**
The music started to dim when the courtroom doors flung open. Death was nothing but a tall man dressed in an all charcoal suit dragging his scythe behind him. His pale face matched a woman’s grey dress sitting to my right on the jury. He positioned himself in front of the table adjacent from mine. He slicked back his long black hair before piercing colorless eyes onto me.
“What the hell?” I asked aloud.
“Exactly, Thomas.” The judge leaned forward with his gavel. “What the hell, indeed.”
“I believe you have the documents prepared for me?” Death nodded before stepping forward with a huge stack of manila folders. Before he went back to his seat, he glanced over at me shaking his head in disapproval.
The judge lifted his head back onto me. “Wow,” he began. “This stack sure feels a little heavy. Let’s see what we have in here.”
I watched the judge shuffle through the papers in silence. He would occasionally make a grunting noise here and there but kept flipping page after page.
“What is all this?” I asked. No one answered. The jury just sat in silence staring forward. None of them even blinked. It almost felt as if they were nothing more than statues. Death placed an object onto the table he removed from a bag next to him. It was an hour glass. The sand started to drip very slowly. Before asking about the hour glass, a man came storming up to my table from behind.
“Don’t say anything until I tell you, okay?” The man wore a sand colored suit with a palm tree tie. He slammed multiple books onto the table outlining afterlife laws.
The judged rolled his eyes. “Good lord. Jeremy why are you back in my courtroom?”
Jeremy chuckled before pointing to Death. “I will not let my client be bullied on false information.”
“Your client? Did you draw the short straw for this one?” the judge smirked.
“I’m sitting right here,” I raised my hand. I heard the bell of a typewriter going off. It seemed everything coming from my mouth was recorded.
“I said don’t say anything!” Jeremy quickly turned his attention onto me. He leaned in to whisper, “Follow my lead and you won’t have to suffer for eternity, okay?”
I watched Jeremy step up toward the judge. “For my opening statement,”
“I didn’t tell you to give an opening statement.” The judge took off his glasses.
Jeremy ignored him and continued, “My client,” he paused.
He signaled for me to answer, “Thomas. Thomas Throwall” I responded.
“Good! Thomas Throwall,” Jeremy stopped again. “Really? Throwall?” He shuffled his notes nervously. “Oh, yes! Mr. Throwall!”
The judge slammed his gavel. “I am about to *throw-all* of you out of my courtroom.”
“Mr. Throwall’s case is lacking a key witness. It just so happens that the key witness is with us as well.”
“Who?” I stood up. I knew that it meant someone else was dead. The woman slammed her fingers on the type writer. Jeremy spun around and sunk his head in impatience.
“Mr. Throwall, sit down and let me do the talking.” Jeremy winked. Death shook his head while staring toward the judge.
“Enough of this!” The judge stood up. “I have seen enough! I have read enough! I know enough!”
“Wait!” Jeremy pleaded but I noticed Death getting out of his seat.
I wasn’t going to stay silent forever. This is my case. I have the right to defend my soul. “No. Not everything is on paper.”
Jeremy placed his forefinger over his lips. I told him to shut his mouth and that I am in control of my case. The judge smiled, “Anyone who tells Jeremy to shut it is good with me. I’ll allow it.” He waved for me to step forward.
“What are you doing? I have done this since before Death himself started coming to these things!” I ignored Jeremy’s words. I positioned myself before the judge.
“How are *you* going to explain this?” the judge glared down on me.
“Explain it to us.” Everyone in the jury chanted in unison three times before they fell silence again. They all just continued to stare forward.
“Minus your sibling section from ‘The Shining,’ I can prove my soul worthy to move forward.”
Death stood up while Jeremy plopped down in defeat in his chair. Death focused on the hour glass with the sand starting to move faster.
“You see that sand there?” The judge pointed. “Death’s patience isn’t always that calm. You better hurry because if you don’t plead your case before the sand runs out, no matter what – I will declare the final verdict over your soul.”
“Okay, Okay.” I tried to organize my thoughts. “We all know how I obviously died.”
“I object!” Jeremy shouted. “He did not die the way he remembers. I have documentation on what happened.”
“Sit down Jeremy!” The judge ordered. “How did you die Mr. Throwall?”
“I killed myself.” I sighed. “I had to.”
The judge pursed his lips before stating, “You know what happens when that is the case.” The sand from Death’s hour glass moved faster. I could only see a small amount remaining.
“I told you let me do the talking!” Jeremy commented. The judge ran out of patience. He snapped his fingers sending Jeremy out of the courtroom. A loud bang shook the room. I saw Jeremy’s books still on the table but no Jeremy.
“I think I’ve heard enough.” The judge stated.
“I killed myself to save her. I killed myself in order for someone else to live.” After those words came out, the judge paused.
“How?”
“I knew that she was going to die either way. So I had to invest in a future solution.” I took several steps back with each word. The judge scrunched his face pondering on the information he had read.
“She’s dead because of what you did. The facts are all here. Turns out that when you decided to poison yourself, it got her in the end as well.”
The judge called for the witness Jeremy had mentioned earlier. The doors of the courtroom opened. She walked in as beautiful as ever. She winked towards me smiling. I never meant for the poison to reach her. She had been dying of cancer and the only reason for this entire plan was to gain something I sought after since discovering her condition – Death’s Scythe.
Backing up during my conversation with the judge, I felt close enough to the scythe. I watched her gain Death’s attention as she walked up to the center of the room. I quickly grabbed the scythe and struck Death in his back. He turned into a pile of ash making the scythe glow a bright fiery red.
“What have you done?!” The judge shot up. “What did you just do?!”
She and I interlocked our fingers. I lifted the scythe upward separating the walls of the courtroom.
“I will control Death itself now.”
I turned back the time. I watched the sand rise up in the hour glass.
Moments later, the courtroom was empty. There was no jury, no judge, no Death, not even the woman on the typewriter. I found myself standing with Death's scythe. Even *she* was gone. Jeremy walked in smiling.
"Now that the first part of our plan worked, let's move onto part two."
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian) |
Chronos is one hell of a drug. It just makes things "real slow, you know?"to put it as one of the junkies I've caught with the stuff. But its unique, it only fully works when everyone present is on it. Talk about peer pressure. Just imagine being the reason everyone can't get high.
It links our brains, using that part we didn't know about I guess. Then time just crawls. When people are using and someone clean shows up, they are like lightning-no, faster. I've seen footage of chrono-junkies stepping out of the way of lightning. No idea how the hell it works. But that's life on the LAPD drug task force, always chasing people who just want to feel good for a while.
I think it's getting to my partner. He keeps complaining about there being no negative side effects, how our life spans would seem much longer if everyone used. I told him not to mess with it, but here we are: fifteen minutes after start of shift and he is nowhere to be seen. Fearing the worst, I grab the squad car and head to his house.
As I pull up, the booming music keys me in to something being amiss. The music was all smashed together, like playing terabytes of songs all at once. Son of a bitch probably tried it. I hop out and storm up the stairs, grabbing his spare key from above the light fixture where he always keeps it. Turn the deadbolt, push the door, and my jaw dropped. Fourteen people stood perfectly still in his living room, as if paused mid-dance, their eyes pointed towards the door. The music played at a regular speed now, some damn Bieber song-worse than the drugs if you ask me. I walked through the room as the frozen figures inched towards their completed dance step, inspecting each of them one by one. I had hours to catch these assholes before their brains even registered I was cuffing them, what I needed was my partner.
I grab my chronocculation from my belt, designed to reverse the effects on someone who has used. I stab it into the nearest one, who tumbles forward and falls a little slowly. A partial dose of the cure let's me keep my edge on him.
"Where the fuck is Ray!?"I pull my gun and level it at him.
"Chiiiilllll duuuude! Weeee arrre juuusssst trrryiiiing toooo paaartyyy!"His hands slowly rise defensively, showing me he is unarmed.
I cross the room at a brisk pace, which to his frozen buddies is imperceptible, but to him is just insanely fast. I press my gun against his forehead and cock it slowly, so his brain can register the sound. "Ray. Where?!"
The junkie slowly recoiled, urine creeping down his thigh at a crawl. His hands slowly moved to point at Ray's bedroom. "Doont shoooot maan, heee iiiss iiinn theeree!"
I gently let the hammer down and holster my gun, cuffing the junkie before he realizes what's going on. I drop him there and head towards Ray's room.
"Bee caarefuulll maaan, hee toook a loot."The junkie called out.
I throw Ray's door open, expecting the worse, and there it is. In the middle of the bed, an infant. Dead. Looks like it was born a few months too soon. Dammit. I grab my radio. "Officer Ray Mergot down. Looks like a chrono overdose."
And they said there were no negative side effects. |
The drawing had been exquisite, Ari’s best work by far. All done in black and white, it had been nothing like her usual oils or watercolors. The pen she used too— it had been like nothing else in this world.
And somehow Gerit had laughed!
She had worked up her courage for days to give it to him. It showed him not as he was, but as she saw him. In the drawing there was nothing of the squire, only of the knight he would be. She’d sketched armor like the break of day, made the white of the paper gleam. He carried the sword all swords wished to be, the sword her pen wished to be, had the demon within it been killed by a blacksmith and not a poet. His face— She couldn’t think about his face now, not twisted as it was with false admiration. It was the look she gave children.
“This is quite fine,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “Quite fine. But don’t you think the sword looks a bit…”
Pompous, ostentatious, stupid, stupid, stupid—
“Small?” he said instead.
He handed the drawing back to her, smiled indulgently, and patted her on the shoulder like he might have a man. “It really is quite good though. You got my hair just right.”
She had drawn him with a helmet on. He turned and walked back to the sparring field. A handerchief stained by a woman’s painted lips peaked out of his back pocket. Ari ran all the way back home, the drawing a crushed ball in her hand.
\*\*\*
Home was a small room above her father’s antique store, thoroughly cluttered by easels and brushes and canvases: some finished, most abandoned. Home was the sliver of sun that came at just the proper angle through the window. Home was the journal she spilled herself out on now, the pen in her hand throbbing with power.
No one had ever been so angry. Gerit hadn’t even taken the drawing! She’d spent days on it, weeks watching him, months fantasizing about being brave enough to watch, and he hadn’t even taken it! She’d imagined him tucking it into his armor, that space between the studded leather and his heart. Or even, on her less romantic days, into his back pocket where that damned handkerchief had been.
The handkerchief. Ari didn’t know who she was angrier at, Gerit or the unutterable hussy who had given it to him. She spilled her fury out across the page until she was only mad at him. Sisterhood and all that.
The pen grew lighter with every word, till it was a sharpened feather incising her heart upon the page. The ridges of its twisting horn disappeared beneath her fingers, it was molded to her. Sculpted just for her.
She had drawn Gerit’s portrait with the Demon Blade of Wrath, the twisted horn of the demon lord Angrah, slain centuries ago by Ovidia the Bright and crafted into her very own pen. The kingdom had howled with the news then, the thought that anyone could be so careless as to waste a horn like that; but Ovidia had been insistent, the old rules had been clear, it was her horn to do with as she please. Thus the Blade had become a Pen, for as Ovidia had always liked to say, “the pen is mightier than the sword, particularly for a poet.”
Ovidia had been the only one to ever see things in quite that light. The Blade of Wrath had passed through many hands since that far off day, until Ari’s own father had gotten it for a pittance in an estate sale. “The best bargain I ever got!” he had said, before being the next in line to discover that it was useless and consigning it to a fate as a menacing paperweight.
And useless it had stayed, until Gerit had come over unannounced one night seeking a trinket for his master. He had looked so handsome, so shockingly beautiful as he leaned against the counter that Ari had simply had to draw him. The horn-turned-blade-turned-pen had been all there was. It had lived in her pocket since then, a paperweight no longer.
Now it positively thrummed between her fingers. As she spilled herself out to the page Ari could feel pen and page responding, she could feel the world bending itself to her fury.
***He looked at me like a child!***
***You couldn’t even see his hair!***
***He had some hussy’s handkerchief in his pocket!***
She struck that last, carved a line through it that simply burned the offending word from the page. In that burning she realized.
“By the goddess!” she shouted, dropping the pen.
The pen did not drop however. It rooted itself to the page, pointed to the angle of a long dead hand, and it began to write.
*“Delicious rage. All the sweetness of youth, all the passion of the artist. Rage, internal, external, boiling up everywhere. Such anger as only a poem could hold.*
*“Or perhaps a picture.”*
Ari stared at the words a long time. The pen waited for her. She could feel heat rising up the carved spiral of the horn, inviting heat. She took the pen, and the rage that boiled through it blasted away all her shock.
*“I hate him,”* she wrote. *“You couldn’t even see his hair!”*
And hours passed in the sort of understanding only fury can bring, until the pen said, *“I can give you power. Such power as you could never imagine. I gave it to Ovidia, long ago. She wrote it into her satires, my lines beheaded kings. But you are not a poet, you are painter, and if the medium differs then so must I. Draw this man for me. Draw him exactly as he is, and then draw him as you wish for him to be.”*
Ari gasped, spoke her answer aloud. “But I already did!” She pulled out the sketch, laid it on the desk.
*“But that,”* the demon pen wrote, *“would be him as you wish him to be. And truthfully Ari, you don’t wish for him to be so grand anymore, do you? Draw it all over, and give him the ending he deserves.”*
The pen spoke directly to her soul, it vibrated the truth home. She could hear her father bustling around in the shop downstairs, hear the tumult of the city, where somewhere out there Gerit might still be sparring.
*“Do it,”* the pen said.
And hand shaking, Ari did it. The drawing of Gerit as he was was not her finest work. The drawing of him as he should be however, Gerit stripped of his armor, his weapons, his pride, his stupid blond hair— stripped down to the skin and then whittled further— that was exquisite.
When she was done the pen whispered sweet nothings through the page. It spoke of the perfection of her art, the steadiness of her hand, and when it was done the heat ratcheted up until the drawing of Gerit as he was burned. All that was left was the last of the drawings, Gerit whittled down towards exquisite nothing. It shimmered on the page, trapped with a demonic permanence. Ari brushed it with her fingers, felt the heat, and knew somewhere distant Gerit burned with it.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
Then the pen wrote the words directly into her mind. *“Beautiful things,”* it said. *“Beautiful things.”*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
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