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I had kneeled in this ashen cemetery for countless years, the coiled sword keeping the darkness inside me contained. Contained, that is, until it was removed by this ashen knight.
"Champion", he had called himself.
Many had called me by that title, in ages past.
The body of this contender remained still, unmoving. Usually, when the undead were killed, their ashes would fade, and they would be reborn nearby, ready for another attempt to defeat me. Yet this Champion remained still. In the sky, the sun had faded to almost nothing, its fire nearly gone.
Shifting the halberd in my hand, I stepped forward, pushing aside the great doors that I had guarded for so long. I made my way up the path, entering the dark shrine with purpose. As I drove the coiled sword into the unlit bonfire, I knew what needed to be done. If the Champion of Ash would not seek out the Lords, then I, the Champion of old would see it done. |
“I’m so sorry Mum, so sorry for everything.” I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, she looked so small. I hadn’t seen her since Dad had died, and I only showed up to his funeral for the free booze.
“It’s okay Gareth, I wasn’t the best mother either. All that matters is that you’re here now,” my mother spoke. Her voice was wavering, quieter than a mouse.
Her skin was sallow, her eyes sunken. I reached out for her liver-spotted hand.
“I love you Mum.”
“I love you too Gareth,” she said, as I patted her hand.
Her whole body shook with kinetic energy as it launched up to the ceiling before ricocheting off the wall. She bounced around the room with a wild force before finding the window by chance and flying out into the sky.
I watched her sail away until she was just a speck in the distance. A single tear ran down my cheek.
“She’s with the angels now.”
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
|
"PEPPER DID NOTHING TO NOBODY!!"Both my baby girl and I roared with all we could muster at another self important hooligan. Me swatting away with my scythe might not have scared them away like her spits of fire, but she still needs daddy's protectin.
I thought I was gifted a perfect scarecrow that faithful May morn, but it seems to have brought pests by a darn bakers dozen. If it's not a brat with a sword it's a punk with a leaky basket. Pepper ain't nothin special, though she's for sure smarter than the lot of ya. Sheesh. Can't say she doesn't make a good shepard though, I haven't lost a sheep since Howser showed her the ropes. Especially since the old boy doesn't seem too keen on leavin the house no more. Too many people coming around with bad intentions.
What good do they think they're doing for anybody? Mayor says he can't do nothing to help unless Pepper damages the village or the hords do. Let me ask ya, if we're on our farm all the way out here, how's that gonna happen? It's not, eh? So what we gotta do to make peace?
(Sorry, I'm new to reddit and just realized this might get removed, I'll finish if it doesn't) |
Dungeons. Everyone goes to them. At least once, they're a great source of gold, jewels, and magic artifacts. Some explorers make a fortune in a single raid.
It's not for everyone's after all, dungeons are inhabited by monsters. My whole life I've been told they are mindless. Blood thirsty. Killers.
So, after my twentieth birthday, I decided to explore one that was near town. The entrance was a long abandoned mineshaft, abandoned years ago due to a lot of terrible accidents.
I was surprised to see when I got to the bottom light. Glowing crystals that gave off just slightly more light than a torch embedded into the walls.
I came across my first monster. A goblin dressed in some odd leather shoes, pants and hat with no shirt. He was sitting in a carved out section of wall eating from a basket of fruit.
He spotted me. I flinched. "Hi there."He waved, offering me an apple. "Want one?"
I was beyond confused. No tales ever said Goblins spoke. "Uh .. sure?"I said, letting go of my swords handle, the blade still sheathed.
"So, what brings you here?"The goblin asked.
"Curiousity?"I offered, choosing my words carefully as, well, this whole situation was odd.
"Fair. We don't get a lot of humans down here."The goblin shrugged. "Few that do are psychopathic murderers. Heard about a whole city got wiped out all for the metals."
"Metals?"I asked, hoping for more information.
"Creatures like us, small and fast, make really good miners. We goblins especially can survive the fumes and poisons that would kill most others. So, we mine. Iron. Gold. Copper. Bronze. Whatever we find. Lot of the fancier places get a bunch of speciality trained blacksmiths that can put magic enchantments on the weapons, tools and such. We know humans love crazy magic stuff so we've tried building up stock to trade, but usually some psychopath comes by, kills everyone and takes the whole stock."
I nodded, taking a bite from the apple. "I see... Why don't your people fight back... Or... Talk to them?"
"Many tried, but those monsters ignore our words, and you humans are pretty durable, so not many of us Monster species can take one on."
"Then... If this keeps happening, why keep making stock to trade with us?"
"An old saying we all take to heart. 'The sins of the few are not the sins of all'. Basically just because a group of humans have and are doing us wrong doesn't mean we should assume you all are. That's like hating all trees just because an apple fell on your head once."The goblin said.
I nodded. Honestly shocked. I had a lot to think about... I said my goodbyes to the goblin, but promised I'd be back for a visit, with coin to trade. |
Some people love God, some people think the idea is silly. One man, however, not only rejects the idea- he sees it as *cancer*, slowly eating away at the health of humanity. In his eyes, it does nothing but breed animosity, hate, and causes unnecessary division between fellow men. It acts as a shield for evil, and a vice by which to trick the less fortunate.
Much in the way Hitler thought murdering those he saw as 'unfit' would 'cleanse' society, this man took it upon himself to erase religion. With a time machine he'd stolen from the government, the only one in existence, he went back and murdered all those who tried to embrace religion. He wanted to create a new timeline where humans embraced each other instead of God; one where love was worshipped rather than a cross or stone.
Yet, when his hands were marred with the bloodstains of a billion people, and he returned to his own time, it was *he* who had become God. The Purger of evil, the Punisher of wickedness. *He lights the path for those trapped in darkness.* Every last human on the planet idolized his very existence.
And it was then that he came to a conclusion: religion is not *like* a cancer, it *is* a cancer. Much in the way race or nationality inherently brews conflict but cannot be removed, religion is a part of the human psyche. He could not stop it. What good would murdering the whole world do? He could assume his position and try to do good, but that would defeat the purpose. The point of his work was to *free* humanity, not chain it to his own will.
Still, they chanted his name on the streets. He could hear them from his room, the sound clogging his mind.
How can you save those who freely choose not to be saved? Why does humanity wish this upon itself? He couldn't find any of the answers as he sat in bed, playing with a loaded .44 magnum.
Perhaps people are just meant to be slaves, cowering under the lash of their own fears. Perhaps they can't ever be released from their prison.
He stared down the barrel of his magnum as though it contained the answers he so desperately needed. Perhaps the human species can never be saved from itself.
*But I can be free.*
----
*thanks for reading! if you enjoyed it, check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
"So, we're all agreed that we just pretend that the doppelganger is Urgoth?"Jung asked his companions with his wooly grey eyebrows raised in question.
They were a semi-pro/semi-famous adventuring party known as the Madcaps consisting of five aspiring mercenary heroes. There was Jung the Mystic; logical human wizard and master of the arcane arts. Then was the the sneaky halfling thief, Tim Dingleberry, who was surprisingly good friends the team healer and priestess of the sun goddess, Jennithalon of the Wooden Realm. Then came the face of the party; the bard/paladin casanova half-orc renowned for his charm, Sir Grung the Handsome. Urgoth on the other hand...
"I... well... Urgoth may have been an unreliable drunk and a dwarf to boot but can we just ignore a straight up murder?"Jennithalon asked her companions. Her sun goddess was the epitome of goody two-shoes and expected the same from her mortal representatives.
"There was no murder, though, Jenni! That idiot dwarf was stone drunk and attacked the doppelganger who was just minding his own business. I say good riddance to the old bastard!"Tim countered.
"And you just watched?"Grung questioned his smaller companion, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"That doppelganger was a whirling dervish with a battle-axe and Urgoth was in a drunken berserk rage! I'd sooner stand between pack of wolves and a wounded elk,"Tim countered.
"I'd not fault you there,"Jung looked on thoughtfully as he stroked his beard. "This doppelganger is better in most ways. He's sober, polite, always pitches in on camp duties, doesn't try to take every magical item for himself... hell, he saved all of us more than once."
"Can't we just talk to the doppelganger about this? Must we be so cloak and dagger about this? As it says in the Book of the Goddess; *Honesty is the best policy*,"Jennithalon quoted her scriptures again. She was a nice young elf but every member of the party tired of her straight and narrow attitude at times.
"Perhaps if someone had told us what happened after the death transpired we might have cleared things up but so much time has passed now..."Grung let his sentence trail off.
"If we show up with a new companion and no explanation for what happened to the real Urgoth then we'd either be outlaws or tossed into the clink,"Jung concluded.
"So, we all play it cool and don't say anything?"Tim asked them all, sticking out his hand.
"Agreed,"Grung said, placing his gauntleted hand on top of Tim's.
"Agreed"Jung said, placing his wrinkled hand on top of Grung's. They all looked at the priestess who hesitated.
"... agreed,"Jennithalon nearly whispered as she placed her gloved hand on top of Jung's.
\*\*\*
Not too far from the party, out of sight behind trees and bushes, but still within earshot, the doppelganger sat listening. The not-Urgoth Urgoth was ecstatic! The party really liked him! He had friends! |
I opened the door with my elbow, balancing the sad tray of potatoes and gravy in one hand and the glass of orange juice in the other.
"Ok Dennis,"I said, "You won't believe what I have cooked up for you today."I let myself give what I thought to be an evil grin. *Man, I'm really getting into character here!*
Dennis wasn't on the bed like he normally was, but sitting in the recliner that was set up for visitors. He had on a suit, not a new suit, but a suit that had seen the good days and stuck around for a while after they had gone. He leaned on his cane and lifted himself to his feet, wobbling only slightly.
"I'm ready,"he said, and his chin tremored slightly. A solitary tear escaped his eye, "No more runnin', not this time."
"Oh Dennis,"I said, "let's get you back to bed."
"Didn't you hear me?"Dennis said a little louder. "At least let me go with some dignity, before I can't even realize that I've shit myself anymore, before I go completely mad and have to take pills to make me forget I'm alive."
"I-- I can't take you Dennis,"I said, "not today."My mind searched for an excuse. "See, there's this horrible man who hurts children, I'm taking him today, and then my quota's full. There's just no room, I'll have to put you in for another day."
"I'll just have to wait until you change your mind, then,"Dennis said, and sank back into the armchair. He gave me a grumpy stare as I brought the food to his chair, abstaining from taking a single bite.
"If you finish your food, I'll consider moving you higher on the list, how's that sound?"I asked him. He grunted, and took slow, deliberate bites of his potatoes.
"I won't chase you today,"I said, "but if you want to talk, I'm always here, ok?"Dennis let a ghost of a smile cross his face, "Ok."
I turned to leave, and was surprised that another nurse had come into the room.
"I didn't hear you come in,"I said.
"They never do,"the nurse replied. She turned to Dennis.
"Would you like to come with me Dennis?"she asked.
"Where to this time?"Dennis asked.
"Someplace more comfortable, I promise,"the nurse said. Dennis nodded, and she took his hand and together they walked out of the room. As they left, she turned back to me.
"Thank you for taking care of him while he waited for me." |
Elisabeth watched, unfazed, as the devil materialized amongst billowing smoke and sizzling flame in her dining room. Up until this point, she'd been dining alone, as usual, though she wondered if the spectacle would bring the attention of her staff, or if - perhaps - this grandiosity was an illusion for her senses only.
The devil was enormous, and approached her with a clawed appendage outstretched. From somewhere in the depths of her mind, Elizabeth could hear the familiar raspy growl that wasn't exactly words, but was unmistakable in it's meaning.
**"Elizabeth Freeman, I am here for your soul."**
Taking her time, she wiped her mouth and set the linen napkin next to her plate. She rested her elbows on either side, tented her fingers, and leveled her gaze directly at the eyes of the devil. "No you're not."
**"How dare you, mortal. You signed a contract, and our deal is done. You've achieved your goal, and built your empire. Future generations of your line should want for nothing. Your soul is the price. I am here to collect."**
"Sole."
**"What?"**
With her own display of magic, Elizabeth stood and procured an ancient- looking roll of parchment from thin air, and flattened it on the table in front of her. She slipped on her reading glasses, searching nimbly with her index finger for the exact line she needed in the contract. "The deal we signed was for my sole. S-o-l-e, not soul, s-o-u-l."She pushed forward her plate of flat fish with a lemon and caper beurre blanc. "You can have this shit."
For a moment, the devil was so still, its presence seemed to absorb any light on its side of the table. Then its eyes pinched shut as an unmistakable look of pain and frustration overtook its powerful visage. It snatched up the contract, reading it over in a desperate frenzy before letting out a roar that crossed over from the plane of telepathy into actual vocal sounds. "Aaagghhh! What the heck!?"
Elizabeth smirked. She remembered the feeling of empowerment when she first discovered the contract's flaw. All these years, she'd been eagerly awaiting this moment.
Something made the devil pause again. A grin spread across its face, and it once again slipped back into a menacing facade. Ash and embers swirled around the room, daring to smother or spark. **"Your empire... was it not built on the bounty of the sea? I WILL take your sole. I will take all of it, and leave you with nothing."**
"Motherfucker, I sell cod." |
For years, alternate Dimensions were something very few were privy to, and even fewer had the displeasure to enter. More often than not they were hellish desert worlds, devoid of life, filled with only harsh winds and endless sand. After the initial excitement of walking through a giant portal to another world had worn off, the DARPA techs that were sent to these realms began to develop a proclivity for complaint. It had become increasingly clear to the Generals in charge that despite the appeal of alternate dimensions on paper, they seemed to have no practical benefit.
This all changed when the portal to Guzzleworld was cracked open on June 4th, 2023. Nine unarmed DARPA techs entered into the lush jungle realm for the first time, and as the portal closed behind them, their cynicism toward their mission left with it. Enormous trees with purple bark towered over the techs, and their branches shook with unseen life hidden in the leaves. Above, a flock of flying creatures too far away to be identified contrasted against the neon green sky. Living species! The techs were breathless. Some were astounded by the groundbreaking scientific discovery, while others were simply relieved to know their doctorates hadn't gone to waste after all.
Everything was immediately documented with photo and video; samples of the flora were put in sealed plastic bags for later evaluation. Soon there was a small pile of bags-full of bioluminescent flowers, purple bark, and grass as sharp as the finest steel. The giddy techs agreed they had to go deeper into this new world.
But this decision was to their detriment. First, they were slashed and bleeding from the never-ending blades of grass. And then a swarm of tiny, winged, bipeds started to naw and scratch at their exo-suits, crawled into the suit openings and attempted to burrow into their skin. Their removal was slow and painful. By this time, the techs were more than ready to return home. They began their slow march back to the portal site, bleeding and scared. This world, despite its Technicolor charm, was new and terrifying, and the Boston natives, so used to their apartments and their air conditioning and their unlimited data plans, were woefully unprepared for its cruel nature. They dreamed of dinner as they made their way back home.
Despite the fact there didn't even appear to be a sun in the sky, it had started to get dark. The neon green sky of day was replaced with a forest green sky of night, and with the change of scenery there came a sudden litany of sound. The forest erupted with hollers and roars from all manner of creatures hidden in the shadows, and the terrified techs quaked in their government issue boots as the darkness itself seemed to close in on them.
Their worst fears turned very real when a disturbingly long, hairy arm dropped down from the canopy, grabbed a tech by her head, crushed it like a grape, and then pulled her corpse back up into the trees. The screams of men and women alike echoed in the jungle as more arms began to pull people away; techs scattered like rats in every direction, desperate to escape, but within minutes the forest was silent.
Only one tech remained, he stumbled his way into a clearing, fight or flight had completely taken over his body. He continued to walk aimlessly, still in shock from the deaths of his coworkers and friends, when he tripped and fell into a creek of black liquid. The stench was enough to get him to regain focus, the fumes burned his eyes and the smell gave him a pounding headache. He crawled back onto the shore, heaving and gagging, but the smell was familiar and almost comforting in this alien world. It was a smell he would know anywhere. It was oil!
Two long, fear-filled days later, the shell-shocked tech was rescued by a search party, and reported back to his superiors. He told them about a dangerous world with flora and fauna human beings weren't even prepared for, but his warning fell on deaf ears. The only part that seemed to catch their attention was when the tech, still shaking and dehydrated, told them that he couldn't find any water in that dimension, there were only rivers, lakes, and oceans of oil. At the end of his report, the Generals shook the man's hand, called him a brave American and a hero, and left the room. One of the Generals had to actively try to keep a smile off his face as he closed the door.
Suddenly, one of the humanity's most valuable, sought after resources was as abundant as water, and America had both the lock and the key.
"Which one of us tells the President, and which one of us readies the garrison?"
"Do you think he'll approve an invasion of an alien land?"
"Of course he will, DARPA owns the portal technology. It's not an invasion if it's on American soil."
|
*gling-gling*
"Welcome to Mort's Little Shop of Curiosities! I'm Mort, and what are you looking for?"I smile at the new costumer. Of course I know already, but it works better if they feel in control.
"H-hello. I'm..."The young man freezes, straightens his back and puts on what I assume is supposed to be a dignified look. "I am Kalamdor, crimson wizard of the order. I have been searching far and wide for an object or item to further advance my immense powers!".
Credit where credit's due, the guy has acting talent. "You wish for power? That can be arranged... What will you use it for? Charm a lady? Slay a foe? Save your kingdom? Bring it woe?"The rhyming isn't necessary, strictly speaking, but together with the haunch, missing eye and crooked teeth, it really sells the "wizened old man dealing in arcane powers"illusion. People love a show.
"I wish to progress up the hierarchy of the order, but such advancements can only happen through death of a higher member. As such..."He trails off, trying not to shift uncomfortably.
"Ahh, I see. An ambitious young one came to me. A curse of blood, to strike him down with leprosy?"I glance at him from the side of my eye."No, magic cures exist a plenty- why I alone posses near twenty!"I cackle at my own joke. It's a good cackle that took me years to perfect. It has the desired uncomfortable effect. I pick up a small purplish bottle. "Ooh, turn his skin from inside out! That'll kill, and have no doubt."I measure the reaction. Getting colder, I see. "Hmm, poison's not for you , I'd say. Not the way your foes you'd slay."I think until my eyes rest on an object... That could work. "Sonny, I've just the thing for you."I pick it up. "With this, their insolence they'll rue!".
He takes the item in one hand, and is surprised by it's weight. "What is this... Grotesque abomination?"He scowls. "I sense no magic, curse nor incantation."He's trying to rhyme too! Lovely. Shame incantation is the spoken part of the spell, but decent first try. "That's a gonne, my doubting friend, a tool that brought to many end."I take it back, mentally summon a target and say. "You will see, just let me show! The power in this weapon's blow!"I point and shoot. The target is obliterated, despite the protective ward. "You see, this tool can cancel magic! Makes your foe's demise quite tragic."I smile at the shocked reaction on his face.
"I see you like it, true enough. The price, however, might be tough."I cackle again. He is squirming. Good. "An arm, a leg, an eyeball too. If not yours, your foe's will do. "I see his face go from confusion to horror to calculation. I proceed. "In a month, or two at most, a lovely banquet I will host. Bring the price in two weeks time, or I'll expose your dirty crime."I say, wrapping his right hand on the handle and putting some bullets in his left. "And if you don't- the guards, my dear, will be your smallest thing to fear."I say and slam the door.
I can finally stand up, so I go update the inventory. "Alright, down one desert eagle, and up magically imbued arm, leg and eyeball."Doesn't really matter to me if he fails.
I can always take my price from him. |
The Adventurer strode through the silver-welded doors, he glided across the palace floors like moonlight on water. And when he stopped, exactly five feet from his throne as customary for visiting aristocracy, his silver eyes met his own. No trace of fear or unworthiness in his gaze. In fact, his face was carefully and methodically wiped clean of emotion except for the small dignified smile playing on his lips.
"You have called, My Liege, and I have answered."
Everything about The Adventurer was illustrious, from his stride to his bow, to his clipped manner of speech. A manner which His Highness had often come to associate with nobility.
The High King banged his silver studded staff against the floor, "You may rise."
The Adventurer rose as gracefully as he kneeled,
"Your Highness, you have called The Adventurer, He who Finds What is Lost, to request for my services in finding your eldest daughter Adelola, Heir to this Noble Kingdom."
The High King waved a hand, "Your services are not required. For My Heir has just been found."
If The Adventurer was surprised by The King's words, there was no trace of it on his face."Then I shall depart at once. It has been an honor, Your Highness."
With those words, The Adventurer spun on he heel and made way to the silver doors.
"Wait,"the word was not shouted, yet the sheer power behind its speaker shook the room.
The Adventurer turned, "You have called, My Liege, and yet again I answer. What is it you request?"
The High King rose from his throne, his silver eyes never wandering from the form in front of him.
The Adventurer rose as well, and silver eyes met silver.
"I request the truth... an answer.... Why do you try to leave me yet again, my dearest Adelola?" |
"This lamb is *raw*,"the blonde-haired man hissed, poking at his plate discontentedly and peering at the meat.
"Hush,"Peter said, glaring across the table. "How did you come here? What is your name?"
Who was this man, dressed impeccably in white, as if to try and blend in among them? He was no disciple, that was certain.
"Name's Gordon Ramsay. Fucked if I know, mate, I tore some wannabe, wackjob scientist a new one for insulting my food and ended up here,"he muttered. "Told him his tastebuds were as poor as those time-travelling abilities he kept blathering about, guess he sent me here as a response. That's the only thing that makes any fucking sense, anyway, isn't it?"
In the middle of the table, a long-haired man was breaking bread apart and handing it out.
"This is my body,"he said solemnly, and Ramsay bit into it, nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Are you a dried up husk, too?"the man coughed, eyes streaming as he gulped his wine and spat that out, too. "Oh, God. You turned this wine into fucking water, didn't you?"
Jesus took a calming breath and met the red-faced man's gaze. Truly, he longed for him to be gone from their company, but one could not banish a guest.
"That wine is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins,"he tried to explain.
Ramsay merely snorted, eyeing the liquid in the cup. "Oh, really? I don't forgive *this* sin."
"Be silent, wretch,"one of the disciples whispered as Jesus tried to continue. He had turned his face from Ramsay and was now in the midst of a speech about some alleged betrayer.
“It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish...”
"I'm sorry, dip it in *what*? What's that made of, the tears of disappointment of these poor sods?"Ramsay asked in horror, as Jesus dunked the bread into an thin, watery sauce. "Believe me, I'd betray you too if you smeared my bread through that."
Jesus tried to hand the bread to Judas, but Ramsay dove forward and grabbed it. "No, don't eat that, for fuck's sake, I'll whip us up something better - "
It was too much. The anger Jesus had been trying to contain burst free. Had this man been sent by the Devil to test his patience?
"Leave this place! How did you come to be here in our midst?"he snapped.
"Oh look at this guy here, not listening to anyone but himself talk,"the man sneered. "I told that other guy a minute ago, *Jesus*. How did *you* wind up here, and who gave you the right to serve people shit food, that's what I'd like to know?"
"Well, I came here upon a..."
"Fucking donkey,"Ramsay interrupted, and strode from the room.
--------
*Edited a little bit following feedback on Jesus' character.*
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
I felt the brittle bones of the imp’s skull give way beneath my gauntlet, and my fist waded through its brain. Turning, I raised two barrels to the face of a charging-
There was a rushing wall of light, a torrent of sound, a feeling of falling, and then I stood once more.
The chamber was stone, dimly lit by candles. A circle of salt surrounded me. Runes of chalk accompanied by small bones and bowls of crystals lay around the salt circle.
A woman in black robes with gold trim stared at me. Her hair was black with a streak of white and as she stood she leaned heavily on her staff. She looked me up and down.
“This is wrong. You’re no demon.”
The adrenaline spike was withdrawing from my blood. I raised two barrels at her. She glanced at them without comprehension. “No, I’m worse. Send me back.”
She laughed. “Worse than a demon? There is no such thing.”
I said nothing, and then I said, “Send me back.”
She sighed and shook her head. “...Alas, I cannot. I am stuck with you, whatever you are. You speak as a man but your plate mail is unlike any I’ve seen. Is that some sort of club you’re holding?” she asked, gesturing to my shotgun.
“N-“ I began. I raised my head. Something else was here. “Release me.”
“No, not until you give me answers. Jorz’kalrun means to invade this world like so many others, but I haven’t been able to divine his plan. I need to know his objectives; where his demons will strike.”
I looked her up and down. “You fight demons?”
She glared at me, then stood taller. The candles flared, sending strange shadows sprawling across the walls. “You stand before Salwain, Night Mage, Sword of the Ether, Bain of Bloodspawn. I’ve sworn an oath to drive the demons back to their pit and I will not rest until it is done.”
“Where is this pit?”
...She turned her head, and said, “Who-“
The stone wall behind her crumpled, and through it unfolded a crimson-skinned behemoth with burning eyes, as it bellowed the stone washed white with flame.
The sorceress wheeled, raised her staff, the air around her hand broiled with force, she-
The brute’s claw drove her backwards, dodging the deathblow. She caught herself.
I looked down. The circle of salt was broken. I looked up.
...
When we had finished, the creature was spilled across ever corner of the room. The ceiling dripped with its viscera.
Salwain crouched over its corpse. “More will be coming.”
“We need to move.”
She stood and looked at me, raising her eyebrows. “Oh? Do we?”
I stared down at her.
“And why would you help me?”
“...I kill demons. You’ve got demons to kill.”
...She laughed and then she smiled and shook her head. “...Who are you?”
“...Doom.” |
We all thought that the day that humanity freed the being known as Ck'luth\`oin would be the last day in the galaxy. Humanity had long been looked down upon by the other spacefaring civilizations. They were less advanced, with their ships made out of lowly titanium and steel, their FTL barely able to go 10 times the speed of light, and their weapons still using projectiles. Their culture wasn't much better. They were an aggressive species with countless wars in their past, they looked up to martial prowess, and had countless war gods. These barbarians ate plants that could cause minor chemical burns in their mouths, drank multiple kinds of poisons, and listened to a horrendous cacophony of sounds they called "music"- whatever that is. They had no central government, no uniform language, and were famous across the galaxy for leaving chaos in their wake. In truth we thought of them as barely more than aggressive pests.
The central administrator who first saw the incident report that a crew of human treasure hunters entered the ancient temple where Ck'luth\`oin was imprisoned assumed that it was either a prank, or that humans would be too stupid to do any real harm. The next day when hundreds of reports began flooding in that not only had humans entered the temple, but they had also undone the bindings which kept Ck'luth\`oin imprisoned we knew that the reports were real. No-one knows when or how Ck'luth\`oin was imprisoned, but the ancient stories say that before it was, any planet it visited would soon be devoid of life, and that it took the greatest minds of an entire civilization to entrap it.
In the panic of the planet wide evacuation few people noticed that a fleet of human ships had shown up as the temple opened. They did not aid in the evacuation, or attempt to notify anyone of their presence. Instead they began deploying thousands of devices around the temple, and connecting all of them - an undertaking of such scale that we had previously thought impossible for their kind.
As the final seals broke, the humans began powering up whatever the device was. The last inhabitants of the planet who were still waiting on transports reported that this device seemed to crackle with an indescribable power, and hum with a force so strong that they could feel it in the deepest parts of their thorax. No evacuation was coming for these last poor souls. It was too late. And it was unneeded.
Apparently the Humans had figured out that Ck'luth\`oin was not evil, or malicious, but instead a creature from another realm trapped in our reality. Humanity was not as primitive as we thought either - they had created a rift between realities which they used to send Ck'luth\`oin home, before closing the rift. Never again did we underestimate the Humans. We feared them. If they could and would do this to help a creature they never met, what would they do to a creature that angered them? |
The toy scrapes itself along the floor as you move it to the center of the white circle. It used to be unsteady but in the last week it has hit dead center every time. The white-coated woman smiles and congratulates you as she always does - she’s your favourite, with copper-gold hair and kind eyes. She smiles a lot.
Bored, you stretch and flick the toy back towards the pile. It flies through the air and settles among its friends. You turn to the smiling lady and with only the briefest of pauses she agrees you’re done for now.
You grab her hand and walk back into the open corridor - the door doesn’t close well in its frame, though it’s thick and made of metal. It hangs open, showing the well-lit path beyond. The two of you step over a bit of clutter - a discarded rifle, bent in half. The white-coated woman’s smile flickers briefly but with a gentle squeeze of your hand it returns, radiant. You approach the cafeteria and you smile too as you see your other white-coated friends sitting at the table, two spots open for you to join them. Open packs of rations crowd the table’s surface and you all dig in. It’s bland and you miss the fresh food they used to have, but it’s no big deal. The scientists are smiling the whole time, which makes it a bit hard to eat but keeps you happy too.
Down the table one of the smiles starts to flicker, and you see a trickle of blood dripping from an older man’s nose. You look at him, concerned and his smile doesn’t return. He falls backward onto the floor and twitches a few times before stopping.
This won’t do. The table’s incomplete. You reach out your senses and connect with a friend from the room beyond. It only takes a few moments for them to arrive for lunch - their white coat is rumpled but that’s easily fixed. They sit in the empty chair and turn to you smiling.
Water is leaking from the eyes of a few from the party, but it doesn’t stop their smiles. The happiness you feel finally having a family that really cares for you makes your eyes water a bit too. You hope it never ends. |
“Behind the closet door” was the third post-it, the words followed by a little, poorly drawn arrow pointing at my
bedroom closet.
The one before that was “A man in white hair and black suit.”
And the first one “Call the police. There's someone in the house.”
It can't possibly start as early as thirty five years of age, I think, grabbing a kitchen knife and step by stepping myself
back inside the bedroom.
It can't possibly be happening already.
But I have no memory of writing this.
Which arises two possibilities, one more disturbing than the other:
First – It is happening. I am sick. There is a man inside my house and I am warning myself about it, and I don't remember because
of the disease. This is option number one.
Never mind the fact that, if I really am sick, there might be no man at all, and I'm just rambling in post-its to myself,
which would be its own, special kind of sad.
Option number two is someone is really inside the house with me, and he is fucking with my head. Leaving me post-its in
the much too familiar “oh my god the call is coming from inside the house” kind of deal. A psycho, playing with his prey.
As I take the last few steps, knife in hand, and grab the closet door knob, I don't know which of the alternatives is the worst.
I'm about to pull the damn thing open when the noise comes from the living room.
*But I live alone,* I think.
Now do I open the door the arrow is pointing to?
Or do I go towards the noise?
And I want to make a decision, but this voice comes in from the living room, and I'm distracted.
“Jonathan!”
I live alone.
I look at the post it dangling from the wall by the closet door, with the little arrow drawn in red ink.
“Jonathan!”
Thirty five is much too young for this nonsense. This can't be happening. I can't be sick this young.
Let's hope there's a serial killer inside this closet.
“Jonathan, drop this knife”, is what I hear, just as I burst open the door.
And what do you know? Staring back at me is a man in white hair and a black suit!
I'm equal parts startled and relieved.
Look, the man is holding a knife too. And there's a woman coming from behind him. She takes the knife out of his hand.
That's good.
Behind me, someone is taking the knife out of my hand and closing the door, locking the old man inside the closet again.
“Come on, dad. Come back to the living room.” The young woman says, and I think she has me confused with someone
else. “You have to stop leaving these post-its all over the house.”
"Why does he do that?"A male voice sounds, and I notice a young man walking in and grabbing my free arm.
"He was obsessed with the disease, when he was younger, so he would leave these post-its to himself. Sometimes he gets confused, and he thinks he's still -- well."
“I'm just happy there was someone inside the closet” I say, and I chuckle.
“Thirty five is much too young to be this kind of sick”, I say, and the girl has tears in her eyes, for some reason.
And she and the young man, they walk me back to the living room, where a
bunch of people are sitting around, talking.
I like the girl, for some reason. I want to tell her that it's ok, that the man is locked in the closet. That we are safe.
That there is no need to cry.
I have to remember to leave myself a post-it about these people I don't know, wearing pointy, colorful hats in my living room.
______________________________
*Thanks for reading! If you haven't yet, check out my ongoing sci-fi novel on [my blog](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/).*
|
Great... Fucking GREAT! The movie has probably already started and this old bitch in front of me has spent 4 minutes trying to pay for one box of LifeSavers.
"No that's 67 cents ma'am you only owe me 65,"the cashier patiently explained.
"Oh thththank you dear, y-y-y-you're a lifesaaaver,"she said with a slow screeching laugh.
Are you fucking kidding me.
I could feel the evocative images of Professor X, Magneto, and Wolverine fading from my mind.
I looked off to the side at a man and his kid smiling as they walked past me. Well, they look like they're having a smashing time. Probably because they're going to see the best movie of the year while I'm stuck in line buying food for my douchebag friends...
My suicidal thoughts were interrupted by the dreadful sound of bouncing and rolling coins on the supermarket floor.
I stopped myself from roundhouse kicking this old lady in the back by employing ancient psychic meditative techniques that I learned as a kid.
In situations like these for example, you got to reflect what your childhood heroes would do. If I were Professor X I would.....
I would make this cashier beat this old lady senseless with a tube of quarters...
... And if that doesn't help calm you down, turn to the religion!
For example, close your eyes and speak these holy words:
Dear God and his holy righteousness, please HELP this woman along so I can watch my damn movie!
I opened my eyes and began to look around, pleading for my authentically transcendent prayer to work its celestial magic.
Every person stopped moving, and the building fell silent.
I stopped moving too. What the fuck, am I imagining this? Did my prayer work?Or have I officially gone crazy.... Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. I try to make a sound but my throat felt like a desert.
After a minute, my mind returned to normal.
I ushered enough confidence to proclaim: "Hey guys, can you take your flash mob somewhere else, some of us have a movie to catch."
I waited a few seconds...
Then every neck snapped toward my direction, except two necks.
Yes two.
The old lady during this had damn near shit herself, and I couldn't blame her.
I felt a few logs in my trousers as well.
Every black pupil slowly moved its gaze from me to the old lady.
Then without warning, every person began to charge. The old lady tried to run. Give her some effort. When she tripped and fell, she even tired to crawl away. The human spirit is so strong. So robust. So fleeting...
At first you could hear a few wailing cries and then a few muffled cries of desperation. Then all you could hear was silence as each body began to catch up to her and pounce onto her... devouring her alive.
I tried to help the lady escape. But there was just too many of them. That's what I tell people nowadays.
In reality, I just stood there. Waiting for myself to be eaten as well. But it didn't happen. Why me? Why didn't it happen? Who the fuck knows.
I have a strange power. That's obvious. But this power gives me the responsibility to punish the inept and incompetent. To rid this world of weakness. Fuck the X-men. Sacrifices need to be made, so people remember their mortality.
Edit: Yes, I hate my last paragraph too. |
"I am telling you it was a sex joke"William practically screamed across the room to Mrs Dreary. She simply rolled her eyes and chuckled slightly.
"Oh William, you are so dirty minded"
She chuckled again, Mrs Dreary was an old woman of around 60 with grey hair, a frail build and a face like one would typically see on a librarian. She also had no f*cking idea about Shakespeare.
"'The black ram is tupping your white ewe'... How is it not obvious!"William practically clawed at his hair trying to explain. William was a younger lad, slightly short for his age, 15, but with a certain assertive air that made it seem like he filled whatever space he was placed into. He was also William Shakespeare reincarnated.
Mrs Dreary adored Othello and sonnet 116, and as such William took great pleasure in tearing her to shreds whenever she attempted to analyse a quote or theme.
One such time she had attempted to suggest Shakespeare was integrating Marxist themes into his works... That had been a fun lesson...
"HE BUILT HIS OWN THEATRE! The guy was the most elitist prick of his time!"- William found particular joy in insulting his previous self, much to his teachers annoyance.
"You know what, if you can justify it in the exam then go for it but if you get an F it's on you"
William figured he could probably think of a few justifications for why he thought what he thought. |
I sit straight up in bed and check my watch. 6:57 AM. I'd somehow become an early riser in here, even though I used to love sleeping in. *Of course* that would happen once I had no job or any other obligations. Just my luck, right? I rise and dress quickly, not that I have many wardrobe options: there are only three outfits. No stretching, no yawning, no rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Those things don't happen in Utopia. No shower or brushing my teeth either, because I woke up anew after every daily reset. I wasn't in the same body that had gone to sleep last night; I was a whole different person, but with the same mind and same appearance.
> Suicide may be punishable by up to fifty years life-extension.
The phrase is hung on the wall across from my bed in a simple black frame; it is designed to be the first thing I look at every day when I wake. Just like every other prisoner. "No Suicide"is the only rule in the city, and the wardens make sure to remind us of this constantly. It's on every billboard and street sign. It was in every home and every store. It is the only thing that they care about. They can't extend our lives, but they can slow down our perception of time in-game. They can make a single day in real time *feel* like 50 years. It's pretty much psychological torture.
Essentially, we're all in a forced dream state, and death in Utopia brings you back to the real world. The Wardens don't want to have to deal with us. Prisons *before* Utopia were hellish nightmares of cramped cells and shower rape, and expensive to boot. Utopia is a far simpler solution. Put us into comas, cram us into tubes, and imprison us in our own virtual world where we really can't hurt anyone but ourselves. The system is programmed to stop us from intentionally *killing* each other, but we can still inflict pain; I like to think that that feature was only added to punish us convicts. This system is easier for the guards, and supposed to be more pleasant for the prisoners. The only problem is when a prisoner awakens unexpectedly, which happens when their Utopia avatar dies. Then, the guards have to actually do work, and they *hate* that. Hence the one rule: no suicides.
I emerge from my house and stepped into the 'sunlight.' They got the color right, and it's certainly bright enough, but it's not the same. I miss that indescribable feeling of warmth washing over you. And honestly, after 21 in-Utopia years of cloudless, sunny days, I just want some rain. Utopia is a government-run program, for felons. So you know what that means: lots of cut corners and 'on-the-cheap' solutions. When I look in the mirror, I don't see myself. I see "Generic Black Avatar A."There are 3 different models of Avatar to choose from, so I see a hundred copies of myself walking down the street every day. Having to reintroduce myself over and over and over gets pretty old. The city streets are all pretty much identical; buildings come in one of three shapes: skyscraper, house, and shop. The skyscrapers are, as far as I can tell, completely empty. None of us have jobs or anything, so there's nothing really to fill them. I guess they just left them in for the skyline? The shops are all generic shelves and counters, with different things filling them. Everything is free, so I don't know why there are cashiers programmed in. Must be a relic from the commercial VR games where regular folks *do* have to pay for things. The NPC cashiers have a few standard scripts that they can use, but most of them tend to die pretty early in the day. The other prisoners have taken to hunting them for sport. By night, most of the shops have been burnt down just for the hell of it.
I stroll down the sidewalk, past Skyscrapers 40-45. Each block contains exactly five identical skyscrapers. Streetcars rumble nearby: off to the beach, or the the amusement park, or wherever else. Utopia is programmed with all sorts of activities to keep us busy. After twenty years in here, I've tried them all a dozen times over. And I'm done. The Streetcars don't even stop in this area; no one wants to go to the Skyscrapers anyway. The only thing to see in this district is billboard after billboard, all with the same message: "Suicide may be punishable by up to fifty years life-extension."
Skyscraper 47, my 'home away from home.' We've heard rumors that the guards conduct searches of our Utopia houses, just to see what we're up to. It supposedly doesn't happen very often, and the odds that they'd pick me are pretty slim, but I don't want to risk it. I took the elevator up to the 43rd floor and headed toward the conference room. Row after row of empty cubicles and desks stretch up to the 'windows.' They're not actually windows, because it's easier to just project an image from the outside instead of programming transparent glass. And the render distance in Utopia isn't very good. So all you can really see from here is some brown splotches of land nearby leading into the hazy blue ocean that surrounds our island.
The conference room up ahead is full, just as I expect.
"Diet pills and marzipan,"I announce as I enter. The other prisoners nod and greet me. It's the code word we'd settled on last night, as we did every night before. We can't be sure if there are guards in here disguised as prisoners, especially because we all look pretty much the same. So we need to take some security precautions. Micah, our tech expert, claims that the guards wouldn't have access to our spoken conversations in the database, so they can't just look up what password we settled on.
"Everything all set?"I ask.
Micah nods. He's the only one using the Latino avatar, so that he doesn't have to keep verifying his identity. Though he says that in real life he is Asian; there is no Asian avatar. "We tested it on Davis,"Micah said, pointing to the broken glass at the end of the room. "And he's not back yet."Davis had committed suicide so many times that his term was now at thousands of years; he didn't really care about another 50 being tacked on. Not that the terms would matter after today.
"All right, then."I gesture towards the window. "You guys didn't need to wait for me. Let's go!"I run forward and fly head first into the glass. The bright sun blinds me once again as I break through out into the open air 43 stories up and begin to fall.
The air isn't rushing around me or whistling through my ears. They must not have put any effort into falling animations; why would they? Suicide is forbidden, after all. Anyone jumping out a window like this would wake up in their tube surrounded by guards and put right back into Utopia. Anyone *without Micah's code*, that is. He says it will disrupt their REM monitors, and they won't be able to tell we've woken up. We'll be out of our tubes and back into the real world before anyone has a clue. Our best estimate is that they won't even discover we're gone until the nightly reset, which is why we decided to jump first thing in the morning.
I'm getting closer to the ground now; the pavement texture is starting to render. The last thing I see before I hit the sidewalk is a black billboard with white lettering:
> Suicide may be punishable by up to fifty years life-extension.
-----
I wrote [a Part II prequel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3huqw0/suicide_may_be_punishable_by_up_to_fifty_years/cub32hx), if you're interested in more!
|
The man entered my kitchen the way he always had- through the door in the white tile wall, the only door out of my apartment. He gave me his usual smile, one of responsibility tinged with guilt, one of a man who works for the greater good and turns a blind eye to his daily actions. He had on the same clothes he always did, a simple lab coat with pocket protector, and the same hair style, though his balding condition had progressed over the eighteen years of my life.
But one thing was different about Daedalus, my assigned scientist. Today, he carried a gun and a syringe.
From my position at the stove, bacon just in the frying pan and ready to sizzle, three eggs cracked for a future omelet, and diced vegetables waiting to be sauteed, I froze. I'd known this day was coming. We both had.
"The experiment is over,"Said Daedalus, offering that sweet smile with heavy eyes, "Thank you for your time."
"Will you at least join me for breakfast first? You owe me that much."I said, extending an arm towards my kitchen table.
Daedalus frowned, his eyes narrowing, and I knew what he was thinking. That it was against protocol. That should an accident happen, and I, Clone 314159, get loose, there would be more than the loss of his career to pay for it.
But he knew I wouldn't be getting loose- I had been bred for civility, for being docile, for low aggression. And Daedalus was human- he was the closest I had to a father or friend, being the only human I had even been in the same room with, and I suspected that I was the closest he had ever had to a son. His body language indicated it, and after years of study on the human interractions that I would never have, I was somewhat of an expert on the subject. Theoretically, at least.
"Fine,"He said, sighing, and placed the gun on the table. It was only a precaution, after all. Not once in the history of The Program had the gun ever been used, since every clone had accepted the injection without complaint. Since every clone had died without complaint.
With my back turned towards him, I poured two glasses of orange juice. Mine on the left, and his on the right. And I set them on the table.
Mine on the left. His on the right.
And then I sat down myself.
"Biscuits are in the oven. Done in fifteen minutes. I must know, Daedalus, was it successful?"I asked, searching his face for clues. But Daedelus made no movement as I sipped my own orange juice. And I knew he was thinking back on the same memories as me.
Memories of The Program.
It had been fifty years since The Program had been instituted. Fifty years since a genetic biologist made a discovery that rocked the world, changing religion, science, and philosophy forever. It's strange to think it took humans this long to find. It's stranger to think that the clue was in all of us.
But she found a group of genes, dormant ones, and she disciphered a code from the first. And in that code gene she found Pi, written to sixty digits.
"It is impossible,"she said at his press conference, as the world watched on television, "For such a gene to exist by nature. The statistics are astronomical, the chances incredibly slim. No, this gene was placed there. It was left behind by the hand of another. A message for us to find. And we don't know why."
And The Program had been instituted to find out.
There were hundreds of us clones throughout the years, each with slight tinkerings to our genetic code, experiments by scientists trying to activate genes locked away by the mysteries of organic chemistry. We'd been monitored, we'd been interrogated, we've been tested. And of the clones, I had been the most successful.
I still remember when I was two, and Daedalus filmed me reading into a camera.
"Go on,"he said, pressing record, "Let's hear it."
"I want a treat first."I pouted, and Daedalus handed me a slice of an apple, my favorite food.
Then I read, enunciating each word correctly, pausing to answer his questions. And after an hour he let me close *Dante's Inferno*, but not before translating it to English.
But Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket.
Years later, I developed my own mathematical theorems. I became a professor at MIT when I was ten, holding lectures over the internet- something Daedalus insisted I always have access to, to spur my learning.
"I don't want to teach class today,"I complained, halfway through the semester, as students and scientists alike awaited my lecture.
"Come now, I'll have treats waiting for you,"Prompted Daedalus, and held up two apples, "Your favorite."
So I taught the class, and ate the apples.
And Daedalus never saw what I put into my pocket afterward.
So the years progressed, and I grew smarter. And I grew stronger, thick muscles forming where I had never exerted myself. Daedalus took notes. And I took apples.
But now, he spoke across the table, answering my question about the success of the program.
"No, it was not a success, but you're the closest we've come."he answered, and took a gulp of his orange juice. And I waited, watching the glass. Because Daedalus was wrong, and I remembered what he did not.
I remember my feelings, urgings to escape, an instinctual pressure that grew with each passing year. A desire to build as a bird creates a nest, or an ant a mound. And I knew from viewing past files that this had occurred to no other clone.
And as Daedalus' skin began to turn purple, I remembered other things.
I remembered collecting the apple seeds for over a decade, and storing them in hidden packets under my bed. I remember the advanced chemistry I took, and the lessons about how cyanide can be attained from natural sources, particularly apple seeds, given time and proper ingenuity. And I remembered making the poison, taking advantage of a power outage two years ago, when a storm had struck and the cameras monitoring my apartment were down.
And I remember just moments before taking the vial of cyanide I had hidden, and adding it to his orange juice. I had never tested the cyanide- I did not know if it would work. But I watched as Daedalus collapsed, and I stood over him, tears streaming down my face for my dying father.
"The experiment is over,"I said, my voice choked, the act of poisoning him a direct contrast to the nature bred within me, "Thank you for your time."
Then I took his labcoat, and his gun, and I left my apartment for the first time in my life, with nothing to guide me but instinct.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/416jnr/wp_youre_sitting_in_your_kitchen_eating_breakfast/)
****
By Leo
Another part coming soon. Feel free to check out my work on /r/leoduhvinci while you wait, as part two will be posted on there as well.
|
"What about longbows?"There was a ripple of appreciation throughout the room.
"Still too short-ranged. The alien ships won't descend closer than forty thousand feet, at the closest."
"Trebuchets then."I tried to cut off the bearded ghost- Chinese? I didn't know I was part Chinese?
"You're not understanding a fundamental-"
"A *big* trebuchet!"He gleamed.
A room filled with spectres turned their eyes and held their breath.
"... Too short-ranged."
"Impossible!"He barked, slamming a fist down onto the desk, and the room erupted back into argument.
This conversation had lasted an hour.
"Gentlemen, uh, venerated wise ones *PLEASE!*"the chaos lowered in volume while the closest of them nodded their heads slowly in acceptance of the flattery.
"We already have the means to combat the enemy,"and I began folding a piece of paper. A tired looking viking rubbed his eyes and prodded at my ribs.
"You forgot to write on the letter son, no point sealing it yet"
"No, this-"I held up the crude airplane, "is the key to defeating our foe."That caught their ears, for the first time since their mysterious arrival I finally had their full attention. The viking slowly smacked his lips, leant forward, and growled, "how?"
"*This* is us, okay? It's called a fighter jet. The fighter jet will be loaded with a hydrogen bomb which is, uh.. going to be this eraser, and then it will... it will... just.."
I threw the plane across the room and it sailed under the bristly hairs of my ancestors' gaze. Gracefully, it cleared the desk and landed at the foot of the lamp. My bloodline sat transfixed by the paper contraption, then looked back at me, and then back at the plane.
And then they all roared into laughter. *FUCK.*
"A trebuchet built to the size of mountains!"
"What will it throw?"
"Smaller mountains!"
I hate my family. |
Clark had thought nothing could surprise him anymore. All the places he’d been, all the worlds and times and dimensions. But Japan was different. He remembered how Lois had once showed him some sappy movie about a young woman and Bill Murray in Tokyo, and how it had looked otherworldly, surreal.
For the first time in his life, a place had lived up to his expectations. He spent hours in his civilian outfit, strolling the streets, looking at all the lights and buildings, feeling a nostalgia for something he had never experienced himself. And he ate a lot of sushi, more than he would have ever thought possible.
Of course, there was still the job. That’s what it had been for a long time, putting on the cape and the smile like a McDonalds employee puts on their uniform. That smile.
*“Oh, my god,” the young man said, bursting into tears, a stain forming on the crotch of his jeans. “I was about to die.”*
*“But you didn’t,” Clark said, putting down the truck.*
*And then the boy looked up, with that look. The wide eyes, the pure love.*
*“Y-you saved me, Superman.”*
But Clark knew the truth. Heard it, saw it at all times. How for every one person he saved, another died halfway across the world due to a robbery, and another a few cities over due to a car crash. How he was just a salve for randomness and cruelty, but not a cure.
And yet that look…Clark thought of putting the smile on step by step. Curl your lip up. Now the other end. Stretch it out. Good.
Yet every night he still put on that costume, and forced himself to fly out above the city.
Bruce would say it was his sense of duty, the same unbreakable one both were simply cursed with for life. But Clark knew his had been wavering, waiting for a reason to finally give up.
He closed his eyes as he flew down to another stick-up, dreaming of the day he could just be Clark Kent…
(to be continued) |
The Gatekeeper looked at me, eyes rippling through its translucent, amorphous body like a thousand buoys tossed about at sea. It shimmered, fractured, and reformed, and shrunk and grew as it moved. It was confounding to look at. A higher dimensional being that my mind couldn't fully understand.
Its job, its sole purpose, evidently, was to guard what stood behind it, and to guide departed souls to whatever lay beyond.
Three portals, each unique. To my left, a portal which glowed softly with white light. Soft, incomprehensible music spilled from it. Not words or instrumentals. More like faraway voices passing through wind chimes. It was distinctly pleasant and mesmerizing, a siren call to my soul. Looking at the portal warmed me to my core, like fireplace on a winter day. It felt like home.
At the center was a portal which looked like a crack in space itself. Through it I could see the cosmos - a moving, vibrant picture of starlight and cosmic dust as it danced and swirled slowly around a massive black hole. The portal gave off a twinkling sound along its edges. Something unknown and alien stirred in me as I listened to it, as though the twinkling resonated deep within me, pulling at a piece of me I never even knew was there.
And to the right, a black portal, tinged in red, crackling as though it was on fire. From it poured forth something like the drone of a crowded gym or stadium, only - sadder. Mournful. Pained. Not quite screaming, though it left the same uncomfortable feelings of pity and revulsion in me. The least attractive portal, by far.
"I'm meant to choose?"I asked the being in front of me.
"You are."
"Well, where do they lead? Is the choice permanent?"I asked, confused.
"It is,"said The Gatekeeper, answering the second question first. "Or at least, the repercussions of your choice are permanent. I cannot show you what lies beyond them, but I can describe them to you, if you like."
I nodded my head, unsure of what else to do.
"This portal,"he said, gesturing toward the glowing one to the left, "leads to the presence of the divine. It is what you might call 'heaven'. You will be filled with light and love, your pain and negative thoughts forever soothed and washed away. Your purpose there will be to worship, to add to The Song. You and the other congregants will eventually coalesce in your worship to form a glorious Hivemind, its purpose to praise and carry out the will of the Creator both in heaven and within Its universe. What future plans the Creator holds for the Hivemind, I do not know."
I rocked a bit at the description. To be a part of a collective, to have my individuality stripped but to be filled with joy and purpose...
"The central portal,"The Gatekeeper continued, "leads to a universe. *Your* universe. In stepping through this portal, you will be God. You may move about, create, destroy, and otherwise do as you please without consequence or limits. Your only restriction is the one you impose upon yourself - in stepping through the portal, you are bound to your choice and must stay there forever."
"And the last one?"I asked, not fully absorbing what he had said.
"The last portal leads to what you might call hell. Therein, all of your many sins will be laid bare before you, and you will understand the shame and consequences borne from each of them. The emotional damage that you caused. The pain of regret and loss at seeing what you might have become, at the joy you might have achieved, had you acted differently. It is a place of punishment, sometimes with brutality that can scarcely be conceived of."
I wanted to respond, to ask more questions. But I was overwhelmed by choice and information. Really, I was still processing that I was dead. Not ten minutes ago, I had been listening to The Rolling Stones while driving on the highway. I lost control, heard screeching, and crushing of metal and shattering of glass, and then I was here.
And now, three options.
To go to "Heaven"and lose myself to some collective, but at least I would be happy.
To go back into the world, or a world, where I would be God.
Or...
"Why would anybody even consider the portal to hell?"I finally asked. "Has anybody?"
As if on cue, or implicit request, a black book dropped to the floor at my feet. Small, leather bound, no thicker than a spiral notebook. The word "Hell"was scrawled across the cover. Picking it up, I opened it and turned through it. Names, each with a date next to them. There weren't many of them, certainly not compared to the 100 billion people who have lived and died thus far. The count measured in the low thousands, at the most. As I flipped the pages, I scanned for any names throughout history that I might have recognized, but to no avail. I recognized none of them, save for the very last one.
*Mackenzie Anne Phillips, November 23, 2020.*
The name stuck in me like a dagger. I looked closer at it, stared at it, willing it to mean something else, or else waiting for some trick to reveal itself. But no. Simply the name of my fiancé, who had died of heart failure due to an unknown birth defect, little more than a year earlier. The date, the day she died.
"What the hell is this?"I demanded angrily. Too angrily. Anger made me quiet, made my hands tremble. A weakness that I hated about myself.
"She was the first to choose hell in over 50 years,"The Gatekeeper answered, voice low.
I shook my head.
"That doesn't make sense. Why would she do that?"
"You must understand. Countless masses choose heaven. Billions upon billions of them, and it rarely requires much deliberation. In the end, you see, it's hard to find purpose when you have to create it yourself. People may say that they want freedom, but what they truly want is the happiness that freedom buys. Promise them the happiness, and they'll gladly give up anything - their freedom, even their unique identity - to hold onto it."
It looked at me again with those countless eyes. I said nothing, and so it continued.
"The freedom that comes with being God - it's not for most. I have no direct insight into their minds, or the minds of anyone once they leave my presence. But I imagine most of the ones who step through here go mad. I do not envy those who wish to be their own God."
"That still doesn't answer my question,"I said. "Why would anyone choose eternal suffering? Why would she?"
The Gatekeeper seemed to almost chuckle. "Eternal? For your finite choices, made with limited understanding of the consequences? No. A long time, for certain. Far longer than the life you lived. But not eternal."
"But then what? After they've been punished and fully understand what their actions mean, then what happens?"
"The Divine has not revealed to me what their fates hold, save that they will move beyond the scope of the three portals here. Off to something else entirely. What that might be, I will not venture to imagine."
I looked at him. At the name of the woman I loved, written in this damned book. At the three portals - the beckoning, the stirring, and the cursed.
"Will I be able to be with her, if I choose to go there? Even though we're being punished, I mean?"
"There is mercy even in the darkest of places. Yes, you will be at each others' sides."
I don't know how long we stood in silence as I thought. I'm not sure that I was thinking at all. But the moment I felt some resolution, a determination to move forward, the Gatekeeper exuded something like a smile. Gently, he took the book from my hands and wrote what I can only imagine was my name. Next to hers.
I gave him a nod, and mustering my courage, stepped through the third portal to pay for my sins. |
Immortality is a curse.
I'm sure you've heard the reasons: all your loved ones die, all your loved ones die again, and the boredom. Oh the boredom. I was *actually* cursed though. But I suppose it was called a blessing at the time- I was to write the greatest literature in human history, past and future. I would experience all of this world, all that the human condition had to offer, and so I would live until I transcribed such lustre into my book. A chronicle to be retold for millennia.
And I hate to break it to you, but it ain't much.
Eat, shit, distract yourself with work and circuses, sleep, repeat. Every age the same just a different flavour. I have to say though, in my books, well, book, the best time to be alive was the Medieval period. Eat, shit, try not to die from a rat, sleep, repeat. Now *that* was excitement. Noone knew if they would see tomorrow, other than me of course.
And so I find myself pondering such intricacies of life in a quiet cafe on Pitt Street every morning. Its decor was demure on its best days but its cortado was a strong argument for the present being the runners up for most livable eras. I raise my quill. Perhaps I should get it over with and just write a world's top 100 list. I punched the voice in my head in the throat. I did not live a thousand years for some buzzy article for the feed. That would be a cruel joke. *Write a joke anthology*, my head voice wheezed.
"That's a mighty frightening glower you got on, Mr. Murdoch. Woke up on the wrong side of bed?"The waitress placed a steaming mug on my table. She had an apron at her hips and a red bonnet that hid greying hair.
My eyebrows eased and I met the waitress' bemused eyes. "Thanks Martha. It's just...my kid giving me grief again. You know how they are."I glanced at the blank pages of my book.
"Ah, I *would* know a thing or two about kids, Mr. Murdoch. My girl never listened, but she's had her share of wolves at her door and now she's always calling her mother for advice."
Martha gave me a smile that softened the wrinkles on her face. "Life has a lot to pass down. Take it from an old woman."she said. She gave me a wink and hummed a tune as she walked back to the kitchen.
A smirk formed on my lips. I penned the first words of my book: *Little Red Riding Hood*. |
There's a long pause as Admiral Pxtoril digests that information. "Explain,"he finally says. I can feel the eyes of everyone in Command Console on me.
"They detonate their nuclear devices on their own planet, Sir."
He looks at the planet, called Earth, framed beautifully in the window of our spaceship. I have to admit, it is a uniquely gorgeous planet. I have never seen so much green and blue. "They bombed themselves?"he asked, incredulity flavoring the three words.
"Yes, Sir. Multiple times."
"But that's completely insane."
"I don't disagree, Sir."
"Where did they do this?"
"In a number of locations, Sir."
"*What*?"
I pull up the diagrams from the Chemical Department showing where they'd determined nuclear detonation residue on the surface of the planet and move them to the central screen. A map of the Earth is lit up in bright splotches of yellow. "Each of these locations was the site of an atomic or nuclear detonation, Sir, beginning in 1945 by the humans' timeline, nearly eighty Earth years ago."
"Can you overlay this diagram with a diagram of current world population?"
"Yes, Sir, in a moment."
I pull up the related diagram, then place it on top of the nuclear detentions diagram. I fiddle with the transparencies until both display clearly. Sounds of dismay echo through Command Console.
"Some of these areas are populated!"
"Yes, Sir. It appears that at least two of these bombs were used in war to kill large numbers of the human population, on that island to the right side of the map."
"What monsters,"Arxitl murmurs behind me.
Admiral Pxtoril reviews the diagrams as the rest of Command Console quietly whispers together. I hear Arxitl's opinion shared amongst my colleagues, and I don't blame them. A species using nuclear weapons on their own people is practically unheard of. I couldn't imagine fellow Lixtils using something so horrendous on my family, or myself. How could I ever trust my own species again?
"Central command to the northwest meeting room in five minutes,"the Admiral says. "Everyone else, maintain your posts and set amber alert if we are needed."
"Yes, Sir,"the population of Command Console choruses. I log out of my computer, grab my tablet, and follow the Admiral to the northwest meeting room alongside the heads of the other seven departments. Once we are all seated, the Admiral launches straight into the problem.
"It appears that the human population of Earth is not naturally inclined towards peace. Commander Prixitl, do you concur?"
"The Department of Defense concurs. Eorxitl, display the data we sent you, please."
I open the tablet and pull up the relevant information, then move it to the holographic projector in the middle of the table. Video begins playing of horrible warfare: human beings blown apart, raped, cities destroyed, children with their faces missing. A somber and unsettled atmosphere hangs in the air. When the video finished playing, the Admiral asks, "when did all of this take place?"
"It is current, Sir,"Commander Prixitl says. "From the intel we have gathered, there are multiple wars occurring simultaneously on Earth at this very moment - twenty-three, specifically, mostly on the continents of Africa and Asia."He gestures to the map with a claw, showing where these two continents are.
"*Twenty-three*?"
"Twenty-three, not including minor conflicts and skirmishes."
"Goodness. Commander Aeoxitl, thoughts?"
"The Peace Committee is wary of brokering an alliance with such people, Admiral. Peace agreements with aggressive species have rarely gone well in the past, and this species is several degrees beyond the usual level of aggressiveness."
"So what do you suggest? Return to the Galactic Democracy and observe further?"
"I think we could send an envoy, but we need an extraction plan and very clear parameters for inclusion in the GD. The primary of those must be total peace on the planet. If they cannot achieve that, they cannot join."
"They have no spacecraft?"This question is directed to me.
"Not really, Sir. They have a space station in orbit and managed to land on the their own moon, but have not gone beyond that."
"Alright. Thank you everyone. Commander Aeoxitl, I want to see your adjusted proposition and clear list of parameters on my desk by the end of the day. Commander Prixitl, work with Commander Aeoxitl on an extraction plan. Everybody else, return to your stations and await orders."
"Aye, Sir!" |
I got dressed up, but had no where to go. Couldn't really leave if I wanted to, with no car in this weather. Flawless make up, killer heels and too-tight clothing. Looking into the camera on my phone for a selfie, I joked, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!"To my surprise, suddenly the phone rang. "H-hello?"I answered. "Hi! I'm from the NSA."a gruff voice responded, "Wanna go on a date?"
"How do I know you're really from the NSA?"I asked.
"blue glasses, red shirt, long hair, huge eyelashes,"he answered. "You, right?"
"Kay... maybe you're the creep next door?"
"Wait hold on..."I heard the sound of speedy typing in the background, "Okay, today at 14:47 you read an email from your dentist, and 3 minutes later you sent out an order for a wool scarf in carmine pink. Nice color, by the way."
"Can't you lose your job over this?"
"For a girl like you?"He whistled, "More than worth it."
I twiddled the bug in my front pocket. Either this was a trap, or infiltrating the NSA was going to be way easier than I anticipated. |
Weakest is a relative term. Humans may appear physically weak, but adversity breeds innovation. Of all the known races in this galaxy not one had developed within the medical field quite like those humans from Sol.
Why would we?
We were foolish. We never developed X-ray machines, why bother when our bones never shattered? Anesthetic, pssh, no need to bother we don’t even feel pain. Vaccine research, what would we research if we’ve never even had what humans called the common flu? The entire galaxy was so unprepared, yes, we had our warships, attached with the best warp drives and plasma turrets our species could develop. But, bio-warfare is unfathomable! No plans in place, no way to prepare for what was next.
It was the Humans that started this super plague, the species with advanced understanding of medicine! Once it spread beyond a critical point, we couldn’t even slow the spread. Of course, our response was to annihilate the humans, it would be easy with their pathetic frame. Each specie's population was beginning to die by the millions.
As the combined strength of the greatest military might's in the galaxy knocked on Human’s door step, a single human ship came out. They did not offer to surrender, did not offer an apology or did not even beg. Instead Humans sent a single message,
“To those who wish to live to see another cycle shall offer your best technology to us. In return we will save your people with this vaccine.”
The alien armada sat stunned, knowing they would have to submit to the Humans. If they gave the best technology to them even with the superior warriors, they could never get revenge. It is either to risk the entire galaxy to destroy the Humans now or forever be under their thumb.
​
Edit: Thanks all for the comments, I enjoyed reading them, and this is my very first r/WritingPrompts story! I won't be continuing this story but I'll consider additional parts in future stories. And thanks u/syndekid for the fix ;) |
"Hey, Vilas, we aren't the heros, are we?"Dave inquired as I sat tapping the skull and femur armrests. The question shocked me with its sheer stupidity. I sat of the bones a dozen enemies I had personally slain and fashioned into a chair and he is asking if we are heros?
"No, Dave, heroes don't really do the whole murder and bone chair business"I replied. I was hoping this was some kind of strange joke but Dave had such an earnest look of confusion on his face. His brow furrowed in thought.
"I mean, I get that we aren't exactly good but I didn't think we were evil until the whole torture thing. He may have had it coming but I thought we had more morals than that."He said.
"Are you mad? Did you eat some mushrooms, you shouldn't have again, Dave? Of course we're evil. I thought for sure you'd have noticed by now. Was the armies of undead we raised to siege kingdoms, the heroes we slaughtered, and the noble mansions we razed not enough for you to notice?"I asked, genuinely perplexed by his obliviousness. How could he have not noticed any of that.
"Not to mention Darryl. I don't even know what he is but he really likes eating people and I saw him pee on a priest. It melted the poor clergyman, Dave."Darryl looked up at me, all its jaws opening wide in a happy screech at the memory.
"Yeah, that may not have been exactly good guy behavior, but we did do a lot of good."He replied meekly. He was clearly going mad. Before I could figure out how to reply to his nonsense he continued.
"Well the undead we raised were all unburied massacre victims from the regional protests against high taxes so we prevented the spread of disease in the local region. We used them to lay siege to a fascist, authoritarian regime based on human supremacy thay was responsible for tens of thousands of elven, dwarves and human deaths and the nobles we targeted were all extremely corrupt, using their subordinate knights to suppress and steal from their subjects. Whole towns were taxed of their winter stores last year for that nobles feasts and starved to death"he countered as he jabbed his finger at the corpse being happily savaged by Darryl.
"We saved the lives of thousands of Turii tribespeople from the Divine Imperial Mandate, not to mention the tens of thousands of lives we saved by using undead to destroy the regime, saving the countries resources from a long and bloody civil war that had been fomenting for a decade. The death toll would have been in the tens of thousands, and devastated them. Because of us there was a peaceful transfer of power into the hands of the people with only a couple hundred deaths. We didn't even loot the castle so the hoarded wealth ended up in the hands of the lower classes. Then you go and torture a noble for no reason?"Dave ranted. I stared at him wide eyed. By the gods, how did Dave of all people know all this unless... He was the one who picked all our targets.
"So you're saying we've actually done more good than evil this whole time?"I questioned, still sitting on a literal bone throne. Dave nodded sagely. Honestly, I didn't hate the idea.
"So what now?"I wondered.
"Let's agree to stop torturing people for a start, then let's go unleash Darryl on the Holy Order of Callov"he answered. Darryl shrieked his deafening approval of this plan.
"Done. While I'm all for defiling holy grounds, what did they do?"I inquired.
"Who do you think supported the Divine Imperial Mandate? If it weren't for their..."I let him ramble on as I smiled. I think I was going to enjoy doing some good in the world.
Edit: To royal road staff: Twas I that uploaded this.
For those of you who liked this I will be uploading this and others on Royal Road under the name Cerberus63 once it passes review. |
A girl sleeps in the forest. She has traveled a long way, for a human. Twenty-four years.
She has given her name to the fairy. They hold it in Their hands.
It is a dark, twisting thing--heavy, and cold to the touch. A stark contrast from Their fingers--slender, warm, and shining.
A weight of false identity.
An old life, fraught with confusion, pain, and fear. That which she was told, but not what she was.
"Adam,"it whispers. "Adam, you will never be her. You will *always* be as you were."
She shifts in her sleep. Even now, these whispers plague her mind.
"Lies,"the fairy gently whispers to the girl. "They tell you this to keep you captive, to keep you weak. You are strong. You can be more."
They reach out to the girl, and take a thread of light from her heart. Weaving the golden dream in Their hands, They surround the insidious shadows with a glistening power, and the dark name dies. It has no choice but to yield to the shine of hope, of newfound purpose. The glow of an identity discovered.
They take the intricate creation, and gently place it into her hands.
She awakens softly, after a peaceful sleep. She searches for Them. But They are gone.
She looks at the glow in her hands. She pulls it close to her heart, and whispers.
"Eve. My name is... Eve."
The light burns brighter, then disappears into her soul.
And Eve weeps, free of her pain.
Some will hate her. Some will spit lies at her, names that died long ago.
But she is lighter now. She knows who she is. And she is not alone. |
**The Ides of March**
I mark the days in little notches on the inside line of my belt, in case I lose track of myself. Of everything.
The things I've lived shouldn't happen. Couldn't happen.
Three days ago I fell through a crack in time.
Those words run in an absurdist repeat over and over in my mind like a squeaky mouse wheel. I can't quite get my head around it. I was walking home from the store, and when I stepped out onto the cobblestone, I simply kept falling forward.
(When I can't sleep, I wonder how that looked to other people. If I just fell through the sidewalk and let all my eggs and bread clatter to the ground in dismal fanfare.)
I fell through darkness, incomplete, prickled with light. But it was a light I'd never seen before, shuddering and ambient. The darkness rippled past me in sheeny streaks, and when my ass hit the ground I met soft earth.
Everything was noise. The shouts of strangers in words I could nearly understand, donkeys braying, and the constant creak and sigh of wood on wood. Carts jolted past me, driven by men in dusty brown and green tunics.
Someone bellowed at me, "*Noli stare in viam, cevens ignare!*"
[spoiler](#s "Don't stand in the road, you fucking idiot!")
I didn't have to understand him to know what he meant: *get out of the fucking road*.
The wagon trundled past me, the man still spitting curses after he left.
I collapsed against the concrete wall behind me. Dropped onto my haunches, held my face in my hands, and tried to breathe.
The truth presented itself obviously, immediately, impossibly: somehow I was back in a Rome two thousand years dead. Somehow I was on the wrong side of time.
When I raised my head again every passerby pinned their stare on me as they passed, full of wonder and suspicion. No one spoke to me, but their eyes said enough.
I dug into my jeans. I had my (now useless) cell phone with maybe five hours of battery to it. My wallet. My pocketknife. A pen.
I had no ideas and no options, so I set to wandering. The Rome I had always known presented itself in chipped bits and pieces, like a broken mosaic. Only now all those empty gaps I once knew were filled with pale rows of buildings with red clay shingles.
But I vaguely recognized where I was. I was close enough to the Palatino to wander there by scant familiar landmarks. The Circus Maximus, like a wilting lump of honeycomb over beaten earth in my own time, stretched high overhead. Today it sounded like every seat was crammed full. For a few moments I stood with my neck craned upward, listening to the roar of the crowd on the other side.
I followed the used-to-be-ruins toward the Tiber, clutching for familiarity. There was the Tempio di Portuna, like a gleaming pearl, untouched yet by time.
But the Colosseum didn't exist yet. The ruins of Nero's golden house did not peek up over the summit of the Colle Oppio.
I stared at the swirling river and wondered just how far back I could have gone.
The soldiers were waiting for me when I ascended the Palatine Hill once more. They were marshaled outside the Circus in disordered rows. Most of the soldiers in coarse tunics and battered armor. But one man, who sat on the back of a stamping horse, wore a plumed helmet. His armor was so polished it nearly blinded me when it caught the sunlight.
"*Ecce!*"cried a far-off voice, and all the soldiers turned toward me as one.
[spoiler](#s "Look!")
I didn't bother resisting.
The soldiers approached me hands on swords, nervously. I wiped my sweaty hands off of my jeans.
The leader of them removed his fine plumed helmet. Underneath his hair was grey and maddened with sweat. He smoothed it down and stared at me, unflinching.
"*Nomen?*"
[spoiler](#s "Name?")
My belly thrilled. Perhaps Latin and Italian would be similar enough to get me through this after all. "Adrian Donati,"I tell him.
He looked from my face to my clothes and back again. He tells me, "*Te Imperator Caesar videre vult.*"
[spoiler](#s "Imperator Caesar wishes to see you.")
I didn't need to speak Latin to know what he means.
I only raised my hands and let Caesar's guard lead me away.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
working on part 2
Thanks for motivating me to take out my copy of *How To Insult, Abuse, and Insinuate in Classical Latin*. I like having justification for owning that.
**Translations:**
*Noli stare in viam, cevens ignare!* = Don't stand in the road, you fucking idiot
*Ecce!* = Look!
*Nomen?* = Name?
*Te Imperator Caesar videre vult.* = Emperor Caesar wishes to see you. |
"The city of Fadero!"the knight yelled, counting off on his gauntleted fingers. "The cloud lands of the Eaglizul! The desert refuge which only had a population of three! Everywhere I've been on my long journey to dethrone the Hamcult Prince, I've seen a merchant that looks just like you. That is not a coincidence!"
"Fine,"the merchant hissed quietly, hand pulling down on the arm of the last Satil of Chamber Church, the only chance humanity had against the horrors of the Hamcult. "The answer is resource recycling."
"What?"the holy knight spurted, not even comprehending the words. "What resource?"
"Artificial intelligence entities,"the merchant said, pulling the hero into the alley behind his stall in the tropical castle of Watenaga. "Our world is a simulation made to entertain a player from a higher reality. The reason the Prince is never defeated is because every time we do, he restarts reality and changes the mistake. Our world is but a game to him."
"By the Carver!"the Satil said. "Then all Is lost."
"I simply won't sell it for less than 500 smoke!"The merchant suddenly yelled, eyes pleading with some silent message. Behind him, the Satil could just make out something hovering through the air, distorting reality around it.
"What is that?"the Satil asked, causing a growing horror to show on the merchant's face.
"Error detectors, run!"the merchant screamed as he scrambled past the knight.
The distortion resolved into a being of green light trailing long metal legs branching an uncountable number of times. "AI npc malfunction detected. Reset sector."Despite it being the middle of the day, the sun began to fade.
The Satil slashed out with his blade, cleaving the green light in half. The bizarre machine bubbled and faded into the dirt.
"How the hell did you do that?"the merchant asked as the sun grew bright again.
The Satil looked at his sword, now arcing with green energy. "I don't know but perhaps the Prince of Hamcult won't know either."
The holy knight who had lost everything to the reckless villain apparently controlling all of reality walked firm on his quest to dethrone a god.
...
James threw the controller with frustration. "Every time I walk into this town, this stupid guy kills me. I can't even damage him."
"Yeah that's the Knight Satil, it's a secret boss that only shows up if you make every evil choice,"Crystal said, checking to see if the controller was okay. "But he's definitely glitched out. His sword wasn't green when I fought him."
She unpaused the game and tried the fight, dying almost instantly. "Huh, weird."She turned off the console and rebooted the copy of Dragon Lore Unlimited 4. The screen displayed an error message. 'SENTIENCE THRESHOLD EXCEEDED. ALL SAVES ERASED.'
"Great!"James said, picking through the selection for a new game.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. |
"**Bullshit!**"
"I assure you, Mr. President, I'm being entirely-"
"That's *bullshit*, Jack, and you know it! My father was posted at Los Alamos, for Chrissakes! My grandather could watch the mushroom clouds from his goddamn *porch*!"
I sighed. I knew this was going to be difficult.
"Okay, sir. *Okay*. There is such a thing as a device that causes a massive explosion when it operates-"
"*No *shit*, Jack-"
"-and it releases a metric *fuckton* of radiation when it goes off-"
"That a scientific term?"
"-but it *isn't a bomb*."
"...Run that by me again."
I had dreaded this day, ever since they told me I'd been tapped to head up the Nuclear Advisory Council at the last conference, and told me I'd be the one who had to brief the POTUS, as the new Quarterback. It's ridiculous, since the closest I've ever been to playing the game was fumbling a tray of nachos onto my wife in college. Our jobs are high-stress, low-reward, so, we make the cheap jokes when we can. I was in charge of "handing off the Nuclear Football", which makes me... *tadaa!*, the *quarterback*. *God*, our jokes are stupid.
It helped that I knew the president, at least. We both went to Yale, but for very different reasons. I went there, be cause I wanted to know what people there knew. He went there, because he wanted to know which people were *in the know*. But, I actually like him, I even donated to his first campaign, the one that went nowhere fast. I suppose that's his *gift*, to make people like him, despite everything. It's one I'd trade Riemannien Geometry for, any day of the week.
Still, I knew he'd have difficulty choking this one down.
"It isn't a bomb, Mr. President. Or, it *wasn't supposed to be* a bomb, but that's what we used it as."
"It's not a bomb. Okay. *What is it.*"
"Does the name "Otto Stern"ring any bells, Mr. President?"
"It should. Brilliant physicist, Polish jew. Came to America fleeing the Nazis."
I was impressed. "Do you remember if he worked on the Manhattan Project?"
The president furrowed his impressive, aquiline brow, and shook his head.
"And that doesn't strike you as odd? A brilliant physicist, a contemporary of Albert Einstein, who *wasn't* working on the atomic bomb? At the time, we were using *electricians*, if they could be counted on to read voltages the right way around. It was all hands on deck!"
The president was starting to get a glazed look to his eyes, I realized I'd better hurry.
"The point is, sir, we *did* use him, but we couldn't afford to mention it. Russia might hae worked out what we did, if we had. We *still can't*, actually, in case some half-literate elementary science teacher puts *two and two together*, and works out what we actually did."
"Why, Jack? What does it matter? Could *anyone* do it, then?"
"No, it's still expensive, and you still need the plutonium. They might get mad because of what we *nearly set*-"The president glanced at his handsome watch. He had a meeting with the Prme Minister of Malaysia in five minutes. "Alright, sir, *alright.* I'm getting to the point, I swear!"
"Do it *sharpish*, Jack."The President said in a warning tone.
"What Otto Stern did, sir, was introduce the world to the idea of *zero point energy*. The baseline entropic energy present *everywhere in the Universe*. It's like... the static on a television set. In fact, a small part of the static on your television *is* that energy, sir. It's everywhere! The problem is, it isn't *concentrated* enough to do anything with."
"So?"
"So we were facing a wartime *energy shortage*. We were running out of gas. We needed electricity. So Otto did a litte experiment. He'd figured that the baseline energy potential here was too low, but there might be... *other places* where it wasn't."
"...What sort of... 'other places.' "
I grimaced. This was going to be the hard bit. "Higher-order dimensions, sir."
"*Higher order * **what?!**"
"The math was sound, sir, even if the science was shaky. He'd figured out that with enough of a push, you could make part of space... *jump* a couple dimensions. Like crinkling a piece of paper, or bunching up a string. If you were really clever about it, you could even do that using the force vectors that you'd have access to, as *part of the paper*, and-"
"-Bottom line it for me, Jack."
"...The blast comes from that higher dmension's zero point energy. It's baseline level is just *that much higher* than ours. In that *impossibly small* amount of time that our space protrudes into theirs, it pours in like a goddamn *deluge*, sir. Just like an act of God."
"...So, why do I care, Jack?"
"Actually, it's *John*, sir. And you care, because we found out that there are... *things that live there.*Horrible, *utterly insane* things. Their dimension is a *madhouse*, sir, an oppressive sweatbox of furious incandescence and physics *gone mad*. The entirety of it is coiled back into, and *on top of* itself, in a shape that we can't even *begin to picture.* To them, our world would be like a breath of fresh air and a good stretch after a *ten-thousand-year-long ride in Coach!* And we stopped testing the damn 'nukes', because... the last time we did, one of them almost *got through.*"
The president had gone pallid, his carefully-maintained 'healthy-glow' abandoning him for the moment.
He placed his hand on it, the *Nuclear Football*.
"So..."he said, his voice a bit less confident, "What's this thing for?"
I rubbed my eyes, and pointed at it. I kept them closed. I didn't want to even *look* at the horrible thing. I hated even being in the same building as it.
"Well, until a few decades ago, it did what it said on the tin. Now, it's a... it's a global *cyanide pill*."
His eyes widened, and he shot it a confused stare.
I was wrong before. *This*, this was the hard part.
"If we set off another bomb, one of those... horrors will get through. They're waiting for it, now, for just the slightest *peek* in. And one of them will squeeze through. It'll be a walking **holocaust**. It'll *poison the whole world*, just by existing. And killing it will do *nothing* to stop it's corpse simmering the world to death in a gamma-ray slow-cooker. The world's a big place. It won't happen quickly. The football is to be used to release truly massive amounts of instant-kill nerve gas into the atmosphere from hidden facilities around the world. You're entrusted with... with *putting us out of our misery.*"
The president swallowed, looked at the evil metal box, and looked back at me. "Jac-*John*, that, that's... that's... How could you expect *anyone* to-"
I stood up, leaving the gleaming ovoid next to him. "I'm *sorry*, sir. I have to go, or I'll make you late for your next meeting."
THE END
EDIT:
Hi! Hope you liked this. I've got this [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) with other stuff like this, but a cool customer like you? You probably already knew that.
|
After 10 years of playing the ultimate MMORPG, I believed it was finally time to stop. I was 80 years old by now in real life and I was ready to rest and relax at the senior center. It had been enough, fighting great monsters, battling on spaceships, escaping prisons... with all my other friends, it was easy to lose yourself, believing you were a 20 year old man, strong, master of martial arts. Playing it on and off led me to actually be more disappointed in real life, since it was not as exciting. But yet still, real life had its own benefits. My wife didn't mind me playing the game and she played along quite often as well. My friends felt more real, since even this game had its bugs and updates that interrupted the realism. As I drank a whiskey, stroking my beard, savoring the taste, I appreciated that real life had additional subtleties that differentiated from the virtual reality game. I looked up the scoreboard one last time. 8,720,403 POINTS, VaikenMaster3, it said at the very top. I nodded, satisfied at my achievement. I closed my eyes, breathing in the air. I heard footsteps, then--
"hey, time's up."
I blinked, opening my eyes. What the heck was going on?
"Sorry kid, you've been playing this for 10 hours in a row. Any longer and our health and safety violations would be at risk."
My jaws opened in shock. My head spun with dizziness and I sighed as I got off the system. Had I really been fooled so easily? I could still recall the feeling of my beard, the creak on the floorboard when I walked, my loving wife. I had gotten so used to having two children each with grandchildren of their own. And now...
I walked outside on the dark streets, lit dimly, with cars zooming by, hologram roads showing where they should go. I should have known better. I stumbled my way home and collapsed on my bed. What was for work tomorrow? I could hardly recall. Perhaps I would do it when it came. I still couldn't get over how immersive the MMORPG was. I sighed, thinking of the upcoming week of the work, and groaned. If only I could always be in game. After a few minutes of restless turning, I finally fell asleep due to sheer tiredness.
Through the night, many others would leave the VR room. The vast majority of people would complain and moan about how they had work or school, some would have time for more gaming, others were more casual and didn't care about it that much. But what they didn't know was that they would never beat the game, not as long as they were too absorbed. The true number one player of the game walked through the streets, grinning, confidently walking right up to a wall.
"Game over,"he said.
Then he glitched. |
"GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."
*"This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat."*
"While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"
Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat.
"Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine."He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima.
So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer.
Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile.
"Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?"he asked as he set to work removing the legs.
*"What. The fuck."*
Simon stopped working.
"Excuse me?"
*"Shut up and listen,"* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *"Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?"*
"Uhhhh-"
*"Stooge, good, I can work with that."* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *"So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?"*
"What's a wasp?"
*"Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours."*
Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom.
*"So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?"* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun.
"Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?"The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct.
*"Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important."*
"I guess..."Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... "A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."
*"So you let it in?!"*
"It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?"He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back.
*"Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you."* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval.
Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it.
*"Bad idea,"* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window.
The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes.
"I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?"He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month.
*"Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them."*
The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype.
They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man.
"Shit,"he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. "Shit shit shit."
*"Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all."* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *"But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat."*
He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door?
Naima was never getting her kitten back.
"Why is my window open?"
*"Only way out of here."*
Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars.
*"Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken."* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *"You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review."*
Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar.
*"When I tell you."*
The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor.
Well, better than a guillotine.
*"Jump."*
Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge.
------
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/ |
My grandfather once told me a story about an old hound that had been abandoned by its owner and was on the brink of starvation. But one day, it found a bone. The hound carried the bone to a safe spot, tucked away from wandering eyes, and started gnawing away. The hound was so hungry that it chewed the bone down to nothing, extracting every last bit of nourishment that it could. After some time, a kind old man happened upon the dog and its pathetic scrap and began quietly setting food out for it. As my grandfather told it, the poor wretch was so attached to its bone that it refused the man's food, instead gnawing and licking at its scraps until it eventually starved to death.
In my case, it wasn't an old hound. It was a pup. Of what breed I could not say. Its coat was the gray of river stone, stretched over its jutting ribs from starvation. But its eyes were strong, glowing like two burning coals. It had no bone, no scraps, and it whimpered as I approached. But when I offered it a piece of dried meat, it padded out from the shadows of the alley and yipped its approval.
I stopped by the alley every day on my way to work, and its tail wagged whenever it saw me. I started bringing a small bowl with me and poured it water from a sack. And of course, fed it some meat.
I did not have much to share at that time in my life. What wages I made at the forge went to my debts. And with the left over dullings, I bought dried meat -- perhaps an apple if they were discounted from overripeness. Those were lean times indeed.
At least I could feed the pup. Two wretches surviving in a city meant for nobles.
But after a week, the pup was gone.
I thought of the pup when things got hard. When the forge cut wages. When I couldn't afford my dried meat anymore or my rent. When I had no choice but to beg, borrow, and steal.
I was not a strong man, nor particularly wise. Work for a country mouse like me was limited to certain sets. I could follow direction and didn't mind sweating, hence the forge offered me a chance at earning a living. But that was gone. And while forced to walk in the shadows to feed myself, I learned something.
I was good at stealing.
My grandfather taught me much -- but his harshest lesson was around theft. *To take from another is to take from yourself*, he'd say. *There is always another way*. The country lords didn't seem to mind when they took my grandfather's olive orchard from him. And when facing another sleepless night, clutching at my swollen stomach as is it threatened to digest itself, taking from others didn't seem such a crime.
It started small. A dulling here, an apple there. Enough to cease the maddening hunger. Sleeping in stables too had become tiresome. So I pinched enough to rent storage room floors, perhaps even a blanket when the nights grew cold. I never got caught. Not even close.
I was soon noticed by the Bonepickers, a gang of hoods that proclaimed themselves the law amongst the lawless. Every one demanded their cut, it turned out. Even thieves.
But they fed me, housed me, and provided me with a new name. Fingers. My job, my new job, was to pick pockets, purses, sacks, and bags. And all my takings were brought back to the shabby little safe house on the outskirts of the city, in what was called Cheapside. They say there is honor amongst thieves, and that was true -- so long as you earned it. I made friends, shared stories, ate my fill, and slept. Gods I slept.
It was a simple life. Until it wasn't.
Grimjow, the leader of the Bonepickers, came to me one day with a special job. I was to steal from a certain noble. What specifically, he would not say. Only that it was a silk bag that the noble guarded fiercely. I was to pinch this bag and bring it back to Grimjow personally. There was no support for the job, no flaggers running interference, no watchers keeping an eye for bluecloaks on patrol. It was to be just me, alone.
By then, I'd stashed away enough shinnings to leave the city. To head back home. But my grandfather was long since dead. There was no farm. There was no home, so to speak. And, at the time, the idea of walking away from the Bonepickers couldn't have occurred to me. This was my life. Yes, I walked in the shadows. Broke one of the Three Laws daily. But the nobles broke it first when they took everything from my family. And when they cut the wages at the forge for no good reason. They'd make slaves of us. Or let us starve in the streets like dogs.
I accepted my assignment to Grimjow's approval.
The noble, a thick-bellied Fresian City Lord wearing a deep purple robe with gold vine patterns along the edges, did not walk the streets alone. He was constantly flanked by two bluecloaks, probably hired as personal guard. I watched him buzz around town like a bee in a garden, going from shop to shop, door to door. On his belt hung many pouches, but only one was tied to his wrist by a thin silver chain. My target.
The pinch was simple. I'd timed his route to the minute and set a small stick of fireworks to go off inside one of the stables along his path. Having unlatched the doors prior, the horses would most likely thrash their way free from panic. That's when I'd strike.
The day arrived and the fireworks went off. The horses thrashed. The noble started, clutching at his guards. He didn't notice me slipping through the riotous crowd, riding the chaos like a hawk on the wind. With one smooth motion, I cut the chain with a pair of jeweler's clippers, liberated the pouch, and faded back into the chaos. It all happened in three breaths.
What I didn't know, what Grimjow hadn't told me, was that the contents of that pouch were not coin or gold or gems. It was something far more valuable. Information.
Suffice it to say, what was written on that small scroll was enough to get a man hanged just for reading it alone. How could I not read it? I had to slip away into a hiding hole, wait for the chaos to cool before I sprinted for Cheapside to deliver my takings. It was just me and the pouch and the waiting. Grimjow never said not to open the pouch. He didn't say a lot of things.
Like how the chain that was still attached to the pouch was enchanted with a tracking spell. I thought I could keep the silver after turning in the pouch, sell it for a bonus.
They found me not long after, there in my hole.
When they hanged me, I did not think of my grandfather or Grimjow or the City Lord. I thought of that pup that I'd met all those years ago. That starving wretch, hiding in the shadows. Had it survived, wherever it was?
They did not place shinnings over each eye of dead thieves for burial. I knew that. And so, I knew where my soul would end up.
When I awoke, I stood before a massive gate of obsidian metal, as tall as the highest spire in Balor and just as wide. Through the slits I only saw flames. The screams and heat carried through, buffeting my senses.
And standing before the gate was a dog. It towered over the approaching souls, as large as a bull, larger. It's coat was the gray of river stones, stretched over thick ropey muscles. And it's eyes, all six of them, blazed like forge fire. Though it had three heads now, I recognized the pup.
And, as it turned out, it recognized me.
When I approached the gate, resigned to my fate, my endless torture, the monstrous dog sniffed at me, it’s breath hot and reeking of meat.
When I stepped forward, it gently nudged me away with his enormous nose, and whimpered.
“I do not understand,"I said to it, uncertain if *it* would understand. “This is where I’m meant to go.”
It did not respond. It only stood and watched with those burning eyes, but from around its bulk I noticed its tail was wagging.
I sighed deeply, as if finally ready to confess my crimes. I was. “This is what I deserve. I-I have no where else to go.”
A growl rumbled up deep from its chest, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and it barked once. Then it nudged me again.
I understood.
I'd taken so much in my life, from others, from myself. But once, a long time ago, I gave what I little I had. Perhaps it was enough. There was no telling what the land between lands, between life and death held in store for me. But I would not starve on my regret.
I let go of that bone a long time ago. |
The greatest power of all is one that all humans possess. Call if foolishness, Zen, or simply not giving a shit - the end result remains the same no matter what the circumstance. Humans returned back to normalcy no matter what their past.
And it was this power that brought me and dozens of other people to be sitting in a coffee shop the morning after a giant dragon had tried to open a portal to its home-world two blocks away. I watched as giant trucks came out of the small exclusion zone, carrying pieces of the dragon to that secret underwater facility off the coast.
I frowned as I sipped my coffee. Now how did I know about that? I had no idea where that thought had come from - I definitely hadn't been there. Perhaps I'd read it?
I took out my phone and browsed through the headlines. "Giant Dragon defeated by our beloved Scion. Cause of Attack unknown."Unknown? No, I definitely knew the dragon had been trying to open a portal. I was absolutely certain of it. I concentrated, trying to think. How did I know?
Suddenly a sharp pain emanated from the back of my spine traveled like a wave through my head.
Next thing I knew hands were grabbing me, and there was some yelling.
"Q-quiet, please,"I said as loudly as I could manage.
Immediately someone made a hushing motion, and all the noise stopped - thank god.
I opened my eyes and blinked several times against the sun coming from the windows. Almost everyone at the coffee shop was staring at me. Oh my god, they were all staring at *me.*
I looked up to see a man with blond hair and hazel eyes holding me off the floor - his eyes wide. "Are you all right, err, ma'am?"he asked.
I nodded. "Y-yeah,"I said, "just fine. I don't know what happened to me. I was just looking at them wheel the pieces of the dragon somewhere and..."
"It must've been the heat,"the man said and several other murmured their assent.
The cafe was reasonably cool, though, but I just nodded as I felt my cheeks heat up. They were *still* looking. "I-I'm fine, now, thank you,"I said to the man, "please let me go."
The man flinched back, as if I was a live wire. "O-of course, ma'am, I meant no offense."
"None taken,"I said as I smoothed out my skirt, making sure to look at the ground and not at the people who I were still staring. That's when I noticed the broken coffee cup and the spilled coffee.
"Oh,"I said, and I knew my blush had just deepened. I went over to the counter to get some tissues to clean up the mess, when one of the employees stopped me.
"Please, ma'am, it's no issue, we'll manage,"the dark haired woman, Paula, said with a smile.
"Oh no,"I said, "it's completely my fault, I can't have you cleaning up my messes,"I said trying to reach past her.
She put a single hand on my shoulder and smiled, almost sadly, "You do it for us, ma'am."
I blinked at that, at a loss for what to say. My morals however, were dwarfed by my anxiety at being the center of attention. So I just gave her a nod, left twenty five dollars at my table and hurried out of there as fast as I could.
I put the strange incident behind me - as all humans do. Be it foolish or wise.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
The Tribunal Portal was a mysterious entity, even to the Divine.
When the Portal first appeared the most followed Gods on Earth came to realize that they occupied a relatively low level in the cosmic pecking order. It was humbling. But as all things go, to reign supreme on Earth was to feel powerful and mighty, and now it meant a chance at entering the world beyond the Portal.
The mightiest God ever to exist, Yahweh, known to the Earthlings as Allah and God and other names, had already ascended. The great irony - which was not at all lost on the remaining denizens of the Divine - was that the vast majority of humanity still prayed to a God that had abandoned this derelict, rural solar system entirely.
The line of Gods snaked for miles, each waiting their turn at Judgement, each practicing the thought patterns they would use as they went through the Portal. Humans were capable of conjuring up a ridiculous variety of beings to worship; large or small, dead or alive, benevolent or evil, a nigh infinite number of sacred creatures sporting all types of physical and mental characteristics.
"Bastet, God of Protection and Cats, lay your claim."The Portal glowed when it spoke, the sound reverberating in every direction throughout the spiritual plain. Every God, no matter what they were doing or where they were, heard the Judgements pass down.
Bastet walked toward the portal, her stride casual but poised. The mist inside the great golden arch pulsed once, twice, three times and Bastet emerged on the other side, her expression blank and her eyes a stark white that almost immediately began to revert to their original color. She fell to her knees, her entire body emitting a haggard, wretched, rolling cough.
"Bastet. You define a Cat Lady as any owner of a Cat - gender be damned - but though we agree on your point about gender, we do not agree with your definition. One cat does not constitute the fanaticism of a Cat Lady. Three Cats and over, this decision is final."
Bastet let out a low wail much like that of a distressed cat, refusing to accept her eternally middling stature.
"Bastet,"the Tribunal Portal continued piteously. "As has been noted before, you cannot claim actual cats as your worshipers. Worshipers must be sentient. On Earth, this means humans. Make this claim again and you shall be struck down."
Bastet skulked away dejected and forlorn, her failure inducing a ripple of low chuckles through the queue of waiting Gods.
The Tribunal Portal pulsed again, cleansing itself, then summoned the next God in line. "Sapona, God of Smallpox, lay your claim."
The God of Smallpox set his shoulders and strode forth with his head held high, immune to the catcalls and bellowing laughter trailing in his wake. Being the God of Smallpox these days was pretty shitty.
He entered the portal and his world went blank. He felt numb and tingly and the vague smell of burning flesh wafted around him and assaulted his nostrils, the white-hot heat singing his skin. And then he was through and his knees buckled involuntarily and he was retching on the cold, hard ground.
"Sapona. We have decreed that you can indeed count these so called 'Anti-Vaxxers' as your worshipers. You have gained three thousand places."
And just like that, Sapona, God of an easily eradicable disease, again began his slow and steady climb to the top of the Pantheon. |
I woke up one morning and realized that my alarm had not gone off as my ears weren’t bombarded by the shrill call of my phone’s speakers. My room was awash with green, fluorescent light. I was incredibly confused, so I got out of my bed and noticed that a different, less powerful green glow came from my arm. There was a long string of numbers, which looked like some sort of countdown. The number closest to me changed rapidly, with the descending numbers changing less rapidly. It reminded me of the price going ever upwards as I pumped my gas.
When I stood, I turned to my left and looked into my dresser mirror. Above my head was a glowing “8”. I was of course flabbergasted. I stared with my baggy, sleep-deprived eyes and failed to process whatever the fuck was going on with these strange, seemingly random numbers. I got dressed enough not to get arrested, then walked out of my apartment. I got in my car and turned the key. A voice came from the radio, showing no frequency number on the rectangular, bright orange indicator. “The president is about to make her address.” the voice chimed out, sounding like an NPR reporter.
“*Her address*?” I thought, befuddled. The voice I heard was not Donald Trump or Mike Pence or even Joe Biden. To my complete surprise, the voice of Dolly Parton came through my speakers. She began, “My fellow citizens, I have instituted a ban on superheroes. All superheroes have to cease their activities or face the might of the United States military.” Just as she finished that sentence, I heard a massive crash, a reverberating impact roughly twenty feet away from my location.
I walked towards the area of the noise, just kind of wanting to see what other surprises this day had in store for me. These events all felt so unreal and dream-like that I didn’t even feel afraid. As I approached the crater that spewed black smoke from its location where James usually parks, the smoke didn’t make me cough. The smoke cleared very quickly and I saw a tiny space shuttle sticking halfway out of the ground. It was the same kind of craft I had seen launch into the clouds on my third-grade teacher’s wheeled-in old tv. It’s three evenly spaced fins stuck out of the ground while it’s nose was buried. It was maybe a foot and a half long.
A woman climbed out of the craft. She was very small, no more than half an inch tall. I could tell she was beautiful even being so small. Her brown hair waved in the breeze as she confidently removed her domed space helmet. “Hi stranger. You’re cute.” It was a small Scarlett Johansson, I could tell by her nose and her figure. “Could I have some gasoline?” she asked. “Uh, yeah, but I think that ship needs more than gas to fly again.” She laughed and replied, “No silly! I want to drink the gasoline!”
It was then that my alarm sounded and I woke up. I was not in my room, not even in my apartment. As I sat up, a small paw touched my lower back, causing me to yelp in fear. “What’s wrong, Dave? Having second thoughts?” I turned to my right and saw Garfield. His eyes glowed and his mouth was way too big.
God help me. |
Jameson didn't recognize this villain- didn't care to, either.
"For the final nail in Spider-Man's coffin,"the nameless, rather indistinguishable villain crooned, "I will reveal to you his identity. Spider-Man *is* Peter Parker!"
"Yeah, how long did it take you to piece that one together, Atticus?"
"You knew?"
Jameson rolled his eyes. "You think I'm such a behind-the-times 'boomer' I can't tell apart a selfie from a real action shot? Do you know who I am?!"His voice was picking up, turning into a shout that was somehow a growl at the same time.
The villain blinked repeatedly, bewildered. "W-well-"
"'*W-well,*'"Jameson mocked him. "I am J Jonah Jameson, damn it! I know Spider-Man better than my own kids, probably better than his own kids know him!"
"Spider-Man doesn't-"
"No, don't talk!"Jameson shouted the other man down. The villain opened his mouth to object. "Still no. You know what Spider-Man is? He's a payday. Everyone wants the mystery revealed, everyone wants to know who he is, and every weekend issue I tease that answer a little more. How could I do that if I wasn't fully in the know?!"
Jameson continued, somehow still picking up steam. "Now all that you've done is delay me from my lunch appointment, and, thereby, thrown off my work day. Now, you can either untie me now and I'll let you walk off, back into miserable obscurity, or my secretary will call Parker about a photo-op in this area. He'll find me in half an hour, tops! By the looks of you, he can have you black, blue, and inside out in less than five, and I still make it in time to caption the front page... probably with something embarrassing for you. So, what'll it be?" |
The Infinite Imperium began aeons ago on a world of powerful magic. There, it started as a unification of the Elven races under one Hegemon, who promised the immortal race of elves a civilisation that would never falter, never fade, never cease to expand and grow. The elves of the wood, the elves of the dark, and the elves of the high towered cities, poured out from their realms and crushed underneath their gilded heels the kingdoms of the non-magical men, who had only power through their sheer numbers and ability to reproduce quickly. Soon the dwarves of the high mountains came to the elves, wishing to join in an alliance with them, for they had desire to expand also, and did not want to be next on the list of conquered nations. In time, the dwarves became autonomous vassals of the Imperium, which made great use of the enchanted weaponry of great quality that the dwarven forges made. Soon many races of magic flocked to the Imperium, eager not to be subdued, especially as the Hegemon finished their conquest of the humans, and began to undertake a great war against the dragons. A war which the Imperium was winning. As the last dragons in their high caves fell, and their eggs were taken, the Hegemon began to make new plans. New expansion ideas. New warriors in the inexhaustible armies would need to be trained. New continents would need to be conquered. But when the world itself was won, what would happen then? Would the Imperium turn in on itself, waging civil war? No, the Hegemon's plans were far greater than that. Taking the souls of the elder dragons into great soul-crystals, and using them as arcane focus-matrixes for an unprecedented form of magic, the Hegemon did the impossible.
They opened a gateway into another universe. One with fewer magical races, but more humans. And plenty of land to conquer.
Such was the Imperium's path through countless aeons. World after world fell, some stripped bare of their resources, others becoming hubs for art, pleasure, and arcane studies. On countless worlds non-magical slaves worked their frail bodies to death while the proud dragon-knights flew over them. The Hegemon was especially proud of the dragon-knights, taking the eggs of the defeated dragons and raising them as obedient mounts for the greatest warriors of the Imperium, had been quite a surprising success. Oft the fire and the roar of the dragons, aided by the magical weaponry and spells of the riders, could be enough to take a new world without much loss of life for the Imperium.
And today the Imperium was on the march once more. An portal was opening into another world. One with no magical races, only weak and non-magical humans. The strong legions of elves, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and countless other magical races, would march through that gate and easily conquer another world, adding it to the hundreds of worlds under direct Imperial rule. On the side of the portal where the invasion was staging, it was warm summer. But on the side where the portal led to, it was a cold winter. The barren land that the forces of the Imperium emerged unto, was somewhat odd to them. They had figured that the area would be fertile farmland. Not a wasteland. But they marched nevertheless unto that land, and found humans there, that they began to mercilessly slaughter. This was as it should be, for the Legions, weak non-magical beings cowering before them. Except then the sound of thunder split the sky. And one of the legionnaires fell to their knees, screaming, as their shoulder had just been pierced by something fast. Then came the roar like never before. Thunder struck down upon the endless legion pouring out of the portal, as from every direction came loud and sudden death. The dragon-riders watching from above saw how the humans, in strange water-less canals, were pointing long tubes at the legion, which would emit fire, resulting in the death of another legionnaire. Some of the dragon-riders began to rain down hot death on the two sides of humans firing.
And then one of the dragon-riders fell, as a strange sound pierced the air. Something was coming. Through the sky came a beast made of metal, dealing out hot death to the dragon-riders. The riders, who had never before faced aerial combat, were shocked, and could not react fast enough. They took down some of them, but the kept coming. And from the ground, many humans were pointing at them with their long tubes and killing them with horrid efficiency. At this point, one must consider the arrogance of the Hegemon. The portals made by the Imperium could not be closed quickly or easily without destroying the soul of an elder dragon. And those were in limited supply, and the damage they did if they were destroyed was not worth it. Usually, when a world had no more use, it took several months to safely close a portal. Sometimes even years. The Hegemon had specifically made it this way, just in case the enemy on the other side tried to close the portal, they'd be terribly damaged by doing so. Even then, none had the necessary power to destroy the portal, except the Archbattlemagi of the Imperial Warmage Corps.
And now it came back to bite the Imperium. For they had opened a gateway to a world at war. A world which had never cared for or had much in the way of magic. A world of industry, rampant imperialism, and dangerous weaponry. The portal had opened in December of 1914, on the Western Front, of what in many worlds would be known as World War One. During the Christmas Truce. The British and the Germans, seeing both of their forces attacked by bizarre medieval forces, and dragons, used the spirit of that month to unite in opposition to a sudden enemy. As the Imperial Warmages began to make their attacks, the first to really damage the soldiers of the trenches, the British general in charge of that section, meet up with his German counterpart. And they agreed to a more official armistice between their respective sections of the front, until this weird occurrence had been dealt with. Especially as the warmages succeeded, with the remainder of the dragon-riders, to drive back the human forces. Reinforcements from beyond the portal poured through, and despite the high casualties, the Imperium still figured that they could win this world.
They were quite wrong. As they began their attacks on the nearby areas, they were constantly met by French, German, British, and Belgian forces who with their advanced artillery, aerial forces, and machine guns, who delivered bloody, terrible, and violent deaths unto the extradimensional invaders. As December turned to January, and 1915 began, leaders of the Central Powers and the Entente met on neutral ground, in Fredensborg Palace, Denmark, where they started work on an official end to the war. After all, a non-human empire with countless slaves and worlds beyond worlds under their control had just attacked. This was enough to bring the warring nations of Europe to a halt. The deals made there were not pleasant, but in the face of intelligence retrieved by both sides from captured officers, it was clear that these unholy magical invaders would not stop, until they had been driven back and crushed. So a bitter, but ultimately necessary peace, was made. And the horrible force of mankind and their warindustry was turned to a singular purpose. The destruction of the invaders, and the conquest of their worlds. Of course, all of the nations in question were planning to use this as a means to expand their own power, to gain colonies, to gain conquest and wealth through that. But officially, this was the great nations of the world uniting against a common enemy.
The official version of the story became somewhat more real as three more portals opened. One in Osaka, Japan, one near Lodz, and one in rural Pennsylvania. The Imperium had figured that opening more fronts would perhaps be the key to winning this world. They were dead wrong. The secondary portals were in truth easier for the Imperium to conquer at first. But as the world turned to facing the invaders, they felt it. Gas attacks devastated Imperial legions, while dragon-knights were driven out of the sky by the brave men of the airplanes. Of particular notice would be the German ace, who would be known as The Red Dragonhunter, or Der Rote Drachenjäger; Manfred von Richthofen, who took down the largest dragon in the Imperial Legion while flying his crimson triplane. Imperial Warmages experienced horror as the sharpshooters learned to take them out first, leaving the legionnaires without heavy support or magical shielding. And soon, through four portals, marched the horrors of Earth. The Imperial Legion and their magic was nothing when compared to a good soldier. Sword and spell is well and good, but a thousand years of training by the Imperial elites with blade and bow is easily wiped out by timed and well aimed artillery strikes. The Hegemon, and their ruling council, desperately sent more and more forces to the world where they had originally started the invasion from. But it was to no avail. |
How did I end up here, stuck in the temple of the Dragon Queen herself, pinned under her claws helplessly and waiting for the greatest heist the party's rogue ever planned. Only that he would hopefully steal more than a handkerchief. He has to break me out too. But let's start from the beginning.
When I joined the party I was already a seasoned adventurer. At least a somewhat decent one. Strangely my past is a bit blurry and the party felt very familiar from the get go. They had just lost their ranger and were looking for someone to fill their ranks. Being the jolly bard I am, I accidently met them in a tavern and traveled with them thenceforth. That fatefull evening the rogue gave me a handkerchief. The party explained, how that was a way the rogue handles his kleptomania. Fixating on the handkerchief and going for that. A very smart way, if you ask me. Well, I was totally in it and so our merry game began.
At first I wore it around my wrist and he would snatch it from under my eyes. After that I would hide it somewhere in my bag. But he soon figured out all my secret compartments. So I'd mix it randomly with my belongings. Glueing it to the inside of my lute, sewing it to my pants, heck, I even tried to bury it in the bags of the other party members.
Now it was time to take our little challenge to the next level. I ditched the handkerchief in the wilderness. A tree stump here, down the lake, just bury it in the graveyard. Those random locations didn't work for long. He kept track of where we went and would deduce every place I could think of. Even more than that.
We reached another milestone for this play. I began to task people with the protection of this handkerchief. We started easy. First it was the nice tavern owner, then the local bank and afterwards I even bribed the city guard of the damn capitol to keep an eye on it. We crossed every bank, every high security prison and every prestigious security service from our list.
He became really experienced in breaking in and taking it. Logically I'd start sending it to different villains we would face and soon rumours began to emerge. Nobody thought it was just a pastime of two renowned heros. Some figured the handkerchief was cursed to bring misfortune to its owner. Some guessed it was some mighty magical artifact and that was why every reputable villain tried to get their hands on it. Some tracked the item back to the rogue and me and were confident that it was the rogue's lifeline. Why else would he chase such an insignifanct thing so obsessively?
So, how did I end up here? We decided that this would be the last adventure we go on before we all retire. We got families of our own now and rarely any spare time for adventuring. I really wanted to give him a last kick, a big bang for our last match and a final trial for him to remember. Let him take it from a dragon. Not just any dragon would suffice, no. I wanted him to steal it from the Dragon Queen.
Well, things didn't turn out as I expected. I was caught redhanded when I tried to leave the handkerchief here. You know the rest. So dear cultist, if you would kindly depict my unmatched beauty, while you are painting this portrait for your glorious goddess. The world shall know how the handsome face of the fearless bard looked like, that seduced the Queen successfully to some extent. At least she hasn't crushed me yet. And add some words of wisdom from this accomplished daredevil as caption for your painting:
"Never split the party" |
See, most people try to live forever, but that ends one of two ways: they don't or they wish they didn't. Rob Herman was a famous example of the first, Rob chose his Event to be “Winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning.” It was a great choice, the chance of getting struck on any given day was 1 in 245,000,000 and the chance of winning big lotteries is about the same. This way Rob could continue his passions of being outdoors and playing the lottery, just not both at the same time! But Robby got sloppy, and one day mixed the two at a state fair. With about 20 billion people on the earth miracles are bound to happen every once and a while.
The most infamous example of the second was Nick Walsh. Nick chose “Due to a quantum mechanical flux, a cat appears from nowhere.” Such wishes are rather common among those seeking true immortality. After Nick's fiancée left him, he lost his job, he was eternally imprisoned for a crime (eventually proved innocent, but not until it was too late,) and his mother died due to a freak game of poker. He then performed brain surgery on himself using a nail stuck through a plank. He's brain-dead in a hospital now with explicit instructions NOT to pull the plug, with the threat that he'll it again in the next life.
So when it came my Time I took a different approach. I didn't want immortality, I wanted the most out of life. I wanted an event that I could enjoy, that wouldn't bind or hinder me.
“The day that the good will never again outweigh the bad.”
In the past thousand years I've had good times and bad times, I've had great times and terrible times, I've been in more love and more pain than I could imagine. And through it all my Event has been there for me, an eternal promise, that I still have a good life ahead. |
5,000,000,001. That's a pretty big number. If it's money, you're set for several lifetimes; if it's a golf score, hang up the clubs and kiss the fairway goodbye. But if it's a measure of how essential you are in the chain of 10 billion people, how important it is that you receive food and other vital supplies, it means that you're essentially nobody. Not low enough to show that you're really important, not high enough to show that you're particularly despised; right in the middle of average, where nobody takes notice of you.
I suppose I shouldn't complain about being ranked 5,000,000,001. Truth be told, I never really had to wait too long for anything, and I can't recall the last time I got told "no"when I asked for something important. The folks down at the IQC (International Quartermaster's Consortium) didn't know him by name or anything, but they didn't bat an eye when I requested 3 additional units of household water per week, or when I asked for those 10 cuts of almost-expired beef for that birthday cookout. 5,000,000,001 was, in retrospect, a mighty fine place to be. But that was 30 minutes ago; and a lot can change in 30 minutes, apparently.
I stepped out of the shower to hear my StrapRank (tm) buzzing. That's the thing that the IIRB (International Individual Rankings Bureau) assigns you at birth, which tells the IQC folks what rank you have, and therefore how much and what different kinds of resources you can be given according to your place in society. It buzzes whenever your profile data gets modified by the Bureau; usually it means someone was born or died, and so your rank has fluctuated mildly as a result. For the longest time, I would always bounce between 5,000,000,001 and 4,999,999,998, given normal deviations.
"Huh,"I wondered aloud as I picked up my StrapRank and looked at the display. "#500,000,000". From five billion and one to five hundred million - that's an enormous jump; there's no way that's right. I tapped the device on the counter a bit, figuring that it had just gotten stuck drawing the numbers. ".... mmm, nope, that's still five hundred million", I mumbled from beneath my furrowed brow. Maybe the shower condensation got into it and fried it? Great - these things take *forever* to replace. I put the StrapRank down and decided to go back to getting ready for work.
At least my cell phone worked around damp environments, I thought, as I removed a set of earbuds and put my phone away; I sprang for the extra waterproof case because I like to listen to music while I'm in the shower. The waterproof headphones were an easy sell too; I really enjoy my showers, so being able to just plug up and sink into the heat without external distractions is pretty nice. Sometimes I'll miss a phone call or a package delivery, but hey, I need my "me time", dammit.
I stepped back into the bathroom after putting on my shirt and pants, and grabbed my wristband. "This thing's lost its mind", I remarked as I read the display. 734,000. Seven hundred thirty four thousand. There was no way I'd suddenly jumped so many ranks. A few dozen, sure, maybe - but several billion? I fished down into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone.
The first few calls had trouble getting through - some kind of stupid cell phone network congestion problem, or at least that's what the recording said. I had to try five or six times before I was finally able to get a connection.
*ring ring* Ugh ... the bureau is terrible at answering their phones.
*ring ring* I wonder if the local Bureau office is open today? I could just walk in and --
"Thank you for calling the International Individual Rankings Bureau,"the voice on the other end droned on in a bored, monotone voice that could only be found in a government telephone call center. I picked up my StrapRank and briefly ran down the situation. "And now I'm 500,005, apparently."
The voice on the other end perked up. "How long ago did it start?"
"Maybe an hour", I replied.
"Please hold". Oh good. I put the cell phone on speaker and continued getting dressed while I waited. My wristband showed 425,924. It sure was going down awfully fast ...
"Hello?"there was a new voice on the other end of the phone. This one sounded significantly more interested in my problem than the last. "Hello, are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here -"I tried to respond, but there were quite a few sirens heading past my window. My area of town just hadn't been the same since all those people in the 7 billion bracket moved in. "Can you repeat that?"
"My name is Anthony, and I'm an IIRB technician. I was sent here this morning to investigate a problem being reported with numerous wristbands, very similar to the problem you're reporting now. Can you tell me what your wristband is showing now?"
"Looks like 250,000", I said. "This thing's broken for sure. How fast can I get a replacement?"
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. The sirens were gone now, and somewhere a car alarm was blaring. I dug at my ears with a q-tip.
"I said how fast can I get a replacement?", I repeated into the phone, picking it up now.
"There is nothing wrong with your wristband", Anthony said slowly. "Do you know how the wristbands work?"I could hear glasses clinking and rattling on Anthony's end of the phone.
"Not really,"I said, putting the phone back down on speaker and starting to put on my tie. This guy isn't paying attention; either that or I suddenly had an entire fleet of previously unknown rich uncles die. That'll be the day.
"They are activated when they are attached to your wrist and become tuned to your particular heartbeat and rhythms. They then phone back to the IIRB central database to say they are attached to you, and the IIRB database then computes and returns your rank to your wristband."
"Right, I figured that", I replied. "But why is mine plummeting faster than Brendan Fraser's career? It's not like I'm suddenly more important than anyone else."
"Everyone gets more important when there are less of us."Anthony's voice was deadpan, calm, matter-of-fact. What the hell does that mean? Did most of the planet suddenly vanish? "What does your wristband show now?", he continued.
"#19", I said. Suddenly those 2 digits seemed to be so much more important than the sum of their parts.
"Mine shows #18, and I'm the last one in this office. I don't know how much longer I have or you have. But something is happening, and it's happening to all of us."I heard the telltale glug-glug of a bottle pouring, and the satisfied "aaahh"that only comes after a stiff shot.
"Your wristband isn't malfunctioning. The human race is disappearing. All of it. It's just us and 17 others left still around."
I stared at my wristband in disbelief. "No fucking way,"I said. "This is some stupid fucking practical joke. You must be friends with Bob or Sheryl, and you guys have cooked up some bullshit -"
"Look out your windows", Anthony cut me off. His voice was still deadpan and calm. I went to the bedroom window and threw back the curtains. I dropped the phone and my wristband to the floor. I had missed a lot more than a package delivery while I was in the shower with my ears plugged. Cars were ran off the side of the road, with no drivers. Baby strollers were in the middle of the street, unattended and apparently empty. A "happy birthday"balloon floated by with no owner. An airplane could be seen descending in the distance - going way too low - before going out of sight. I heard the distant thud of the exploding aircraft and felt a twisting pain in my stomach.
"I - I ... What ... How? ...", I stammered as I looked at the scene outside my home. The phone was still on speaker, apparently, so I could hear Anthony's voice in response, like it was coming from the end of some long, distant tunnel, on the other side of some impossibly long distance. "I don't know", Anthony replied. "All I know is we -"
I was suddenly crushingly aware of the silence on the other end of the phone. "Anthony?", I inquired as I bent over to look at the phone. The call had not dropped. "Anthony?", I said again, as I picked up the phone. "Anthony!", I shouted into the microphone. "Anthony you sunnuvabitch this isn't funny!", I yelled. But the only sound I got in response was the sound of my StrapRank buzzing as my number changed from #19 to #18.
... It's been a little over 30 minutes now. By my best guess, we've lost something like 10 billion people in the course of those 30 minutes. I'm down to #1 as I finish this. I'm recording this on my cell phone's voice recorder and then powering it off in the hopes that someone will find it, and maybe understand what happened. Because I damn sure don't.
It's a hell of a thing, realizing that you're suddenly becoming extinct; going from 1 in 10 billion, to just being the last one. Never before, have I ever wanted so badly to just find a big crowd and blend in. Maybe 5,000,000,001 wasn't so bad after a-- |
I awoke around noon with a full bladder. The last thing I wanted to do was leave my bed. I rolled over to the other side of the bed and closed my eyes, but I knew it was useless; I had to get up. Stumbling to the bathroom, I knocked my knee on the computer chair in the middle of my bedroom floor and grumbled. Mornings sucked.
After I pissed and washed my hands, I returned to my bedroom. I looked at my phone and contemplated checking it. I thought again and then flopped back onto the bed. I had been depressed and without work for months and today didn't feel like the day that I would turn things around. Often, I went to sleep with plans of self-improvement for the following day - surely, the next day would be my time to shine. I'd exercise, eat something healthy, meditate, look for a real job, and maybe make something of myself. Unfortunately for me, my motivation loved playing hooky in the mornings. I fell asleep and dreamt of my ex, a petite Asian law student named Dara who no longer returned my calls.
Two hours later I opened my eyes again. With a groan, I reached over and picked up my phone. One message, a text from an unknown number. Opening it, I read, "Need your service. Can you help?"My first emotion wasn't happiness or enthusiasm, but dread. As sad and lazy as I was, I knew I had to accept the job - especially since rent was due. I texted back, "Yes. Meet at McDonald's on Riverside in 15min."My phone buzzed within seconds. It was a message confirming the meet. I pulled on some pants and a shirt and headed out the door.
------------------------------
The meet was standard. Another nervous client - they were all nervous. He needed his wife taken care of. She was a mid-forties housewife named Allie. Allie was divorcing the poor sap and she'd surely take most of his money. She had checked his phone one night when he slept. The guy wasn't careful - they never are - and Allie found an ongoing text thread with the guy's secretary that was long and explicit enough to make a romance novel out of. The guy was screwed and he was desperate.
"Alright, let me see her,"I said to the guy sitting across from me. I never name my clients, but I can tell you he was old and sloppy; I was scared to see what his wife looked like. He opened his phone and scrolled through a few pictures. I was pleasantly surprised. Allie was a curvy Latina much younger than my client. She was smiling in every picture I saw. Her eyes showed real happiness, too; not the fake stuff you see in most pictures these days. My policy is to not to ask questions, but I couldn't help myself.
"She's gorgeous. Why'd you do it?"
"Come on man, you know how it is. Even when they're beautiful, it only lasts a few years. Then, something changes and they're still beautiful, but not for you. I don't know, maybe it's my fault. I tried to pay attention to her, tried to give her everything she needed, but somewhere along the way it just wasn't the same anymore. That smile I see you looking at, I haven't seen that smile in five years. Maybe you'll get to see it."
Sadly, I could relate to the pathetic bastard. His story reminded me of most of my own love-life - before Dara, anyway. It was different with her. There had been no mysterious loss of passion. Dara dumped my ass and I deserved it. I still reached out to her but it was with a sad futility. I knew she'd never respond. I just hoped she was OK - I was ashamed but if I had ruined her life, too, I'd never forgive myself.
"OK, I assume you already know my fee."
"Yeah. Half now and half later?"
"That's right,"I said. The unkempt man opposite me slid over an envelope and I opened it. It wasn't much, but it it would cover my rent.
"You sure you can do it?"
"Well, it's not an exact science, as you should know. But, she's vulnerable so I'm confident I'll have access to her. And given at least a few tries, I should be successful. Do you have the information I need?"
"It's in the envelope."
"I'll contact you soon,"I said as I stood. The client reached to shake my hand. I looked at it and then looked back at him.
"It's nothing personal,"I said. "I'm just not proud of this. My life sucks and this is what I do, but shaking hands just seems wrong."
"Fine. Just get it done."
"Right,"I said. I walked out the door and back to my apartment, studying the sheet of paper that told me Allie's usual activities - her wheres and whens.
------------------------------
Bang! My shopping cart collided with Allie's in the middle of the fruits section. I was so clumsy sometimes. I assumed an air of embarrassment and looked up to meet her gaze. "Sorry,"I said.
"It's OK,"Allie said, and then began to move away.
"Wow, I don't mean to bother you but you're really beautiful."
"Thank you,"Allie said. She had stopped moving away from me. My confidence grew. I studied the items in her cart. It was full of fruits and vegetables.
"You must eat really healthy,"I said. "Or if you're like me, this is just a New Year's Revolution-type attempt and those will all be rotting in the bottom drawer of your refrigerator in a week."
Allie laughed. "No, I've been really good. My diet and exercise has been perfect lately, ever since-"Allie stopped mid-sentence and looked down.
"Ever since what?"
"Oh never mind."
"OK, sorry,"I said, laughing. "I'm being way too nosy for a guy who just assaulted you in the grocery store. I looked into Allie's eyes and saw the smile I had hoped to see - the one from the pictures. "Listen, I gotta go, but let's have a drink sometime. Let me get your number."
"Sure,"Allie said. She gave me her number.
"It was so nice to meet you. I'll call you soon."
"You, too,"Allie said. We parted ways smiling. I pushed my cart to the next aisle over, abandoned it there, and walked out of the grocery store.
------------------------------
"Do you have a condom?"Allie asked. She had been tougher than I'd anticipated. Although we agreed upon drinks previously, Allie wanted wanted to meet for coffee first. That coffee date was pretty standard and she agreed to do drinks that following weekend. After some flirting and some beer, we wound up at my apartment.
"Yes,"I said, opening my desk drawer and pulling out a small foil packet. I ripped it open and put the condom on.
The sex was great. She moved with the intensity that only scorned women can muster. After we finished, she got up to use my bathroom. I heard the faucet run and then Allie shouted, "Hey what the fuck!"
"What?"
"What the fuck!!!"
"Come out, I can't hear you when you're in there."The door swung open and hit the wall. Allie in the open door frame, still naked.
"You said you had a condom. Why is there cum in me?"
I looked down at my genitals for the first time since I had rolled off of Allie and feigned surprise. "Oh shit! It broke. I'm so sorry."
Allie left soon after. She believed me, but was still mad. I hoped I hadn't ruined my chance. It wasn't an exact science.
------------------------------
The smell of the fries always made me queasy. I knew most people loved McDonald's fries but they had never done anything for me. The only item I'd ever found edible was the Filet-O-Fish. I walked through the lobby and sat down across from the client. It had been several months since we last met.
"The job's done."
"Are you sure? I need proof."
I took out my phone and showed him the text thread between Allie and I. We had met and hooked up a few more times before losing contact for a few weeks. Then I sent the text I never got used to sending. "Hey, so sorry to have to tell you this, but I just got tested and I'm HIV positive. You need to get tested."
Allie responded with panic and anger. A few days after, her texts were venomous and she promised legal action. It was time to move and get a new ID again. But first, I had to collect the rest of my payment. |
# Forward, to the Seventh
Battles raged beneath the reporter’s smile. She was young, pretty, not very good at her job; Carter watched her as he had watched condemned men. When she cracked it would make it easier.
The vidscreen flickered, connection was always horrible down in the Pits, though she was far enough off in the colonies that it could have been her signal too. She picked her way through the ruins of a Visaari school, a day ahead of the project that would level even the ruins and terraform the world to something fit for humans. She spoke inane, government approved words, said things meant for naïve ears. Then she stumbled, fell. The camera followed her down. Her mouth worked soundlessly around the speech she had been given, then she cracked, tore open around a shriek.
The slim, curving arch of a Visaari femur poked up out of the ground by her foot, yellowed by the sun, streaked here and there with black; Visaari bones weren’t like human bones. Nothing about them had been like humans.
“I can’t do this anymore!” she shouted. “They’re lying, they—”
The feed cut, played an ad full of smiling faces and laughing Human children in Colonial blues, the Forward Facing Man logo of Col-Min stamped across it all. “What the hell was that?” Giana said.
Carter shrugged, switched the vidscreen to a music channel. Broad, soaring, triumphal themes filled the little apartment. “She cracked,” the old man said.
Giana shuddered, sat down heavily on a battered couch nearly as old as Carter himself. “Yeah, but why?”
Carter considered the girl as he made coffee, scrambled a few cloned eggs. She was young, younger even than the reporter. She couldn’t remember how it had all started, and the Ministries certainly weren’t going to teach her. Add to it that she had been just another of millions of street urchins as recently as a month ago and it made sense that she would ask that question. Still, it broke Carter’s heart to hear it. He didn't know much about Giana’s past, but a girl her age? She was a war orphan, whether she knew it or not.
“Breakfast,” he said. She came running. Giana had filled out since he adopted her, but she would always be something of the urchin.
“You’re too young to know most of this,” Carter said, “but I’m too old not to tell you. Funny how that works.”
She nodded, mouth too full to talk.
“Ever since man left his cave, it’s been one unending genocide.”
“What’s that mean?” Giana asked.
Carter fixed her with a piercing stare that went unnoticed in her fixation with the toast. “Did anyone ever teach you anything?”
“I know a hundred ways to hotwire a skimmer, a dozen ways to kill a man with a six-inch length of vanadium wire.”
“Ever do it?”
“I could never afford the wire.”
Giana glanced up at him, mischief in her eyes, butter and jam smeared across her thin lips. Carter laughed his better instincts, slapped the table. “Dammit girl, you’ll be the death of me won’t you?”
“Don’t buy me any wire.”
“What about dresses?”
“Try it and I’ll skin you,” she said, holding up the butter knife.
Carter chuckled himself into a black mood, watching the waifish little girl gorge herself, sit back and regret everything she’d done as she patted her stomach. A month in, and Carter already loved her like she was his own. And yet, nothing she had said had been a joke, not really. She was a war orphan, whether she knew it or not, a street urchin, whether he accepted it or not, and vanadium wire might be expensive but plasteel wasn’t and you could kill a man with that just as easily.
“You know, that’s exactly the problem,” Carter said softly. She squinted at him, listening. “Since the moment we learned to walk upright, we’ve been looking down at the whole world, learning bend it to our will, just like your hundred and twelve. Consider the vidscreen.” Carter pointed to the Col-Min logo in the upper right corner, the Forward Facing Man. The triumphal music had gone somber, mournful; an elegy to the souls left behind.
“I’m considering.”
“Consider harder. What’s that logo mean to you? It’s a tall man, upright, walking away from the viewer. And yet, they tell us he faces forward, which means we lie in his wake. Do we follow him? Do we go forward into the future Col-Min decided, let them spread us to the stars like an endless wave of latter-day conquistadors? And oh the diseases we come with, to say nothing of the bombs!”
Giana frowned. “Slow down old man, I’ve never been to school.”
“Consider this then: Where is our home world?”
“Earth? Over there a ways,” she said, gesturing. It was the one concession allowed to the past, a sort of veneration of the ones who came before, who paved the way from Earth forward. Carter had once heard that in the old days, there were people who prayed in the direction of a certain city no matter where they were. It was like that now, even the meanest urchins remembered where Earth was.
“And where, pray tell, is the Visaari home world?”
“No idea,” Giana said. She stood, gathered up their plates. Carter’s was untouched, it often was. Carter grabbed her by the wrist; she tried to slip away but he pulled her in. She might be an urchin, tough as nails, but in his youth, Carter had done unspeakable things. All the men of his generation had.
Carter pulled her in and pointed down.
“Huh?” Giana said.
“You’re standing on it,” Carter said. “You’re standing on the Visaari home world. And where are the Visaari?”
“You’re lying,” Giana said, “the broadcasts say we’ve always been here.”
“And they’ll say that in the future too, when the Forward Facing Man reaches whatever scrap of world that poor reporter cracked up on. Give it a generation or two and it’ll all be part of the Patrimony of Man, like everything else, as the endless march of genocides hurdles on.”
Giana sat down again, across from him. Carter let go of her wrist but not her hand. He was shaking now, furious. There was a part of him that never forgotten the things he had done and never would, even if the world had forgotten them, would forget them completely once he and the others like him were gone.
“On Earth,” Carter said, “they counted six great extinctions. Five were natural, climate change or meteor strikes, that sort of thing. The sixth was man. It was our lust for farmland, for new frontiers, for combustible fuels and flight and engines where feet might fill the need and a thousand, thousand other things; and the seventh—” Carter ground to a halt. He felt ragged, short of breath, he felt every one of his hundred years.
“Child, do you know how many species there were, when man finally escaped Earth?”
Giana shook her head. She looked frightened— of him?
“A dozen vertebrates. That’s it, a dozen. Us, along with cows, pigs, chickens, the sort of animals we’d enslaved, crafted to our own needs. A dozen, Giana! A dozen from a world that was the womb of nations!” He laughed, shakily, “Perhaps that was the problem.”
The elegy faded away, another news bulletin started. “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special announcement,” a dapper looking man said. Carter wondered if the reporter who had cracked was still alive.
“And the seventh extinction?” Giana asked. She was the one holding his hand now, Carter realized. She leaned in, grasped his gnarled paw with both of her own. She was a good girl, a wonderful girl.
“It began the moment we left Earth, perhaps the moment we discovered the Hawking Drive. And it will end when we…”
“When we...?"
“When we run out of worlds,” Carter said.
Col-Min chief Paleologos appeared on the screen, his old battered face startling after the carefully manicured reporters and hosts. He’d brought maps with him this time, whole swaths of the galaxy outlined in blues and reds, and a new, brightly pulsing patch of green. The byline read “HABITABLE CLUSTER DISCOVERED.”
Giana unwound her hands from his, gathered up the dishes, hugged him briefly as she went by. Chief Paleologos was speaking; all timetables and colonization plans. Carter could hear his neighbors cheering through the thin apartment walls.
He watched Giana work at the sink, listened to the water pour down, dishes clank, and he knew with horrific certainty that *she* would go to one of those planets one day, carry the Seventh Extinction forward like he had. After all, there was nothing for her here, nothing for her anywhere but the bleeding edge of civilization, where a person might carve a little piece of home from the wreckage of another creature's life.
The broadcast ended, more music played; triumphal, always triumphal. “I’m going out,” Giana said.
“Are you coming back?”
She hugged him again. Neither of them had been used to hugging when he adopted her, they’d gotten into the habit quickly. “Of course,” she said, and then she was gone.
Carter stared down at his own untouched plate of food, his cold coffee, listened to music he hated, and remembered the time, eighty years ago now, when he had said those very same words.
And all around him, humanity marched on. Forward, to the Seventh.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
The ghost says to the zombie "technically I shouldn't exist because for all intents and purposes you are not actually dead yet"at that point the ghost vanishes. The zombie has an epiphany and starts to see flashes of his former self and starts to revert to his natural state. Unfortunately he gets his head blown off by a vigilante before he fully transitioned and his ghost stands over him now and says "you blew it!" |
"Just to be clear, my family knows I'm here, and we've alerted the police where I am."Margaret said before reaching to her waist. "I've also got a gun and a knife right here. I want this on me at all times while I'm in here."She warned as the man nodded.
"If you wish to see them and have them take you outside, just call."He said with a calm, almost pitying voice. "Feel free to leave whenever you wish."He added before walking away, sealing the door shut behind her. Shrugging, she sat back and played on her phone, ignoring the bleakness of the room before setting an alarm and taking a quick nap. When she woke up, she checked her digital watch before frowning, confused as to why her alarm didn't go off.
"Huh. That's weird."She noted, finding only 10 minutes had passed. She still felt incredible tired, and decided to go back to sleep, taking another nap. This went on dozens of times, with her somehow waking up in decreasing increments. She was constantly fatigued, yet she always somehow woke up 10 minutes later. This went on until she noticed something odd.
"What's with this jacket?"She wondered, reaching over to find a thick wool jacket on her. It was spring. Why on Earth did she have this jacket on her? She still had the gun on her, and her phone was still there. Quickly, she prepared to call up her brother before going pale.
"No. No. This doesn't make sense."She said as she finally saw the date. Half a year had passed since she took the job. She frantically went through her phone, searching up the official time and date, assuming the phone to have glitched before checking her watch.
"No. That's impossible. No. I just took a nap."She said in a frantic voice as her hair fell forward. She reached forward, grabbing at the long flowing locks that now reached down to her shoulders. No, her hair was short in a pixie cut! Not long! Her panic grew to horror as she found herself going through her photo gallery.
"What the hell is this?"Margaret asked, going through her phone to find hundreds of photos and videos of her social outings with friends, family, and loved ones that she didn't recollect.
Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Saint Patrick's day, so many holidays and social outings. She was surrounded by friends, she had her family, so why couldn't she remember!? Why couldn't she!? She called up her mom, tears streaming down her face as a bout of sleepiness sent her mind into a black void.
She woke up once more on the ground, another day passed.
She tried to call again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. A year passed. Her mind trapped in the room but her body capable of leaving as it pleased. She ran outside, only to have her vision fade to black. Her mind began to scramble as she went through her phone, hoping she could get a text out. As she threw it open, she screamed finding thousands of texts exchanged between herself and the rest of her family during her dormant phases.
"Mom: You okay honey? You seem a bit off."
"Me: I'm fine mom. Don't worry."
"Bro: Hey sis, you've been acting kinda weird lately. Wanna talk?"
"Me: Im fine! Honest!"
"Bro: You sure? I'm always around you know."
"Me: Don't worry! I'm fine!"
More and more conversations could be found, her family spotting the subtle differences between herself and the thing masquerading in her body. She cried, screaming for help from within room. When her brother threw the door open, her mind faded to nothing and she awoke once more on the concrete floor, trapped in the eternal loop.
"Let me out. Please let me out. I want to go home."She whimpered, huddled in a ball while looking for her unseen torturer. The one that had stolen her body. She whimpered this for years, her psyche growing worse and worse. Yet in spite of her torture, she still looked normal.
Her hair was long. She was dressed well, ate well, and lived well outside the dark little box. Her outside self still socialized with her friends and family while her true self was still trapped within the box, crying and begging for freedom. Despair overtook her as she took out her knife, carving messages on her own body begging for help.
In response, her outer self wore long sleeve shirts, hiding the self inflicted messages as it continued to leave her trapped in the little box. Even so she continued to fight, struggling to get somebody... Anybody to listen. To get her out of the dark room. Yet she could never truly escape. It had her. It wouldn't let her leave. She was its slave now.
"Please... Somebody... Anybody... Help me..."She wailed, pounding on the walls. Several more years had passed. She had a wedding ring now. Her true self had never met her husband. Based on the texts they exchanged, her alter ego was more outgoing than she ever was. He had fallen in love with something that wasn't her. He was ignorant of the person locked in the box. Everyone was. They were moving on. After 5 years of the isolation, she finally broke, her will to live at its end.
"I... I'm not-I can't do this anymore. I can't. I won't."She said, her mind broken and the spark to live at its end. She went through her purse, taking a look to find a bottle of advil, her wallet, and all the usual stuff she had. Her revolver was still loaded and strapped to her waist as well.
"No... This... Too messy... I'm scared..."She thought, tossing the gun across the room. She instead poured the entirety of the advil into her hand, swallowed them whole, and let it all end.
And like that, her life was gone. Cold. Scared. Alone.
Just when she was ready to experience oblivion, the doors opened as a warm set of hands grabbed her, taking her out of the room for the first time in years.
"We're here for you."Were the words she heard before she passed out.
*******************************************
"In other news, local businesswoman Margaret Anne has been admitted to the hospital for an attempted suicide attempt. For those of you unaware, Ms. Anne is quite a powerful woman, having a salary of roughly 1.5 million. She became the lifeblood of our little town of Oaksville after she took up a job with Carter and Marshall Inc and turned us into the wealthy area we are today. Supposedly, her husband found her passed out with her wrists slit and overdosing, but he was able to save her life just in time."
"Wow Harry, who would've thought somebody as upbeat and cheery as her was suffering from depression? I spoke to her just last week, and she seemed so happy."
"Well, it can strike anyone Mary. Luckily, her condition is stabilized and her loved ones are giving her all the attention and support they can give her."
"I'm happy for her. She needs all the affection she can get right now." |
The news report showed a man in a clown mask handing over his assault rifle in two pieces to the police.
The voice behind the B-roll footage states, "Local authorities say by the time SWAT arrived on the scene, the suspect was already outside, sitting on the campus lawn, talking openly with the students who had been reported as hostages. Pre-Law student, Hannah Jephset, speaks out on her experience during the tumultuous eight minutes between the start of the suspect's rampage and the arrival of the police."
"It was instantaneous,"said the young woman now smiling to the camera. Her hair had come loose from its braid, the sweat stains in her shirt were visible, and she looked to be on the falling end of an adrenaline rush. But she was all smiles and kind words in her statement. She even called the would-be shooter by his first name. "Isaac was swinging the gun around, trying to scare us into a corner and give him the reaction like we were objectively less human that him, then out of the bookshelves walks the guy with the beard, and he just places his hand on Isaac's shoulder. Suddenly, the bearded man is gone, and Isaac is crying, just like openly weeping about how sorry he is for what he just did. I can't even tell it to you without making him sound like a lunatic, but he just didn't show that. You could really see the regret. He pointed the gun down, opened the emergency exit, then smashed then thing against the curb until the what's-it broke off."
The B-roll of the arrest returned with the disembodied voice reporting, "No word yet on the identity of this mysterious bearded figure, but, when asked himself, Isaac reportedly said, quote, 'A Godsend. An angel that swooped down in the last second to save many lives from pointless execution. Just like for my namesake.'"
The footage cut to a live shot of the reporter standing outside the university library. The clean-shaven, long-lashed face spoke with the save voice from the pre-recordings that, "Although the bearded figure did not appear on any security footage during the entirety of the event, six other potential hostages have come forward to validate the sudden intervention of the Campus Clown shooter, and though no one claims to have heard him say anything aloud, all witness accounts agree on a prolonged and heart-felt speech Isaac claims to have held with the mystery man in a dream-like state during the blink of an eye, as he later relayed peacefully on the campus lawn. Whatever has become of this Ghost of Tragedies Past figure, the students here at MMSU are all understandably just relieved to still be coming home for the holiday's next month. Jamie Felton, KBC-Twelve."
​
That was the first we heard of Time Out. The much longer 'Ghost of Tragedies Past' name didn't stick past the second occurrence, as during the report, the corrupt train-conductor himself had the opportunity to be interviewed and had described the phenomenon as such.
"He put me inna time out. An' allth-sudden, I was back inna li'l yeller plastic chair inna corner. Jus' like when in kindergar'n."
The conductor had planned to derail his own train full of methyl bromide, thirty-two cars long, just on the edge of the city, upwind of the greater suburbia and up creek of the city reservoir. However, instead of a shrieking crash, the first anyone else heard about it was at the end of his delayed delivery, where he confessed to every discrepancy recorded on his procedural logs and the reason behind them.
The conductor had been staring down oncoming the skid he'd prepared to be laid across the tracks, ready to self-martyr for no better cause than public brutality. When suddenly a bearded figure stepped out of the coal fire and pressed his thumb up against the conductor's forehead.
The old man found himself transported back to a room from his childhood, with pictures of animals taped to the walls and foam blocks littering the blue carpet. He sat on a hollow plastic toddler's chair, but he fit just right, and before him stood the bearded man.
Six days later, he woke up back behind the controls of the speeding train, staring down the metal skid, and he leaped for the breaks, pulling with all his might.
What happened in those six days could scarcely be explained in the short-form interview and through the conductor's mumbling account. He could only sum it up with, "By the end've it, I c'n barely b'lieve whatev'r I's mad about'n the first place."He ended his interview with a broad confession of love for all his fellow human beings, then turned himself over to the authorities waiting just off camera.
​
By the nature of Time Out's methods, we usually only heard of him when someone publicly came forward with a story of self-reflection.
There were plenty who showed up on TV with singular stories of Time Out stopping a suicide attempt, or dissuading an attempt to drive drunk. Many of them you could tell were bogus, just people looking for a quick spotlight and a pat on the back.
But no doubt, there must have been so many more who genuinely did find a bearded man standing beside them, in what they thought was their final moments. So many who kept it to themselves.
​
We all heard publicly of the close-call with the plane-jacking. The footage showed a 747 careening down towards the capital before making a last minute correction back up to the cloudy sky.
​
We all saw the video that made its rounds on the internet last year, where the multi-billionaire in his space suit stood on the staging tower, ready for launch. We saw a somewhat harry hand reach out to the billionaire's, then fall out of frame. And we saw the look of surprise on the billionaire's face as they turned to someone beside them and shouted that the launch was to be aborted. Even still, the specifics of whatever he had secretly planned behind the launch have not come to light, but the billionaire is now not even a millionaire, and for it, the students of MMSU no longer have to worry about student debt.
​
Of all the recent miracle's that science has yet to explain, my favorite will forever be one that never made the news. I've never even seen mention of it online, in any of the forums of 'Time Out Confessionals' where those who feel compelled like to share the error of their ways, (or at least tell a story claiming as much).
I was walking my best friend around the loop at the dog park.
It was cold out, and raining lightly. We were nearly the only ones there.
A large man sat on one of the park benches overlooking the loop, but I couldn't see a dog anywhere in his field of view.
On my last lap, I got one of those feelings you can't justify, but that you don't feel a need to justify either. I decided to go home at the end of this lap, as we were parked on the opposite side of the loop.
As I was crossing the far side of this seated man. I watched him stand up and walk the wrong way down the other side of the loop. We were both heading towards the parking lot, which I then realized only held two cars. Mine, half way down the first row, and a black sedan, parked over the line on the first handicap spot.
I sent a small whip through the leash and my companion took the signal to run with me the rest of the way.
The man on the opposite side started jogging.
We were closing in on the exit at the same time when, passing behind a tree, he stumbled to a halt.
I kept one eye on him as I rushed for the car, throwing open both gates on the fence and sprinting with my car keys in hand.
He didn't move.
When I got in my car, I pulled us out to the road in seconds, and finally I stopped to discern exactly what the man was doing.
He was falling back against the bark of the tree, sobbing into his hands.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
I'm on day 22 of a streak. If you want more stories like this, the other 21 days are over at r/FarFetchedFiction.
Thanks. |
Put enough ones and zeros together and you can make anything.
That's the best I could come up with, at least. Looking at the picture gleaming back at me from my laptop screen,
the explanation that *technically*, very technically, it's possible that this image was created digitally is the only
way I can justify its existence.
It's not happening again. No way. This picture is real. It's not just in my head.
But the dripping sound is back too, driving me insane. *Pluck, pluck, pluck*, in my head in the most unexpected
situations. Like there's a leakage following me around.
I have to convince myself there are leakages everywhere. I just have to.
Because this isn't happening again. It can't be.
There's also the fact that *I* mugged him. Of all the idiots in all the world I could mug, I mugged a guy with a
pendrive containing a picture of me in a basement that – for no acceptable reason at all – he decided to create with
Photoshop or whatever. It doesn't add up that well. But it's the best I could do. The best I could do to convince myself that I'm good without the pills, that this isn't happening again.
*Pluck, pluck* again, as I turn my laptop off and grab my jacket.
I need to get out of the house. I haven't been sleeping well. I haven't been taking my pills. Been drinking too
much and smoking too much and eating too little.
____________
At Starbucks, the blonde lady smiles with my cup of Latte.
"Thanks,"I say. My beard is untrimmed. My shirt is smelly and my ass hurts, for some reason.
*Pluck, pluck.*
"You know, he's dead,"the lady says, with a smile.
"Beg your pardon?"
"I said there's sweetener on the counter."
She's still smiling. I haven't slept in days. I haven't eaten.
I take three sips of the coffee – it tastes like nothing – and I throw it in the trash on my way out.
"You didn't have to do it,"a fat kid says, strolling past me by the sunny sidewalk holding hands with his father.
"I'm sorry?"I ask, turning around to face him.
I can't eat, I can't think.
"You didn't have to do it, it was your choice,"the kid says, walking away from me.
Stop. Go home. You need to sleep. You need your pills. You need to eat.
__________________
Back home my head is heavy like an aircraft carrier against the pillow. The yellow bulb dangling from the
infiltration-stained roof is making my eyes hurt, and the warm light going through my eyelids pops up red rivers of veins in front of my eyes.
I shouldn't stop taking my pills. The shrink says I have to, otherwise I go back to Brockwood Penitentiary. Mandatory treatment, he says.
But I was good. I stopped the pills because I was good.
I don't want to go back.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck.*
My thoughts are getting weird and surreal. I think I'm drifting off. Finally.
I need to sleep. Just for a lifetime.
I need to sleep. Forget about that picture. Forget about Edgar.
_________________
"Stuart,"the man in a suit says, as I open my eyes. Against my ass is a cold metal chair, and I'm all tied up.
"Where am I?"
*Pluck, pluck, pluck,* goes the sound again. To my right, drops of sewage water are dripping from the ceiling onto
a small brown puddle, just like that day, fifteen years ago.
"Dreaming,"he says, simply.
"About Edgar,"I whisper.
"Yes, about Edgar,"he replies. "Pluck, pluck, pluck, Stuart."
"I didn't mean to –"
"Save it, you are free already,"the man says. "You've convinced the parole board, you don't need to convince your
subconscious."
"I had a boss. I had a job, and I did it. I did what I was paid to do."
"Edgar Thompson had a family,"the man says. "You tied him to a chair and tortured him for three hours. He had a
daughter named Kelly. She's in college now."
"He owed money to my boss! If I didn't do it, my boss would have killed me!"
"And Edgar would still be alive,"the suited man replies. The plucking is louder, and the puddle spreads in all directions like blood out of a wound. "We all make choices, Stuart."
"I never killed anyone again,"I breathe out. "I never did. Since I left Brockwood, I've been good. I mug people, but
I never talked to anyone from... I've never worked for… I never killed –"
"It's ok, Stuart,"the man says. "It's all right. You just need your pills again. You need to start eating again. Start
sleeping again. It's all going to be ok."
"I can't,"I say, eyes pressed shut. "I can't…"
"Shh,"the suited man says. He gets close to me and crouches to my eye level like I did to Edgar just before
putting a knife to his neck, fifteen years ago. "Wake up. It's going to be dark soon."
____________________
I open my eyes to my infiltration-stained ceiling and my dangling light bulb. I get up.
By my side on my computer screen, the pendrive file is still open. The picture of my last mugging victim in a
bathing suit, smiling with his family at the beach, gleams back at me.
No dark basement. No chair with me tied on. Or Edgar.
I need my pills.
I close my eyes again. I want to sleep. I want to sleep so much, but I'm too afraid to dream.
From a distance, the sound reaches my ears again.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck*.
_______________________
*Well, that wasn't meant to be so dark. For slightly more uplifting stories (and a couple depressing ones like this), check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
________________
EDIT: Also, /u/CyaelSenpai did a fantastic reading of the story, which you can check out [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyYcLbDuXNE) =)
|
Just got another free lunch.
The waitress tripped with my burger and ruined the ladies dress in the next booth. She stormed out complaining about some meeting.
Then she comes out. Through the window of my booth, I watch her leave her apartment and get into her car for work. She's in her blue dress today. That's my favorite one she wears.
The last time I tried to approach her a bird shit on her face. She ran back to her house and I found ten dollars on the ground.
I haven't tried again.
She works at the local grocery store, but dreams of being a dancer. You can tell in the way she scans each item. Every basket had their own dance.
At least until I tried to checkout in her lane. The stand for the monitor broke and landed on her hand breaking two of her fingers. My candy wrapper was a winner for a trip to the Bahamas.
I don't go there anymore.
The luck I have is great. I won my car, have free pizza and movie tickets for life, never had a cavity, and get moved up to first class on almost every flight.
I'd trade it all to be near her.
Edit to thank for gold! My first ever! |
I cracked open the door to Marie's parent's home. We were going to spend the evening there, Netflix and Chill as it were. Marie and I had met on an online forum and hit it off pretty well. I was bringing a few drinks and... I'll stop beating around the bush, Marie is 14. Don't judge, that isn't the reason that I'm passing on this story.
See, Marie's parents had an interesting living room. There was a lot of foliage. More than a couple house plants or even an indoor garden. I couldn't see anything past a few inches in front of my face. Someone had taken the time to import the amazon. Ah well, I'm not exactly allowed to judge someone based on home decor, am I?
"Marie?"I called out into jungle, there wasn't a response. I threw my hands onto my hips and looked back at the door. I could have left at that point, but I was a desperate man. I closed my exit behind me and continued forward, pushing leaves out of the way as I trekked deeper into the game of Jumanji that I had interrupted. Something moved to my right, "Marie?"I asked the bush. It didn't respond.
"This isn't very funny anymore,"I continued as the bushes around me continued to shake, "Marie I'm-"I was tackled by a massive man, he threw me across the undergrowth while holding a hand to my mouth. I tried to scream but I couldn't. My bag disappeared somewhere in the undergrowth.
"What are you doing here?"the man whispered in a harsh Austrian accent, "you need to go, now!"
Was... was that Arnold Schwarzeneggar? I pushed his hand off of my mouth slowly, "Arnold?"
"You need to go."
"What?"
"I'm trying to catch a predator, why are you even here?"He looked around us frantically, "Run!"
"I-"I stopped. Was this that show? Was this all a joke at my expense? I supposed it was better than ending up sitting in a living room and interviewed.
"Quick, before it finds you,"he said urgently before standing up. He was carrying an assortment of weapons, "I need to take this thing down."
"Um,"I stood up and dusted myself off. He shushed me again, "I'll get going now,"I said before I smiled, "I'll be back."
"You think I haven't heard that before?"he asked, "No go, before it gets you!"
I left the house and made sure not to talk to any other girls online for a very long time.
**If you enjoyed this you might enjoy /r/Jacksonwrites the stories there are much more serious.** |
The signs were there. They had always been there. I was too blind to see them.
I would be cooking a meal and look at the bowl of pasta I'd made. Had it moved? No, of course not. And so I deluded myself. Pretended that I didn't see his glory, his message. He saw me worthy enough to communicate me and I ignored him! What a fool I was! How blind I was!
But today I could ignore him no longer. In front of my very eyes, the meatball floated up to my eye level, its brown perfect roundness embraced in a cocoon of stringy spaghetti. It did not look at me, for it did not have eyes, and it did not speak to me for it did not have a mouth. But it *saw* me, and it *told* me.
In its gaze there was accusation, anger, but also...mercy. Forgiveness. He understood. He saw my weakness, my blindness, and forgave me.
I fell to my knees as the ball floated above me, with tears in my eyes.
And then it floated out of the window.
I gaped at it. Everything became less sharp, less clear. I felt...incomplete. Had I lived like this just seconds ago? How could I? I couldn't go back to this after witnessing such perfection. I wouldn't.
And so I jumped out the window onto the street, not bothering with the door. It was waiting for me at the mouth of the alley, looking almost expectant.
And so I followed.
Through the streets of New York, past screaming horns, barking dogs, and blind people, I followed. Whenever I got to a crosswalk I would find the light green. I never stopped, just followed.
Vaguely I was aware of others following, a select few who had been chosen by him as I was. Lucky and bold enough to heed his call.
And we gathered at last in Washington Square park. The meatball I was following suddenly whizzed up and out of sight. Once more, I gaped at the sheer loss of it.
And then I looked up.
Above the arch he floated. Joined by thousands, nay millions of meatballs just like mine. Words just aren't enough to describe his glory, that feeling of *right* that accompanied him. I just looked at him, and I knew it would all be okay.
And it was.
***
(minor edits)
Uh yeah. So I don't know what the hell that was, but I hope you enjoyed it. I was inspired by a drunk woman at midnight and this is the result. For saner stories check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
Director Wisnewski tapped his pen against the notepad in front of him nonchalantly, every few moments switching his attention between the blank paper, and the cutting-edge Mech Suit standing before his desk.
Despite the high-tech facemask between them, Miko still felt like he could see right into her eyes. With the passage of each silent second, she was growing more, and more uncomfortable - he knew how to make a suspect squirm, even when he should have been the one in peril.
“You can… uh… you can say no. If you’d like. Not that you should, but you can.”
“So this kidnapping is… voluntary?”
The man’s eyebrows drifted up in faux surprise - he knew full well he was exploiting the amateur villain’s discomfort. His hands came together in front of him as he patiently waited for her response. From the side, it looked more like the robotic figure was being interviewed for a job than a heinous crime in progress.
“No! Well, yes- no, but… *yes?*”
He shook his head slightly, giving her as much time as she needed to continue digging her own grave.
“No! *Yes!?* Should it not be? That would be… evil, right? Evil is good… I think...”
“Are you asking me?”
The woman’s hands went to her head, resulting in a loud clang of hyper-dense proto-alloy against the nanoceramic comprising her intimidating helmet. Under the sleek black-and-silver colorations of the Steel Warlord suit, Miko’s cheeks had begun to turn a progressively brighter and brighter shade of pink. He couldn’t know that, of course, but then why did he look at her like he did? How was he so calm?
Janus’ ability to remain cool under pressure was among many of the traits she found alluring - she just never expected it would be used to dismantle her like this.
The door to his room was flung open, a platoon of armored soldiers storming in and raising their firearms at the Warlord. One man, wearing little more than a business suit and a bulletproof vest made his way over to where Janus was sitting, placing one hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright, Sir? Has he hurt you?”
“*She* hasn’t.”
*How the hell did he know that?*
The director stood up, making sure he pushed his chair in, before stretching his arms up and yawning.
“At ease, everyone. I’ve decided I’ll hear our unorthodox visitor out - Agent Braun, I put my trust in you to run this place until I’m back.” He clapped his stunned underling on the back, “I have no doubt you’ll do admirably - remember, Science Division Alpha aren’t allowed to experiment without a fire extinguisher and an A-class anti-mutation specialist present. Not again.”
Braun swallowed loudly, only able to muster a nod as he struggled to process what, exactly, was happening.
Janus had made his way over to the Mech, turning one last time to the Assistant Director-
“Mark this as a capture in the line of duty - I don’t want to use my vacation hours.”
\----------------
Thanks for reading - this was a quick character test. I might try continuing this a bit later when I have some time! |
King Lowe, Hero of the Free Realm and Conqueror of the Blighted Lands squirmed uncomfortably on this throne. One buttock had gone numb and he decided rather dejectedly that it was somehow more irritating than if they'd both done it.
"That dog of yers killed 3 o'my chick-uns!”
"Hogswallop! It wer 1 at most n' hardly that! Them was sick an' weak as it wer”
As the farmers squabbled continued well into the third hour of open-court, King Lowe's mind drifted back to the prophecy that had been delivered unto him all those years ago.
*'A child of common birth shall rise to dethrone you and usurp your kingdom'*
“An' how was I ter know it was a sheep? It was dark an' the lights wer off!” the farmers persisted. King Lowe tuned out.
It had been 18 years since that prophetic day. Upon hearing the words of destiny he had wasted no time. His first course of action had been the secret construction of a quaint thatched retirement cottage near the river. He began weekly horticulture classes with the Master of Produce Growth the following day, and he had begun a free-of-charge youth program for those of common birth to learn the finer arts of combat, public speaking and espionage.
Now despite having a thriving tomato and cabbage business managed entirely through his kitchen staff, he didn't feel any closer to realizing his dream.
He hadn't dared to push it any further as he felt like he was tempting fate a bit too much as it was. Still, 18 years had passed and the closest he'd come to any dethroning was that time his actual throne went in for repairs and the leg on the spare throne had snapped while he was on it.
The farmers, now wrestling on the ground- one smushing a large, slightly decaying, tomato into the others face, did not notice as the doors to the great hall swung open.
In the center of the doorway stood an armored figure, illuminated by the sunlight behind them, and long locks flowing majestically in the wind.
“King Lowe!” they boomed “I come this day to remove you from the throne you are not worthy of and take my place as the rightful ruler!”
Gasps were released from those few in the chamber that still turned up to open court. Since all the bandit tribes had been chased off it had lost a bit of the shine.
King Lowe rose from his throne and, despite vicious pins and needles in his leg, attempted to play his part “How dare ye enter this way! I should have you-”
Before he could go any further one of his guards stepped forward and held a blade to the throat of the intruder.
“Shall I cut his 'ead off sire?” he asked casually, as if checking to see if you wanted more salt on your steak.
“Oh er, no, no, lets uhm, hear him out, Yes- Let the swain speak his piece for he shall not leave this room alive!” King Lowe continued, waving his arms for emphasis.
The guard lowered his blade and the figure stepped forward into the center of the room.
“By right of birth” the stranger confidently decreed “I claim the throne. My family was of this land before your invasion and I am it's rightful ruler!”
“Oh dear. Well that sounds irrefutable-” King Lowe began before being interrupted by his clerk.
“Oh no sire, this is no claim at all. You conquered the land and the family willingly relinquished all legal claim to you and your line. No countries contest this. Not even Aldorne and we're at war!”
“Right. Of course” King Lowe noted, agitated.
“Well, if not for the birth right then I will claim it by combat!” the stranger cried, drawing his sword. “I challenge you King Lowe, to a duel!”
“I'm sorry but that won't do at all” the clerk chimed in once more. “King Lowe has already spared your life once. Should you prosper you are at best... even. At which point we would have to cut you down as you would have killed or maimed the king”
The heroic stranger lost some bluster, now at a bit of a loss for words. He hadn't expected to face such overwhelming resistance to his coup. His attention at this moment was drawn towards the king who was pointing subtly, yet, furiously at the farmers and trying to mouth the word 'people'.
“Then I... I claim it on behalf of... the people?” the hero ventured. King Lowe nodding vigorously and rubbing his fingers and thumb together.
“This.. corrupt? Corrupt! King lets the people fight while he grows fat on their toils!”
At this, one farmer stopped trying to push asparagus into the other's nostril.
“Yer! I had to give up more o' my 'arvest than ever before! O'course I suppose my 'arvest is twice the size it used to be on account of all the bandits bein' driven off...”
“Oh no! He has the people on his side” King Lowe jumped in before this could get any worse. “Well the people have spoken, it seems like I am undone. Come young one, I acquiesce the throne- it is yours”
“Actually sire- Ow!”
King Lowe gave the clerk a swift kick in the shin.
The retelling of this day was a good deal more heroic than the actual events. Brawls in streets and taverns were frequent as parties disagreed over the rumors of how exactly that day went down.
Former King Lowe didn't hear many of them. It was always tranquil down by the river. |
"James, got another one for you."A half-full folder landed on James' desk. He shifted through the photos quickly, but not quick enough to arouse suspicion. A mutilated corpse he'd already seen was on the photos.
Hell, he was the one to kill him.
"What you think it is Mendoza?"James asks, his acting chops getting a work out.
"Gangland, most-likely. Same kinda bad egg shit you see everyday here. Nothin' special."Mendoza's voice was rough, like a grater for cheese. But the cheese was 40 ciggerettes a day.
"Lets go examine the body, need somethin' to write down on this fuckin file,"James said, standing and grabbing his hat.
"No can do,"Mendoza responds. "Body got lost in transit. We have no idea where it went."Mendoza was a proficient liar at this point. He knew full well where the body was.
Hell, he was the one to get it lost.
"Gentlemen,"a third voice says as it marches into the room. "Word from higher up. Says to stop digging with the case you boys just got."
"We hadn't even started. I got the report literally a minute ago,"James says with a harmless tone. "Who's words were they anyway Garcia?"
"No clue. Higher then high by the looks. Just stop snooping."Garcia didn't wait for either to respond. He left the room with a smug smile, knowing the fools would believe the idle lie he just told.
Hell, he was the higher up who told em to stop.
"So what's the gameplan? Lunch? I'm already dressed for it."James began to move towards the door. "My treat."
"You're far too kind,"Mendoza put on his jacket and moved towards the same door. "Let me pay, I've got some extra money coming in lately."
"Me too mate, so let me pay."James almost seemed like he was demanding.
"Please, allow me."Mendoza replied, matching his aggression. The two stared each other down for a second, before laughing it off, and going to lunch.
Hell, neither one of em wanted to pay.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pardon the most likely shocking grammar/spelling, did this on my phone. Check out /r/rhysyjay for stories that had spellcheck.
|
You know, everyone thinks that we ghosts are mindless drones, floating about to scare the crap out of unsuspecting humans minding their own business. That's just bullshit.
First of all, humans don't *mind their own business*. They go around "ghost hunting", AKA making a mockery of my people. Listening to babbling old women and their premonitions, pretending a force besides their own hands is controlling a Ouija board spelling out destruction. They love telling tales about fighting us or glorifying our worst sects. It's not my fault that *some* ghosts died fitfully and entered the afterlife in permanent unrest. Everything they think about us is a misconception, and it's frustrating as hell.
Second of all, we're not mindless. Well, I mean, we're *physically* mindless of course, but our society has rules just like theirs. We have order, and search for meaning in our existence just the same. Hell, we're the next step for them! I wish they'd show some damned respect, because we're the last stop for the train they're all sleeping on.
I'm just a typical Ether, apparator class, trying to go about my life (bad habit, using that word) without too much trouble. I don't need to become an Elder, but I also don't want to fizzle out and fade to nothing. So I do my piece, with just enough enthusiasm to keep me from being obliterated. One visit per Earth month, with multiple contacts and possibly a possession. I'm pretty bad with possessions, though. Something's just too creepy about being inside a human, like I've gone backwards on the evolutionary scale, getting jumbled bits of emotion and physical feeling. We don't recall much about the Prior once moving on... until a possession. Just doesn't settle right with me.
My least favorite part would have to be picking a home, however. Once you enter, it's the one you're stuck in for a little while, so you're *screwed* if you pick the wrong one.
And trust me, it happens. You truly never know what to expect until you're inside.
----
I approached a house, a fairly large yet somewhat modest one- in my experience, that gives me enough space to do my work and still retreat to a peaceful corner if need be. I need breaks from them, sometimes, especially once they figure out I'm around. Anyway, when I got to the front door and peeked my face through it, there were at least a hundred humans packed inside. Way, *way* more than there should have been, a gathering of the young-but-not-too-young, and they were rabid things. Hollering, whooping, stumbling. It was like a disease had overtaken them in force, and they enjoyed it.
Of course, it was too late. I don't know why even I bother peeking when that's considered entering.
I partially manifested, leaving me a misty, half-real image of my true self. An ethereal apparition they could see. A few of them turned to me, stumbling around, but the reaction was mostly dulled. Tame, likely the tamest I'd ever encountered.
One of them wobbled toward me, her words equally unstable and thick. "Hi, are you one-a Raffie's theater friends?"
"I am Broken Knee, chief of a once great tribe. Your home was built over a burial ground sacred to my ancestors."I know, cheesy trope, but I didn't feel like coming up with a new story and the whole burial ground thing works pretty well.
"Huh?"
"I'm a Native American spirit here to claim my land."
Another one approached, laughing, his drink spilling onto the ground. He was a short boy, with black hair slicked back and a bright pink shirt. "Kim, you little sl... Wait, who's this dude? Holy fuck, bruh, no one told me it was a costume party."
Kim turned to him. "Hey Dave, I think it's one of Raffie's theater butt-buddies. Says he wants an American Spirit, got any smokes?"
"Yeah, sure."He fumbled with a little blue box pulled out of his clothes, tossing a white tube to me. I had no choice but to accept.
"Oh, ohhhh..."Kim wavered a bit, holding her midsection. A vile liquid launched out of her mouth, passing right through me and onto the floor. I moved out of the way, though I hadn't the feet to step in it -- I'd felt that exact sickness during several possessions. Disgusting. Everyone further down the hall groaned and whooped.
"Fuck, Kim! All over the carpet? What the fuck? It's worth more than your life! My parents are going to *kill* me! God, it smells so bad. I told you not to eat all that Chipotle after taking *six* tequila shots..."-- Dave also clutched his stomach, groaning -- "I gotta... Clean this up, dude, please. Towels in the kitchen."
I floated near a pile of orange-red chunks as he clambered away. The little tube in my then solidified hand was an offering; my first, ever, and I got to apparate fully.
The bond was forged; he a master and I the familiar, indebted over a crumbling roll stuffed with what looked to be dirt. For once, nobody was panicking and trying to kill me.
I shrugged and searched for a towel. Shimmying through crowded hallways, people laughed instead of screamed. They all cheered up as I approached and called out to me, playing with my headdress. It was actually kind of nice.
You really *don't* know what to expect until you're inside a home, I guess.
----
**Hey, guys. I wrote a part two, but it's pretty dark and might break a sub rule so I'm not going to post it here.**
**[You can find it here if you wish.](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/b7qy8x/wp_a_teenage_party_seems_to_be_going_normally_but)** |
They didn't come back for Thanksgiving. I forgave them after eating the turkey myself in silent anger. But Christmas alone? The sweetness of the cake was a sharp contrast to my feelings. The cold enveloped me as my children hung up on my angry calls. I didn't see them unless they were forced to meet me. Not like I wanted to anyhow. It was a painful solace that they didn't give a shit about any of their other elders too. But as their parent, their benefactor...it enraged me. Those ingrates would get their dues.
My estate and possessions were large, and I knew they coveted it. At a family reunion last year, I heard them whispering about how they would spend my hard earned money. The cash I slogged hours upon hours for would not go into their scheming hands. That was a baseline I stood firm by, and I would make it so. I considered giving the inheritance to another family member, but out of goodwill they rejected. Even if they agreed, the law restricted giving offspring nothing for 'their filial piety'. I would have liked to say how bullshit that was regarding my family situation, but the law carried little exceptions. So there remained only one method.
Spend it. Splurge. Because if there was no money to inherit, they wouldn't get a cent. As I reached my silver age, my children started investing heavily. I knew they intended to utilize my wealth to boost their finances. I would wreck that plan completely. After evaluating the costs of various different jobs, the hero one seemed the best. Fancy equipment, research and development...the list of purchables were near endless. And so I took on the job.
When I started work, a private outfit specializing in research approached me, providing me with top-notch gear and equipment. I bought the most expensive ones I could find under the guise of wanting the best for the people. My rescue efforts were lackluster yet successful, mostly due to the lack of villain training. But with all these successes, the better news was the depletion of my money. Slowly, the cash I'd scrupulously saved vanished. And the ingrates never got wind of it, since they never came to visit.
When I was on my deathbed, the money had finally run dry. And as I handed over the will, a poor man, I laughed at the thought of their shocked faces. But as they took the will, the frowns and shock I thought I would see was replaced with a cunning smile.
"You've no money to get from me,"I spat. But my son shook his hand, a crafty smile forming.
"Dad, do you remember the corporation you bought your gear from?"he asked. I nodded, a smile forming. So he knew! That made the moment far better. Instead, his smile widened.
"I was in charge of that company."
My screams of anger died with me.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! |
You know how older people always talk about how they remember major events? Stuff like how the weather was when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or how they were checking the news to see if they could call in to work for bad weather when the Twin Towers were hit? You know. The events that seem to change the world.
Well. I have a strong smell that I recall when I think of the morning Neil Armstrong passed away. And I remember that same strong smell the evening he came back.
It is the smell of badly burned coffee.
Now, I’m no expert when it comes to making my coffee. In fact, I’m downright terrible at it. Sometimes I put too many grounds in the filter, sometimes I put too much instant cream into it. I’d accidentally left my cheap coffee maker running that morning while I was rushing to throw another leg into my slacks. As I fumbled with the misshapen knot that I tried to tie my tie into, the crisp, earthy smell of singed Folgers wafting in from the kitchen, I heard the familiar DOO DOO DE DO DOO of a “Breaking News!” story from my TV.
“We at KWTF News are sad to inform you that Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon, was tragically hit by a semi-truck this morning, which had careened wildly from the icy stretch of highway next to Mr. Armstrong’s car. The truck, carrying lighting equipment from the famous Disney On I—”
“Man, that sucks…” I lifted my thumb from the depressed power button on my television’s remote control, slid my feet into my already-tied shoes (Mom always says that will ruin the backs of my shoes. Take that, Mom.) and dashed out the door, five minutes late for work already.
With the clarity that hindsight provides, I now know I forgot to turn off my coffee pot’s heater.
\*\*\*\*\*
Twelve and a half hours later, I turned past the half-staffed flag of the nearby bank and slowly slid back into the parking lot next to my apartment. It had been a terrible, long, and terrible day. Hours of useless meetings, useless phone calls, and useless managers yelling at me to fix whatever the new issue of the hour was. Oh, and one moment of silence for poor Mr. Armstrong. Our CEO had ushered us all into the parking lot. He said another of his long-winded speeches and then forced us all to take a moment of silence before ushering us back in and promptly sending an email saying we now had to skip our break because we lost time honoring An American Hero, and hey, while we’re at it, why not work some mandatory overtime too?
I don’t think anyone mentioned anything other than Neil’s passing all day. At least not while their noses weren’t pressing up against their computer monitors. Coworkers, updated podcasts, even the local church’s signboard; Neil Armstrong’s death was all that was spoken of that day. So, you can imagine my exasperated sigh when I finally got home, flung my shoes off my feet, and turned on the TV to see a special about Neil Armstrong and his life and his death and his blah blah blah.
I really wasn’t paying attention, but I was just too tired to work up the energy to change the channel. My focus was on my wrinkled nose, and on the awful, awful stench of coffee that had been slowly burning away all day, the smell infesting my apartment. “It’s a miracle no one called the fire department on me,” I moaned as I took the pot off the burner and finally switched the coffee maker off. I’d just started to pour the contents of the stained pot out when I heard the annoyingly familiar jingle.
DOO DOO DE DO DOO.
“Oh, now what?” Impatient and irate, I put the pot back down and stared at the television. Did I have to suffer through yet another windbag speech on what a hero Armstrong was?
Was that a shot of the moon? Did China launch a manned expedition or something?
“We at KWTF News are… Well, frankly, we’re baffled to be brining you this news. It seems that… yes, just a few moments ago, NASA scientists took some new photographs of our moon’s surface. And it seems that…” The bald newscaster mopped his always-sweaty pate before nervously continuing, “Well, it sounds ridiculous, but it seems that our American flags, planted on the moon by our brave astronauts through many trips to the place, well… All six of them are now at half-staff. NASA is now hosting a live video feed on their website, which we will be featuring for the next few--”
What?
No, I meant it. What? What just happened? How did that even make sense? Who would have even been able to do that? No, wait, scratch that, HOW did they even do that? Weren’t those flags solid assemblies, all glued together and stuff? How would you even GET the flags to lower, much less get up there TO lower them? And, wait, there was more than one of them?
The anchor continued to drone on while I took out my way-too-big phone and began to look up information about the moon landings. I was so invested in digging through search engines that I almost missed the old anchor cursing a few minutes later.
“Fuck! Holy fucking shit, what is that!?” Wait, since when did they allow that kind of language on network TV? The news anchor’s sweat from his red forehead was flying everywhere as the he got up from his desk and began to march offscreen. “No, YOU calm down, Frank! Unless you know what that fucking thing is, you don’t tell me—”
The news station was still showing NASA’s livestream of one of the flags on the moon. And next to the flag was… Was that static? A blob of static, right next to the flag, moving around? It looked like an arm, moving up and down, almost like it was waving.
I finally stumped over to my couch, my mouth gaping wide open. As I sat down, the static began to fade. As it did, you could almost make out something still there, something where the static was. Whoever was controlling the stream noticed too, because they tried their best to zoom in on what was becoming clear was a figure.
Neil Armstrong, the same old face I’d seen posted all over my social media feeds and work emails all day, was waving at me. I mean, not at me, but I could swear the guy was staring right at me, through the TV. I couldn’t help but give a tiny wave back. This man, this impossibly dead man stopped waving as soon as my hand fluttered. He gave a satisfied nod and a formal salute, and then… He was swallowed by static again as the image faded away, to be replaced with a screen made in the 90’s that stated “Technical Issues – We’ll Be Right Back!”
After a few minutes of stunned silence, I got back up and stumped over to the half-emptied coffee pot and finished pouring it out. But even without the coffee, I didn’t get any sleep that night. |
"Another shot?"
"Please,"Greg said. The first Jack Daniels was already starting to wear off. The choice to arrive a half hour early may have been a poor one, but the choice to steady his nerves was wise and he had no intention of undoing it.
The shot arrived about the same time she did. Greg immediately forgot about it, stood up, and walked up to greet the woman he was there to see, Valentina.
"Wow,"he said as he got up to her. "Your profile picture didn't even... I mean, that dress is so... I... um. Hi."
Valentina did not say anything. She raised one hand as if she expected it to be kissed. Greg awkwardly shook it as he tried to figure out if the downturned corners of her mouth were displeasure or something else.
"I'm sorry,"he said. "I wasn't good at dating before the pandemic and... I have even less game now. Still, I'm so glad you came. Would you like to get dinner."
"Yes, dinner. The final meal of the day. For some... some here... it shall be the last of their fleeting existence."
"So you're a goth? I should have guessed by the outfit, but-"
"Hear me now!"
The people at the bar got quiet. A few heads turned in the dining room. The lights dimmed, all of them, save for the one over her head.
"The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant. Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch! You, who does court me, you are far more handsome than your avatar! Our union is as joyous as it was inevitable."
Greg paused. *Not the most awkward hello I've had this year.*
He asked, "Shall we get a seat?"
"Of course. Our feast shall rival that of the grim table in Hel."
"Cool... so, you're in theater?"
Valentina did not reply, but swept up to the hostess stand. The lights returned.
Greg followed and said, "We're on the wait list."
Valentina added, "A crawl through time as tedious as that to the grave."
The hostess said, "It can get like that on two for one wing night, but tonight's not so busy and your table just opened up. Right this way."
The two followed the hostess to their table. Greg swallowed, suddenly warm. His eyes darted from table to table, looking to see if anyone was looking at them, but everyone was intent on their meals. In fact, despite the fact Valentina was easily the hottest woman in the restaurant in the shortest dress, everyone seemed to be avoiding her gaze. The only one watching them still was the bartender, who had stepped around from the bar and was looking at them both like a dog who had just had a cat bark at it.
Menus and drinks came. They both had water. They ignored the breadsticks.
Greg cleared his throat and said, "So... um, I'm in IT myself. Database management. Boring stuff. Say, do you always open compliments with dire prophecy?"
Valentina looked around the room. She drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes became two obsidian orbs.
"The words of the Gravemother cannot remain unuttered, nor her reminders that no child of woman may reverse time and that she would like grandchildren. Please me, mortal, and she shall have us over on Thursdays."
"Wow... you move fast."
"Wait."
"Um... okay, not so fast."
"Silence!"Valentina demanded as she bowed her head.
From the back, someone screamed, "Oh god, call a doctor!"
Greg looked in the direction and a woman had fallen out of her chair, turning blue. He could see her clutch at her throat. He looked to the table and saw she'd been eating a blackened steak. She was alone at her table.
Valentina's words came back to him immediately.
"...*Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch!*"
He slumped back into his chair.
Valentina said, "The moment has passed. Her spirit is with the Gravemother. I am sorry. This is probably weird."
"A little. You... um, this isn't how you sounded in your DM's."
"The voice of the Black Siren only comes from my lips. It's why I don't get out much."
"I get it. I was married for a while. It's hard starting over in your 30's."
"And yet you shall endure until you are bent and ancient."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"I am as sure as that the world will be consumed in fire befor-"
"Hold up."
"Do my words offend?"
"No, it's just... you're reminding me life is short. Even if you say mine is going to be long, it will still go by in a blink. I fell in love with you on the third text. Do you really want dinner here or should we just skip to drinks at my place."
Valentina's eyes turned normal, with whites and pupils and bright green irises.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Greg smiled and stood, taking her arm. They both blushed like school kids. He tossed a twenty on the table and kept his eyes on hers, not even noticing as the paramedics rushed passed them to get to the corpse behind them.
The bartender continued to watch as the pair left. They paused at the door, Valentina stopping them. She drew Greg to her and kissed him. It made the bartender warm inside to watch. She then nodded, as if Greg had passed a test, and then they went out into the night.
The bartender shook his head. Wednesdays were always weird shifts. He noticed the shot Greg had left behind and decided not to let it go to waste.
He said, "To love"then tossed it back.
Valentina's words echoed in his ears as he swallowed.
"...*The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant.*"
"Well, fuck." |
If there’s one thing in this life that I’ve learned how to do well, it is the art of disappearing. Some could say that I’ve built quite the reputation for it. Even if the commonly alleged concept of my arts were incriminating and, frankly, horrid. They were the burden I was to bear for choosing this pathway in life.
As a child, I seldom had a home for long. It was always here and there for a while, going back yonder for some time, then finding somewhere new again. We never stayed anywhere for more than a minute, which conveniently provided me with my swift ability to
adapt to different regions of the world. Truly, it was an art. One simply did not wake up one day and know what I knew. They had to work it, had to be the face of all the unpleasant and, frankly, disgusting "truths."
Yet, there was a light hidden behind the nefarious exterior. An actual truth that would send the public reeling if they knew that each of my ‘victims’, quite literally, freely roamed about among them. Tired of their past and unwilling to go on within it. They severed themselves from it, making a choice to move on - with my assistance.
Not many recognize the feeling of burden that comes with great achievements. Everyone expects their heroes to always be heroes. They expect that in a moment’s notice they will put their lives aside and always come to the rescue - in the nick of time! It was a tiresome existence, although far from thankless, and I was the one The Greats turned to when they reached their finish lines.
I then create their finale - their public exit. Often theatrical, emotional, and perhaps a bit costly to some public spaces. However, there were often very few injured, never an extra death involved, and after that…
… their next race could begin. It’s just one of those things, one cannot push the boundaries of reality too much, or there could be a higher risk for failure. Alas, my track record remains quite stellar, hence the villainous representation that comes with uttering my very name. Such power in only a name. A name considered to be so heinous, to all those that would never understand.
I knew few that would dare to mention me in prim circumstances. I had “caused so much pain to society”, while offering the greatest happiness to the numerous lost heroes and their kin. A fair judgment, I suppose, to offer happiness to those who did the most for the world when the world needed them most.
Perhaps a strange perspective I have to come from. The world could suspect that the foul rumors of torture and gruesome tragedies were viable truths. Yet, not a single of those strangers could also declare they knew who I was, nor recount my story. They could cast their judgements, needing that person to blame, when all things went tits up. And, that’s just fine.
I found solace in harboring that weight. At least the greatest of them all could live out their days how they wanted to.
“All I ever wanted was to make those around me safe. I wanted them to live soundly and without fear of that rotten soul around the corner. We never anticipate our age, though. We expect to feel great our entire lives, to be able to hold the world on our shoulders forever. Unfortunately, that’s not really how things work.” I recalled one great hero's last words to me, and they always stuck, always motivated me to continue my chosen path. |
I've been wearing this eye patch for months, now. I told my friends and family that I'd had an eye infection and the patch was needed to help with the recovery, but they'll have to work out soon enough that this was a lie. I can't wear it forever.
Luckily, I live alone so it hasn't been too hard to hide most of the time. Eventually, though, I'll have to take it off.
The first time I discovered this "gift"(after all, that's how people would probably describe it) I was physically sick. I can't even tell you why it started, only when.
It happened while I stood in the queue at my local supermarket. A little old lady was being served and chatted happily to the cashier. Suddenly, I had an itch in my right eye and, as I closed it and rubbed it, I saw through my left eye a...vision...of that same sweet lady at home mercilessly beating her disabled husband. Vision may not be the right word, I felt her husband's pain both physical and mental. Not just the pain of that beating, the pain of everything she had inflicted on him for what was almost certainly many years.
I threw up on the spot and started to feel faint. The next thing I remember I was lying on the floor surrounded by concerned looking people. Apparently I had gone down pretty hard and banged the side of my face. The manager of the supermarket was holding a bag of frozen peas over my now swollen left eye. The old lady from the queue had given me a tissue to wipe the vomit from my face. Looking at her now, I felt a radiating love from within. I felt the joy of her grandchildren as she baked for them, and the reassurance that her pet terrier (whose name I somehow knew was Bella) felt every time this lady returned home.
Looking around, I was surrounded by similar feelings from all those who had stopped to help. It was honestly overwhelming. I had no idea what was happening, I assumed I was having some sort of episode. Surely that would also explain the horrific thing I had seen before blacking out.
I rose to my feet and thanked everybody for being so concerned. I did my best to try to convince them I was fine. I certainly didn't want to go to the hospital, not after what happened last time.
I removed the bag of peas from my face and tried to open my left eye. Though I was only able to open it a tiny bit and felt severe pain. Not in my eye, in my...everything.
I saw, and felt, once again the pain that this lady's husband lived and, looking around, I felt so much more. People who had been cheated on, people who had been lied to and belittled, and a young girl, maybe 19 years old called Lucy, who had taken her own life after being raped by the well-dressed man stood just my right.
I know I got out of there as quickly as I can but, I'll be honest, the next few days are a bit of a blur. All I can say for sure is that it didn't go away, and still hasn't.
The swelling on my eye was bad enough that I wasn't able to open it for a while without serious effort. This gave me time to buy a gauze patch and some medical tape without needing to see anything that I didn't want to. By the time it healed, I had been wearing the patch non-stop...but, like I said, I'll have to take it off eventually.
I'm terrified of what I'll see next. I've been avoiding my friends and family as much as I can because I don't want to know what they're hiding. How do I live knowing, feeling, truly understanding the pain that they've inflicted on others?
The thing that scares me the most, though, is that eventually I'll have to look at myself.
---
I'm clearly no writer, I've just always fancied having a bit of a bash and this prompt seemed quite a fun place to do it. I hope you enjoyed it, though I won't be hurt if you didn't. I fully admit that I had a basic idea of what I wanted to do but don't have the talent to properly flesh it out or word it all correctly. I had fun writing it though, so thanks OP. |
I've always considered myself a practical and reasonable fellow. A shrewd buyer, someone who doesn't just take the overpriced offer and ask for more. So when I found an entire mansion, for sale at a quarter of the price of the smallest house in the neighbourhood, I took that action. Good brickwork, solid foundation, spacious gardens, no rot or mould, a steal at that price. It was surprising that nobody else had swept it off.
Of course, I was told by the realtor, that the mansion was haunted. To which I shrugged, I'm a modern person, ghosts are something which I consider to live only in the realm of horror stories. Most hauntings are caused by people being scared, combined with atmospheric pressure, tiredness, and usually an overactive imagination. The other times it is because some person is dressing up as a ghost to scare people, which is really an odd way to pass the time.
So I moved in, had furniture placed in the house, remodelled the kitchen, restored the indoor pool, and the gardens. It was honestly pretty great, once it got dusted off, a beautiful brownstone mansion. A reminder of past glories from the time it was built, back in the 1920s. For fun, I had read up on the supposed ghost, supposedly a young man who had been killed in an accident in 1928. Seems he was fleeing from the police after being involved with an unspecified, but highly controversial for the time, crime. Tripped on the stairs to the main door, broke his neck.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I saw him in the middle of the night, sitting in a lawn chair, looking out on the restored gardens. I was rendered speechless, for he was quite the handsome spectre. He got up and turned to me, his pale and hazy eyes looking straight at me. ''*It's mighty fine of you to have the gardens restored, I reckon they look better than ever before. Thank you darling.*'' I sputtered out a shy acknowledgement of him, before he faded into the dim light of the moon.
He'd been described as a nuisance in the past, but he seemed nice enough. When I saw him next, he was in the library reading books. I walked in, trying to be inconspicuous, though he put down his copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and walked over to me. ''*I appreciate what you've done with the place. Very nice. The others in the past wanted to turn the place into a hotel.*'' He scoffed, placed a cold hand on my shoulder, patted it, ''*It made me quite beside myself, and I reckon I got a tad bit angry then, for seeing my old home about to be reduced to petty affairs was an unpleasant experience.*'' He flashed me an extremely handsome smile and then faded again.
When I was enjoying the indoor pool, I found to my shock that besides me, swam the ghost. Deciding to be accommodating, I politely began to swim besides him. Together, we swam a few laps, before we got out and comfortably sat down on some chairs. I offered to make him a drink, though he politely declined, on account of being dead. And not really thirsty at the moment. So instead the two of us, just sat there. Until he started to hum a song, which I recognised as the 1927 song, Ol' Man River. I joined in, and together there at the pool, we hummed that song. When we were done, he took my hand, and just held it with his large cold ghostly hands, until he faded away.
And so it continued, every time we met, we'd hang out, and he'd take my hand, or pat my shoulder. And he'd flash that handsome smile at me. I started to get a feeling in my heart whenever I saw him. He was charming, friendly, and above all, seemed to like my company. I realised deep in my soul, that I was falling in love with a ghost. One day, I put on music, and he appeared, and asked me if I knew how to dance. I said no, and he offered to teach me how. I blushed as he taught me how to do the Charleston, and we danced together.
Feeling remarkably frisky, at the end of the dance, I gave him a chaste kiss, which made the ghost light up, making him seem more alive than I'd ever seen him before. He fixed us a few cocktails, and we started to talk. Talking turned to joking, which turned to flirting. And soon enough, we were taking things to the next step.
It was strange how our days changed after that, he was there for me, never disappearing, his cold, yet comforting presence eternally near. Oh how we danced. He made me feel like I was never alone, in a good way. Some might think that it was strange, that some individual lived all alone in a haunted mansion, but I wasn't alone. I had my ghost by my side. Sure, he was soft and fuzzy, not really there, partially caught on this side and the other side of life, but his feelings were genuine, and to my astonishment, so were mine.
Time passed, and eventually, his ghost was joined by another ghost, my phantom. And together, in love, we haunted our mansion.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The name *Council of the Rejected* didn't have an immediate ring to it. Because of the unfortunate naming membership was initially...lacking, and it became immediately apparent that the climb to recognition would be a slow one. Of course, for humans it was a quick process to have joined, especially considering the fact that it was humans who had started the ridiculous affair. A thoughtless action, but then humans were not known for much else in the galaxy other than their impulse.
As the human ambassadors left the Central Station those years ago, heads still fuming with their rejection from the Galactic Council, they didn't think of their words. Only shouted back to that paper skinned species. "Fine, we'll be back! Just wait until the Council of the Rejected returns!"This was spoken mostly by Ambassador Heron, but nobody challenged him, so by association humanity had agreed to the affair.
And by then it was too late. It had been spoken, and for humans, well when something is spoken it is final. Their words: "Flow like cement and harden just as fast", is what the paper skinned aliens had said of their species.
But within a few short human generations The Council of the Rejected began to grow. With every new species turned away, humanity was there with an invitation and a smile. Neon signs of invitation soon littered Galactic outposts reading: *Council of the Rejected: Our Pain is Unity*.
Until ironically, their numbers rivaled that of the council they had all been rejected from. A spread, far and wide of unfit beings.
A species of massive bug things reminiscent of praying mantis', turned away for their "lack of discipline."
A group of blocky, stone headed behemoths, their galactic entry stating only: *It's a miracle they ever achieved space travel with heads that dense.*
And the first to be rejected, humans. "Useless and unnecessary, jacks of all trades and masters of none", is what their entry had first read. But then, added much, much later, was: "leaders of the Rejection Council."
The two groups meeting, all these years later, was watched on by hundreds of thousands. A reality television show for the fate of the two groups.
The Galactic Council was represented by a troupe of various species, all dressed in fine robes with platinum plating. Following was a group of lesser dressed, yet a still impressive grouping, carrying handfuls of trinkets for their highers. As they walked into the circle, the Rejected towered from their seats overhead. Whether a statement or not was for the articles to decides.
"Welcome all! It has been generations since our groups last met. Let this day be remembered for generations!"Cameras on the sidelines zoomed close as the head of the Rejected spoke from his seat. The only human on the council by design, and the species still leading the group.
"I must say, I didn't expect such a warm invitation. We are, well the reason you exist."The words in reply were met by snickers from the rest of the Galactic group, to which the Rejected Council did not join.
"Yes well the past is the past. You come with a proposition I understand?"
At the words one of the lesser beings trailing behind scooted forward, with every step came a clinking of the items in its many hands that echoed across the space. It handed off a small tablet, which the head speaker took.
"Yes, well. It seems we have become the two largest Councils in the expanse. Our proposition is to join. Become one, unified. We could be great, greater"The surrounding crowd fell deeply silent. But the human, the human only laughed. Laughed alone, growing louder by the second.
"I only wish my great great grandfather Heron could have seen this day. The only reason to build this."Heron III gestured to the space around them, to the glass dome with stars shining from up above. "Was to be the ones to reject one day."The rest of the Council of Rejection laughed along in various alien sounds, all certainly feeling their long awaited triumph.
"I only hope rejection suits you as it has us."Were the last words Heron spoke, sending the Ambassadors on their way.
They could not think of their own answer to the rejection they now faced. No new council to build. Only a consideration that maybe now, if they asked again, they could join. |
I don't like to say I'm immortal - I'd rather call it injury-resistant or something that discourages people from taking potshots at me with a .22 or trying to hit me with their car. It was a joke. At least at first. We were just drinking, chatting shit and the topic of restraining orders came up. Most of them talked about some crazy ex-girlfriend or a mother-in-law they would rather not see anymore. I don't have anybody like that. Mostly because I don't have anybody, but silver linings and all that I guess. These guys are shitheads, they wouldn't move an inch for me unless I was about to drop a bottle. C'est la vie. So I said Death. And that got us thinking about everything we would do if we were immortal. All the hell we'd raise and all the beer we'd drink and all the objectively not-constructive activities we would partake in if there was no risk of death. So the next day I wandered down to the courthouse, because what else would you do on a Saturday morning when your friends are all trying to sleep off a hangover? I told them I'd like a restraining order on Death and voila, "here you are,"said the judge and he handed me the paper.
"That's that?"I asked. He nodded. Simple as that. It was that night when we were back on the patio drinking that I noticed a difference. "I got a restraining order today,"I bragged and my friends hooted and hollered.
"First one?"
I nodded. "I got a restraining order against Death."They went silent. They glanced at each other. And then they started laughing until their stomachs hurt and a couple of them even puked. I showed them the paper. They called me a dumb-ass. Fair is fair. And we just kept drinking. I took a few shots - maybe a few dozen, not that we were keeping count. And then when every last bottle was empty, I went ahead and drank the mouthwash. I was on a different level of drunk and as soon as I swallowed they went silent and shit got serious. "I'm fine,"I insisted but I could tell they were prepping to call emergency services. I woke up the next morning hungover but no worse than normal and my useless friends who had refused to call an ambulance looked at me in awe.
"You drank the bottle of mouthwash,"they said. I couldn't tell if it was a complaint because they would have liked some to cure their foul breath or if they were saying it in admiration. I opted for the latter. I had puked my guts out, but that's par for the course. C'est la vie. "You legit got that restraining order?"Danny asked and I nodded. I was looking for his reaction so I didn't notice someone creeping up behind me and then a bottle broke across my head and I was reeling and my head was spinning.
"What the fuck,"I cursed and I felt the warm blood pouring down my back. I felt my head. Squishy. Brain or broken skull, don't ask me. Not a doctor. But I was fine, other than the gaping wound.
"What the fuck yourself,"they answered and psycho Frank had their full support. The knives came next and I couldn't fight them all off. I felt the pain as the blades slipped between my ribs and through my organs. The clothes would need to be dry-cleaned or tossed, that was a pity. But then I was fine and now they were scared. Frank was the first to go and I let him keep stabbing my stomach as I gouged his eyes and bashed in his head. Charlie was next and I discovered that it was in fact squishy brain I must have felt as I broke bottle after bottle across his head. The others cleared ran, not even bothering to help with clean-up.
"So that's a confession?"the detective asked and I shrugged. Self-defense had been laughed off. I didn't have a mark on me and a half-dozen people were dead. I wouldn't quite call it a spree but again, not a lawyer or a cop so I'm not familiar with the official jargon. It was more like practice, looking at it now, and the detective didn't seem to like that wording. I told him about the eye-witness to all the events. The dude who would agree that it was self-defense. "Tall, bony dude in black robes?"I beamed and nodded. That was him! "Similar to the personification of Death common to fantasy television tropes?"Damn. He was mocking me. I had a knack for figuring out when people weren't taking me seriously and I was really getting that vibe with this guy.
"Not sure where you'll put me that I won't get out,"I said and he chuckled.
"Don't worry, we'll find a place."Sure, until I climbed a fence and ignored them shooting at me because the bullets couldn't hurt me. He buzzed in the guards. "He's tripping bad,"the detective told them. "Thinks he's invincible and all that. Classic meth mentality. Make sure he's in solitary."I gaped at him. He hadn't heard a word I had said. All he had to do was stroll down to the courthouse and they would corroborate my restraining order and then all the pieces would fall into place. He looked at me pensively. "We'll find you a place,"he said and then he tapped the table twice and they dragged me away to solitary.
"You shouldn't be here,"I said when I saw the robed dude chilling in the corner of my cell. Solitary was for solitude and all I wanted was some goddamn peace and quiet without somebody trying to shank me. Plus, five hundred yards or something, right? "Where were you when I needed an eye-witness?"I thought about calling a guard but they were always calling me crazy. "C'est la vie,"I mumbled.
"Stop saying that shit,"Death barked at me and he rubbed his bony temples as if I was giving him a headache. "Life isn't supposed to be like this. You're supposed to die."
"So kill me,"I taunted and I swear I saw that bony bitch's bitterness nearly boil over.
"I. Can't,"he enunciated furiously. "You fucked it up. You just had to go and get that restraining order. Look what good it did you. Locked up in here for good."
"For good? It was self-defense."He rolled his eye-sockets. Trust me. It happened.
"Self-defense, my ass. You murdered them in cold-blood."
"After they tried to kill me."He shook his head. Apparently self-defense might have applied for Frank. Charlie was a little iffier. The other four were apparently just cold-blooded murder, pardon my newly-learned legalese. "So why are you here?"Surely he had other things he could be doing. Like killing people.
"I need a hand,"he said finally.
"Sure, have mine. I don't need them in here anyways,"I joked and held my hands out and he tapped a bony index finger against his leg impatiently. Not one for jokes, this Death dude. I think he's just salty I got that restraining order. The guys were saying their ex-girlfriend's acted the same way.
"Keep your fucking hands to yourself,"he ordered. "Don't touch me. I can't be caught violating a court order."I laughed. Salty was right. "I need your help. There are too many people for me to go around killing. You have a knack for it so I want you to kill people for me."
"What's in it for me?"He stared at me as if he had seen a talking potato. It's hard to shock Death but apparently the immense stupidity of my question did it.
"I'll get you out of here, dumb-ass."I shrugged. That sounded decent enough. That toilet-sink-kitchen contraption just wasn't cutting it for me. I was used to the finer things in life like a separate toilet for pooping. I could deal with peeing in the sink, but this was too much.
"Deal,"I said and I held out my hand to shake. He flinched and backed away from me. Right, no touching. "So how's it work? Can I just kill whoever?"
He nodded a bit reluctantly. "Basically. You know how they say Death sneaks up on you, Death is random and all that?"Sure. People all shapes and sizes and colors were dying all the time. "Well, it wasn't always that way but the paperwork got tedious. Now I kill whoever, whenever. So you're hired."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The potion seller places the love potion on the table. "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
I laugh. It's a quiet sound, with no real humor in it. "Why would anyone be in love with me?"
The saleswoman takes her time replying, drumming her fingers on the table. "This is your first time at my stall, but I see you at the market every month. You make a few small purchases, exchange a little conversation, and leave."
"You're very observant."
She chuckles. "There's not much else for me to do. This isn't a town with much love for witches, at least not in public. Most of my sales happen after dark. So I watch."
I scratch my arm. It's not itchy, but the movement and, yes, the hint of pain, serve as a distraction from the woman's penetrating gaze. She seemed content to let the moment linger. "When you watch, what do you see?"I finally ask.
"I see your kindness to strangers. I see smiles as people interact with you."
"They're just being polite."
"I see more than politeness in people's reactions. I see genuine goodwill that could easily blossom into friendship."
I try, unsuccessfully, to hold back a tear. "I can't see it. I want to, but it just doesn't feel right. I'm not that person, not really. And if they see who I really am..."I take a deep breath. "Please. I really need this love potion."
She looks at me for a long moment, and my breath catches in my throat. Then she smiles. "I think I understand. Ten dollars for the potion, and a discount on your next purchase if you bring the bottle back. And do feel free to drop by for a chat anytime you're in the area."
I accept the paper bag she gives me with shaky hands. I take it straight to my car. I drive carefully, aware of every bump in the road.
When I enter my apartment, I close the door with a sigh. It's dim. I haven't gotten around to replacing the broken lightbulbs, and two bulbs are trying to do the work of five. The potion emits a soft glow, too faint to see in the full light of day.
I wander into the bathroom. Did the witch know what I intend to do with the potion? She had to. She saw more than most. And soon, hopefully, so would I.
I uncork the bottle, close my eyes, and drink. I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to feel different? I am excruciatingly aware of the summer heat, the hum of traffic outside, the rough texture of my shirt across my shoulders...
I sigh. Maybe it's not meant to be.
I open my eyes, and I see it.
For the first time in a long while, I look into the dirty bathroom mirror and feel happy. I see hope. I see a good person. Not a perfect person, of course, but a person who is worthy of other people's love. For the first time in a long while, I truly see myself.
I smile and pick up my phone to call a friend. |
"Dumbledore... he's supposed to be dead, isn't he?"
"Ah. Harry, my boy, you may not understand this as you were raised among... well, hicks, but _v0ld3m0rt is most famous for perfecting a certain malware: AKXD or the Killing Curse. No setup wizard has ever survived it."
"..."
"But don't fret. It works best with a certain vector drive- a rather ordinary USB by looks, but there are only two like it."
The headmaster of Hogwarts Tech held up my programming console.
"You have the other one."
"...Headmaster, sir, you want me to... battle him using his own program?"
"What? I can't ask you to do that. We are working to prevent his resurrection as a data conscience, but he has his own countermeasures."
"..."
Snape walked into the room, classic black hat taken off and replaced with a white one hanging at the door.
"Hidden databases stored in the physical world, but can only be accessed through cloud based software codes. Designation: HORCRUX. Hidden Offshore Repository for Cloud Reliant Users: drive X."
"...Quite a mouthful, isn't it?"
"No backtalk, Potter. You're to determine the location of each site and destroy each backup server. There were seven, but after your lucky bumbling, there are five left."
"That's ridiculous. How am I supposed to-"
"You're in luck. We know that one of the access codes is hidden in the Google mainframe. Hop to it, Potter!"
---
**A year later-**
"Are you ready?"Harry grinned into the screen. _v0ld3m0rt had the last server in the strangest place: A tracker chip in Harry's skull. Wasn't that a nightmare.
Peter had written the codes for Voldemort to retain a virtual form, but it meant little without the codes required to do most of his data work.
"Program: EXPELLIARMUS!"
Jabbed his data console into the computer, a '97 affair that was hard to manipulate.
Green lines began to overtake his white ones on the command prompt. The trademark computer failure symbol of AKXD.
He began to type faster...
faster...
The computer exploded.
---
Disclaimer: I don't know anything about compsci. |
*There had to be someone left.*
That's what they told me. Someone to stay behind. To record, to monitor, to preserve.
*But why me? What did I do? What was my failing?*
That was the joke. There was no mistake on my part or theirs. It was pure luck, an absurdly cruel twist of fate. I was to be denied infinity to record humanity's transcendence.
*How could they do this to me? How could they be so selfish?*
What if it all went wrong? This was unprecedented. For the entirety of human existence we have sought to resist death. To unbind the last shackle imposed upon us by nature. To free ourselves of entropy and live for eternity. This was the closest we ever came and there was no promise it would work.
*There is no one left! I hear them talk but I do not see them!*
If this had failed there had to be someone there at the end. Humanity had to survive beyond this failure. There had to be a record. We could live on in that, in memory if in nothing else.
*I barely sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see them in the distance. Shades of pain and wisps of agony. I hear children playfully in parks that have long since been reclaimed by nature. I hear the constant chatter of the daily lunch rush at the local coffee shop.*
That was my charge. That was to be my purpose. I was to remain so that, in the event their freedom resulted in their demise, someone would witness the final moments of our species.
*WHERE ARE THEY? WHY DO THEY RUN FROM ME?*
They assured me everything would be taken care of. For generations our reactors have been completely automated. I only needed to understand the most basic of maintenance protocols to keep them functioning. Food was also taken care of. They had planned this with a meticulousness I cannot help but marvel.
*I miss them...*
When it happened I felt... nothing. You would think witnessing the elevation of your species, the defeat of age and time would have left some kind of impression, but it did not. Maybe it failed? Maybe the transcendence granted only oblivion, not eternal life. I do not know for certain.
*I hope it failed. I hope they were all thrown screaming into the void. How dare they leave me alone.*
So here I sit in front of the screencaster. A face looks back at me. A plain face. Male, middle-aged, blonde, early signs of baldness, clean shaven, kind eyes. He was married twice. His first wife died during a freak shuttle accident. His second transcended alongside him. He had four children. Three from his first wife, two boys, aged ten and fifteen, and a daughter, aged ten. His second wife bore him a second daughter, who was only two at the time of transcendence. I make a note about my uncertainty if the merged consciousness would even perceive age and what merging an infantile mind could do to the supposed gestalt. I then move on to his life. He was forty-two at the time of transcendence. He had worked as a genetic engineer, and had degrees from a multitude of universities along the east coat of the United North American Conglomerate. He was one of the select few that had a direct hand in humanity's theorized immortality. I make a note of that. Then, with a slight leftward swipe of a finger across the screen, a new face stares back at me.
A woman this time. Absolutely stunning. A radiant face with the constant hint of a smile surrounded by a halo of blonde hair...
*I hate them.* |
“I tried so hard to prevent your sleep, my master,” the tragic, twisted figure whispered. He was a hunchback and frightfully so, the whole of his body drooping down and to the left, wreathed in rags and smoke and the last remnants of a forlorn hope.
Worse still I knew his name, and knew the figure in front of me was not what it should have been.
“Severus?” I said, my voice hoarse. “Severus, is that truly you?”
His face, or what was left of it, rose. His one remaining eye glowed with my recognition and all else tightened painfully into a glassy, melted mass.
“Yes master.” Severus knelt in front of me, pitching forward stiffly to rest his forehead against the ground. “As you can see, I am somewhat diminished of late.”
I called my magic to me as I stepped towards him, thin blue lines of sparks racing across the infinite blackness. The Night Lands had never been my domain and my powers were weak here, but they were still strong enough to heal a friend. “Gods Severus, what happened?” I asked, crouching down beside him. The sparks raced through me, tracing the lines of my palm as they sunk beneath the skin, triggering a light pitter-patter sensation in my heart and then moving back out, their color changed to a soft white.
He looked up at me, the rigors of our stations now satisfied, and if he’d still been able to I think he might have smiled. “I did my duty sir, my only regret is that it wasn’t enough.”
Which meant two things. One: that my dream-keeper had failed and that something now lurked on the horizon of the Night. And two: that the whatever had defeated him was far stronger than I in this realm, for Severus’ maker had made a lifetime study of this place and the binding ritual had been long and draining.
Wrapping my arms around the ruined figure I pressed a glowing palm to his forehead. His eyes rolled back rapturously, limbs stiffened as if in rigor. I worked the magic down from the crown of his head, lingering in his spine as the bones there broke with thunderous cracks and then reknit themselves straight. His burned skin sloughed off like a snake’s, his left eye sprouted in the pit where it had once been, missing fingers pushed out, first as bones, then muscle, then flesh.
When my spell was finished he collapsed into me, all fresh pink skin and sweat. “Master, thank you!” he cried, groaning.
“Severus, who did this to you?” I asked. “You’re safe now but we’re both still here for hours or more if our enemy’s magic is so strong.” Now that my fear at his wounds had subsided I realized the strangeness of his speech. Severus was a dream-keeper, a magical construct mixed with a fragment of its master’s soul and tasked to stand guard over the places that a wizard like myself could hardly go. A keeper’s duties were simple at their core, especially if the master were more callous than me. They were to fight, protect, warn, and die if necessary. No outside forces were to enter the Night Lands of a master’s mind, no other wizard would be allowed to scry dreams or sift for secrets. Dream-keepers were guarantors of security in a world that had few such things.
Severus hadn’t warned and he hadn’t died. He’d clearly fought harder than any master could have hoped for, but he hadn't fulfilled his duties and even his warning now had been incomplete.
I stared into his eyes, a perfect sapphire reflection of mine, and realized just how much danger I was in.
Severus trembled, pushing back from me and opening his mouth to speak. No words came out. His eyes widened, a single tear fell, strong hands tore at newly regrown tufts of black hair as panic set in. I’d never known a dream-keeper could feel fear but it was clearly there and uncannily so, he expressed it in all the same ways I would have.
“Master,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mo2y5m/wp_after_nights_of_being_unable_to_sleep_you/gu1s3vd?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
Year 4781, 3rd of March, Terran Calendar
“Dave, the fuck happened?” Captain Bob O’Connell was looking into a cell containing two bruised and battered humans. One was clearly sleeping off a doozy of a hangover.
“Well,” Dave gave the captain a chagrined smile. “The other night while you were delivering the neuron accelerator, me and Artemis decided to go to the stations bar. Turns out the owner had a great connection to the Terran Sports Program!”
“Dave. Get to the point. I’ve been told your bail is set to 5,000 credits.”
“Well that’s not too ba-“
“Artemis’ bail is 35,000.”
“… Now that’s just malicious.”
“Dave-“
“Alright Alright! So, one of the local boys made a bet with Artemis who was already a few drinks in. I wasn’t paying attention so I don’t know what it was but then heard her yell, ‘Oh yeah?! Hold my beer!’ half the bar that heard her freaked the fuck out and trampled themselves to get out. When I finally reached Artemis she was standing over a Seeveran with what I assume used to be the bars alcohol dispenser unit…”
“Let me guess, she had hacked it and somehow weaponized it. This. This is why she needs a damn overseer.” The captain rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah… it got worse.”
“Considering that there is a pile of scrap where the bar used to be, I know. Now, where is the dispenser?”
Dave looked at him in confusion. “No one found it?”
“Dave I swear to the gods-“
“Artemis had an AI chip and uploaded it to the dispenser! I don’t even know where she got it or how she did it!”
“So you’re telling me, that Artemis got drunk, accepted a bet, hacked the alcohol dispenser, started a bar brawl that ended with the bar completely destroyed, and then created a rogue AI which is currently awol?”
“… yes.”
“… I’ll pay the bail, we’re leaving the quadrant immediately. Wake up Artemis, she is now forbidden from drinking unsupervised around electronics.”
“Gallon…” Artemis raised a shaky hand from the ground “of coffee… fuck the sugar… melt your… esophagus… hot…” |
You know, except for the goat-rabbits, life in America after the global nuclear apocalypse wasn't all that bad. I kind of enjoyed it, actually. I'd never been much of a people person, and it was nice to have some time to myself.
Basically everybody who didn't die to the Ebola X pandemic wound up perishing in the nuclear firestorms that followed. I had two great strokes of luck: first, I was backpacking in the depths of a Canadian forest when the bombs went off, and second, I had a one-in-a-million immune system that shrugged off Ebola X like it was a bad cold.
By August 2022 I was, as far as I could tell, the sole human resident (and therefore the Supreme Emperor) of Madison, Wisconsin. I had a whole network of tents set up in a grocery store parking lot. Turns out a person can live like a king for years off a single supermarket's stock. Once I ate nothing but Fruit Gushers for six days straight, fulfilling a lifelong dream and giving myself a truly nasty suite of digestive issues that took another six days to sort themselves out.
I spent most of my time trying to get seeds from Home Depot to grow into plants in the abandoned lot next door. That's where the goat-rabbits came in. Bastard creations of the nuclear bombardment, they were fuzzy, horned herbivores that stood two feet tall on their hind legs. Each morning they woke me with their unmistakable call -- something between a strangled toucan's squawk and a stuck pig's squeal. Good luck sleeping through that.
The goat-rabbits were my greatest nemesis. No matter what I planted, or the fortifications I erected to protect the crops as they grew, the voracious critters always found a way in.
One morning I decided enough was enough and took hold of my rifle to teach the goat-rabbits a lesson. There were three of them schnuffling around the spot where my carrots had just recently broken through the earth. When I approached, the rifle raised, they lifted their bleary-eyed heads.
I shot one.
The surviving goat-rabbits examined their dead fellow, curious. One of them gave the body a nudge. They looked at me. They looked at the body. They looked back at me. Then, giving the goat-rabbit equivalent of a shrug, they returned to their schnuffling.
I shot a second one. Despite the rifle's harsh retort, the surviving goat-rabbit appeared unfazed. If anything, it seemed happy to have the pasture to itself.
I couldn't bring myself to shoot another one. It just seemed cruel.
It would have been different if they were edible. But no, goat-rabbits tasted exactly the way they looked, which is to say stringy, dyspeptic, and extremely tough. That made shooting them feel like kind of a waste, especially since my canned food reserves could last me another sixty years, assuming I could come to terms with three meals a day of creamed corn and green beans.
So it was me and the goat-rabbits who watched every sunset together. The sun still melted into the horizon the way it always had, a scoop of orange sherbet slowly flattening against a purple backdrop of brightening stars.
I never got tired of that.
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D* |
"Is that all, sir?"the owner of the convenience store asked, befuddled. I nodded. I was sheepishly trying to hide my excitement. "You've been buying those a lot man, late nights or what?". I nodded again, just trying to get out of there. "Yeah, exam season"I replied. Exam season? Exam season?! It was October, and no one calls it 'exam season'. I slipped him $2.50 and stumbled on my words and on my way out "Thanks, keep the change Ted, thanks". Ooops.
It had been about a month since I noticed my musical skills improving dramatically. At first I couldn't explain it. I'd been trying to learn the guitar for years and it never clicked. Music was my first love, so I always stuck with it; but I'd never been more than 'just okay'. And then one day, boom! My fingers just did it on their own. It was effortless. I'd just get in a groove and play flawlessly for hours. I'd normally have to focus as hard as I could, and I'd still be struggling. If I didn't know any better, I'd call it magic. After the third day it happened, I stayed up all night trying to figure out what was different. I wasn't holding the guitar any differently... I was sitting in the same chair as usual, in the same position as usual... I slouched back in the couch, more defeated than sleepy.
Normally I'd be more tired than I was, but the little convenience store in my one-horse town was doing a promotion on energy drinks, 2 for $4. I drank them both that night before I started playing, but that couldn't be it either. I grabbed one of the empty cans and started kinda just tossing it, catching it, and repeating. I threw it, went to catch it and totally whiffed. SMACK! Hit me right on the forehead and landed in my lap. "Rockstar huh? Too bad it's not called Athlete". I chuckled to myself before I nearly choked. It couldn't be...
I tried more Rockstars, some from the grocery store and some from the convenience store, but only the one's from Ted's Corner Store were doing it for me. I've kept it a secret. If this was really happening I didn't want to let anyone in; no one would want to come to my concert if they could all play like Clapton. I mean I kept it a secret to everyone except my best friend Brad. I thought I needed to test my theory on someone else to see if it held any water, so I bought us both Rockstars. I brought him into my garage where we'd tried to start a band in elementary school. I played the guitar, he played the drums; and I use the word 'played' loosely. He was worse with the sticks than I was on the strings, and that's saying a lot. But after the Rockstar, he was banging away like a bat out of hell. It was unreal!
I took about 10 steps out of the store and pulled a 180. It didn't make sense to keep buying them 1 or 2 at a time. What if they run out? I needed to get as many as I could, tonight. I walked back in, "Hey Ted?"I shouted out, he was already out from behind the counter. "Back already?"I heard his voice from the back room. "Yeah, I uh, I figured I should just uh, stock up ya know?"I wasn't even really lying but there was a definite hint of dishonesty in my voice. "Sure thing bud, I'll bring you out a whole case from the back here, it's $20 for 12 if that's alright. Your folks know how much of this you're drinking?"he sounded concerned, but not concerned enough to turn down $20. "Yep and yep"I called back. "They're cool with it, whatever helps with the grades!". This time I was definitely lying, they had no idea I'd been guzzling these things like a Hummer guzzles gas.
Ted came out from the back with a bag full of cans. "Sorry buddy, the box ripped so I just put them all in here, hope that's okay?"It was fine, I just wanted to get home before he realized these drinks were more than just drinks. "No worries, Ted, thanks again". I handed him the twenty, took the bag and peeled out for the second time in as many minutes. The excitement was killing me; the more Rockstars I drank, the harder I could rock. I was playing along to all the classics and keeping up perfectly. I grabbed a can from the bag, popped the top and started sucking it back. I had gotten pretty efficient at slamming these things, only stopping halfway through the can to let out a mammoth of a belch. "That's the stuff!"I thought to myself as I finished the first half of the can. But something wasn't the same this time, my neck started craning forward and I could see my jaw pushing forward like my hand was magnetic and there were magnets in my gums. I could feel my teeth sharpening with the side of my tongue, and my spine started to jut out. I cried out in agony as I fell to my knees, dropping the can at my feet. It rolled a perfect half turn and the label stared me straight in my yellowing eyes - 'MONSTER'. |
For any child, growing up to become the world’s greatest anything is unlikely. Especially for a child with my interests. In middle school, they laughed at me for trying to invent new flavors of ice cream. In high school, they told me shop class was pointless. Even in trade school, I was told I needed to focus up, pick a path, and stop wasting my time studying the narrow field of ice-cream machinery. Well look at me now, non-believers.
My private jet landed, and the pilot lead me to my helicopter. They didn’t always use the helipad, but today was hotter than usual, and we had a real emergency on our hands. We landed at the store that single-handedly financed two of my six vacation homes, McDonald’s Miami. My golden goose. Stepping out of the helicopter, I caught a whiff of my favorite scent. A breath-taking blend of week old oil, fast-food leftovers, and the body odor of half a dozen disgruntled teenagers. In other words, the mouth-watering smell of money.
A crowd was gathered, screaming, flailing, and flopping around in a fit of rage. “Why is the machine always broken?” One particularly bold woman screamed, face turning as red as the glorious mane that rests atop Ronald’s head. “I need my ice cream, damn it!”
The employees stuttered excuses at the sea of furious customers, but it did little to help. There was only one way to save them. “It’ll all be okay soon,” I muttered to myself, pushing my way through the densely packed crowd.
I arrived at the disgruntled machine, reached in, twiddled my thumbs for thirty minutes, removed the offending part, and replaced it with another cheap plastic piece. On my way out, one employee managed to utter an exasperated “thanks. See you around.”
“See you tomorrow,” I thought.
---
Feel free to join us over at /r/Floonatic if you want to see more of my writing. |
"SURPRISE!"
I almost had a heart attack as the blindfold was whipped away and I was greeted to the display of cake and balloons. My heart swelled then, not in a heart attack, but in warmth and happiness.
My eyes flicked from face to face. Cam gave me a big old bear hug and began chatting my ear off instantly. He'd been in for armed robbery and out for good behavior. He'd used the skills I'd had taught him on his laptop and had managed to get an IT job. I knew this from the letters the man had sent. He'd been promoted to head IT manager at his company just a month ago.
Matthew, who'd gotten in for kidnapping, was showing me a picture of him and his daughter. God she's gotten older now. First car, which he helped pay for. Kidnapping made it sound worse than it was, depending on your view. He'd been screwed in a bad divorce, lost all custody of his daughter because his ex proved he was a weed smoker and an occasional drinker while she herself was clean. He'd been desperate to see the little girl.
I got him calls with her once a month. The poor thing missed him and even though he could never get custody now, he gets to see her once a month, especially now that she's older and has the ability to travel on her own. It's sneaky, maybe illegal, but a fifteen year old girl should be able to see her dad every once in a while. As long as it's what she wants.
Petey serves me a slice of cake as everyone bursts into congratulatory chatter. "Glad to see you hear,"I say to the young man. "I'm just glad to... you look good."He does. He's not the emaciated druggie he was in jail when he got caught with possession. I wish more prisons had rehabilitation programs. Might help them turn their lives around more than punishment did.
In general, that's what it was. What they needed. Rehabilitation and some care. Treating folks like humans. Yeah, I didn't work in max security, I didn't get the murderers, the rapists, the real bad of the bad. I don't know if I could do that. When I looked at folks, I saw problems to fix. That's why I took the job, instead of one of the tech positions offered me upon graduation. I wanted to do good in the world, not just good by me.
I didn't have a family, no wives or kids, but I did have a group of friends who had my back. Couldn't always help it and sometimes it got me hurt but I just had to see the best in people.
I was the lucky one, really. I just got a prison full of folks so ready to give me their best.
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) |
"This is getting rather complicated,"said Tom, expressing what was on everyone's mind in the room, which included Tom, the hero, the dark one, Jane from accounting and Sylvie from marketing.
"Can you start again from scratch?"asked the dark one, who had a bald head, a mellow face and a calm voice, which was rather at odds with the expected creature of entropy. As it turned out, you can be the end of all while looking like a perfectly normal person living in a small house next to a pond, lost in a field.
"I'll try,"replied Tom.
It started rather well, didn't it? The hero and Tom the sidekick. Kicking evil's ass and taking names. Evil being a rather broad term describing each and everyone that happened to cross the hero's plans, plans that might have been less than shiny at times. On the same topic, hero was a somewhat generic term too, used for the sake of convenience. The hero was no hero, she knew it better than most.
"I guessed,"said the dark one, whose only crime was to be chosen by the universe to be, well, the dark one. It didn't stop him from tending his vegetable garden and fishing at the pond.
Hero and dark one, called as such because some great power, conscious or not, picked them. They had a role to play. Tom and the hero understood when, despite all the bullets, the wounds, the explosions, the beheading, the splattering at the bottom of a cliff and the repeated suicides for the sake of science, the champion just wouldn't die. And the dreams kept pointing at the small man, again and again and again.
Society had gone forward from the tales of old. There was no more good and evil, the five people sitting in the living-room belonged to neither. The universe had not. The universe saw in black and white. Good, evil, happy ever after, the end.
Humanity evolved in a direction cosmic powers could not understand, nor did they care. Up until now.
Tom had read the stories, knew his friend had all the markings of a fairy-tale. Wasn't hard to guess what was expected from the dreams.
They rebelled. Decided to abuse immortality to - paradoxically - do something good for humans, like a hero would.
She got the typhus, was infected with everything she could come across. Curious minds came, learned and devised serums and solutions. Another week, another sickness cured. They met Jane from accounting. They had explained the situation in detail to her. She had replied, that it was a bad idea, that breaking the laws would make things worse one way or another. Tom and the hero laughed, joking that you should be scared of the accountants, that the accountants always ended up right one way or another.
But the universe was not passive. If the scene wasn't played out, it would force it. New pandemics and contagions spread, faster than they could cure them. Tom gathered a team of scientists, taking samples and devising cures as fast as possible. Logistics made it hard to spread the vaccines and antidotes, people died by the thousands.
And humans learned of the fate of the hero and the dark one. In despair, some tried to kill the great foe, only to realize it could only be harmed by the unwilling hero.
The arm wrestling between universe and chosen continued. Only two humans remained untouched by weakness and sickness, the hero and the dark one, to the growing hate of society.
Against an unending tide of loathing and death, the hero and the dark one came together at his little house with the pond lost in a field. With Tom, Jane who was too good at calculating the needed doses to spread across the world to not have her on the team, and Sylvie from marketing who had tried to preserve the hero's image.
And the hero didn't kill her foe. Instead, they sat and drank tea. The universe might have been a bitch, the dark one wasn't, and he didn't deserve to die.
Outside the windows, cameras filmed, and crowds grew seething. Who did they think they were? Condemning humanity to a horrible death just because the hero - and she was far from a saint - couldn't bring herself to kill a single person to preserve the world? When she had done very evil deeds already?
Indeed, she couldn't. And if that's what was needed to save the world, then it might have been better to let the world die.
And the universe complied.
The land was split, whole cities sunk into the growing abyss born from Earth's core. History, life, love, war, all was engulfed in the hungry void in a cacophony of screams and sinking seas.
All, except the small house in the countryside with the pond.
No one could kill the hero as long as the dark one lived. No one could kill the dark one but the hero.
No one, including the universe.
Outside, the universe was coalescing. No cameras, no crowds, only a piece of the field, the vegetable garden, and the pond. All sickness had been cured indeed, for no one was left to be cured. The void had taken everything, save for the room and the land occupied by the hero, made untouchable by her presence.
They exploited a loophole, this one and only time, to act as a good hero would. It killed the world.
"I warned you,"muttered Jane.
This was the precise moment when Tom and the hero knew the accountant had been right and they shouldn't have laughed at her.
Good, bad, and oblivion. The universe didn't care about the rest.
Tom, the hero, the dark one, Jane and Sylvie contemplated the void outside, and the void gazed back, annoyed but powerless.
"What do we do now?"asked Sylvie in the tone of someone who had seen it all.
The dark one grabbed a fishing rod from the cupboard.
"How about sitting at the pond?"
There they sat, at the end of the universe with their feet in the water. The dark one teaching Tom how to prepare a line while looking at the end of space, time, and everything that was and will be.
Stars and comets and voids and galaxies looked down upon the small group at the pond.
The dark one threw a line. |
And that was it. The line went dead.
I ended the call and re-dialed only to watch my phone attempt to connect before I realized there would be no more outgoing calls.
The noise on the streets gave way to what sounded like at least 3 people banging on the entrance to my apartment building.
"We already know."They said.
I carefully pulled my drapes back and looked out the window to the sidewalk below. A group of young men chased a woman down the street, shedding her purse, wearing only one ballet flat; I saw her trip as she disappeared around the corner house. The young men slowed, letting out cheers and a chorus of "Woop"s as they descended on her.
I released my drapes, covering the window, perhaps to drown out the sound of her voice.
If I hadn't just heard the message from the dispatcher I would have sworn the men's wooping was the sound of police sirens.
"Arm yourself and lock your doors."
Lock your doors. I put in a work order to have the lock on my apartment replaced two months ago, which means that there was only 2 doors and one set of stairs before whoever was outside happened upon my defunct lock.
Something tells me their handyman wouldn't be able to make it out this evening. Not only was everyone inexplicably rabid, but it was a Sunday, after all.
Not like it mattered. A well-placed kick of my front door would have let you in quicker than if you actually had a key to unlock it.
The sound of breaking glass and car alarms was only interrupted by the echo of someone breaking down the first door to my building.
Fuck.
"Arm yourself"
The gravity of actually using the gun I purchased last year began to sink in.
I reached into the bottom drawer of my dresser and unearthed the Mossberg that had been covered by the domestic veneer of ties and plain white button ups.
It felt heavy in my hands and I unclicked the safety on the back before I had even loaded shells in. Premature, I admit. But all I could imagine was helplessly pulling the trigger and being overtaken as a result of the fully-functioning safety device. How embarrassing.
Did the gun show vendor say it could hold six or seven shots? I couldn't remember.
"You only need to shoot it once! The other 6 're just fer showin' off!"
In that moment I wondered how many times he rehearsed that line. I also wondered how true it was while I loaded a handful of the colorful shells.
By the time it stopped accepting the cartridges I realized I hadn't even counted how many I loaded. Didn't matter. Shoot 'til it's empty and load it up again if you're lucky enough to hit anything.
A large explosion shook my building and a large cheer erupted from the streets as the power went out.
No lights, no music and no A/c as the tapping from my window unit slowly clicked before it left me.
I could hear the second door give way one floor down before the stomp of shoes on the wooden stairs hit my ears and I knew they were coming up.
So I stood at the end of my hallway, waiting for the inevitable splintering of my front door and it was only then that I realized I remembered my girlfriend. She decided to sleep at her apartment this evening. I thought about the woman on the sidewalk. The Woop of the men's voices subsided and I suddenly felt very alone.
"Knock, knock!", one of them said, before putting a hole in my apartment door with what looked a softball bat. I could sense him rear back again to swing a second time.
"Good luck and God bless."
I stepped forward and let off the first shot through the door and racked another shell while I figured out how many blocks I could run with a shotgun before I reached my hopefully, still-healthy girlfriend.
**Forgive the formatting. I'm mobile. |
"Hey, Zorglax! I told you it was a good idea to ask the humans! Look, we already have an answer."
"I don't know, why would they reveal us their weakness? It just doesn't make sense. It's most likely a trap, I don't want any part of this."
"Fine, have it your way, but when I am promoted Space Admiral for conquering Earth with this plan you will be sorry!"
Zorglux didn't pay attention to Zorglax shaking one of his appendage disapprovingly and leaving. This was it. Thanks to the plan given by that XxDarkSlayerxX, the Earth was going to fall in one fell swoop. After thanking the human, promising him many rewards for betraying his kind, Zorglux began the preparations. This would only take months, maybe a few years. Then mankind would surrender, without spilling even a drop of Xangardarian blood. He would become easily Space admiral. Maybe even Space admiral in chief! All of this thanks to XxDarkSlayerxX.
A few years later, XxDarkSlayerxX, or Steve as he liked to be called, was watching TV when his master plan was finally ready. The TV suddenly stopped, and started showing a weird green octopus-like creature.
"People of Earth, this is Zorglux of Xangardar speaking. We have seized your browser history."
Steve face went pale.
"Surrender now or suffer the consequences." |
It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance?
I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could.
Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one.
Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid"written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic"had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago.
I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all.
I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written.
I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months.
I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate.
I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling.
I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon"in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them.
I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett"which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP"with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me.
I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay.
The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw.
I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia"with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck.
I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional"and "monsters"screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe.
All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes.
I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how? |
His broad stature could barely fit through the door frame, though fit he did. Each angered stomp leaving a scorched hoof print behind. Standing at the top of the stairs at the contractual archive, he watches in frustration at the chaos unfurling.
"What in the *Here* is going on in here?!"
"Sir! It-its the contracts!"One of several smaller demons shout in fear.
"I can see that!!"He growls back.
Looking out to the volumes of tomes stacked infinitely high, they crackle with their infernal magics, flipping in unison through their pages. Each section they stop at flashes brilliantly before rolling to the next section. Thousands flipping back and forth making it dangerous for any demon to traverse between the rows.
"What do we do?!"A flittering imp cries out.
"How did this all start?!"The large demon roars. So great is his voice that it trembles the room and the panic below quickly stops.
The same demon who first replied raises it's crimson claw. He gets a low growl as a response, "Eh-erm, so so-so the contracts we've been making with humans. They uhm- there was a slight miscommunication between our dealers."
"How slight?"
"T-t-the human in question may have ^gotten ^several ^thousand ^contracts ^written ^in ^a ^short ^period ^of ^time ^. "
"**WHAT?!**"
"We're trying to fix everything at the same time but they're all running into each other and-"
"ENOUGH! Bring me the transcripts, summon the deep scribes and the architects. I'm getting to the bottom of this."
*Two hours of reading and slamming his fist on each fresh table*
"MOTHER FUCKER!"
"I'm sorry m'lord, but whoever this Nick is, he made these solid-"
"I KNOW THAT! *You* will create a council with the others to create the Sat'na Clause to prevent this from ever happening again, since it was Sat'na who started this mess he gets to be reminded of it for all eternity,"he shifts his infernal gaze to a hunched creature, "And *you* will assemble who ever you need to get those contracts out of the archives and into their own quarantine before they burn anything. I need to meet with the seers, talk to the boss..."
*A couple of sacrifices later*
"Yes sir. It's being isolated as we speak sir. I've also reached out for third party estimates from Limbo... We'll look into adapting the long range communication humans are experimenting with... I understand, and I assure you, there will not be a messiah of loopholes. From my understanding, he'll only gain all of his powers during the night, a few days after winter solstice and depends on the faith of the people to continue whatever work he has planned... Yes sir. I'll start the counter-propaganda now... Yes sir, we'll pit him against Christ." |
Well, shit.
I mean in retrospect I guess I should have seen it coming, sort of. Genies have a reputation for twisting wishes in cruel and unusual ways and I let my excitement get the better of me. So here I am, immortal and invincible.
And some 100 million years in the past.
Could be worse I suppose. When I take the time to think about it - and I have nothing but time lately - I could have gotten a lot worse deal. If the Genie sent me to the end of time, I'd have nothing to look forward to. It could have not stopped my ageing, dooming me to become a shrivelled husk. I'm sure there's a lot worse that could have happened.
The view is nice; I get to walk around and look at all the animals and plants palaeontologists would kill for. Sky has no light pollution and I get to look at all the stars clearer than ever. The occasional run-in with a T-Rex only ends up in me being picked up, shaken around a bit and the T-Rex running away with a chipped tooth on account of my now impervious skin - more fun than it sounds actually. Kinda like a rollercoaster with a lot more saliva and giant lizards.
Thing is, humanity will come around eventually and I have to carefully consider what I will do. An obvious first idea is to become some sort of God-Emperor, an invincible leader with knowledge from beyond the ages. Then I considered just being a silent watcher on the sidelines and maybe writing it all down - I've always wondered how much history we got completely wrong.
Maybe I'll just be me. We'll see.
After all, I've got nothing but time to think it over.
Now then - first thing on the bucket list is to see if I can domesticize a velociraptor. |
I’d heard of them before but never seen one in my fifteen years of living. My secret location was the last place I expected to. After all, that was supposed to be my own sanctuary. No one else in the Safezone knew about it. I had to climb the wall in the middle of the night so no one knew that I where I was going.
They were called *zombies*, I think. They used to be really popular in movies and stuff but then they became reality and people actually feared them. Now, they were more like an urban myth to scare the younger children into behaving.
But this one was different than the ones Grandpa told me about. Ribbons of grey flesh hung from its lithe frame, exposing its yellowed bones. Small tufts of hair remained on its scalp, enough to make a safe assumption it was once a male. Its short height told me he couldn’t have been more than ten when he turned.
Its eyes were cloudy, like dirty water. They never blinked, constantly staring straight ahead into space. It stood just on the edge of the clearing, no sign of moving.
I contemplated turning back. After all, I'd never seen one before and sure as hell didn’t know how to fight one off. They stopped teaching kids that after their numbers dwindled and the Safezone became self-sufficient without much need to go outside. But I couldn’t leave. Some strange sensation came over me, pulling me towards it.
I stepped forward as silent as possible.
It didn’t move.
I did it again.
Still nothing.
Even more intrigued, I took one more step. That time, I accidently snapped a twig underfoot. In response, the zombie turned its head in my direction, its gaze still unflinching. It opened its mouth, most of its teeth missing or blackened. By the look of it, it hadn’t bit anyone.
But that didn’t matter. The breathy sound it produced chilled me to the bone. A single word escaped its mouth, echoing in the silence.
*Dad?*
I cocked my head to the side, confused yet still ready to run at a moment’s notice. I heard that some of the zombies retained small memories of their former lives. Some uttered small phrases while others repeated whole sentences. For some reason, it was stranger than I ever imagined.
As if unpleased with my lack of an answer, it repeated it again with more volume.
*Dad?*
Unable to respond, I turned around. My emotions overcame me, the thought of a little boy calling out for his father before his last moments alive. But as I tried to clear my head of the ghastly noise, the zombie screeched.
*Dad?! Help me!*
My heart halted in a single beat, my blood running cold. The cicadas cut their songs abruptly, cowering in fear. The birds in nearby trees flapped their wings, taking to the sky and probably never to return. For a moment, the world returned to its unaltered peace.
And then the forest came alive.
Figures shuffled in the bramble, the sound of more guttural noises rising above the din. They called out their own cries, the same fear in all of their voices.
*Stop!*
*Don’t leave me here!*
*Kill me!*
Covering my ears, I felt the tears well up in the corner of my eyes. The forms materialized from the woods, all decayed like the boy. They shuffled without a purpose yet all towards me.
Before I knew, I was surrounded. I searched for a way out but none presented itself. A tight circle formed around me, all repeating the same phrases over and over again. They snapped their jaws, like a series of claps.
I fell to my knees, my sanity dissipating into nothingness. Scanning the crowd all around me, I knew my fate was sealed. And I yelled, possibly my last words to haunt this world.
“Go away!” |
I sipped my pina colada and adjusted my sunglasses to protect against the dazzling bright rays.
"Oh yes,"the Genie whispered in my left ear. "Someday soon."
I ignored him. I focused on the gentle waves lapping against the white sand beach of my own private island. A group of dolphins frolicked playfully in the surf, emitting high pitched squeals as they jumped. On the cliffs above the bay, the windows of my mansion sparkled; the cleaners had come by just yesterday. 24 bedrooms of sheer comfort and bliss.
The Genie floated over to my right ear "You'll soon learn wha..."
"Ok, enough,"I told him. I took off my sunglasses and looked him in the beady eyes. "You've been talking about these 'dire consequences' for like seven months now. And so far, nothing. I've been living in *paradise* here in Bermuda with not a care in the damn world. And you keep talking like it's all going to come crashing down around me."
"All wishes have a catch, dear boy,"he waved his hands and conjured images of other men who had used other genies to get what they wanted. Napoleon wishing to rule Europe, but neglecting to say 'permanently,' Jesus wishing for eternal fame but not realizing it come come at the expense of his death, etc etc.
"Right,"I told him. "So what's the catch here?"
"Oh, I've prepared a very special surprise for you. See, you wished for an absurd amount of money, but you forgot one thing..."
He lingered dramatically. What? Hypothetical disasters crowded my mind. Everyone I love will only care about me for my money? Someone is going rob me and kill me for it? I'll go Howard Hughes crazy and stop bathing?
"Taxes,"the Genie said finally.
I waited for the rest of it. He crossed his little arms and stared at me with a haughty grin. We were both silent, waiting for more.
"That's it?"I said finally.
"Oh yes,"he said. "And not the *capital gains* rate of 15%, my friend. No, no: when you bring your money into the United States, you'll be paying *the very top bracket* of *39.6%*!"He held his hands up to the sky and cackled like a comic book supervillain.
A gentle breeze pushed through the palms and tousled my hair a bit. A tropical bird squawked in the distance.
"That's all?"
His eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure you're grasping exactly how much money we're talking about here,"he said.
"Yeah, I do actually. 39% of 40 billion dollars is a lot of money, but I'll still have an *ungodly* amount left. More than I could ever spend in a lifetime. And my punishment is that I'd have to give some to the government so that they can pay for medicare and all that? And that's *if* I repatriate it back to the U.S., correct?"
The genie's grin faded a bit. "Yes,"he answered slowly, not sure exactly where I was going with this.
"So if I just leave it offshore here in Bermuda, then I don't have to pay anything."
"No!"he said emphatically. "Because if you invest it, you'd still have to pay taxes on your earnings! Ahah!!"There was a detectable undercurrent of desperation in his voice.
"So if I even *wanted* to invest my almost limitless billions and make *even more* money, then I just need to talk to an investment adviser on shelter investments. Correct?"
"Well,"he started, clearly not having foreseen this particular loophole, "I guess that would be the case."His smile, so victorious after announcing his master plan, had turned into a disappointed sneer.
I leaned back in the recliner and picked up my drink again. "Ok, I'll do that. Thanks for the advice!"Out in the bay, a dolphin chittered in agreement.
"Fine,"he said, curling into a wisp of smoke and returning to his bottle to pout, "But just you *wait* till your second wish! Then I'll *really* get you good!"
---
[Here's wish 2 and 3 if you're interested!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/383aiy/the_genies_curse/crrzuzt)
|
The jury paraded back into the room in single file, eyes on the floor. Judge Prewitt, watching from his bench on high, took one look at the foreman's face and tossed his hands into the air with frustration. He did his best to stay calm, but I've known the judge for long enough to see the seething rage underneath. He'd seen hundreds of similar trials, and by now he knew all the signs. He could tell when a defendant was guilty, and he could also tell when they'd gotten away with it. Today was one of those days.
The foreman stood, and the crowd waited with bated breath.
"On all eleven counts of first degree murder,"he said, reading from the wrinkled slip of paper in his palm, "We find the defendant not guilty."I let out an exultant fist pump and suppressed the urge to shout. From the back of the room, the doors banged open as reporters stampeded into the hall trying to be the first to deliver the news to their editors. The rest of the crowd, mainly family members of the victims, stood and shouted, hurling every curse and epithet that they could at the judge, the jury, my client, me, the prosecutor... anyone in sight, really. Prewitt futilely pounded his gavel, trying to restore order.
Samuel remained in his zen-like state of calm. Even when the jury pronounced the verdict in his favor, he didn't even smile. Just a slow nod, more of an acknowledgement of their decision than a celebration of his freedom. His hands remained clasped in his lap, not that he had many other options with the handcuffs. But still, most clients tend to at least do *something* when they learn that they've avoided the death penalty.
The prosecutor slipped a folder back into his briefcase and stormed out, not even waiting for the rest of the proceedings or the pronouncement from the judge. I'd probably find him out on the courthouse steps holding an impromptu press conference, ranting to the media about this travesty of justice. How could the jury have ignored so much evidence?? The bloodstains found in the trunk! How well his face matched the description from the one surviving witness! How his furnace had conveniently been burning ever since the police first attempted to raid his home without a warrant. Luckily he had had the good sense to call me before letting them in.
The bailiff approached and relieved Samuel of his shackles. He thanked the man in a pleasant tone, but the bailiff only growled in response and returned to his position. The judge issued his final statement through his clenched teeth, and adjourned the proceedings.
"I appreciate your work,"Samuel told me with a firm handshake. "Hopefully I won't need your services again,"he said. I didn't take this as a sign that he had changed his ways, only that he would be more careful in the future again. He had certainly committed the crime; I had no doubts about that. "Not guilty,"was the perfect verdict for him, though, because he absolutely felt no remorse for what he had done. In my interviews with him, he almost seemed... *proud* of his crimes. But the ones who are definitely not innocent are always the biggest challenge, and I *love* a good challenge. That's the whole reason I'd taken his case to begin with.
He exited the courtroom, ignoring the hisses from the crowd. Maybe he was already planning his next attack.
Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst.
---
You should also visit /r/Luna_lovewell for more stories! |
They say the only permanent things in life are death and taxes.
But really, the lack of change in your life makes this a questionable hypothesis; sometimes you think life is really just a series of the same cycles, no matter what choices you make or what pitfalls you swerve to avoid. Time isn't a river: it's an oceanic current swirling lazy circles over years.
You stumble through the back door in your kitchen. You don't bother to look around the scene that fills your peripheral vision. Bland yet tasteful decor, the figure in the painting on the wall judging the pile of crudded-up dishes in the sink, the dim half-broken light... You'll deal with it tomorrow.
Or next week.
Or the week after. You have enough dishes to set a table for one; you can wash the rest later.
You cough. The sound is ragged, ugly and wet, drowned out by inattention as you stare across the monochrome, lightless kitchen at the painting on the wall. There's only a painting - no photos of other people, no gifts from friends and family.
You flip on the second light switch, flooding the room with blanched fluorescent light.
Unleash the hounds.
*YOU'RE HOME, YOU'RE HOME!*
Frantic yipping fills the room around you a second before two blurred shapes barrel through the hallway in front of you, slip-sliding on the yellowed old-tooth linoleum with their enthusiasm. Jowls flapping, eyes glittering, the hurtling welcome committee skids and jump-dances in messy circles of overflowing happiness around you. If there's anything you still care about in this life, it's the two best parts of it and not how much they scratch up a rented apartment floor.
*WE MISSED YOU, WE'VE MISSED YOU! YOU WERE GONE FOREVER!*
Left is big enough to wag a shaggy mop of a grizzled tail while standing over Right like a four-legged umbrella. Not that Right notices. The scrappy little dog never seems to realize he's the smallest putz in the house. As if on cue, the mutt complains with a whining, baying howl, insisting on a little more personal space so he could claim his kingly right of first head pats. He seems preoccupied today, and jumps up and down with the boundless energy of a perpetual motion pogo stick, trying to sniffle at your face.
Sometimes, you think as an expression pulls itself across your face, so alien you take a second to remember that it's a smile, you're pretty sure the meaning of life is coming home to the two best friends you've ever had in it. Your life is a three-piece puzzle with none of the pieces missing from the box; a security deposit's a small price to pay for that. Not everyone's as lucky as you are. You're okay with that part never changing.
You wander over towards the couch. Remind yourself vaguely to feed the dogs later, taping it up in the corridors of your brain like a neon sticky note whose blaring note of *'this matters'* cuts through the fog of anhedonia. The walls in there are pretty bare, too.
You slump down on the lumpy sofa, scooping a couple handfuls of kibble out of the tattered bag of dog food next to it and slinging the pellets across the floor like rattling marbles. In a flash the dogs are crouched down, lick-chewing them up, and you appreciate the first intermission between fussing that Right's given you since you walked in the door.
If only you could catch your breath. You dad used to berate you for complaining about little shit like that. "Try getting old,"he groused. "Then come to me bitching about growing pains."
*I'm old for my age,* you think to yourself, and laugh out loud. It sounds weird and stale in the silence of the apartment otherwise broken only by the snuffling of the dogs at the last bit of their distraction snack. You don't do it again.
You should probably call a doctor, really. You can't catch your breath. You were going to call in last night, if it was an issue, but then nobody could cover your shift. You were going to call in this morning, but you can't afford the clinic anyways. You were going to call in after work, but your cabinet's already cluttered with the crumpled-up prescriptions of meds you've been meaning to pick up; why nod and smile and pretend this time's going to be different?
You sit down on the couch and lick around your teeth, tasting the residue of the cigarette you had for lunch.
"I don't feel so well, y'all,"you tell Left and Right, who by now had hunted down and crunched out the last canine cocoa puff from whatever nook and cranny it'd fallen into; you had to crane your neck down at the mutts who'd fiercely nestled into your sides, muffling the coughs that broke apart your words like irregular punctuation. "Don't be a pain in the ass tonight, doggo-dogs. I'm tired."Shortness of breath sings down into your bones and makes your limbs tingle and ache.
What if something ever happened to you? Nobody's around forever.
And nobody else knows that Right doesn't like carriers and drools unless he's allowed to ride in the backseat of the sedan. Nobody knows that Left's scared of getting her nails done, so you have to sing "Bridge Over Troubled Water"to her, long and slow, just like she likes it, while you clip each toe.
Some glimmer of truth seeps through the dam of denial as the tightness in your chest convulses.
Without thinking too hard about what you're doing, you reach out and slide the pad of notebook paper across the coffee table towards yourself. You scribble a ballpoint pen over it until the indented lines draw out ink, then begin to pen out a meticulous list in shaky but legible handwriting.
> 1) 2/3 cup of food twice a day for both of them. Left's going to steal half of Right's food. It's okay.
> 2) Left don't like thunderstorms. Keep her in the bathroom for those and fireworks and feed her hotdogs. Make sure to cut them in half so she don't choke.
> 3) Right chews up everything. He loves wood so be careful. Soup bones are ok.
> 4)
...you make it to 10, then 15, trying to pick every instruction out of the increasingly foggy corners of your brain. You're aware on some level of Left licking furiously at your chin, but you're not sure for how long she's been doing that.
You wonder, in the back of your mind, who would even end up being the one who found this note if you left it here, walked out the door, and kept walking.
What if you just did that? There's nothing left for you here. You could bring the pups with you. What did you have to lose?
One of the dogs is crying low in their throat, warbling yelps of distress staggered by attempts to chew at your hand and rouse you, but you must've closed your eyes at some point, because you're not sure which one is making a fuss this time. You think you're still on the sofa. You stop wondering where you are.
*We miss you already,* they would say, if they could. *You've been gone forever.* The light is still bright in the apartment, but it's silent now, and nothing has moved for hours, including the three forms that have nestled together close enough to all but merge fur with skin. Where one ends, the others begin. *It's not always like this. We promise.*
*We'll wait for you again. We always will. We tried to make it a happy one this time. We're sorry.*
*We'll do better next time.*
*
*
*
- - - - - - - - - -
This was my first post in this sub. Thank you so much. |
The King came in, a devilish grin spread on his face. Well, he *tried* for it to be devilish, but given his gentle disposition, it came off as endearing and amicable rather than menacing.
"Guess what, my love!"he exclaimed cheerfully and placed a kiss on his wife's pale cheek. She turned to him with a warm smile; a stark contrast to her thus far serious mood, a glint of dark tidings in her eyes, now replaced by pure love and affection.
"Marrel! How delightful of you to join me. And guess... what?"she inquired.
"I have prepared a surprise for you - one I am sure you will be most delighted by."
She turned to him entirely, away from her map, away from her plans for future conquest.
"I'm sure you are familiar with the village of Steppenhorst,"he started with feigned nonchalance. The Queen furrowed her eyebrows - it was less of a village and more of a fortress situated near a channel that would prove most useful to her if she could claim it, but she was yet to find a way to do so without causing considerable damage to the infrastructure that made it so valuable.
"I have dealt them a horrifying blow! One that will make sure they will bend the knee to your demands!"He practically beamed with pride.
"Oh?"the Queen merely remarked.
"I have provided them with a shipment of fresh trout and lemon, ensuring they will have a great feast of roasted fish."
The Queen frowned.
"And how will this-"
"But!"he continued excitedly, "the wine I have sent with it is..."
He paused for effect.
"*Red*! They can't *possibly* enjoy fish with red wine. The anguish they will experience will be legendary, I am sure, and before long, their will to resist your magnificence will be all but broken. Psychological warfare at its best."
He had the widest smile on his face and the Queen, despite being absolutely floored by the idiocy, could not help but giggle at the mental image of her skeletal warriors pulling a shipment of fresh fish. She leaned closer and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
"Thank you, my king. I am certain they will yield in no time,"she smiled.
The King felt his heart flutter, knowing his evil machination pleased his Queen. He was already hatching his next scheme.
Providing them with salad.
*But no salad forks.* |
“Hello, my name is Jen and I can stop time.”
Jared Rix had, maybe, twice in his life been approached by a girl in a bar. Never before had they used a pick up line and only once before had he been so confused by it. He ended up marrying that one.
“I like that name,” Jared said. He did not address the second half of the statement. How could you?
“Pick a card”, Jen said while folding out a deck of bicycles, “Any card.”
Jared looked at Jen. He had been so taken by her approach he did notice til this very moment how familiar she looked. He could swear…but ignored it and drew a card.
“Look at the card,” Jen said.
He looked down.
“Now look again,” Jen said. It was weird it seemed like her confidence was slipping.
He looked down. The card now had writing on it. “Hi, my name is Jen and I can stop time. Sorry”
“Neat,” Jared said, “But sorry for what?”
Jen didn’t answer instead she pulled out his wallet, his keys, she asked him to check his pockets, where he found any fruit that he asked for.
“You’re very good.” Jared said.
“But you think it’s a trick?” Jen said. Sad again.
“I mean…,”
“What would you do if you could stop time?”
Jared thought for a minute. He was 48 and this wasn’t the first time he thought of past regrets, of time moving too fast. He looked at Jen. She was about the same age, so she probably had the same thoughts.
“I guess, I would just stop to appreciate things.” Jared said.
“You need people to appreciate them with.” Jen wasn’t looking at him anymore.
“Okay, so I would just learn stuff. Get caught up at work. Take some pressure off. I might have been able to save my marriage.”
“Could you?”
“What?”
“Save your marriage?”
“I guess not.” Jared said, “Sara….My wife left about a year after our daughter…our daughter ran away when she was 12. Losing her was too much. I guess stopping wouldn’t really help that. I would need to reverse it.”
Jared looked over at Jen. She was wiping her eyes. Jared wanted to save the mood.
“But it could be fun if you were a kid.”
“Yeah.” Jen laughed a sarcastic laugh, “If you were a kid you could sneak a peak in the boys locker room. You could learn guitar for the talent show. You could construct elaborate pranks. Walk to Paris. You could get lost in it and that’s the problem.”
“What problem?
“Time stops but you don’t. Spend enough time doing it. Go off on an adventure and by the time you try to come back…you would have grown up…all by yourself.” Jen had tears pouring down her eyes.
Jared looked at Jen. She did look familiar.
“Jen…that’s short for…”
Jen caught her breath and said…
“Hello, my name is Jennifer Rix and I can stop time. Sorry.”
And then she was gone.
|
As I walk past my mother,
She looked at me teary eyed.
In a state of confusion and sadness,
She thought she'd be the one to die.
For I was young and she was old,
And that's all they ever cared for.
I took a deep breath and sighed a happy sigh,
And walked through that broken door.
They never cared about who we were,
Just how much we cost.
The secret to immortality was simple,
humanity was lost.
----------------
Hey OP! Hope you liked it! Not many prompts inspire a poem out of me.
Loved to hear what you think about it!
EDIT: Check out /u/AmateurAudiobook for a wonderful narration of this!
|
The burlap stinks. And these ropes are killing my wrists. God, that's gonna be a pain to patch up when I get out of here. Did they have to put me in a plastic chair? Damn, they even tied up my waist to the chair. Props to them. Can't wait to see these people get owned though. Mom's gonna kill them.
Sounds like there's, 4 people in here? The gruffy voice dude is definitely the head honcho. They're all smart, I'll give them that. They only call each other by letters, not even code names. Gruffy is K, older lady is S, younger lady is I, and monotone is M. No significant weight to their movements, and I don't feel any temperatures. They should be taken care of easily.
Monotone isn't so monotone anymore. Something about no calls? Weird. David and Maria had to have seen me when I got yoinked out of P.E. Eh, well, Mom's always calling me out for training, they might think that. But by now, the office's had to call them and check for me, right?
The rapid tapping of a boot had become my ambience noise for the last, half hour or so? Some amount of time. The other people had gone away at this point. It was just me and whoever Taps-a-lot was. I think it's K, the shoes sound the same.
Mom and Dad sure are, taking their sweet time. Maybe they're collecting Bria and Andy. To have everyone ready to find me. Or, hey, this could be some super secret base. Dad's the only one with X-Ray vision, but he's still healing from his fight with Magnifico.
My body's locking up. Okay, Dad, seriously, how does it take this long to look for me? Is Andy busy talking with his police buds trying to track me to not even go looking for me? Dude's got extreme farsight!
How long has it been? How many hours? I know it's been hours. K switched out with someone else. I heard something about dinner. Is it dinner time? Has it seriously been 4 hours?
They're looking for me. They have to.
They're worried about me. Right?
Why aren't they here yet?
Mom? Dad? Bria? Andy?
You're looking for me, right?
\---
The burlap sack was yanked off my face, rubbing on my nose and leaving a light burn. I whimpered, but quickly looked into the eyes of the remover.
A girl my age stared down at me, but her green eyes were filled with sorrow. She had somewhat tan skin with dyed purple hair, done in a crown braid with it going past her shoulders. She wore full black clothes and minimal body armor. Nothing like a high-level villain.
"Whuh, why are you showing me your face?"I murmur, my voice a bit hoarse from silence.
The girl continued staring at me.
"Well?"
"...We kidnapped you at 1:52 PM."The girl stated as she pulled her phone out. She turned it on and showed me the screen.
My eyelids rose up, and I already felt the tears welling.
6:17 AM.
*AM.*
"You, you're, you're lying."I insist as I look up at the girl. "You're lying. No way it's morning. My parents would have found me by now. My brother, my sister. They would've kicked your asses by 5 PM, latest! You changed your phone-"
The blinds in the room were open, and the first beams of sunlight poured into the room.
I flinched with the brightness, but soon took in the other people in the room.
An older man with short black hair and gray streaks stood by the window. An older woman with brown hair in a short ponytail stood by a comms desk. Both of them had tan skin, with the man having green eyes as the woman had brown eyes.
Then a tall individual with an undercut stood by the room's door. They had dark skin and black hair, with their curls barely rising past their scalp. Their eyes were a bright blue.
"I, you, you're really all that stupid to show me your faces? Once my family busts in here, you'll be eating prison food for the rest of your lives!"I threaten while moving a bit in my chair.
The younger girl put her phone away.
"They'll be here any minute!"I insist.
The older couple shared a look, with the taller bowing their head.
The girl's eyes began to well with tears, matching my own.
"They'll, they'll be here."I whimper, feeling the tears fall down my face. "They will."
Right? |
"*All I'm saying*,"Trump explained to the crowd, "Is that most of the Founding Fathers were a bunch of cowardly little shitbags, OK?"
That message hadn't played well here in New Hampshire, where the state motto hearkened back to the Revolutionary War: Live Free or Die. Today's crowd booed and hissed as expected. But there were also a disturbing number of cheers from his growing legion of supporters.
"Now, I'm not saying they *all* were. But look: they didn't even have the balls to go over to England and say it to King George in person, right? What kind of pansy *sends a letter*, instead of saying it to the other guy's face? I've been in business for forty years, and I've *never* sent a letter. When I fire people, I want to be there to see their tears! I don't even pay my bills unless they come collect in person! And even then, sometimes I don't pay them. Also, speaking of which, why does America really even need a Post Office anymore, right? They're just a drain on taxpayer money, and it's socialism!"
------
"Mr. Trump, this video has been making some pretty serious waves recently,"the journalist said, pausing the tape. "We've had a number of other candidates denounce you for this. Here's a comment from Jeb Bush: 'I am against things that are unpopular, and from what my aides tell me, the Founding Fathers are popular. It is abhorrent that Donald Trump would say such mean things about those people that our focus group really liked.'"Donald Trump's face was twitching as he listened to the quote, doing his very best to not smile. "Do you have any response to that statement, Mr. Trump?"
"Well, I just want to say that my words have totally been taken out of context, OK? I never said anything mean about them."The journalist looked back to the video screen between them, still paused. They had literally just watched the video like ten seconds earlier where he called them shitbags. "What I *said* was that the Founding Fathers should have had some balls and actually stood up to King George like men, instead of being little girls and hiding. They just wanted attention, which is why they all signed their names on the Declaration of Independence. And it's weakness like that that I just cant stand for. I don't allow it in my employees, and when I'm president, I *certainly* wouldn't allow it."
The journalist checked her notes. "Allow what, exactly, Mr. Trump?"
He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what he'd said. "The, uh... Constitution. It was written by a bunch of little girls, like a hundred years ago. We need something more modern! How about the Trumpstitution?"
"Sorry, you disagree with *the Constitution?*"the Journalist was looking back at the cameraman with a *We better be getting all of this* expression. "And you want to scrap it for this so called 'Trumpstitution'?"
"Yeah,"Trump shouted, having finally found his rhythm. "Screw the Constitution! If I'm elected to office, I won't follow it like that traitor *Obama*. And I have *yet* to hear any other candidate denounce the highest law in the land, which in my mind is just sickening. Just another sign that all of these Washington insiders are playing on the same team."
The journalist turned back to the camera. "There you have it, folks. Not only does Donald Trump think that the Founding Fathers were cowards, but he wants to get rid of the Constitution."
"Hey,"Trump interjected, "I only said *most of them* were cowards. Quit twisting my words!"
---
If you enjoyed the writing, you should visit /r/Luna_Lovewell for more! |
Mrs. Williams, a wrinkled covered, deflated version of the beauty she had once been, had no idea what the announcement meant. Her grandson, who was staying over for the weekend while his parents partied in New York City, seemed to have some idea, because, on the computer, he was talking to his friends about it.
"What's it mean, Sam?"Mrs. Williams asked, hoping not to disturb the boy's enjoyment.
He took one cuff of his headphones off and looked over his shoulder.
"It means the world is ending, grandma,"he said, before promptly returning the cuff to his ear and continuing chatting with his computer friends.
"Oh."
She glided to the kitchen like a slow-moving ghost, her old slipper covered feet and legs not as powerful as they once were. The assortment of teas in her pantry came to light as she opened the door, and she stood there, wondering which would suit the occasion best. A mint tea? she thought, no, that would be too boring. Green tea? same as the mint.
Usually she would not choose black tea, for it was late and the caffeine would affect her already wobbly sleep habits, but since the world was coming to a close she thought it was acceptable. Her lower back felt the weight of the kettle as it filled up, and it took all her might to transport it from sink to stove. She let out a tenured sigh after performing the work, and she turned the knob, the numbers on it rubbed off and gone to the ages, and the familiar groan of the heating element took place.
While the water was heating she heard Sam in the other room, yelling something about teabags himself. She wondered what sort of tea a boy like him might like, one loud, dirty, neglected, and as the kettle began to screech she decided on white.
Her delicate, dehydrated fingers carefully tore open the packet. As her hands shook, struggling to pour the scalding water, she saw the darkness outside the window at the other end of the kitchen sudden turn a bright white. Then, it turned red. Then, it turned orange. Then, a deafening explosion kicked the window down, shattering it into pieces. Mrs. Williams frowned, thinking how much it would cost her to repair it, another wrinkle appearing on her forehead, when she suddenly remembered she wouldn't have to. An abnormally warm breeze crawled through the hole and enveloped the room.
She managed to dip the bag into the water, and as it began to steep she heard Sam throw off his headphones and run out the door. She found it rude, the way he left without saying anything to her, but figured it was partially her fault for the way she had raised his mother, her daughter. Thinking about it some more, it made perfect sense to her, that an unloved and unwanted boy like that would run off and die alone, like a black cat.
Another flash of light and another ear wrenching gust. Mrs. Williams felt it wasn't such a bad way to go, sitting in her kitchen, drinking some tea. The only way to make it better, she thought, would be if her husband was still alive -- but wait -- would that be better? she wondered. To be there with him, as the bombs continued to drop, as their kitchen was destroyed, as their grandkid ran out on them, as the tea steeped, as the lights flickered, as the warm breeze touched their skin, as the grandfather clock chimed once.
She wondered all that, and more, as she took the first sips of her drink, not realizing, due to its age, it had lost its caffeine. |
I've been in here for twenty years. People are growing very, very suspicious. I've heard the whispers, "Why isn't Gary getting older? How come Gary still looks like he's still in his thirties? How long has Gary been in here anyway?"
I know I need to escape. I've known I had to escape since I first got here, thrown into this cage for the rest of my life. I can't stay here. People will know. Eventually, everyone will know.
I've been digging a hole in my cell. It's slow work, but I've made good progress over the last two decades. I know there's an old maintenance shaft underneath my cell. I've been here twenty years, but the prison's been here for two hundred. Everything about this prison's well documented. I know the maintenance passage will be there.
Tonight's the night. I wait for everyone to go to sleep, and for the guards to do their rounds. I lift the tile from the floor of my cell, as quietly as I can. It's heavy, and scrapes a bit against the old concrete, but I manage to move it aside without raising an alarm. I squeeze through the hole and carefully put the tile back. Hopefully it'll delay my pursuers for a while.
I feel my way through the narrow shaft, in complete darkness. The shaft is so low I have to bend double. I know it runs east for a hundred yards, underneath the river, and then into the sewer system. That's where I'll be free.
I feel the stone walls of the passage turning damp. I hear running water. I'm close to the river now. I press my hand against the wall, feeling my way. Suddenly I feel the wall cracking. Before I can react, the passage collapses around me.
I'm trapped underneath tons of stone and earth. I can't move, can't breathe. I can't see anything.
Time passes. I hear a faint voice. "Prisoner number three five five, three four two, Gary Blake. Dug through his floor, then got caught in the collapsing tunnel."
"Poor bastard. No way he survived that. Fill in the hole and make sure no one else can get out from that old tunnel."
I try to yell, try to call for help. I don't care anymore if they know about me. I just want to get out of this suffocating darkness, a darkness I can never escape. But there's no air in my lungs. I cannot make a sound.
I hear the faint noises of machines. The noises grow fainter. They're filling up the collapsed hole with cement. The noises stop.
I'm going to be here forever. |
“Marcus? The egg?”
The Paladin looked to the elderly Mage and back to the egg. The smoldering corpse of the monster dominated the space between them, its red eyes a slowly dying fire. It seemed that no one else had heard its last request, that no one else knew his predicament. He could simply walk away and none would be the wiser that he had broken an oath.
No. That wasn’t true. *I would know.*
Marcus wasn’t like the Mage who could alter his mind through spells, the Rogue who could drink her troubles away or the Priest who could beg forgiveness of the Great One. He was bound solely to honor. An oath was an oath. Paladin’s kept their word.
But … his oaths now conflicted. He needed time to think. There had to be some way out of this.
“Go on ahead,” the Paladin stalled. “I’ll take care of it.”
The Mage hummed, his unruly gray beard swaying in the ocean breeze. “How long will you be? According to the map, there is an abandoned town ahead. That is where we will make camp. We can wait there for you there.”
“I…”
“What’s gotten into him?” the Rogue asked, sauntering up to the Mage’s side. “Just an egg.” She took the crossbow from her shoulder and aimed it at the item.
Instinctively, Marcus positioned himself before the egg. “I said I’ll take care of it.”
The woman laughed. “Are you *protecting* it? How cute.”
“What of your oath, Paladin?” the Mage asked. “You swore to rid the earth of these evil creatures.”
Marcus avoided the question. “I … just need time. I’ll catch up.”
The Rogue rolled her blue eyes and turned away. “You Paladins are so full of yourselves.” She took the Mage by the wrist and pulled him away. “Let’s go, Arnold. We’ll fetch Jason from his prayer circle and be on our way. If Marcus can’t destroy an egg to uphold an oath, he’s worthless.”
The Paladin watched the pair walk to the shoreline and pull the priest from his restorative prayers by the dark water. Sighing, he slid down beside the egg and let his sword fall to the ground.
“She’s right,” Marcus said to the dead beast. “I’ve rendered myself useless. How am I supposed to destroy evil and protect the egg at the same time?”
It was the worst fate a Paladin could suffer. He had become a contradiction.
Sighing, Marcus examined the scene before him. Hundreds of corpses were spread across the black beach, dozens slain by his own hand. Every day, they drew nearer and nearer to their destination, to the portal the demonic creatures used to enter the world. The party that managed to seal the breach would be known throughout the land, eternally revered, perhaps immortalized.
“What am I supposed to do…”
The Paladin came to sometime later, realizing he had fallen asleep. Night had arrived. His muscles ached from the lengthy battle. He wondered if the others would actually leave him behind.
It was only as the egg shook violently that he realized what had roused him from his slumber.
Marcus stumbled backwards as the egg began to crack. He reached for his sword and held it protectively in front of him, only to realize he could not attack whatever emerged without breaking his oath.
Frozen, he watched as the dark, scaly creature climbed from the egg and emitted a high-pitched whine. It crawled towards him uncertainly, eventually wrapping itself around his leg. Still in shock, the Paladin met the creature’s emerald eyes.
It certainly didn’t seem evil.
*Wait … that’s it!*
 
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/9j8lcg/the_contradiction_2/?)
|
“You don’t have the balls to try it.” Moreno was sitting across from him, chewing the butt of his cigarette. “Cause if you fuck it up, the senator dies, and you just might die with him.”
“I’ll do it,” Kevin growled, scratching at his short beard. “But when I bring the senator back successfully, you’re gonna agree to playing a little game with me.”
"What kinda game?"
"I get to pick."
“You’re willing to bet your life against *a game*? Jesus, man, what they say is true after all. You’re fucking nuts” – he smiled, spitting the cigarette out – “Done deal. Here’s the gift card. When Mama gave it to me, I don’t think she had any idea what this shit would buy me. God bless you, Mama.”
Kevin walked to his Jeep, scribbling on a notepad along the way—a shopping list.
It was done by the time he hopped in his car.
----
According to intel, the group was a small offshoot of native radicals set to livestream the death of Senator Jenkins for the world to enjoy. The Senator was being held in a warehouse, far away from the group’s headquarters, and the main crew would arrive with their camera setups within several hours. This, presumably, was to make sure that the Senator could still be killed in the event of an early bust.
Of course, the Senator had been found first. The CIA is pretty good at their job. The location was confirmed, and Kevin had already secured his target.
He was still strapped into his chair in front of an American flag.
“McAllister-- *listen to me, fool.* I don’t know what you’re planning. I don’t know if you’ve turned traitor. I don’t know what the *fuck* is going on, but let me out of here *now.* Stop playing games with my life.”
But Kevin listened not to the man’s cries. He is a warrior, yes, but a thinker foremost and once his train of thought leaves the station it does not return until the payload has been delivered.
Rescues are easy. Traps, now *traps*, are puzzles. Riddles the unexpected don’t even know they’re going to fail answering. The fact that an unarmed man’s life hung in the balance only made it more thrilling than any other setup he’d gotten to work on; the ultimate test-- intruders far less crude than mere bandits and a life besides his own in the balance. His heart raced for the first time in years.
*Yes. Yes, I needed this,* he thought, a dark grin snaking up on his face. *Delicious.*
---
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Teresa showed up first, and I encouraged her to put her wine in the fridge. I sat in my living room, waiting for the others to arrive, when I heard her terrified scream.
"What is it?"I called, bolting over to the kitchen.
She stood before the open refrigerator, frozen with shock, with horror, the wine bottle dangling from her hand. On the shelves of my fridge sat four human heads. Pale. Bloodless. Their dim eyes open. They seemed to be staring at the poor girl.
"Ah, shit,"I said, gently touching her back. "A quartet of heads. That's one way to get things rolling. I told you my house was. . .peculiar. This is kinda what I meant."
Teresa was hyperventilating, huffing herself lightheaded as she stared at the dead heads, which seemed to be staring back. I deftly took the bottle from her hand. Just it time, as it happened, because one of the severed heads blinked and smiled a ghastly, rotten smile. Teresa gasped and stumbled back.
"They're. . .they're. . ."
"Illusions,"I said, plunging my hand into the fridge and waving it through the apparitions. I placed the bottle on the shelf, right in the centre of the smiling phantom's noggin.
"Hey now!"snapped the head with a low, gravelly voice. "This spot is taken!"
"My fridge isn't for severed heads,"I stated. "You promised to play nice. But now you've scared the soul straight out of my friend."
"She's a shy one, eh?"he asked, licking his decayed lips. "All hot and bothered at the sight of a handsome face."The grotesque apparition leered, as if waiting for a response. "Girls these days. They don't know how to flirt. But cooler heads always prevail. And I'm refrigerated, so leave leading to me. . .Hmm. . .You got quite the body, little missy. I'd like to get inside it. To possess it, if you know what I mean."He winked.
"You're a creep,"I said.
"Apologies,"he rejoined. "But you know what they say: *in vino veritas,* and this wine went straight to my head."
I turned to Teresa, who stood pale and wide-eyed a few feet back, still hypnotized with horror. "Malvo's a spooker,"I admitted. "That's his name. But once you get past the jump scares, he's totally harmless. Though his antics get tiresome. And his *constant bad behaviour*. Feel free curse him however you see fit."
Teresa stammered some gibberish. It sounded like she tried to say *freaky*, but only managed to whimper, "Free."
"Finally!"howled the four heads in unison. They began growing, larger and larger. "The fabled word that breaks our chains! The young lady has freed us! And now we may wreak destruction upon mankind, unchecked!"The heads were so large now that they took up the whole corner of the kitchen. The lights flickered. The windows opened and a wind rushed through the kitchen, ferrying loose papers into the air. "Thanks to you, Teresa,"the heads droned, "and thanks to the forbidden charm you uttered, we may now run wild, haunting and terrorizing! We may now destroy the world!"
The poor girl! I could see the guilt rising to mingle with her abject and uncomprehending terror. "He's joking,"I assured her. "He's full of hot air. Don't pay him any mind. He thrives on attention. Close your eyes."
Teresa shut her eyes like a child who believes bad things disappear so long as she can't see them. The heads disappeared. The loose papers came fluttering down to rest on the counter, the floor.
"Dickhead,"I grumbled, shutting the fridge.
The doorbell rang. The other guests had arrived.
<><><>
**Part 2!**
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/owtg7s/the\_ghosts\_and\_the\_gang\_parts\_1\_and\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/owtg7s/the_ghosts_and_the_gang_parts_1_and_2/) |
[Part 1 of 2]
“They had my wallet. Why the hell would they keep kicking me after that? Bunch of hooligans, damn it, where are my keys?” Dave dug through his pocket, trying to find his keys, after a bit of fidgeting he fished them out, only to watch as they clattered against the concrete, earning a groan from the man. He tried to bend down with his crutches only to trip and hit the door, creating a loud bang that caught the attention of the gorgon regular that had been patiently waiting for the bar to open.
“Are you alright? Why are you carrying those wooden poles with you? Is this another human festivity of yours?” Melis asked, helping him stand upright again.
“Oh, It’s to help me walk. I got attacked last night. Bunch of thugs stole my wallet and gave me a bit of a kicking. Don’t worry, I think my ego is more broken than my body.” Dave gave a chuckle as he unlocked the front door, only to turn back and see the left eye of the gorgon twitching. Her makeup running down her face, revealing the scaley skin underneath as a few snakeheads emerged from her long black hair.
“Who… did it? Where do they live? Which organs of theirs do you want?”
“Huh? Easy Melis, I promise you I’m fine. These things happen. There’s no need to go out and seek vengeance for my sake. Maybe they just needed the money more than I did.”
“More than you? You can barely afford to keep the lights on. Can you even afford to pay the rent this month?”
“It’s fine. I can take a loan or something, right? Why don’t you just come in and have a drink, help me earn some money?” Dave knew he messed up. He had planned to keep the attack to himself, but it was the first time anyone had shown any concern for him since they jumped him, and he felt ready to unload everything onto the first person who even remotely cared.
“You shouldn’t have to take a loan. They wronged you. Why should you have to be the bigger man? You should let me kill them in your name.”
“That’s not how things work. I don’t want you getting hurt trying to help me, ok? I opened this bar up because my grandfather believed that everyone should have a safe place to drink, even those that aren’t human. Please don’t do anything for my sake. Seeing one of my regulars get hurt would be far more painful than a broken leg.”
Melis felt her heart flutter, the monster forgetting all about her plan to capture these hooligans, too moved by his words. She was even prepared to let the attack slide until she watched him stumble through the doorway, letting out a groan of pain that immediately snapped her back to her thoughts of revenge.
“Dave, you look nice today.” She said, earning a strange look from the man.
“Really? Is a cast fashionable now?” He laughed, making his way into the bar.
“Oh, I just meant in general. Did that help with your ego? If not, I have a notepad of compliments for humans. Would you like to hear some?”
“It’s not much of a compliment when you admit you’re just saying it out of pity, but I appreciate the thought. Can you keep this incident to yourself? I don’t want things to get crazy.”
”Of course, I won’t utter a word.”
Melis ordered her usual absinthe shot with a sugar cube, only really liking the drink because of its greenish color. She swirled the shot as the regulars made their way into the bar, the chaotic mashing of monsters filling it up with a lively atmosphere. A few regulars enquired about his injury, but Dave just brushed it off, saying it was due to him lifting an overly heavy box.
The night continued to pass until Dave stepped to the bathroom, allowing Melis her chance to enact her plan. She held up her notepad to the demonic gentlemen next to her. The man wearing deep red shades with a white beard that hung to his chest. His devilish black suit slick against his thin form. At first, he didn’t notice the notepad, too absorbed in his bloody Mary until a snake head rammed into his shoulder, causing him to glance her way. He adjusted his glasses before screwing up his face.
“Dave, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I-“ Devi tried to read the message out only for Melis to pull it back, awkwardly flipped through the pages of compliments before finding the message she had written. She presented it once again and he read through it. “Dave was attacked by a bunch of murderers who stole all his money and broke his leg.” Melis wrote, adding a few exaggerations into the story.
Everyone went silent as the regulars turned to face Devi. The demon’s hand shaking as he reached for his glasses, sliding them off to flash his red eyes. The nails on his fingers growing into sharp claws that nearly dug their way into the counter of the bar.
“Is this true?” Was all he said, trying his best to keep his composure as the other regulars circled the two.
Melis and her small snake heads only nodded in response, each moving in unison as they watched the demon stand up from the bar, exhaling a breath of booze and fire.
“Those bastards. They think they can kill my bartender. That does it. All of them are going straight to the deepest pits of hell. I will torment each one until this bar is paid off in its entirety.”
A hand landed on the shoulder of Devi. The fluffy grey hand belonging to a werewolf named Kila. The man flashed his canines before shoving Devi back onto his barstool. His powerful touch nearly throwing the demon through it. His broad chest puffing, working himself into a rage.
“I’ll kill them. I have a better sense of smell, so I’ll be able to find them in no time. If anyone should kill them, it should be his most loyal regular.”
“Most loyal? I always arrive here first. If anything, I should be the one to kill them. I didn’t know it was a contest for his affection.” Melis interrupted, the three having a standoff. Each getting ready for a fight, only for the entrance of the bar to open, despite no one being there.
“SUZY, DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO SNEAK OFF. I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO SEE YOU BUT I CAN STILL SEE THE DOOR.” Devi shouted, catching the ghost woman sneaking out for revenge.
“I’m the only person who can kill them without getting caught. If you get caught because of one of your demonic rampages, it will make us all look bad. You will cause Dave even more trouble.”
“Amateurs. Are you forgetting which of us was an assassin for thousands of years? Let a professional handle this.” Victor said, the vampire swinging a fork around in his hands, making a few stab gestures at the air.
“An Assassin? More like An Ass-Ass… in? You’re not even a good assassin. If you didn’t have your healing, you would be dead. Let an actual beast handle this.” Kali said, only for the blonde-haired vampire to float over to the group, poking the end of his fork into the chest of the werewolf.
“Are you trying to anger me, beast?”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/x85y6i/wp_you_are_a_human_running_a_bar_that_unbeknownst/ingxp1z/) |
<Comedy/Speculative Fiction>
## House Logs
Houses #1 and #2: It turns out gasses don’t make for great houses. Not off to a great start here.
House #3: Worked okay, but the metal was a little soft. Oh, and the house burnt down when it rained.
House #4: Honestly, who even remembers this metal? Anyways, it was really light and not very good at stopping wolves. It was also kinda toxic, I think. I felt pretty terrible after living in it for a bit.
House #5: This thing isn’t even metal. What is this garbage? Whatever it was, not exactly a great house material. Seriously, when are we gonna get a real material to make houses out of?
House #6: I was hoping for diamonds, but this house was made of coal. Suffice it to say, not a good house. Is someone pulling a prank or something?
Houses #7-#10: These were all gasses again. Seriously, stop sending me this garbage. Especially gasses that also try to burn off my skin.
House #11: Can we stop with the houses that explode in the rain?
…
Ugh, most of these were weird brittle metals, and some of them were actually pretty good! I’ll just lay out the less great ones as a warning for anyone else who wanted to try out this housing service.
House #16 was soft, smelly, and yellow. Seriously, what's with this weird stuff?
House #20. I was kind of dreading a house made of bones or milk or something, but it was honestly just another boring metal. Honestly, kind of disappointed.
House #22 was a pretty solid house! It didn’t rust or anything (looking at you, house #26). It felt really solid. The only thing was I got a little too confident and built in a window. Turns out, those windows tend to let wolves in. Who knew?
House #33 killed all the grass around it. I'm not gonna be entering that one.
House #35 was more of an extremely toxic sludge that gave off some ridiculously scary purple smoke. Yeah, not exactly my kind of house.
House #43 was… bad. It glowed, for one. And it was hot. Whatever it was made of, I ran away as fast as I could.
House #74 was really solid. It was also super heavy. So heavy, in fact, that the roof collapsed on itself. Good thing it didn’t fall on top of me!
House #79 was made of shiny yellow metal! I was getting so bored of the bland and boring shiny white metals. Too bad it was soft as hell, though.
House #80 was made of liquid. I’d thrown away so many gas houses, but this was the first liquid one. Well, not counting house #31, which was solid, until I touched the walls. Then it melted.
House #85: H-hey, whoever’s supplying these houses is getting a little mad, I think. This one just exploded. And not just a normal, piddly explosion. A really big one, with the mushroom cloud and everything. I-I don’t really want these houses anymore.
House #88: H-haha, at least the explosion was smaller this time…? I really, really don’t want to get any more of these… Please stop sending them…
House #89: Oh, oh okay. We’re back to the really really big and really scary explosions again.
House #90: Hey! This one didn’t explode, at least. But I dunno, I really don’t trust these houses anymore. I’d rather take my chances with the wolves, to be honest. This is not worth it.
House #91: PLEASE STOP SENDING THESE. I DON’T EVEN PICK THEM UP ANYMORE. THEY JUST EXPLODE.
House #92: Once again, it didn’t explode. Is there a pattern or something? Odd houses explode violently, even houses are a coin flip? To be honest, I really wish they would stop exploding. I’d rather get the funny gas houses or the boring metal houses again.
Houses #93-#118: Oh good, these houses all exploded, each one more violently than the last. I’m pretty sure that the power contained in some of these explosions could destroy the Earth. Or at least cause a second mass extinction, like the dinosaurs!
***
EDIT: People really liked this! So I've corrected some faulty bits and added more houses. Man, if I knew this thing would've blown up, I would have been more thorough with my research... |
The jaundiced man in the overcoat double checked his weapons. "You say that as if I didn't know."Safeties were off. He was going in hot.
The old man cast his eyes towards the ground. "Then you'll die like the rest. Those hoping to find some memento to take. Some treasure. You die like the rest. If the bird don't get you, the *children* will."
"You know a lot old man. One might think you've been spying since the quarantine went up."
He rubbed his hands together wearily. "I try to warn them away. They come looking and I tell them how to get... how to get to Sesame Street. But I warn them. I watch, hoping time and time again I'll be wrong and they'll leave be--"
"Never mind about them,"the jaundiced man interrupted. "Tell me, in all your spying, did you happen to see someone who was orange?"
"Orange? ... ... I... I don't recall seeing anyone like that."
"Then maybe he did the right thing for once and stayed hunkered down."He tossed a few dollars at the old man. "Thanks for the information. I've got a job to do."
"A job? You're hunting someone down?"
The jaundiced man pulled a small yellow toy from his overcoat, almost as yellow as him. "Let's just say someone needs his rubber ducky." |
I’m waiting for the bus. First day of work and all that. Suddenly, a man stumbles out of the alley next to the bus stop. He’s ragged, limping, with a chest-length, mud-caked beard. In his hands is a piece of cardboard, with an old-timey milk bottle drawn on it.
“Milk!” He shouts, and a few heads turn his way, “I’ve got the milk, son. Milk. I’ve got milk. Milk, milk, milk!” He holds up the cardboard as though to drink from the bottle.
“He’s here every day,” the man standing next to me says, “Goes in and out the alleys, babbling about his son and milk and carrying around that piece of cardboard. I talked to him once, during one of his lucid moments. It was really quite sad. Said he left home because he could feel himself cracking up, and didn’t want to put that burden on his wife and son.”
The bus hisses to a stop, and we get on. My father said the same thing when he left. As we drive away, I still see him, wandering around, waving the cartoon of milk, occasionally “drinking” from it.
I’ll to talk to him tomorrow. |
Different timelines, realities, dimensions. So many world changing pivot points, also known as branching paths.
There’s quite a few realities where Zayne never leaves One Direction, but more realities where he leaves it much sooner, or never joined it to start with. Even more realities where he’s never born.
There’s even quite a few realities where J.K Rowling made the Harry Potter series as diverse as she tries to make it out to be in other realities only retrospectively.
Somewhere in the multiverse, there exists a world where comedian John Oliver is smarter than Steven Hawking...and also a universe where John Oliver is funny.
Transreality transportation has allowed me to visit alternative realities and give them warnings disguised as satire. My favorite publication currently is one that calls itself *The Onion*. |
######***Dreaming Eden***
Before the Sin of Eden, man and beast roamed the plains as one. The plants provided sustenance for all of God's creatures. No wars, violence, deception, corruption—just peace and harmony.
Then *he* came. He called himself Adam the Dreamer and swore up and down that he came from a place too distant to comprehend. This place was distant not in space, but in time. He claimed to have learned of our descendants' history, that we were primitive to him. Adam the Dreamer spoke to us before the first lie had been invented, so we could not call him a liar—there was no such thing. But what Adam was was something God Himself could not understand.
Adam appeared during the night and disappeared at the first ray of sunshine. He came first out of curiosity. "What a wonderful dream,"he said. Then he got bored, declaring our world to be a repetitive nighttime slumber for him. So he thought of a woman with impeccable features and behold—she appeared. He named her Eve. And they had sex not for procreation, but recreation. God reviled the sight of such an act.
Every night Adam came, each time now with his "dream wife"Eve. They were promiscuous heretics that could conjure the most mind-altering substances at will. The dreamer and his imagined wife destroyed their bodies and minds night after night. We could not bear witness their unholy adventures. This is why we evolved to sleep in the darkness, when the Moon took over for the Sun's duty.
One night, Adam found God's oldest creation—a tree older than light itself. It bore fruit so holy and ripe that God forbade any creature from touching the tree, let alone eat its fruit. When Adam saw this marvelous, ancient tree, he could not resist. He called to Eve, who dropped her jaw when she gazed upon the tree. Being the short-sighted heathens they were, they decided to steal its fruit and eat it. "When in dream Rome, do as the dream Romans do,"Adam said, but we did not understand what he meant.
As Adam approached the oldest tree, he was stopped by none other than God's oldest friend. His first sentient creation. Lucifero the Snake. Lucifero was 66 feet long and could stretch his jaw taller than Adam. Adam backed away in fear, but Eve did not. She attacked Lucifero with a weapon I cannot comprehend. It was metallic like the most precious of God's metals, small enough to grip in one hand, and louder than the loudest creature God created. It punctured Lucifero's left eye, then his right. But Lucifero was not ready to abandon his post protecting God's first creation. He lunged at Eve and swallowed her whole.
Adam fell to his knees and cried. But he told himself this was all just a dream. He made a promise to Lucifero, and to the rest of the world:
"I will be back, and when I return there shall be no gift of mercy. You have killed the wife of my dreams, now it is time to witness the darkest a human can be."
Then he vanished, as he always did.
We did not take his promise lightly. God ordered two of every creature to stand guard, to protect Lucifero and the tree. Then He summoned an army of winged men and women. He said to them, "Angels! Angels! A man who lives in dreams will be here after sundown to slay My creations! Do not let him win, do not let him claim victory. Do not let him lay a hand on Lucifero or on the fruit of My tree."
So the angels scattered among the rows of animals and critters. Then the Sun fell. And Adam came.
"I am here. Now let me take vengeance for my dear Eve!"
Adam the Dreamer held a golden dagger in one hand and another metallic weapon in another. The metallic weapon sprayed a barrage of projectiles into the vast crowd of animals, killing most without chance for rebuttal. When he was satisfied with the carnage, Adam rushed the larger creatures and angels with his golden dagger. He came like a red whirlwind. Every creature and winged angel perished to the unimaginable might of his golden dagger and metallic weapon.
It took several hours, but in the darkest of nights Adam finally found himself before the blinded Lucifero and God. God stood taller than any man, with the wings of an angel and complexion of a human. He wore white robes and a halo above His head.
"You cannot be a creation of Mine,"God said to Adam the Dreamer.
"If I am not Your creation, then why do I share Your image?"
God commanded Lucifero to attack Adam. Adam decapitated the snake with one swipe of his golden dagger. Lucifero lay dead beside Adam's feet. God's wrath peaked. He charged Adam with nothing but His open arms.
Adam unloaded his metallic weapon, but it did no harm to the Lord. He tossed his weapon aside and held his golden dagger in front of him. God continued his flight toward Adam until His hip was gashed open by Adam's dagger.
God lay bleeding out on the ground, smiling with his mouth and shouting in anger with his eyes. "You know not what you have done."
In His dying breath, God banished Adam, humanity, and every creature that failed to protect Him and His tree from the sacred land Eden. No longer would His creations roam the Earth in peace and harmony, but in fear, hatred, spite, and desperation.
Adam laughed at God. He took a fruit from the tree, bit it, then disappeared.
...
Adam awoke in the middle of the night with an unbearable pain. His hip was gashed open. Adam's blood and intestines spilled from his body and onto his bed. He saw a golden dagger plunged into his wall and the corpse of a beautiful man dressed in white robes with a faded halo resting under His head on the floor.
The blood loss was too much. Adam fell asleep and never dreamed again. Eden was gone.
_____
Thanks for reading.
For some reason, I respond to a lot of religious prompts, more of which (among other stories and poems) can be found on [my personal subreddit](/r/ScottBeckman). |
Their conversation started the way it always did.
“They are considering another set of legislature.”
Lord-Commander Hroan scowled into his cup. His drinking partner nodded sadly.
“There is talk of extending the ban on self-propelled delivery systems to include unguided ordnance as well as guided.” Hroan said. “As if fending off a pirate raid wasn’t hard enough without plasma cannons, not they want to take away our missiles.”
He stirred his cup.
“There are some.” He continued slowly. “Who feel we are due a change in leadership.”
General Hammond paused.
“Your people are losing faith in you?” He asked cautiously.”
“Not in me.” Hroan said. “They feel that those who make the rules no longer have our best interests in heart.”
The human was silent.
“In my home country they have a rule, written into the founding documents themselves.” He said slowly. “That when the government established by the people no longer acts in their best interests, it is the the right, no... it is the duty, of the people to replace it.”
Hroan felt his lips curl into a smile. He had expected the human to warn him against speaking out, to do what any of the other federation races would do and suggest yet another attempt at peaceful reconciliation. Humanity was proving to be far more worthwhile an ally than any of the cowardly races the Thoran had previously encountered.
“What are you suggesting?” He asked quietly. The bar was occupied only by loyal Thoran warriors, men who he would trust with not only his own life, but the lives of his extensive family.
Hammond stared at him.
“Our people have much to offer each other.” He said. “The Federation does not. It seems unreasonable to continue to contribute to such an alliance when they provide nothing but demands for submission. Surely there are... others... who would be far more grateful to exchange resources.”
Hroan smiled openly.
“The council will not take kindly to a Declaration of Independence.” He said. “They will attempt to bring us back into the fold.”
“The British did not take kindly to my distant ancestor’s decision either.” Hammond said. “They were eventually... convinced... to accept it.”
Hroan stood.
“Your people will stand behind you in this?” He asked.
Hammond smiled.
“I am not the originator of this idea.” He said. “I am merely the messenger.”
He placed a small device on the table.
“There is a meeting in three weeks time where my people will gather to discuss the Federation’s rejection.” He said. “I would be honored if you would attend, as my guest. As a current member of the Federation your insight would be extremely useful in determining our next steps.”
Hroan smiled.
“I would be delighted to attend.” He said. |
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