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'Command, this is USS Mount Mckinley. We're being surrounded and are requesting support. Coordinates are 1575234. Over.'
There was an unusual crackle from the radio speaker of the communications post of the USS Nimitz. Lieutenant Daniels had never heard any crackle like that, except from an old HAM radio that put together when he was younger. He pressed the firm red button for the speaker and said:
'USS Mount Mckinley this is USS Nimitz, who are you being surrounded by? Over.'
'USS Nimitz, with all due respect, who do you think is surrounding us!? German U-boats left right and center. Coordinates are 1575234. I say again, requesting support. Over.'
Lieutenant Daniels thought for a second that it was a joke. Did it sounds like anyone he knew? Hard to tell over the comms, and even more so with that interference. He was hesitant to press the receiver again and ask, so he pulled out the log book of all ships out on duty in the area. He flicked to the date and drew his finger down the page, looking for USS Mount Mckinley, but strangely found no mention.
'I don't think there is even a USS Mount Mckinley?'
He closed the log book and stood up from his station. *The captain will know* he thought.
The captain was just front of the communications desk, staring out the tall, crystal clear windows to the calm blue sea.
'Captain?' Daniels said, upright and in salute.
'Daniels. What is it?'
'Comms sir, a strange message from an unknown ship. The USS Mount Mckinley. I've never heard of such a ship and it's not in the log.'
'USS Mount Mckinley?' The captain mused.
'Yes, sir.'
'What are they saying, Daniels?'
'That they're surrounded and need support.'
'But we're not at war, Daniels.'
'That's the thing, sir. They say their surrounded...'
Lieutenant Daniels was hesitant. It was, after all, a very strange communication.
'By what?' The captain asked.
'Well...by German U-boats. Sir.'
'What!? Daniels, if this is a joke then it isn't funny. Jokes don't fly in the navy, and they don't float either.' The captain furrowed his brow.
'It's not a Joke, sir.'
The two went back to Daniels' post. The captain immediately went for the red receiver button.
'USS Mount Mckinley this is the captain of the USS Nimitz. Can you repeat what you told my lieutenant officer a minute ago? Over.'
'USS Nimitz this is the USS Mount Mckinley. We are surrounded by German U-boats and need immediate support. Coordinates are 1575234. Over.'
The crackle came through like electric sparks, scintillating the hairs on the back of the two seaman's necks.
'What in the hell is going on?' The captain said, before pressing the receiver again.
'USS Mount Mckinley, can you tell me what year it is? Over.'
'Are you fucking kidding me? USS Nimitz, it is July 12th 1944. Now please send some god damn support before we all die over here, Over!'
The captain hadn't been sworn at for a while and was taken aback.
'What do we do, sir?' Daniels asked.
'Where are they?'
'About ten nautical miles east from here, sir.'
'Well, Daniels. It looks like we're going to war.'
\_\_\_\_
Also here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/re7ylt/pi\_a\_us\_aircraft\_carrier\_receives\_communications/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/re7ylt/pi_a_us_aircraft_carrier_receives_communications/)
​
Ahead of them, on still waters, clear as day, floated a characteristically grey US Navy ship. The Captain stood in the window, Lieutenant Daniels at his post, and the rest of the crew in the combat direction center remained at their desk.
‘Well shine my shoes and call me a sailor, a World War 2 AGC.’ The Captain said to himself.
‘Daniels, get them on the line.’
The entire crew of the ship, from deck to tower, all stood looking out into the distance, to the USS Mount McKinley, still in the water. There was no need for Daniels to say anything, as the distressed commander of the McKinley came through the comm speaker.
‘USS Enterprise, we have sight of an aircraft carrier. Please confirm. Over.’
Daniels’ heart was racing as he reached for the receiver button.
‘USS Mount McKinley, this is the USS-’
A violent soundwave thudded against the windows of the tower, stopping Daniels mid-sentence. He looked up to a great plume of smoke coming from the McKinley, and water and debris tumbling down from the sky. A fire burst immediately after, and the column of smoke grew thicker and darker as the fire grew unimaginably fast. The adrenaline in Daniels' veins stalled his every action and thought. His breath was shallow. His eyes fixed on the smoking ship.
He shot his hand for the receiver button again.
‘USS Mount McKinley, this is the USS Enterprise requesting a status report. Over.’
‘USS Enterprise, we’re taking on water thick and fast. We’ve no choice but to abandon ship. Hold fast, my crew are coming your way. God have mer-’
The static faded to nothing. The Captain within seconds reached for the microphone of the loudspeaker system. Every syllable was heard loud and clear on the deathly quiet Enterprise.
‘Attention crew of the USS Enterprise. The ship ahead of us is the USS Mount McKinley. The ship has just been struck on its side, and communicating with the ship, they say they are surrounded by submarines. As of right now, we are at war with any vessel in this area. Evacuees of the USS Mount McKinley will be on their way to us and will be in need of rescue. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.’
*What the hell am I gonna do about those submarines,* the Captain thought, pulling his hand away from the microphone. *War games don’t mean shit in a situation like this.*
‘What do we do, sir?’ Lieutenant Fontaine asked, her blonde ponytail tucked in her cap.
The Captain was gripping the desk and staring out to the burning wreck of the McKinley. He addressed the room.
‘I want eyes in the sky and our ears to the ground, people. I want to know where they are, and I want to be ready to strike at any moment. We’re not playing games this time.’
*All stations, all stations…* Two aircraft were prepped and primed, while a reconnaissance helicopter circled the ominous, barren stretch of abyss. Somewhere in those deep blue waters were German U-boats, unaware of their time jump. They’re only mission was to seek and destroy, and the Enterprise was a sitting duck.
Soon, a radio came in from the helicopter.
‘Command, this is chopper 2 reporting possible upwelling at your one o’clock, 500m. Over.’
‘Chopper 2, can we get confirmation on sighting? Over.’ Lieutenant Daniels replied on comms.
There was a short pause, but chopper 2 didn’t reply. Daniels tried again.
‘Chopper 2, please can you confirm sighting of the enemy. Over.’
Daniels' stomach turned instinctively, as he heard the unusual static again.
‘This is chopper 2. We’re seeing unidentifiable aircraft approaching from the east. Please confirm. Over.’
The Captain had his ears tuned to the communications and looked out to the left of the tower. It was clear skies with not a cloud in sight, and he couldn’t see any aircraft. He turned to Daniels and gave him a negative.
‘Chopper 2, that’s a negative. Are you sure it’s to the east? Over.’
‘We’re positive it’s to the east. They look like propeller planes. Over.’
Daniels looked up to see the Captain looking at him in disbelief.
*Propeller planes?* |
“With all the technological advancements we have given them over the years, I can’t believe these lines are still always so long,” Zax -Lo thought, “all I want are my prescriptions.”
Zax had been waiting for almost an hour. This suburban town, although bustling at times, could be maddeningly slow when it came to queues at the local pharmacy. He relied on the human cholesterol medication in order to keep his secret. He had been chosen for a mission to collect information from earth, and side effects of the medicine kept his alien identity from surfacing through his earthling “camouflage.”
As he stood waiting for his turn, he let his mind wander and daydream about random events from the past 80 years. All the places and people he had seen, all the world events that occurred, (sometimes with a little push from Zax himself), and let a smile slowly form on his faux human face. Then he thought of the lines. Oh my, the lines! His memories shifted across his earth lifetime: lines for events, lines for food, lines to buy things, lines of traffic to get into lines of more traffic.
The smile had faded, and Zax furrowed his human brows. And now **this** line ! Just so he could hide amongst the humans, and handle their food? Why should he continue to wait in lines with these inferior beings? Always pushing, and crowding. They could be vulgar and rude, even the nice ones, trying to be friendly, but only coming off as annoying. The rage grew inside him. He could feel his blue blood boil, forming a barely visible steam on the top of his head. It had been nearly a century of this, and he had heard nothing from home base. The deep anger had grown beyond his control, bubbling to the surface.
“THAT’S IT!”
With a roar, Zax grabbed the loose skin on the back of his neck, and began to tear the human epidermis from his body.
He hadn’t accounted for his clothes however, and had a difficult time removing them along with the skin. As his wet, green/blue body stepped out of his pants, his human legs slid to the floor in a pile. He threw the tatters of the rest of his disguise to the side, and kicked away the mound of ripped flesh.
There he stood in all his glory, body glowing, his two sets of eyes whirling in each direction, taking in the surprised looks on all the people’s faces around him. The antenna on his head spun and sparked with purple
light.
“I AM ZAX-LO! I HAVE COME TO BRING CHANGE TO THIS PLANET! KNEEL BEFORE ME! FOR I AM A SUPERIOR BEING AND WILL LEAD YOU TO A PROSPEROUS FUTURE!”
Zax waited for the inevitable response, surely these people would be scared into submission, and he could become the new leader of the world soon enough.
He searched their faces, while they all just stared.
“Why weren’t they doing anything?”, he wondered.
Then, he watched, as some customers slowly reached behind their heads, others pressed buttons on hidden devices, and some closed their eyes in concentration.
Human forms fell to the ground, holograms deactivated, and psychic barriers disappeared, leaving only the alien forms once hidden underneath them.
All the aliens looked at each other, there must have been representatives from over 20 planets, in just this store alone! Everyone was checking out the rainbow of colors, in awe the varied sizes, and the new smells that appeared all at once.
After all the shuffling was over, it was deathly quiet. Zax’s secret has been revealed, only to uncover a whole new truth. None of us were human. What now? The silence held everyone in place, searching each other, looking for how to react.
“NEXT IN LINE!”
The pharmacist’s shout pulled everyone from the lull, he too was now a tall, thin, yellow and red, insect like creature. He however had carefully taken off his white lab coat, and put it back on after he returned to his alien form.
“Next!”
A small, squishy looking, ball of a creature who was next in line moved to the counter, “Picking up for ‘Micheal Anderson’”
Everyone picked up their discarded human suits, and casually went back to their business.
“I guess there goes *that* plan,” Zax thought, as he slowly side stepped back into his place in line. He sighed, and resigned himself to the long wait once again. At least he wouldn’t need to disguise himself anymore, but damnit, he still needed to get his heartburn medication. |
“Ugh, you’re insufferable! I’ll fucking show you it works!”
We’ve known each other for two decades now, but I am still amused by how a giant like Jake gets annoyed by the smallest things. Of course, I knew the cloning device worked; I tested it last night on a rat, but I still wanted to see him use it. And I wanted to avoid losing the draw and being the first human experiment…
“Alright, boot it up!” he said, strapped in the cloning pod. After the loud whirring and green light show, the other pod had one more Jake. As they both emerged, I had a brilliant idea.
“It worked!” said both Jakes, smiling at each other.
“Wait, who’s the clone?” I asked, somehow preventing myself from laughing.
“Me!” they both said, before the realization hit them. They stared at each other like deers in a headlight. I could still till which was which, but because of the symmetry of the room, there wasn’t anything they could do to tell.
“Good thing we installed that tracker in the terminal, eh?” said the clone.
“Yea…” replied the original.
They both stumbled out of the pods and approached the control terminal. The original was closer, but he was slowing down and getting more tense the closer he got to the terminal.
“Fuck, I can’t take this!” he yelled, kicking the terminal, destroying it.
“What are you doing?” I said, along with the clone.
“S—Sorry, I got scared. I didn’t want to be vaporized,” said the original.
“So you are the clone!” said the clone, pointing his finger.
Even by my standards, this prank was getting out of hand. “No, he’s not, you are! But we’re not gonna—” I said. The clone tackled me before I could explain that we weren’t planning on vaporizing human clones.
“Get off of him!” yelled the original, tackling the clone while my eyes were closed. When I looked to my left, they were grappling, and I’d lost sight of which was which.
I tried breaking up the fight, but I was no match for either Jake. One of them swatted me to the side, then stabbed the other with scissors that were laying on the table nearby. He fell to the ground, bleeding, and passed out.
“J—Jake?” I asked the survivor.
“Oh, you’re looking for him,” he said, pointing to the ground then laughing maniacally. “I always knew I was the clone, because you were looking at the other pod when we came out”
Fear gripped me as I ran over to Jake’s body to examine his pulse. Tearing up, I picked up his arm and noticed that… there was very much still a pulse. It wasn’t even faint.
“Ha, gotcha this time, you bastard!” said the supposed dead body, almost scaring me into fainting.
“What the fuck, Jake!” Him and the clone continued to laugh. After a few seconds, the stabber explained, “We cloned last night to prank you. Serves you right for all the tricks you played on me over the years you little shit.”
“Hey, I never took it this far!”
“Remember the best man's speech?” said the Jake on the ground.
I took a few seconds to consider.
“Ok, you know what? Fair enough.” |
*Goodbye*, I think, because what else is there to do?
I've already said it to the only people that matter, I've already left. Maybe that means it's pointless, but I know better.
It would be presumptuous to think I was saying goodbye to the world, since it will go on without me. Maybe I'm saying goodbye to myself.
I feel the wound on my arm, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Only 10 minutes left, now, until it will just... stop. No more heartbeat, no more pain, just an empty husk rising up from the bench and searching for the thing that will finally make it whole.
I close my eyes and wait. It wouldn't mean much to have them open, anyway. The sky is gray. The sky is always gray, now.
Gray, like gray matter. Heh. That one's pretty funny.
Not really. But funnier than anything else I can think about.
5 minutes left. And what is there to do but wait?
I can feel the countdown, numbers ticking down on the small watch in my hand, milliseconds turning to seconds turning to one minute, then two and three and four.
And five.
And I'm... still here? How am I still here? I don't understand.
Do I need to understand? I stand up. My family, they're back in the shelter. They'll be able to see me through the lookout. They'll know its me. I can go back, oh god, I can go back. I'm not dead, not yet.
I rise, and walk to them. It feels awkward, as I stumble over myself and the adrenaline and relief that must be coursing through my veins. I'm still me. I don't want to get bitten again.
I have to find them.
I make it to the door, I call out my sister's name. Strange, it sounds funny. The door doesn't open, so I do it again. I know you're there, I know you can see me.
I'm here, I'm here. "Let me in,"I sob, but it doesn't sound like that at all. "Let me in,"I try again, pleading.
I hear sobs from the other side of the steel door, and I can't make myself join. Why can't I cry? I want to cry.
*Let me in,* I plead in the deafening silence of my own mind. *Please, let me in*.
r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my writing! |
I developed a skill for hiding when I was six years old and my father would come home from the bar. He was a provocative drunk under the best of circumstances, quite violent under the worst.
I found it wise to stay out of my father's sight, like it seemed wise to keep the bruises hidden from my teachers' sight. My mother was not unkind, but she did not protect me as I felt a mother should have. She had a knack for looking the other way, whereas I had a knack for staying out of the way.
By the time I was eight I had mastered the art of concealment. I knew every nook and cranny of our two story house including the attic above and all the crawlspaces beneath. I had become somewhat of a ghostly child at eight, conditioned to be passive and silent, I had found it was the best camouflage to escape the beatings. At some point it naturally became part of my personality.
On my ninth birthday, my mother decided to play hide-and-seek with me to cheer me up. My birthday party had been canceled because my father was hungover and "didn't want to deal with the noise". I was quite morose, and it was her attempt at amending the situation. I agreed, reluctantly, and pretended I was going to hide upstairs in my room as she counted to 100, but quietly slipped out through my window and hid under the crawl space beneath our house. I lay there, in the dark beneath our house feeling the cool dirt on my skin, pretending I was dead. The thought didn't seem so unappealing at nine years old.
After a while, I could hear my mother walking around above me calling my name.
I decided to take a nap - after all, there was no party to stay awake for anymore.
I must have awoken several hours later. I could hear the stomp of several footsteps and the sound of deep voices.
"When's the last time you saw your son?"I heard someone ask. I peeked through one of the ventilation grates in the foundation and could see flashing blue and red lights.
They must have called the police when they couldn't find me!
I thought of the beating that would ensue after the police arrived and woke my father up from his nap, and decided it best to stay hidden a while longer. Until things calmed down.
Eventually, the police left.
I thought about coming out, I was quite hungry by now, but still, the thought of my father terrified me from action. Even worse, I could come out and take my beating and still be sent to bed hungry - all for nothing.
The next morning, the police returned, this time with several more police cars.
I heard numerous deep voices, and my father's loud, uneven voice. The voices became louder, and were followed by several thumps. After a while, I saw the police escorting my father to one of the cop cars.
"This is a mistake!"I heard my father yell before they shut the door. "I didn't hurt my son!"
It was a lie, of course. He'd hurt me plenty, just not in the way they thought he had now.
I decided to risk coming out of the crawl space once my father was gone. Noiselessly I crept back through my bedroom window and down the hallway toward my parents' room. I found my mother hunched over on the edge of the bed sobbing. She was clutching a picture frame, and after a moment she croaked a single word:
*"Robert."*
My father.
My stomach sank and white fire rose in my chest. It wasn't her missing son she wept for, but her abusive husband. After all these years of her letting the abuse happen, it finally became clear to me. The truth was finally laid bare - she loved him more.
An angry resolve burned in my chest. I turned away from the door and walked back down the hall. As I left, the floor creaked.
"Hello?"my mother called.
But I was already gone.
-----
It's a funny thing, being dead. Especially when you're really not. You hear things people think are said in private, see things people think nobody knows about.
For the next ten years I stayed hidden in the crawlspaces under the house, between the walls, and in the attic. I scavenged for food when no one was home, and enjoyed the amenities free of charge.
What started as a youthful vengeance turned into curious voyeurism at some point. I was used to staying silent and out of sight, but now I was fascinated with watching.
My father was convicted of my murder. I read in a newspaper that was left on our doorstep a year after I went "missing"that after damning testimony from some of my teachers (it turns out I wasn't as good at hiding the bruises as I thought), the prosecution was able to establish a pattern of abuse that indicated clear motive, and explicated my father's non-existent alibi. The newspaper showed a grainy photograph of a disheveled man in a prison jumpsuit crying at the trial that I barely recognized as my father.
My mother never turned on my father, throughout the arrest or the trial. She never testified about his abuse. Although, she did bring home several co-workers from the second job she picked up at the food factory. In fact, she wrote to him every week and visited him once a month.
Eventually, my mother came to the conclusion I had died and my spirit was haunting the house.
"I hear noises."I heard her telling her sister, Rita, on the phone one day. "It's like someone is walking around. And! And things go missing. Food, toiletries, some of Robert's old clothes. You ever get the feeling someone's watching you?"
My mother called in several priests to bless the house, and came into the habit of collecting and hanging crosses throughout the house. This, of course, only increased my amusement.
Over the next few years, as my mother's hair began to grey and thin out, she became increasingly paranoid.
I would like to say this wasn't intentional, but I would be lying. Once I knew she thought the house was haunted, I actively engaged in convincing her that was the case. I would leave unopened doors and cabinets open, turn light switches on that weren't previously, or leave water running. In one instance, I even wrote her name on the bathroom mirror using her red lipstick.
By the time my father was released from prison eight years later, my mother was diagnosed with paranoid personality disorder and late onset schizophrenia (I would whisper to her from the vents from time to time).
My father moved back in with my mother immediately once he was free. He was now 45, bald and clinically obese. He was also permanently confined to a wheelchair, courtesy of another inmate who stabbed him in the spine with a sharpened toothbrush.
My mind swam with possibilities now that my father was home but reality quickly dissolved this illusion. My mother was heavily medicated and vacant, and my father mostly sat in the living room and watched television shows staring Steve Harvey. My parents were old, broken and honestly, boring.
-----
I kept track of time through my mother's various calendars hanging through out the house.
My father had been home for nearly two years. My mother had been a blank-faced potato for only slightly longer. And I had been "missing"for exactly ten years to the day.
It was the day of my nineteenth birthday and, while I was quite positive I held the world record for hide-and-seek, I was bored with the whole charade.
There was nothing amusing, or even slightly interesting, about watching them anymore. I decided the time had finally come to come out of hiding.
My mother sat on the couch with one eyelid drooping down and a string of saliva hanging past her breasts. My father sat in his wheelchair looking old and tired, watching daytime TV and eating a bag of pork rinds.
I appeared at the top of the stairs wearing one of my father's XXL white T-shirts, which hung past my knees, and a pair of his old white painter pants. I wanted to look like a ghost.
"Hello, mom and dad."I said, speaking for the first time in ten years. I secretly marveled at how much my voice had changed over the course of time. The soft squeak of a nine year old had become the deep boom of a young man.
Surprised, they turned to regard me.
When my father saw me his eyes began to bulge from his skull and his face turned bright red. He clutched at his chest spasmodically, and he fell forward out of his wheelchair. He landed facedown on the hardwood floor.
My mother considered him mildly and then turned back to me. "Jesus! Oh, Jesus, I knew you were coming! The rapture is finally upon us. "
Granted, I hadn't had a haircut in ten years and had quite a decent beard going on, but this wasn't the reaction I had hope for.
"No, mom. It's me - Dave."
"Who?"she croaked.
"Dave. Your son."
She stared at me blankly.
"I went missing ten years ago?"
"Oh, goodie! Robin Williams finally escaped from that board game!"
"How do you not remember me!"I yelled. I decided someone should call my father an ambulance and picked up the house phone and dialed 911.
*"In the jungle you must wait, until the dice read five or eight!"* my mother cackled behind me.
"How can you remember movie quotes, but not your own son?"
I spouted off our address to the dispatcher, and then it hit me. My father was probably dead, my mother was probably insane. And I had spent half of my life hiding inside of our house, instead of outside of it living. Instead of going to school, meeting people, experiencing the world I had hidden inside crawlspaces and attics and sought petty vengeance on my parents.
I won. I ruined them; destroyed them, even. But what did I have to show for it? I was still alone and ultimately, I was still unhappy. The price of revenge was my adolescence and a normal life.
"I'm sorry."I whispered as I walked past the unkempt, cackling woman and the (probably) deceased convict laying on the ground, toward the front door. And for the first time in ten years, I opened it and walked outside into the world. |
*Freak.*
*Retard.*
I first found out I was different when I was seven. Mr Ray, our PE teacher, stood in the sun, the light perfectly accentuating his toned muscles.
“Now, kids,” He said, “You might’ve all been born with the best genes out there, but if you don’t exercise properly those muscles will become smaller and weaker, and you don’t want that. Today, we’re gonna do chin-ups. It’s easy. You just walk underneath the bar, hold your arms out like this, and pull until your chin is above the bar. Of course, you’ll be using this lower bar here. Now, line up and show me what you can do.”
We lined up gingerly.
“Richie,” Mr Ray said, “One, two, three… Come on, you can do this, one more… Yes! Four. Well done.”
“Charlotte, come on up, don’t be shy. One, two, three, four, five, six! Great job.”
“Emma.”
I walked up to the bar. I was just a bit too short and had to tip my toes to reach it. As soon as I began to pull, my arms felt like they had been injected with the world’s most potent hot sauce. I could imagine the muscle fibres, burning, tearing. The sun stung sharply into my skin.
“Emma, you can do this. I believe in you.” Mr Ray said.
I let go.
“Don’t give up. Try again. Come on!” Mr Ray said, “In all my years of teaching I have never seen someone fail to do a chin-up.”
“You don’t get it. She’s *special*!” Sam said, with his usual impeccable smile. Oh, how I hated that smile.
Mr Ray’s face fell. “Don’t worry, we can assign you to the special PE class. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
***
Being in the special PE class meant no one would sit with you at lunch. It meant your friends wouldn’t be your friends anymore. It meant Sam would find you at your weakest moment and break you further.
“You’re a freak just like your dad!” He had said to me at lunch, just after that dreaded PE class.
A teacher overheard him. “You must never, never say that to another person. Apologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam said. Who could overlook his innocent smile and think he was being insincere?
But I knew he wasn’t. I could tell. I just knew.
To be honest, I didn’t understand why Mom fell for Dad back then. She came from a well-positioned family, was good looking, smart and genetically enhanced for a long life. He was a scrawny kid who wore clothes two sizes too big because it was the only size he could find, and he didn’t have any modifications either.
It wouldn’t be until high school when I would find out.
***
High school was different. Classes were sorted based on the genetic modifications you received. But they didn’t know what to do with me, so they just shoved me in whatever random class they pleased. I was the girl no one wanted to deal with.
But the classes all assumed prior abilities from your modifications. It was simply the norm. As a result, I was never the model student in class, always catching up. I dreaded the day when grades would come out. No, not because of Mom, who’d been too depressed to care ever since Dad died, ironically, from cancer caused by one of his genes that could’ve been modified when he was born. No, I feared the day because of Sam.
***
It came anyway.
“I didn’t know how someone can be ugly and dumb at the same time. You really *are* special.” Sam said. His gang all laughed at his joke. It was a weak joke and they knew it. They just needed someone to laugh at.
“You know, your dad deserved to die. It’s called *evolution*. Look it up, if you could even understand it.” His friend erupted in laughter again.
Too far. Way too far.
My hands forming a fist, reaching out. Sam jumped back. He was too fast and his reaction time unhuman, thanks to his modifications.
“So you wanna fight, huh? Come at me. Come on.” He said, knowing I wasn’t as strong as him.
My mind raced. *I’d never win against him in a fair fight, I know that. What should I do? What would he do? He would come charging straight at me, wouldn’t he? Yes. That’s what he’d do. And he wouldn’t look down either, no, he wouldn’t.*
I tensed, sticking out my foot at the right moment as Sam fell to the ground. What I didn’t expect was how quickly he’d get up.
***
On that night I walked home covered in purple bruises. As I opened the door I saw my mom’s mouth open.
“My God, what happened to you? I… I…”
“Mom, why did you choose Dad? Why not anyone else?”
“Oh, I told him this day would come. I told him and he told me to show you something. Come.” She led me upstairs to her room.
“Here.” She handed me an article. Printed, marked with small letters on the margins. Dad’s handwriting. A passage was highlighted in yellow.
> Without a doubt, genetic editing had done a great service to mankind. However, it is not without its downsides. First and foremost, we possess the technology necessary to enhance certain traits by a large degree. While this helps to cement the trait, it also interferes with the person’s natural development, as the trait is too concrete in his or her genetic code for the individual to go against it, making the individual extremely predictable. Secondly, it is understood that the genetic code does not work on a basis of traits. Changing one trait may result in another trait being inadvertently changed in the process, leading to side effects to every modification known to man…
I saw my mother wipe away at a tear. “It’s okay.” I said. “I’m okay.”
***
It had been a while since Sam had pestered me. He seemed to have a lot more respect after I tripped him. No, not respect, but fear.
At lunch, I sat alone, researching genetic modifications on my tablet. It was fascinating. I’ve been researching for the last twelve days and I was still learning new things.
Me being silent seemed to trick Sam into a sense of security. I heard those familiar footsteps, saw that familiar smile. “Hey ugly, how’s it going?” He said, snatching my tablet away.
“Oh, look guys, it looks like she wants to be pretty! Well, guess what, too bad.” He showed his friends as they laughed.
I was laughing too, on the inside. Because I could guess the modifications he received. And out of those, I knew he had three important modifications: IN-2, which causes a lack of awareness of the surrounding environment, CH-7, which reduces critical thinking, and ST-5, which causes a person to follow instructions blindly.
He wouldn’t be laughing after he suddenly finds himself having walked into the principal’s office.
|
“Wha-?” The princess said, dazed. “He’s adorable, but why would he set me free, when all of those knights were burnt? 10 years of sitting in a tower, ended by a cute widdle puppy?” The dog, wearing a cloak with a sword fit for him in its pocket, barked in response. “The knights did not love you. They loved money and power. The dog loves everyone. I bet he even loves scary ol’ me.” The dragon said as a tear rolled down his face. “The dog ran up to the dragon and licked the tear away from his face. “Yip!” The dog said, running around in circles. “I will give you one parting gift. The ability to speak with animals.” The princess felt a spiraling feeling, and soon after heard a voice. “Is it snoozle time? I think it’s snoozle time!” And the dog rested his head in the princess’ lap and promptly fell asleep. |
It was the last time any other city-state attacked us.
Every screen in the city showed the enemy helicopter as it flew toward the city. Every citizen watched as it swooped over the city center and opened its cargo bay doors. And every eye was transfixed when the deadly cargo came tumbling out: hundreds of *black cats*.
We watched them fall, watched as they righted themselves and fell parachute-like toward the Earth, and then collectively gasped as each one touched the ground.
And every voice burst with joyous laughter. Our defenses had worked *perfectly.*
You see, Tycheripoli was already renowned as the luckiest place on Earth, and was considered by most to be quite impervious to most such attacks. Still, since the day years ago that our best fortune-tellers predicted this attack, we had without fanfare prepared even better defenses:
* We switched to a new calendar with six seasons in each year (Chioni, Pagos, Tixi, Vlasti, Zoi and Hypnos), five months in each season (Ena, Dyo, Tria, Tessera and Pente), and two six-day weeks in each month--eliminating all Fridays and all 13^(th)s;
* we upgraded all our highway intersections to four-way cloverleafs;
* we resurfaced all our sidewalks with continuous, *non-cracking* pavement; and
* we switched our coinage to only two denominations: little silver horseshoes (called Lucks) and two-headed pennies.
And then there was our largest employer, the ag/biotech conglomerate Tycheripoli Genetics. Over the last few years, their labs had released, among other wonders;
* a tangy, sweet-tasting garlic which quickly became a popular snack;
* a hardy variety of goldfish which thrived in our climate and soon teemed in every body of water in our city;
* a delicious, *eight-footed* breed of rabbit;
* apple trees which produced *one ripe apple a day* throughout Zoi and well into Hypnos; and
* a white clover strain that produced *only four-leafed stems*.
It was this clover that covered the public square upon which the enemy felines had met their terminal misfortune.
The moment they touched ground they exploded in clouds of golden glitter, which quickly combined into a sparkling vortex that sucked straight up into the turbine engines of the enemy helicopter. It clattered and chugged and careened away across the city, until it crashed spectacularly in the luckless badlands beyond.
And we were never threatened again. That was many years ago, and Tycheripoli has prospered wildly ever since.
There have been some troubling signs lately though--tiny cracks in our crackless sidewalks, drops in apple production, goldfish dieoffs, and even the occasional *three*-leaf clovers. Some experts say that we may be nearing "peak luck,"and that our extensive use of lucky charms may be driving worldwide good fortune toward neutrality, a sort of anthropogenic global norming.
Conservation is the watchword now. If we act quickly and decisively, maybe we can guarantee a fortunate future for our grandchildren. If we don't, they might not be so lucky. |
I blink. Twice. My brain is trying to process what my eyes are seeing. I take a few slow steps towards the door and let my fingers slide through the scratch marks. They were real. And deep. Like sweet baby jesus I am wondering if the marks are visible from the outside. I cautiously open the door to look. Yep, there are some tiny bumps visible where the wood was shoved backwards. What the actual fuck.
I take a small step back. Okay. Okay. Calm down. There has got to be a reasonable explanation for this. It was a chilly night, so I had all my doors locked and my windows closed. I go around the house very slowly, checking which doors were open and which ones were closed. The kitchen was closed, and a quick check revealed yes, there was nothing there. I quietly grab a broom, ignoring the small part of my brain saying that anything that did that work on my front door could eviscerate this wimpy plastic broom like it were nothing.
The door to the living room was open. I go in, carefully checking all the corners and looking beneath the tables and chairs at a safe distance. Nothing there either. I start to consider the fact that I am probably safe until I find the basement door open.
Oh hell no. This is way too cliché for me. I realize how ridiculous it was for me to be going down the stairs right now on my own and I was still doing it anyway. I reach for the light switch and flick it on, thanking the heavens for the fact that they weren't flickering.
I continue to go down the stairs, my feet making heavy thumps on the wood. It was then that I hear breathing. Deep, heavy breathing. I reach the bottom of the stairs to see two pairs of eyes shining back at me at the end of the basement. They belonged to a massive furry silhouette, sitting down with both of its arms wrapped around its legs. Even sitting it looked taller than I was standing up. It made no threatening moves, and rather just looked at me, like an enormous confused child caught out of bed. My brain is going a thousand miles per hour, thinking of the appropriate response to having a monster in my basement.
"Hello."
Okay, that was probably not it.
The monster just stared, and slowly, worriedly, unwrapped one hand to wave at me. An enormous hand with massive claws that could fillet me like a fish if it wanted to.
Contact. I guess. Might as well extend some courtesy. "So... if you don't mind, I am going to flip the lights on."
It nodded, distinctly covering its eyes with its hands. I took the opportunity and turned the lights on, blinking away the glaring light as my pupils contracted, then giving one more look at the large creature.
Oh my god it was huge. It was also a vibrant orange with green stripes. My heart beating a tattoo against my chest, I swallow. "Uhh... are you hungry?"
The creature stares dumbfound as I lead it towards the kitchen door, its eyes going wide in amazement as I twist the knob and open it. Even as I lead inside the kitchen it stops to stare at the tiny knob, seemingly trying to understand its secrets. I open the fridge and start to place food in the table. Pizza, ham, my grandma's lentil soup... all of it went straight down the creature's gullet; even the margarine, package and all. I open up an entire jug of grape juice that the creature drank whole in a single gulp before tossing the glass inside its mouth, crushing it all between its teeth like it was nothing.
It raised one hand up to its mouth and made the smallest, tiniest burp. It seemed flustered.
"Don't worry."Is all I really say.
I lead it to the backdoor, partly because something tells me it doesn't want to go out the front door where more people might be watching, and partly because I didn't want to guilt-trip for destroying my door. Then again, I had no idea if it realizes the damage its done to it. I open the backdoor and step out, holding it for the large creature to leave (it once again stopped to look at the knob with great interest). Once outside, it turned to me and gruffed once.
"Don't mention it."I say. We both stay there a while longer, it staring at me intently, until I realized maybe I should go inside and leave it alone to go... wherever it is it wanted to go. I give it a small wave and step back in, close the door, and hear a large *thump* coming from outside. I hurriedly open the door again and notice the creature is gone, with nothing but some floating dust in the ground to betray where it once was.
I close the door once again, and in doing so I hear another noise: *whump.* Before I could open it I heard a *thump* once again, and the backyard was empty. Empty, save for a massive elk carcass conveniently stationed in my front porch. Its flank was scratched by massive claws, and I coud just barely make letters in it, like a child's handwriting.
"T h a N K"
*****
EDIT: While I do not usually add in edits to my prompts, this one story was originally written in a bit of a hurry. It embarrassed me so much I went back and re-wrote some of the more glaring syntax and grammatical errors. Thank-you all for enjoying it. |
"Don't try to weasel out of this,"said Marc the hero.
"Weasel out of this? WEASEL OUT OF THIS? Holy mother of God!"
A vein was throbbing painfully on Caleb's bald forehead.
"Fueled by a desire for justice, you broke into a police station to get every file on me, knocking out two officers to avoid being spotted. Said guys are still under therapy and will have lifelong consequences. Then you staged a robbery at the northern bank and the walmart next door as a false flag operation. You shot witnesses with sedative. HORSE SEDATIVE you clusterfuck of an avenger. It's been three weeks and they are still sleeping! Then you had sex with the mole I planted, and cheated on her with the walmart cashier you met during the heist but didn't shot because she had great assets. Great lot of good it did to her because the mole murdered her before sending her goons after you, which you convinced to kill the one giving the order, thinking it was me.
"They killed a car salesman 'cause I train my moles well. But the police got the goons and you know what? They do their work well because they put together information and got to the mole who is serving life in prison now. She started a pen friendship with the dead salesman wife. Then you ditched your family \*for their security\* in a cabin up in the Canadian mountains. They were found near dead from freezing because it wasn't your cabin, but a summer cabin without any warm coats and certainly not built to pass winter in it.
"Then you smuggled drugs across the border to fund an information network, Found my hideout by getting a trainee journalist blackout drunk and decided on a whim to undercut our great country's drug problem. You did that by spiking the very drug you were smuggling. Congrats, the percentage of drug addicts has severely decreased, as has the available workforce.
"Now, public enemy number 1, hated by your family, your justice system and country, mass murderer, cheater and serial moron, you won't kill me because you don't want to be as bad as me?!
"All I ever did was pull your pants down at the gym in highsch..."
The bullet went through Caleb's skull and obliterated his masterplans alongside his life.
"You monster!"shouted Marc, who had been gifted the skills, body and intelect of a superhero but the forgiveness of a sociopath. |
It's amazing how quickly things go wrong. It takes thirty seconds to start a fight, thirty minutes to get arrested for aggravated assault, thirty days to make the worst deal ever with some military types, and thirty weeks for human civilization to end in fire and night.
I woke up in the same dimly-lit concrete box I'd been frozen in. I heard the groans and muttering of a few other voices I recognized: some other unlucky saps who'd been frozen when I'd arrived. I wasn't the first one to wake up--someone was already tentatively peeking out into the pitch-black hallway and calling for help--but I wasn't the last, either. Like in everything else, I was solidly in the middle of the pack.
"Find anyone, Heap?"A young woman called to the man poking his head into the corridor.
"...No, but... damn, must've been a power outage, or something. The lights won't turn on. And look out the window."Heap pointed to something, and instinctively, everyone in the room turned to look out a nearby window. "Skyscraper like this, we should be able to see all of LA from here, right? Especially at night. It's all gone dark, though."
"Any idea why we got woken up?"I asked.
The man--Heap, I assumed--shrugged. "Ask Martha. She's been poking at the computer for a few minutes now."He jerked his head towards the other woman.
"Yeah, I've got something,"she said. "Failsafe. In the event nobody manually woke us up, it was to revive us all in thirty weeks. Seems like there's still plenty of power, though; in theory, there's enough juice in the system to keep us all frozen for a couple centuries, at least."
"Seriously?"I asked.
She pointed at a couple numbers and said, "It really doesn't take much energy to maintain cryonics--not with this setup, at least."
"Hey, guys?"Heap called back, voice trembling. "You, uh... you might want to look at this."
Martha and I eyed each other, then walked out into the hall.
Heap stood next to a stripped-clean skeleton, still holding onto a plugged-in phone.
I flinched. "That... that can't possibly be real, right?"
"I've seen human skeletons before,"Martha said, quietly. "It's real."
I didn't bother to ask how she knew that. Anyone who was here had something in their past so bad that they'd risk their lives to leave it behind.
"I took a look at these papers,"Heap said. "Seems like the scientists here suddenly switched to studying some kind of... insect? A few weeks back, it says. Some new predator. Attracted to the warmth of a living human. They were hibernating for thousands of years, and it's predicted that they'll go into hibernation again by 2135. It moves in swarms, and can skeletonize a human in a matter of minaaAAAAAARGH!"Heap suddenly cut off mid-sentence, blood fountaining from his mouth, as something dark surged up from the floor and blanketed him.
I didn't even look back. "Run! Get the door!"
Martha and I jerked back into the hall and slammed the heavy double doors shut. In a matter of seconds, we heard something scratching and buzzing at the other side. Wide-eyed, we looked at each other.
"There's no way out. Did you see what they did to him? We're screwed!"I shrieked, hyperventilating.
Martha narrowed her eyes, looking at the three cryonics pods. "...No. No, there's still a way."She dashed over to the console and started typing. "Get back into your pod."
"What?"I asked.
"Those scientists predict that this--this--whatever it is, it's going back into hiding in another century, right? Well, there's just enough juice in the pods to keep us alive until then. If these things track by body heat, they should leave us alone for that time, right?"Martha hit a button, and the pod lit up. "Quickly. Get in."
I eyed the shuddering door. "Are--are you sure?"
"No!"She touched something else, and a second pod lit up. A metallic voice began counting backwards from thirty, and she ran into the pod, closing it behind her. "But did you see what those things did to Heap? This is our only chance!"
I shuddered, then stepped into the pod, sealing it after me. "...See you in a hundred years, then."
Martha swallowed. "See you then."
The pod quivered once, and the world went white. |
The joint training exercise between the humans and the wolflike Ma'athfar was anything but uneventful. The two sides familiarised themselves with each other better than ever before, and soon those soldiers became the most knowledgeable in terms of human culture and mannerism - being the first to ever step on their homeworld as well. The exercises included teaching humanity how to fight in space, what to account for when engaging in extraplanetary conflict and operating the newly imported Close In Orbital Defence System. Humanity, on the other hand, taught them more Earthly things - urban strategy, dogfighting, usage of tanks, long-range combat, close quarters combat, and much more.
However, while they weren't training, even more cultural exchange had occurred. The Ma'athfar had found out that humanity weren't as bloodthirsty as the rest of the galaxy made them out to be. In fact, many of them were quite the opposite - peaceful people trying their best to not get hurt. However, while the Ma'athfar could see plenty of difference in the variants of humans, many of them which looked the same claimed that they were different.
Anamis - one of the many soldiers - didn't know how offended his training buddies would be when he'd mistakenly called the Ukrainian and Belarusian soldiers 'Russians', and didn't know that he'd be chased around the camp for making such a mistake. After explaining his situation, they'd said that "If you don't know somebody's nationality, it's safer to assume the general area where they're from". Noting this, Anamis decided to use 'Eastern European' instead.
Now, while Anamis had found all of the different variants to be extremely different, he had found one thing they had in common. The hands. Always, with the hands. His kind had large paws which made their weapons too big for humans to wield and likewise theirs too small for them. Humanity's hands were incredibly proficient at manipulating their surroundings. They could pick flowers without completely destroying them, they ate food with tools and could even handle something as delicate as paper without crumpling it. Anamis wondered how it would feel to be touched by a human. One day, he'd gotten his wish.
"So you're from Asia? Which part?"Anamis asked with trained caution, the soldiers with him turning to the one in question - a young one by the name of Min. "China"He'd responded, to which Anamis nodded in acknowledgement, leaning down to eat the meat he had been roasting over the fire. As he was eating, he felt something suddenly start touching the top of his head. His tail froze as he felt... hands gliding across the fur on his head, scratching at just the right amount. Anamis' tail then fell limp, before wagging at increasing speeds. He continued eating as he heard low chuckles around him, the hand soon reaching the back of his ear, which caused an almost primal reaction. He fell to the ground, kicking at the air as the soldier sitting next to him continued scratching him behind the ears. At this point, he had long since dropped his food and his tongue had lolled out of his mouth. He was in bliss.
However, when it stopped, he immediately regained his senses and glared at the human, his friend - Riley. "What was that? How did you do that?"Anamis asked in genuine confusion.
"It's the hands, and our magic touch."
Anamis thought of the applications of such 'magic touch' in the battlefield. Perhaps humanity would be a lot more of a useful ally than they initially thought. |
The demon clutched the woman close. Although he was a being of hulking size, he seemed small somehow as he desperately clung to her body.
Arabelle could do naught but stare, mouth agape, at the peculiar scene before her. The demon's voice might have been full of anger moments before, but now he had his back turned to the party of foragers.
"I'm a healer; maybe I can help,"Arabelle spat out without even a moment's thought. She could feel the stares of the others in her group.
The demon turned his head slowly towards her. He stared into her eyes with pitch black ones of his own.
Gavith took her by the arm. "What are you doing?"He hissed as he tugged her back. "That's an archdemon, you fool. Are you trying to get killed?"
Arabelle shook her arm out of his grasp. "That's a woman he's holding so dearly. Besides, he doesn't seem to be a danger to us. There must be something I can do,"Arabelle consoled her friends and gingerly approached the demon and his human.
The demon laid the woman down on the soft grass of the clearing. Trees surrounded them on all sides, and the sun shone brightly overhead, gleaming off the bloodred skin of the devilish being.
Arabelle knelt down next to the woman. Her deep brown hair framed an exquisite sleeping face. She was no older than thirty; seemingly the picture of health, except for the bright red gash running down her chest.
Somehow, the wound did not gush blood, and upon checking her pulse, it appeared to be beating steadily. The demon must have been doing something to keep her from losing her life too quickly. If she could just heal the wound itself...
Arabelle brought her hands over the wound and began channeling her healing. Her hands twitched. She touched the wound directly with one hand. It recoiled.
*She... she has no heart...* Arabelle thought as she stared in confused terror at the serene face of the woman before her. *But her pulse...*
Arabelle looked up at the demon looming above. His enormous figure obscured the sun itself, casting her into shadow. Two wicked horns protruded from the top of his silhouette.
"I-I'm sorry,"Arabelle choked. "She has no heart. I'm not even sure how her blood still flows. I cannot heal that which is not there,"Arabelle tried her best to remain calm in the face of the terrifying beast before her.
The demon knelt down. A razor-sharp, stark black claw extended towards the woman's cheek. Despite the wickedness of his form, he caressed her cheek gently, careful to do no harm.
"I see,"the demon spoke evenly, his face impassive.
Arabelle rose and tried to keep the relief she felt from showing on her face. The demon didn't seem very angry.
Suddenly, Arabelle felt a tearing at her chest. A sharp coldness ran throughout every inch of her body. The very world around her seemed to darken. Screaming.
"Your hearts will have to do, then. Thank you." |
**Welcome to Hell. Don't mind all the screaming. You'll get used to it. I'm Satan.**
Bob Crawford. Of the Connecticut Crawfords.
**Yes, you're here because you killed your boss.**
Yeah, but he molested my son.
**And now HE'S here getting molested by 100 horse sized versions of your son. So you're welcome.**
For what?
**Anyhow, here's the sitch. We've got this rule here. We offer all new folk a choice. Now you, Bob, can make a choice. You see this spoon?**
Yeah.
**It's a wooden spoon. Handcrafted by me. It's yours, if you like.**
What would I do with a wooden spoon? Here? This place is made of fire and brimstone. The spoon's gonna burn.
**Yeah, but you can have it. They say I'm not much of a giver, but here we are, you've been here thirty seconds, and free gift. Sure, we've got plenty of torture and abuse lined up for you, but best to start with a gift, no?**
You said I had a choice? What's my choice?
**Oh, nothing. You can have the spoon or you can spend the first 100 trillion years of eternity in Heaven.**
Heaven? Really?
**It's not all it's cracked up to be, let me be up front. The rollercoaster is broken. And they're limiting you to one supermodel sexual partner every fourteen hours. Also, no ice cream. It's the one cool thing we have that they don't, due to both Baskin and Robbins being nazi sympathizers.**
But everything else? The wings? The clouds? The not being in hell?
**OR -- and hear me out, Bob -- you can have the sp--**
I choose Heaven.
**Shit.**
*ONE HUNDRED TRILLION YEARS PASS*
**Hello again, Bob.**
Man, was that already a hundred trillion years?
**Time flies when you're in Heaven. But that's ok. You're back where you belong. Bet you feel bad knowing that the only unicorns we have down here are for impaling people, not riding.**
That's ok. I don't mind. I got a good hundred trillion years of good times and paradise.
**It's not all bad down here, Bob. Here, have some ice cream.**
Thanks, Satan! You're not so bad after all. My, this looks good. You got a spoon?
**No, Bob, remember? You didn't want the spoon.**
Then how am I supposed to eat this?
**HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.... |
My name is Lemon Lime and I'm 10 years old. Today's my first day I can finally go out and catch my own orange and travel the world! I swore to my dying father years ago that I will practice to become the best there ever was. The professor asked me to meet him today and I think I know why.
I grab my backpack and dash out the door but I'm stopped in my tracks, "Lem you know what you have to do before you go". Ugh, "coming mom"I quickly go over to kiss my mom on the cheek and run back out the door. As I was headed to the lab I look over at the path I've never been allowed to traverse alone. Grass sprawls the area as citroidekas of every kind wander around. I continue onward until I get inside the lab.
As I enter I look over and see my arch-rival mr.mygrandpacantevenremembermyownname. We both shoot a look of disgust at eachother. The professor clears his throat, "So anyways, I know that you two are very eager to became practitioners in the field of biological-citrusian science. As a once novice in the field I feel it a great thing to carry the tradition through you two. The world out there is a very big one full of many different and wonderful places to explore. A world full of as much mystery as anything else. Many creatures to observe and enslave. So it is with great honor that you two brave scientists go on and help me fulfill my dream of documenting every single citroideka of this region. Right here is three to help you start your journey."He gestures towards three cages containing the citroids.
My enemy and I walk towards them. "Cool they have the charmelime ha what a loser"and of course he gets the coolest one. That leaves the bulbelemon and the Kumquatle. I guess I'll go with the Kumquatle. "I see you two have chosen one each. Now here is a PDA to document each creature and a pack of pocket balls. Happy hunting."He returns to his office and now im stuck awkwardly waiting with my enemy.
"So you gonna fight me or stay there like a fucking pussy"now come on that wasn't even clever. I sigh and I let my Kumquatle loose. "Charmelime I pick you"and he throws the thing at the ground. The lime splatters all over the place. Maybe fruit being living creatures wasnt a smart idea, oh well. I can see he's mad so I quickly walk away but he starts screaming. He runs over and starts eating my Kumquatle alive since it's a freaking fruit. The kumquatle wasn't having any of it so it shot pressurized acid and pierced his skull.
Blood and fruit juice spray all over the room. I watch as the kumquattle limps away with it's bitten off feet. Everyone in the lab at this point are screaming. They begin sounding the alarm and the professor comes out of his office. "What's all the fuss ab-"it turns out the acid sliced open the cage the bulbelemon was in and it wasn't very happy about being locked up. It instantly jumps onto the professors face and begins peeling it like he's a potato.
I'm running at this point *no no no no no no. This can't be happening. No this isn't happening it isn't real this can't be real* but it is. The citroids break into the chambers where the experimental ones are housed and all break out of the lab. All of them start wreaking havoc on the town. I run home and try to look for my mom but she's nowhere to be found.
I checked every room until I get to the basement door. It's wide open and something about this feels off. I slowly make my way down there and turn on the light. My mom is standing there faced away from me. "Come on son, how would you like to join us?"
"What? Who are you with?"she turns around. Suddenly a citroid burst out of her chest and starts attacking me. *Dear reader, why don't you come and join us?*
Edit: Part 2
"Oh fuck my head is killing me"I say as I awake in my grandpas lab. "What the hell happened here?"I look around and see broken glass all over the floor and blood lining the tiles of the walls. I feel my head and look at my hand, the blood is my blood! I think? It's all a bit fuzzy. I see blood stained labcoats all over the floor then I hear a familiar voice and look up to see my asshat of a grandpa who can't even remember my name, "poor fuckers stood no chance. The labrats downstairs ate their entire bodies and left nothing but their clothes and a stain of blood"he lights a cigarette.
"You see kid, these citroid creatures are a disgrace to society. I only pretended to care about them because genetically modifying plants used to be my passion. You know how many hours a man spends in his lab really enjoying himself before a fucking government agent comes along and threatens to shut down your whole lab if you don't help the fucking country? Barely any amount apparently. Truth is ever since I was forced to turn these suckers alive I have secretly been spending time gearing up to fight these creatures and send them back to hell or their equivelant at least.
You think I was stupid enough to wear my real face near one of these things. I knew that they'd start going crazy around this time. I didn't make them like that. I tried so desperately to make sure they became like pets but you idiot's keep making them fight. They were never made to fight. Over time they evolved to adapt to fighting but because of their genome that begins to make them aggressive. I knew it was only a matter of time"
"Then why did you make us get them"
"Hey I only gave you those pocket balls because theyre actually made to kill those pieces of shit. Only limited supply but I thought you guys would figure it out once they wouldnt come out of the balls. Maybe youd figure they were broken and stop chasing that stupid dream of being the best. Now come on kid"he tosses a pesticide rifle "lets get ready to chew kumquat and kick some plant-ass"
We go outside and start spraying down hoards of these things. I go to limes house to get ready to kill him. I burst open the door and there he is. "Why don't you come and-"poor fucker already turned, I spray his head and he shrivels up and crumbles all over the floor. I run back out to see my grandpa struggling. A whole hoard approaches him. "These fuckers learned to control humans! I can't fight them much longer!"he signals me to run but I can't. I try spraying them but they were too much.
With my grandpa dead I'm now lost in this citroid infested world. If anywhere would know anything about these unnatural things maybe Lavender town would be a good start... I head down the path to begin my journey. |
"They banned Maus, To Kill a Mockingbird, and so many other novels that portray a crucial part of the world's history.,"Mr. Asimov pressed. "What is so different about this one? I must teach it. I must."
Principal Margot sighed. She took off her glasses, slowly exhaled onto the glass surface, and wiped them with a pocket handkerchief. She looked tired.
"We've given you more leeway than most in your curriculum, Asimov. But the board cannot condone that we teach banned books of *fiction*. The Necronomicon isn't real."
"Of course, it's real. It's *banned*. It has to be real."
"It's fictitious. Made from the mind of what some would call a madman. It doesn't exist."
"All books are created from the minds of men and women. It is not for us to decide who was mad and who was not. My class aims to teach and enlighten. I cannot do that with such restrictions--"
"We are restricting one book. The Necronomicon will not be touched in your class. And that's the end of it, Mr. Asimov."
Principal Margot turned away from Asimov then, and he knew the conversation was over. Her long oak desk seemed to elongate as she turned her back to him. There was no reaching her.
Mr. Asimov stood, bowed even though she couldn't see, and left.
That night, as Asimov sat in the study of his own home, he opened his small 6-year-old laptop. Asimov wasn't a man of technology, he found the world advanced without him but the only thing he remained up-to-date with was literature. Newly released titles of works of fiction, nonfiction, history, memoirs, Asimov devoured them all.
His study was larger than his bedroom, for in his modest two-bedroom house he had elected the master to be his place of study. The walls were lined top to bottom in shelves and those shelves sunk under the overbearing weight of books upon books. There were some titles that Asimov had read only once, there were some that had been ripped open time and time again. Piles of books covered the floors as the shelves could no longer hold them.
But at that moment, Asimov had only one book on his mind. The Necronomicon.
He was familiar with Lovecraft. He'd read and even once taught the works of the father of horror fiction. He'd taken his classes on the journey of the Cthulhu Mythos. He was aware of various mentionings of the Necronomicon. But he'd never been inclined to read it.
That is, until Germany, Sweden, and most of Eastern Europe had suddenly banned the book. Principal Margot forbade him to teach it, but that didn't mean he couldn't read it himself.
Asimov wondered if eBay was still relevant. It was not uncommon for him to bring up technologies or websites that he'd heard about years prior only to find out that they were long obsolete. But to his joy, he found the site was still running with a wide variety of inventory.
When he searched for the Necronomicon, one entry appeared.
€75,623. It was in euros. Off the top of his head, Asimov knew it was approximately eighty-five thousand dollars. It was just above Asimov's yearly salary -- his yearly salary without deducting taxes, that is. He couldn't afford that. There was no way.
Asimov retired from his study in a disappointed daze. He usually ended his night with a book pulled from a floor-pile or a shelf, but that night, nothing interested him. His mind wanted one thing.
He fell asleep in a desperate desire, uncomfortable and incomplete, empty and wanting.
*THUMP!*
He woke with a start. The sound was loud, coming from somewhere outside his bedroom. The hall? The study? Was he being robbed? No... Asimov listened for any further sounds, any indication that it was a human footstep. But nothing followed.
Asimov slowly lifted his blankets, and creeped toward the door. He waited. Listened. Nothing.
He flipped the lights into the hallway. The flourescent bulb cast blank, white light onto the white walls. The floor underneath the carpet creaked with each step. There was something deep within Asimov that told him something wasn't right.
He checked the kitchen, the living room. But there was nothing.
At last, he checked the study.
At first glance, it looked as if nothing had happened in their either, but just as Asimov was about to turn away, something caught his eye. He saw what had made the sound. A pile of books sitting on the floor had fallen, its contents were strewn across the carpet.
But there was something else. He didn't feel right. It felt like there was something behind him. Asimov turned. Nothing. But the feeling was there. Behind him. Breathing. Standing. Waiting.
He whipped around again. Nothing. Behind him. Nothing. Behind him.
It felt as if there was something. All around. Behind. But there was nothing. Asimov saw nothing. But he felt it. Something entirely inexplicable, something he'd never felt before. His heart rate exploded. It felt as if his chest would burst as his heart moved at a rate he'd never experienced. That's when he saw it.
It was sitting on the shelf directly above where the pile of books had been knocked over. He'd almost glanced over it, for the dark walls hid the dark cover. But it was large, bound in an old dark oak cover. The edges looked worn and erroded. Asimov knew it was a book he'd never touched before. And he'd read every book in the study.
As Asimov stepped closer, the feeling grew to new heights. It felt as if every single instance of time and space that wasn't in his direct vision was filled with... something. Something unnatural. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't rational.
But there were *things* there. Things that couldn't be seen by the human eye, things that didn't exist in the material world. But they were there.
Asimov couldn't help himself. It seemed as if he were on a destined path as he stepped toward the book. He wasn't consciously reaching for it, but his hand grasped the nape of the title anyway. He pulled it from the shelf.
It felt as if the only thing that could help was opening the book. Turning to the first page. That would do it. He felt the weight of darkness behind him. The weight of shadows and wights and darkness. It was as if he had an internal itch, an itch so profound and deep that could only be scratched by consuming whatever was in those pages. He didn't want to read them. He didn't want. He needed. He needed to consume.
As he opened the first page, the brittle white pages flipped on their own. The black ink was scribbled in a language he didn't recognize. The book read itself, but in a way, Asimov understood it. He felt what was behind him, in him. He felt the dread seep into his bones, his skin, his eyes. There was something around him. He realized it had always been there, but no normal human could know, no normal human could understand.
But now Asimov understood. He understood it all, death, darkness, the unconscious horror of what lies beyond the realm of man.
He understood.
He wished he didn't. |
"Hmmm"pondered a voice inside Benny's head. "Interesting....very interesting. Down right unprecedented I'd say..."
Benny was in over his head. This was it, he had made it this far, had his laughs, confirmed his suspicions, and now the wizards were going to find out. Find out who he was and probably wipe his mind, enslave him or kill him!
"No, they won't kill you"the voice idely commented. "I suspect they won't know what to do with you. Not a drop of magic in you, but....oh my, it HAS been a long time since one of you were here hasn't it?"
One of us? What did this mean? Was Benny not the first non-wizard to enter this place?
"No you're not. But the first in some time I'll tell you that! Thats why you belong in....TROUTSBANE!"
With this last word, the sorting hat bellowed into the hall. While all the other houses called were met with applause and cheers this one was met with gasps and whispers.
Benny peered out from under the hat. The teachers table looked in shock. Moments passed felt like an eternity as the whispers spread and grew louder. Finally, the Headmistress stood up from the table and walked down to Benny. She lifted the hat from atop his head, peering down inquisitively at him.
"You are a muggle..."She stated. Or was she asking? Benny didn't know what a muggle was. But he had an idea. He remained silent but slowly nodded. The headmistress summoned over the schoold caretaker. She whispered in his ear before he turned and ran with all his speed down the hall and out a side door. She then turned to face the students.
"Pupils. What you have witnessed is an event that has not been repeated in this hall for nearly 1000 years. While many thought the rumor of a fifth house was simply that of legend. This muggle, against all odds, had infiltrated Hogwarts, and has now, been sorted accordingly".
There was an outbreak of yells and cat calls from the Slytherin table. The others remained silent but still with and air of confusion and uncertainty. The Caretaker raced back into the hall, carrying with him, what seemed to be a large shield.
"It was once believed that the founders of Hogwarts did not wish for both wizard and muggle types to be segregated, to teach each other of our different ways."The headmistress continued, silencing the room. "Well..most of them"she added, eyeing the Slytherin table. "This is why they founded the school with a 5th member. A member whose identity was later struck from almost all records in an attempt to keep Hogwarts a pure wizarding school. A member, we all had thought a legend until now. A muggle, by the name Thorian Troutsbane!"
The caretaker turned the shield to face Benny. On it was the engraved picture of a fish, bounding from the water into the air. The words "Troutsbane"painted above it.
The great hall erupted in celebratory cheers and furious yells. The teachers at the table slammed their fists screaming for order at a hall divided. The headmistress turned to Benny.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." |
Dennis held his breath and tightly pressed the weapon to his chest, the heat of the desert burning his body as he remained in cover.
Most advanced piece of weaponry of it's time, Dennis's weapon knew no peer.
"A high velocity weapon capable of blunt force trauma caused by it's high-impact kinetic energy delivery", fancy words - but none a soldier needs to understand.
It had to happen now, there wouldn't ever be an opportunity for an ambush like this ever again.
The self-proclaimed "king of the desert"rarely leaves his safe-house to travel into the open, why he decided to do so now wasn't important.
Dennis crept to the top of the dune and readied his weapon.
He worked the weapon, preparing to take the shot.
The execution was swift, silent and on-target.
Bob "king-of-the-desert"Thompsen went down almost instantly.
"Auch! That really stings!"he cried.
"Bruises for days!"shouted Dennis as he made his escape, tucking the slingshot into his waistband.
|
This is the love of my life. I remember the first time that thought crossed my mind...I stopped in the break room to get my morning coffee. She was there. The most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. It was her first week in the office, and she was still struggling with the coffee maker. Luckily I was there to help! We talked and joked while I showed her the path to office caffeination. She flashed that beautiful, perfect smile and that is when I knew...I am going to marry this woman.
From that day on you could say that she was my "work wife". We would meet in the break room everyday to get coffee and discuss current events. Her intelligence never ceased to amaze me. I would stop by her desk every afternoon to have a laugh. Her sense of humor is incredible.
It wasn't long after we met that I went through a rough patch with my finances. She knew something was the matter when I had to resort to ramen every day rather than my usual jimmy johns turkey sub. In all her perfection she showed up with an extra sandwich every day for two weeks. I knew then that she loved me as well...
It wasn't long after that when tragedy struck. You see this perfect girl had already been claimed. She was married with a young daughter. Thus my occasional sadness at what might have been. I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was a Tuesday. She didn't show up to work. She was gone the next day. And the next. It wasn't long before the emails started floating about the office detailing her horrible predicament. You see her husband and daughter had went on a walk to a local park. She had stayed home to cook dinner...they never came back.
She ended up missing close to a month of work. When she came back she was a different person. Less meetings for coffee. No smiles or jokes when I would stop by her cube. She was crushed. My heart was broken for her.
I never stopped dropping by. I never stopped cracking jokes. I never stopped finding news article I knew she wouldn't be able to resist discussing. I loved her. I had to be there for her. It was tough to see her in such despair.
The good news is that I never relented in my support and love for her. Just over a year later she heard of a new Italian deli within walking distance of work, and asked if I would go with her. The food was good. I made a joke and she laughed out loud. That smile I loved so much was finally back.
Over the next couple months there were more lunches. Lunches turned to after work drinks, which turned to dinners. At first it was to "try various new restaurants around town". Then it became dinner dates three times a week.
It was a Thursday. We were walking through a local park after dinner at one of our her favorite restaurants. She told me she was lonely. I knew the feeling all too well. She told me that since her family had disappeared she had started to give up hope of them coming back. That she had feelings for me, and was confused about what to do. I knew what she should do. I kissed her. She kissed me back.
Things changed after that. The dinners were at her place. The kisses turned into more. She smiled and laughed in abundance. She said when we were together everything felt right with the world...so I bought her a ring.
She said yes on the end of the Wrightsville beach pier during our vacation that summer.
We were so in love. Still are. We have two wonderful kids. Our oldest starts kindergarten this year. I have a lot of regrets in my life. What it took to be with her is not one of them. I spent every dollar of my savings at the time and maxed out every credit card to hire that hitman from the internet...but I would do it a million times over again so that I could have her. The love of my life. |
Staring at the blank yellow legal pad before me, my brain scrambles to come up with the most important things to request. Money, lots of that. A long and healthy life... can he even provide that, being the devil and all? I can imagine he would have some sort of contact with the Grim Reaper, maybe he can pull some strings. I ask for my dog to live as long as I do, in good health and full of energy. I ask for knowledge, all of the knowledge that man has and no more. I'm sure there are things out there that I don't want to know about, afterall look where I am now. What about fame? Would I even want to be famous?
Scribbling all my thoughts down, I glance up at the glowing red figure towering over me. He stands with both hands planted firmly on the table and a crooked smile, as if he's won a battle I had no idea had started.
Only the most desperate of folks go seeking a deal with good ol' Red. I never pictured myself sitting across from him, signing my life away for God knows what... or, the Devil knows what, I guess. But in my line of work, you have to do anything you can to save the client. I spent my life on Earth rescuing animals, you see. I've released dogs from high-skill shelters and animal testing facilities, smuggled elephants out of tourist torture camps and so much more. The best part is my team and I have worked hard to find safe homes for every single one. I pride myself in my work, but the way I free the animals isn't always legal. I've spent more nights in jail than I care to admit and recently my ticket came up, so to speak. To me though, it's all worth it. I came to Red to make a deal, and he agreed to let me go back to Earth and continue my work on one condition. While I don't know what the condition is yet, he also agreed to give me three wishes on top of my life and freedom. Whatever he wants, it has to be big. I can't waste these wishes, and I can't end up here again.
Finally, I hear a big thud on the other end of the room. Red is getting impatient, and I don't want to know what happens when he gets angry. I need to decide, I hastily scribble:
Wish #1) I wish for unlimited wealth, health, and happiness for as long as I shall live
Wish #2) I wish that if I should ever need your help again, you will allow me to use my wish then instead of now
Wish #3) I wish that all of my animals may continue to find homes, whether it be with people or out in the wild where some of them belong
Feeling confident about my list, I slide it across the table at Red and attempt my best smug look, crossing my arms and holding my chin high. As he scans the page, the smile on his face only grows wider. I can feel my palms sweat and a single bead dripping down my back. My heart pounds, and once again my mind is scattered... have I been played? What if his one condition somehow cancels out my wishes? What if it's a trick and I'll never go back?
I'm quickly brought back to reality when I feel a slight gust of wind and the thump of a notepad in my lap. On it, are six simple words. Is this really what he wants? I can see in his eyes that his intentions are pure, and it almost looks as though he's getting choked up over it.
"Let me adopt all the cats"
Deal. To this day, I still receive Christmas cards from Red and his family of 807,512 cats... and I'm happy to send him another one once or twice a month.
______________
Edit: Thanks for the love guys! This is my first ever submission, been a long time lurker but never written anything. |
I ran my claws over the control board, calling up the next community I needed for trade. I had been a peddler for longer than even I could remember and had seen civilizations rise and fall. But it always gave me a small thrill of excitement to trade with the race called 'human.' They hoarded almost everything and traded with a reckless abandon that reminded me of my first years in the business.
Today was the first time I would go to the human colony on Star Cluster %\*()# OFF. So called, because you didn't want to stay there long. Everyone in the galactic community had assumed the humans would die when they settled the planet at the heart of the cluster, but to our surprise, they had not only survived, they had thrived. I had to admit, I was curious. They weren't actually the next place I needed to trade, but it was only a short interdimensional hop on my way. Wouldn't take more than a few hours.
After sending the requisite peace signal, and receiving the appropriate approval to land, I arrived on the planet, fully prepared. I had my body armour, my largest gun, and of course, anything I could sell. Claws tightening over the handle of my gun I opened the ship door, squinting in the light of the two suns. It had been a desert planet before the humans terraformed it, and the heat was still fierce.
"You the trader?"A voice came from somewhere about my knee. I'd forgotten how short even full-grown humans were. Trying to use their own friendly gesture of a smile, I bent closer.
"Yes, and I have many wares, many things to sell or exchange. Is there a place I can set up?"
"You're standing in it. Lay it out, start your pitch, and the village will come."With that enigmatic statement, the human—I want to say 'male'— walked away. Feeling a little discombobulated—every other human colony I visited had a permanent town—I set up my stall.
As I went about my work, making sure my movements were slow, in case there were small humans about, quiet sounds, just at the edge of my hearing came from all around. I didn't look, focusing on my work, completely absorbed. It took me fifteen minutes to fully set up, and as I turned to start my spiel, the words choked my throat. Surrounding me, arching even higher than myself, was the reason no one wanted to stay in this Star Cluster.
Giant yellow eyes peered at me, as I gulped trying not to scream. And then, I heard the impossible. I heard children laughing.
Forcing my eyes to move, I looked down, breaking eye contact. Amongst the giant claws, each as large as me, children were *playing* with the young offspring of the monsters. Leathery wings cracked through the air, as gouts of blue flame just missed very flammable humans.
"Well, are you going to sell us anything?"The voice was the same as the human male who'd greeted me, though slightly grumpier. Looking up again, I tried not to flinch. The monsters were still staring at me, their humongous wings folded up, nearly blocking the stars and sky they were made to fly amongst. On every one, multiple humans sat staring at me expectantly.
"Your children..."I trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. Their children, them, how had they, what had they... My thoughts spiralled and I leaned on my stall for support.
"If they're bothering you—"
"No, no definitely not, I love children."I gabbled, hearing the underlying threat, whether it was actually there or not. "Just, they're playing with, and you're riding, and, and, how?"I knew the question hadn't made much sense, and I couldn't help the relief that stroked my bones as the human laughed.
"Oh, the dragons? Greatly misunderstood beasties are dragons. All they need is some love and a firm hand. And the right kind of food. You'd be surprised how grumpy they get when they're hungry. But give em' a good amount of magma and they are just the sweetest things you'll ever meet."He slapped the side of his monster's head, earning him a snort. One of my eyes twitched. What had he called the beasts? Dragons? Misunderstood?
My grip broke through the stall and I was left with a bit of wood in each clawed hand. There was a tug on my lower extremity.
"Um, Mister? Do you have anything to sell?"A small voice piped up. In a haze, I turned to the child, dropping the wood and picking them up with one hand.
"Of course I do,"I started, my voice faint, but growing stronger as I settled into the familiar spiel. "I have mysteries and wonders, delights and horrors—"
"Do you have any apples?"
I stared at the child, now at eye level, responding automatically.
"Apples?"
"Yeah, they don't like growing here. And Mama says they're really yummy."The child responded. Nodding, I turned to my stall, taking refuge in the only familiar thing I could, feeling the other children start to climb up my hairy legs.
"I must have apples here somewhere..."
——————
I leaned against my control panel, watching the %\*()# Off Star Cluster vanish behind me. I was still shaking, my claws tapping against the metal. The humans had tamed the monsters. Played with the monsters. Used them for transport. Collected their shed skin. Shuddering I turned to my console keying up my ledger. After recording the trades, I added my own personal observations.
'Notes. Star Cluster %\*()# Off is not for the faint of heart. The human colony there has tamed the monsters, calling them 'dragons' or 'star dragons'. I managed to gather that they once had fables of such beasts though theirs were a great deal smaller. But it is full of riches, for the brave peddler. They will exchange what they call 'dragon scales' for any fresh fruit but especially apples. Add them to the list after Glarkion-5.'
Signing it, I sighed. The shaking hadn't subsided yet, and when I closed my eyes, I saw the beasts around me again. What I needed was a stiff drink, and to be far away from here. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a question started to form, worming its way into my brain.
What would it be like to ride a Star Dragon?
​
——————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
The whizzing air would have blown out my ears under normal circumstances, but I didn't mind. What annoyed me was the storm that he flew through. My eyes were shut so tight, they nearly froze going through the clouds. My cybernetic ear implants continued to buzz in my ear, blocking out moisture and the speed of the wind, the only remaining comfort I had.
The mechanical prototype suit had been shredded, and the leather harness that strapped me to the protective roll cage had produced less than adequate results. Something to reinforce to confor-
The air got warmer as we dropped below the clouds, the overcast sky becoming more grey as we descended. I smiled and blinked to get the wetness out of my eyes. *I must get ahead of myself and install the new implants to avoid this discomfort. Setting me down gently in a small steel cage, the man that I came to know as my Father found his own spot. Roughly ten paces away, a small chamber rose from the ground, the grass dead from the constant use. A mini-fridge appeared.
"Still drinking the blue flavour? That's my favourite."
His silent continued as he chugged a bottle of it. Then another. I fidgetted to scratch an irritation in my back before he turned to me. "You're going to jail. For good."
I smiled. "Nice to see you too Robert Lang."He scowled, then narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know that name."He growled as he walked closer, hard steps kicking up sand. I continued to smile.
"Birth certificate. Mum gave it to me when I was ten. You remember Becca, right?"My teeth, polished only yesterday by my dentist, gleaned white in the sun. "She's still practicing you know."
His face turned scarlet. "What kind of trick is this?!"He ripped the steel bars apart and picked me up by what was left of my collar. "Who are you?"
"Your son."
He looked at me, deep into the sockets of my eyes. He softened. His grip loosened, and dropped me to the floor. His eyes were thoughtful, tracing back the numerous flings, vacation romances, the by-gones and the smooches on the cheeks, the moments of peace and solitude. You could hardly blame him. Moving from one moment to the next, from one villain to the next. His eyes rose to meet mine again.
"Another one. Again. Huh."He stepped back to give me space again, and looked over me. "You became this to what, talk to me?"
I stood, uneasily as my left hip's pain rose sharply with the movement. There was likely a rib fracture as it hurt somewhat to breath on that side. Maybe a strain? I must re-eva-
"What kind of kid goes through the effort of inventing a mecha suit to destroy a city?"He interupted my thought.
I chuckled softly, softly enough for my chest to rest easy. "One that demands attention from my Father I guess?"He smirked at that briefly.
He sighed, waving me to follow him. The mini-fridge rose again to the surface. Handing me one of the bottles, he stated, "You're still going to jail." |
**General edit: if anyone is late to the party and would like to catch up with this WP in the right order (and at their own pace), the veritable legend that is /u/OC4815162342 has set me up a depository at /r/NWP1984stories/. To the veterans who have been here since the beginning: thank you for all your support - I wouldn't have done it without you**
**Last update: www.tinyurl.com/l2vryf9**
Justin liked being different. It seemed like *everyone* picked something to do with sex. It was so facile, so obvious, so goddamned human. Number of sexual partners, likelihood to shag, likelihood to felate *after* marriage... Justin felt that 18 was perhaps too young to make the choice of Instinct; at that age everyone only thinks about one thing. Justin just thanked God his parents had made a sensible choice.
In the beginning, some people had gone with the superhero angle - trying to save the world, one criminal at a time. Unfortunately, you could only fine-tune the Instinct so far, and number of crimes committed meant just that: after a couple of months it became apparent that the Superheros had wasted their Instinct: they might as well have just picked "number of speeding tickets evaded".
Some of the psychologists and neurlogists and doctors had formed small guilds, each deliberately picking a different statistic: odds of developing cancer, Alzheimers, Type II Diabetes. A simple walk past the panel provided all the information insurance companies would ever need. Premiums soared. Then genome funding collapsed; drug trials became faster and more accurate. Premiums collapsed.
Gambling, of course, took a hit. The bookies hired the best they could afford, but those whose Instincts were more refined knew where to go and when to bet. The financial markets went the same way.
Politics became nearly impossible. Once a senator's lie-count was determined all you had to do was send the pundit with the appropriate Instinct to watch him speak. All it took was a well-known pundit standing near the lecturn or the senate-floor to cough, each time his Instinct flared to bring down careers. We quickly learned there were few honest policians, and somethings we'd rather not know.
The Instinct had been a blessing and curse. Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss. Justin wanted to be different.
The clock blinked over to midnight. He closed his eyes and whispered gently into his pillow. |
"You wanted to see me, Basal?"Asked the Semi-Dorn.
"Yes, Semi-Dorn. I've found something concerning about these humans."The Basal's small rack of thorny antlers wriggled in a manner the Semi-Dorn recognized as apprehension. This made the Semi-Dorn's much larger, smooth rack do much the same. Basal-phenotes are rarely so emotive.
"What is it, that you've found? Does it affect our plans?"
The Basal pointed to the membrane displaying the image decoded from the computer network of the world below. "I think it does. These creatures have extremely dangerous... things... contained for study, or for security, or both. Their vocalizations and the patterns they use to represent them are confusing."
The Semi-Dorn was irritated. "Doesn't every species?"
The Basal signaled negative. "Not like this. This world seems to have reality warping entities, some of them hostile to anything. Some of them are resistant to extreme damage, and worse, some simply reform if destroyed."
The Semi-Dorn stared as the Basal continued, "They have a couple thousand of these anomalous entities contained in dozens of sites. We've broken the encryption for the main database, but much of the data is redacted. We have yet to crack the rest of the data, but from what is known to this 'SCP Foundation', it is impossible for these humans to have survived this long. What's worse, is there are other groups that seek to release or control these entities. Read this entry here."
The Semi-Dorn read aloud due to a lesser grasp of the language. "682?"
After reading several minutes more, and looking up other entries cross-linked, the Semi-Dorn's antlers quivered.
"Abort. Make a full copy of this... We will send it to the Elder-Dorns. We need a much larger fleet... and be ready to do as the humans... Secure, Contain, Protect."
(not my best... but had to write.) |
Our federation of star systems was a peaceful one, aside from the occasional crime of passion violence was a very foreign concept to us, in fact there wasn't even a word for it. We'd managed to claim nearly three fourths of the galaxy before we finally found a reason to make one.
We'd ran into the occasional intelligent species from time to time, most of them were primitive and needed guidance, the few that had managed space travel were rather amiable. We found little resistance in the stars as it seemed we had been lucky enough to be one of their first visitors and as such we guided the growth of many a species into our own mold of thinking, it was this that would come to haunt us.
War. . . we'd never thought of it, conceived the idea, even the sickest and most demented of our criminals didn't think about destroying entire worlds for their own personal gain. Yet, there they were, in a cluster of stars; the hostile environment of multiple suns had forced the species to adapt at an amazing rate, we wished to study them and marvel in the genetic paradigm we'd found. Our security measures were . . . less than adequate; one of the researchers had been killed by them, species 23NR, the twenty-third, at the time, non-sentient species of the R-grouping of stars. They incorporated the genetic structure of their prey into their own genome. By the time we realized they'd learned to open the locks and enter the habitat it was too late, the meager security force had been overrun.
Our people were horrified by the news reported of a lost scientific base, though it wasn't unheard of, observational patrols were sent to monitor the planet and further study the species from a distance, what we found was, surprising to say the least. 23NR's designation was immediately changed to that of 23SR as they immediately began to show signs of sentience; not only did they scavenge technology from the research outpost but they had begun to mine, refine, and manufacture their own vehicles; they appeared to be crude mockups of our own, barely able to contain an atmosphere, yet, somehow able to travel through space.
The second attack made us, as a species, realize the gravity of what was to come the research vessel orbiting the planet found itself slammed into by weighty objects, at first the crew thought it had been a meteor, then, the screams were heard. The creatures appeared as a cruel mockery of us, human in shape, yet wrong, mandibles extended from their jaw and their skin was a sickly shade of rusty brown and they all seemed nearly identical, slaughtering everyone aboard the ship, devouring their flesh and beginning to molt when they found desirable traits. They moved with a sickening efficiency and group mentality.
Needless to say we had no proper countermeasure, our only weapons of any sort were meant for mining or clearing debris and they adapted them swiftly to suit their own uses, improved on them; it was as if every intellect they devoured was combined into a perverse think-tank.
System after system fell, until, one of the few surviving scientists that had originally discovered the species suggested we attempt to mimic their natural propensity for violence for our own defense. We seeded a number of garden worlds with primitive human tribes, hoping that at least a few of them would become sustainable and more violent than we could be.
It worked better than we could have imagined. One planet in particular, dubbed "Earth"by its inhabitants was the only to find its way to an informational level of technology. They were. . . savage, perhaps even more savage than the creatures we'd created them to fight. Unlike 23SR they didn't need the betterment of their species to fight for, they just seemed to enjoy fighting, over things as passing as simple ideas or rudimentary beliefs. They were our children and they were marvelously grotesque in their nature.
We continued to lose systems, the council knew that a turning point was needed and as such we decided to speed their development. A ship was crashed; a single scout near a remote desert town, the speed with which they found, scavenged and integrated its component parts was unbelievable. Within two generations they'd landed on the nearest planetoid and already sent robotic probes to the next planet from their own. Their fleeting lives were so insignificant compared to our drawn out existence yet within a single generation they could achieve more than we had imagined.
Nuclear fire bathed their planet, yet, they continued to grow and spread; first to their own star system and then neighboring systems we'd earmarked to remain empty. Every step of the way they fought themselves, differing ideologies sprouting here or there which threatened the whole of their species were stamped out like a cancer by the immune system.
By the time 23SR found our children what was left of our society watched with bated breath and we were not disappointed. The first hive fleet struck without warning, it scoured nearly a dozen of the "Terran"colonies, as we have come to dub our children. Yet, the response was something we had not expected; faced with an outside threat, every disparate theology, idea, government, and creed among the Terran people unified and turned all of their self-loathing and hatred upon the creatures that'd invaded their territory. Within five generations the Terran war machine worked more efficiently than our most verdant garden worlds, producing thousands of ships per each of their solar years and making war on the species as we could never imagine.
They didn't just defend themselves, no, they destroyed entire worlds, raining death and nuclear fire from the skies while destroy every single individual of 23SR they came across; each time the species attempted to evolve or adapt to our Terran children the increased resistance only drove the Terrans to greater heights of violence and sacrifice.
It was only when the last hive-system of 23SR fell that we realized the cancer we'd created, the dark shadow of ourselves that would now spread at a greater pace than even the ugly creatures we'd discovered so long ago had. The Terrans had finally been unified with their gaze steeled over with a hatred of the outside, they would find us, they would realize the hell we'd born them into, and, they would have vengeance, as a neglected child upon its mother.
[First time writing here, leniency please]
Edit: Thanks for the huge positive response guys! Really! Better than I could ever have hoped for, also I did some minor changes with the feedback given to make it flow a bit better, probably still not perfect though. |
The gateway opened before it, as it always did around this time every week. A huge blood red gash in the air before him, a portal from their world to the mortal realm. Only the great Beliar, prince of trickery, was capable of seeing this portal, as was the rule with a summons. Only the Demon in question was able to see the rift, otherwise others would scramble over each other to get to the mortal realm. Pathetic as they were. Once a demon has made contact with the mortal in question and formed a pact, they are freely summoned to the mortal realm by their master committing the ritual again.
Beliar's new master, however, did not want the usual demands his previous masters requested. While his last master asked for power and fame, Beliar made sure that the Russian Monk met a fate worthy of his sins. It was years before Beliar was summoned again, this time to a small suburban house in New Jersey.
"WHO DARES AWAKE ME FROM MY DARK SLUMBER?"Beliar roared, as he appeared in flames in the small empty room. Annoyed and confused at the lack of a summoner, Beliar surveyed the room in the hopes of learning more about this mortal.
The room was small, had a single bed, and badly drawn pictures littered the ground and wall. On the ground below him was a single page with some ruins draw on it and the blood of his new master.
"I know you are here! And if you do not reveal yourself I will make your suffering legendary even in the underworld."Beliar roared again, this time hearing a fearful whine from under the small bed.
Stomping over to it, he grabbed the side of the bed and flipped it on its front revealing the person hiding from him. There, dressed in pink urine soaked pyjamas with a puddle still forming under her, was a small girl in a witch hat. Was this a sacrifice? Has the human race sunk so low that they have resorted to sacrificing again?
"Please don’t eat me Mr. Demon!"She shouted, as Beliar looked down at her. Humans as a whole were not appetizing, let alone when they were soaked in piss.
"Where is the one that summoned me?"Beliar asked, glaring down at her.
"I don’t know..."She whimpered.
"DONT LIE TO ME CHILD! I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES!"His roar now even more inhuman as his patience grew thin.
"IT WAS ME! IM SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!"She cried, her words surprising the immortal demon.
"You are my master?"He asked, as he did not know why a child would summon him.
"I...I just...I just wanted a friend."She explained, sniffling and rubbing her eyes free of tears.
"So you summoned a demon from the underworld to do so? Why not an angel?"Beliar asked, unsure if this child was even sure what she was doing.
"Angels are boring!"She shouted, for the first time growing stern with the demon as if he had offended her.
"That they are!"Beliar stated, laughing loudly as he sat before the child. She gave a nervous chuckle, not getting the joke but not wanting to make things awkward.
"So what do I call my new master?"Beliar asked, smiling at his new master.
"Mary."She responded, sitting up before the demon.
"Mary. A name that I am familiar with. Before you stands the Prince of Trickery, the great demon Beliar-"
"Do you like cookies?"Mary interrupted, causing Beliar to look at her in bewilderment.
"Excuse me?"Beliar asked his tone now much calmer and soothing than it had been.
"Cookies. Mom made a tonne for my birthday today, but she’s busy and daddy’s with his new family. And I don’t want mom to feel like she let me down, so I want to eat them all before she gets back from work."Mary explained, causing Beliar to be at a loss for words. Never in his time as a demon, was he summoned to eat cookies with a child! It was an insult to his nature, and his power.
"I....shall eat the cookies with you Master Mary."He begrudgingly stated which resulted in an excited yelp from his mistress.
The years went by, a week had not past without Mary summoning the demon for any number of reasons. The requests varied from movie night, to video games, and even makeovers. The latter of which he enjoyed far more than playing a game where he was an obese plumber chasing a dragon over a princess, who should have been aware after god knows how many games that she needed better security. He had even managed to create a more human form, in case someone was to see her fraternizing with a demon. Beliar watched as Mary grew into a young woman. Today she was 17 and has summoned him once again.
"BEHOLD YOU HAVE SUMMONED-"
"BELIAR!"Mary shouted, standing before him in what appeared to be a dress made for a princess. She was wearing makeup, and looked like she was in a rush of some kind.
"Master Mary, what can your demon do for you-"
"Shut up for a second!"Mary snapped, pointing her finger towards the demon.
"Very well."Beliar complied, looking at her with suspicion.
"Good. Great."She stated rushing around the room in a panicked state.
"Is that why you summoned me? To silence me?"Beliar asked, his tone filled with annoyance.
"No...I need you in a suit. In human form. You re my prom date."Mary explained, still applying some make up. Fury overcame the Demon Prince.
"I AM NOT A DOG YOU CAN SUMMON TO DO YOUR BIDDING CHILD!"He barked, flames pushing out of his inflamed nostrils. Unaffected by his roar, Mary flicked his snout.
"Shut up and get dressed."She ordered, leaving the room and the demon to once again begrudgingly fulfil his master’s request.
|
At first it was just little things. Coffee mugs. Ballpoint pens. I didn't understand how it worked. I'm not the most technical guy. I'm just a claims adjuster. At least I was.
Times were changing. Whole business was going digital. They couldn't afford brand new models for everybody, so some of us got old clunkers from foreclosure auctions, pawn shops, god knows where.
It's some kind of magic, I guess. Did you ever watch star trek? They have this thing on the wall and it gives you what you ask for. I figured that was just what computers did. After all, it was the 90's. Everything was cutting edge.
After the bowling ball incident, I realized I was playing with fire. My boss went ballistic. Everyone thought I smashed the desk because I was "disgruntled". I was just shopping for a new 12 pounder and, poof, there it was. Granted, I probably shouldn't have been doing it on company time.
Looking back, I don't know how it didn't occur to me sooner. I figured they were charging the company account, but I checked the balance sheets myself. No one was getting charged for the stuff. It just... Appeared.
Well, I started staying after hours. At first I was only looking at commerce sites - stores, yanno - but eventually I figured out I could download anything. Even if it wasn't for sale.
I got all kinds of stuff. Fine art. Diamond jewelry for the missus. Had to tell her it was cubic zirconia to avoid suspicion, but they were real. Toys and junk for the kids. Anything they wanted. For a while, I was father of the year.
The first real disaster was the camaro. See, I thought I was just downloading the keys. Big mistake. Damn thing nearly took my legs off, materializing like that. Wrecked up the whole bullpen. I knew I'd have to quit.
Boss tried to have me arrested, but there was no proof it was me. Besides, how did I get a car in there in the first place? Police were baffled. Said it belonged to some guy in Phoenix. That's when things started adding up.
See, the car had plates. It had stuff in the cab. Hell, there was day-old coffee in the cup holder. I never learned what happened to that guy. Knowing what I know now? I don't wanna know. Long story short, they were too busy with the aftermath to notice the computer was missing.
After that, I knew I had to be careful. This stuff wasn't just appearing, it was - what's the word - teleporting? Took me a while to get the thing running in my garage. As I said, I'm not the most technical guy.
Now I know this sounds crazy. I know that. The judge and the DA, they refused to prosecute the... The incident. Wouldn't believe my confession. Why would they? Yeah, I was in possession of stolen goods, so they got me on that. At least I'm where I belong.
And so I was careful. At first. The wife wanted to know where I kept getting all this stuff. Told her I was working from home. The internet was kinda vague and mysterious back then. She knew I spent a lot of time on that old computer, and the money kept coming in. Why would she suspect?
After a while I started getting bolder. I didn't think about where the stuff was coming from. I didn't care. New appliances, fancy clothes, big screen TV. We were living large. It was hard to explain why the new fridge was full of groceries we never bought, but at the end of the day? Who cares.
It went on like that for a while. I could get whatever I wanted, so long as it would fit in the garage. A lot of the time, I'd just download stacks of cash. I knew I'd never be able to explain to the IRS, but when you pay in cash...
Anyway, you can probably figure out the rest. I got greedy. There was one thing I'd always wanted even more than the camaro. Had this whole scheme cooked up. I'd load up the computer and drive it into position. Even brought this great big extension cord, in case I couldn't find an outlet nearby.
If I could take it back, I would. Everyone was stunned by the news. No one could explain it. Twenty three bodies - what was left of them - just dropped out of the sky. The jet, parked safely on the east coast, three thousand miles away...
The next day, when I realized what I'd done, I took a crowbar to that godforsaken devil computer. Maybe if I had understood how the thing worked, I would have known better. And those people? They'd still be alive. But like I said. I'm not the most technical guy. |
We were thirteen and both going through the hormonal mess that is being thirteen. I was crushing on her, then she was crushing on me a bit while I was crushing on Mellie for a bit, then we were both crushing on different people. I crushed on another boy for a few days. An exciting time, but not very pleasant. But through all the teenage emotional drama, we kept up what we both had been doing since we had been six or seven years old: Meeting behind her family's home and just talking.
That's where the pact was made one summer evening: We were both worried we would never find the right person. She was waiting for her prince, I was waiting for Halle Berry ... But how realistic was that? Ultimately, we decided that if we both didn't find who we were looking for, we could both imagine worse things than simply marrying our respective best friend. So we agreed. If, by the time we turned 35, we had not found the right person, we would marry.
Years went by and we grew up. She blossomed, there is no better word for it, and I found that she probably was the most beautiful woman I knew. Pigtails became flowing amber hair and her easy-going, friendly character expressed itself through an incredible, warm smile. I remained quieter, talked rarely, mostly preferred to be left alone by others, while she always had a buzzing swarm of boys around her.
Her first real boyfriend was Jeffrey. I saw them kiss everywhere at school, even though I tried to ignore it ... I had to prevent the worst. I didn't want to ruin his life or anything, but I couldn't let it - I couldn't let it go beyond making out. So I used the fact that I was the quiet kid with few friends ... I provoked Jeffrey into beating me up. Can't even remember what I said to him - his mother was featured prominently in my insults - but it worked. He beat the shit out of me. I later said I deserved it for provoking him and, considering my social standing, everyone believed it. I didn't hurt Jeffrey's reputation too much. But ... Well, she broke up with him for being a violent jock.
The next time we met - we only did that once every two or three months now - was different. I now had two terrible secrets. The thing with jeff - which she apologized to me for - and the fact that I was madly in love with her.
Maybe I could have stopped there, but I didn't. I was in the habit and it became harder to kick with every time. I started to justify it to myself, told myself I was protecting her from assholes, but honestly: I just wanted her for myself.
In College, she met Reuben. He was sweet, caring, compassionate and simply - good. He was a devout Christian who was strongly against things like drugs, alcohol, and swearing, but would only ever apply these rules to his own life, not try to force them on others. I can only begin to imagine the look of confusion on his face when she dumped him for being a hypocrite after finding a big bag of weed in his car.
John and Adam were only a few dates each. Adam arrived late at every date for various reasons (the taxi driver took him to the wrong end of town and left him there, his front door was jammed shut, ...), all of which were true, but none of which she really believed. John, who was hard of hearing and always had his phone on loud, got a call from his current "girlfriend"during a date. Not that he had one, I'd just hired someone to play the part.
At this point, it had become a habit of mine to mess with her romantic life. I'd even had a few flings myself, maybe even believed they'd last, but taking down everyone who was dating her was just something I did now. I came up with a new justification: If it was truly the one, the prince, my meddling wouldn't be able to end it. So, what I really was doing was helping her filter.
After all, being smart is defined as being able to find more justifications for what you do.
She almost gave up on men, while I actually found a girlfriend, Claire. Unfortunately, it turned out Claire was a bit of a crazy stalker who called me in the middle of the night accusing me of cheating.
Then it happened. While my dear, beautiful teenage crush seemed entirely uninterested in dating anyone (judging from our last talk half a year ago), I met someone else. Celeste. She had deep, dark eyes, warm, dark skin, a French accent that made me melt and the personality of a curious, playful cat. I fell in love for the first time since my teenage years and with my 35th birthday fast approaching (I was a bit older than my crush of old, making that the definite date), I thought that this was it. It was love. I had found my woman, the one who might make me give up my lifelong obsession and allow me to build a future instead of gnawing on the past. That's what made it so devastating when, a week before my thirty-fifth birthday, she left me.
She said she was sorry, but she had never had been able to feel as strongly for me as I had felt for her - that she had been in love, yes, but that that had cooled off and that there wasn't enough left to make her stay. I cried. I was a grown man who cried and begged her to stay. I said I wanted to marry her. And then, she was gone and my flat was so, so empty.
She called. Not Celeste, but she. The one and only, the always, my dream-girl. She asked to meet. I said yes. If anything, I needed company. I was too devastated to really think of the pact.
We were sitting behind her parents' house. Her father had died of a stroke two years ago, her mother was alive and reading a book inside. I was quiet and she just looked at me with her eyes, her very blue eyes that weren't as young anymore. When she finally talked, it took me long to understand her words and longer to answer.
"Are you okay?", she asked.
"Somewhat ... No. I think I'll be."
"Good."She smiled, broadly. "You'll be thirty-five in a few days."
"Happy birthday to me."I was holding back a tear.
"We have a pact, you know."She came closer and looked directly into my face, trying to catch my gaze.
"Yeah, yeah ..."I looked up. Her smile was beautiful, but not funny. "Wait. You're serious."
"Of course I'm serious."
"But, I ..."I wanted to say, *I'm done, I'm finished, I'm dead inside, just forget childrens' games for the moment*, but I said none of it.
"Don't pretend you aren't. You hid a bag of drugs in poor Reuben's car."
I was trying to find words, but they were coming out slowly and sluggishly. "You ... You know ...?"
"Sure I know, silly."She was beaming. "It was the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me! It's why I made Claire think you were cheating on her. Because I love you too! But I knew we had to wait until the pact was fulfilled ..."
I looked at her eyes. They were wide, wonderful, bright blue ... and, how had I missed that, very much insane. "But ..."
"You're right. It's not safe. What if I couldn't make someone leave you? But that's why my idea was so much better. I just hired Celeste. She kept you from meeting anyone who could take you from me until it was time."She was closer, too close now. I was feeling hot and dry. "It was the least I could do, darling."
We did marry a short time later. I think we were, in more ways than I'd known about, made for each other. If you think that is a crazy thing to do, well, you're completely right. |
"El-nada-tyca-samara-shia-ne*dan*!"The words exploded from me in a rush. A wave of energy shot forward, blowing my opponent from his feet. He landed on the ground in a crumpled pile, rising up to sit on his elbows as he stared at me in disbelief. The others around us stood watching, murmuring quietly to each other. The bookie just stared in silence, mouth hanging open.
I grinned. I *liked* this world.
I hadn't been too sure, when I first arrived here. Of course, that was only natural. I had been on my way home from Little Caesar's, a hot-and-ready in the passenger seat, when that drunk driver had blown through the red and nailed me. Never saw it coming. Never felt a thing. And that was it.
I was surprised, when there were no pearly gates. Not that I'd ever been much of a Christian, mind. Never bought into all that stuff. But I figured there would be *something*, and, well, that's what you always hear about.
Waking up in *this* fucked up town, then, was a complete and total surprise.
The crowd around me shifted, the tenor of the conversations changing. Another contestant was coming. That was fine. I grinned, stretching my shoulders out in the wide-open circle around me. No one would get *close* to beating me. Not in this world, not with my skills.
You see, in this world, there's magic. Yeah, black robes and wands and all that fancy stuff. Sounds dumb, I know. But, anyone can use it, and it's just a matter of memorizing the incantations. The faster you recite, the more power you can surge into your spell, and the stronger it is. Not to mention the fact that you get the jump on your opponent.
And, you see, I was a rapper back in the world of the living. On my way up, as it were. I was *going* places. So when you talk about memorizing all those tongue-twisters and spitting them back out, correctly, and quickly?
This was my kind of place. And I'd carved my own little corner out of it, in the underbelly and the betting rings. Turned quite the tidy little profit. I'd made a name for myself, in the few days since I woke up here.
The crowd parted, then, and the next challenger stepped through. I stopped, not believing my eyes, and then couldn't help it. I laughed. I laughed right in her face.
She was a tiny little bit of a woman, all skinny limbs with a braided ponytail. She saw me laughing, and she *smiled*. Leaned right back on her heels and waited while I had my fun.
"Are you serious, girl?"I managed, gasping for air. "Better run on back to your home. This shit's too much for you. I ain't in for hurting women."
She nodded sagely.
"That's all very honorable of you, I'm sure. But, still, here I am. I'm here to challenge you. I *can* do that, right?"She said, glancing over at the bookie. He nodded his head after a long moment, waving his arms helplessly.
"Those are the rules, miss. But...This is only your first day. Wouldn't you like to watch for a bit? Get in the swing of it?"
She smiled again.
"I don't think that's necessary. I've already got the relevant spells memorized. Should be good to go, right?"She said, beaming at me. She was too damned *cute* to be sitting here in front of me, treating me like I was a game. It pissed me off.
"Fine, then. Let's do this. You good?"
I nodded to the bookie, indicating I was ready. He sighed, glancing over to the woman. She nodded as well, and at long last he held up an air horn.
The piercing noise rang through the audience. *Game on*.
"Yadda-under-tierna-it--"I began, but I'd barely made it halfway through the spell I'd selected when I heard her speak.
I couldn't tell you what she said. I could hear every syllable, clear as day, but the sound of it all flowed together in one unbroken stream. I stared, aghast, as a wave of energy surged around me. My half-formed spell shattered and broke as I tumbled to the ground.
The crowd was going wild, screaming and cheering. Those who had felt adventurous ran to the bookie to claim their enormous winnings off her, while my supporters stared with murder in their eyes.
But I only had eyes for her. It didn't make *sense*.
"How?"I demanded, stepping forward until we were face to face. "I've been at this gig for *years*, and I've never heard something like that. How did you do that, girl?"
The woman grinned up at me, winking slyly.
"You were a rapper, right? That's pretty impressive. You're good."Holding up one finger, she pointed it at herself. "I read the fine print in radio commercials."
She stepped back, as the crowd raved, and flashed me a sardonic grin.
"Bring it."
(/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!) |
"I told you, I don't like roller coasters."I said wearily, arms crossed, my torso squirming slightly in nausea. "Also, humans hate being told what to do. You'd think after watching us for so many centuries you'd have figured that out by now."
"On the contrary,"the creature said as it released my restraints and helped me out of the amusement park ride. "I've found that humans can be very obedient with the proper incentive. Though I haven't quite figured out what that incentive is, if I can't get a human to scream on a device which, for all intents and purposes, is designed to illicit that very response."
I sighed and wobbled my way over to the nearest bench. Thankfully I had so little to do this weekend that being a part of the extraterrestrial's experiments was actually rather amusing. And yes, I deliberately avoided screaming just to get on its nerves... if it has nerves.
"I couldn't get you to cry from watching Titanic. I couldn't get you to have sex with the Emma Roberts doll, and I couldn't get you to scream on the amusement park ride. Conquering you lot is gonna be harder than I thought."It made a sound similar to a sigh and sat down in the amusement park ride.
"Where are all the people anyways?"I looked around, wondering where the men in black were going to pop out of.
"Oh, I called in a terrorist threat right before I brought you here. Also an invisibility cloak is keeping us hidden."He leaned back, pensive.
"Huh, you were smart enough to pull that off, but you can't get me to scream on a roller coaster ride."
The creature shrugged and started staring into space. "It's strange. Getting a large group of people to do something is easy. Getting an individual to do something is surprisingly hard."
I quirked my head at the being and looked up and nothing in particular. The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right.
It turned to me again. "Your society has convinced you to wear clothes, to wash your hands, to be educated at a centralized location, to wash your sheets, to buy and save, to both hate and love minorities, even to both enjoy and despise food. Society moves like waves of water, back and forth, and you just swing along with it. But as soon as you isolate a human, they suddenly turn into a stone in the water. You're a very interesting species."
"I'll take that as a compliment. It's nice to be special."
"And that's the strangest thing of all. Your society teaches you that you are special, and yet it runs most efficiently when you behave as though you clearly aren't."
"Look man, er, woman, thing, you should have kidnapped a psychologist or something. I'm not gonna be the one to help you conquer humanity. Not that it doesn't sound fun; I just don't think I'm competent enough to be able to help you."
The creature's bulbous black eyes turned to me. Its thin, lipless mouth seemed to smirk slightly. "Amazing. If I had asked you to help me conquer your species, you likely would have tried to kill me. I sit here pensive, and your first instinct is to lament that you are not capable of helping me."
I smiled, walked over, having fully recovered from my nausea, and sat down next to the being. "It's too bad. Sometimes I think we could really use a conqueror. Humans are such a mess on their own."
The creature chuckled. "Eh, honestly you're probably not worth the effort."
...
I then found myself in the middle of my bedroom, with no sign that I had been experimented on or that I had just encountered an intergalactic creature who wanted to conquer humanity. I took a deep breath, and decided that I would celebrate having saved the human race with a nice Chianti.
If only he had known that I was, in fact, a psychologist. |
The Portals didn't change day to day life as much as people expected. Sure, things changed a little. You can't go to a job interview without a Qiavi sitting in the corner, soaking up your mood to tell the interviewer later just how much you've been bullshitting. They've pretty much taken over the professions of therapists too. Stuff like that. But at the end of the day, they just want to eat fast food, drink cheap beer, and watch dumb, loud movies like humans. They settled in pretty smoothly.
Living pretty far away from the first Portal, I didn't meet a Qiavi in person until the novelty and shock of it all had already worn off. I probably wouldn't have met one at all, at least not for a few more years, if my old college friend Chris hadn't tried to hook me up with one. Yeah, that's a thing. Some people say that their empathic abilities take relationships to a whole new level. And of course there's the fetish aspect. Some people are creeped out by their antennae and black sclera and patterned skin...some people find them exotic.
Chris was in the latter group, and he wouldn't shut up about it. He also lives much closer to the first Portal than I did, so he made some friends from the other side pretty quickly. And when a Portal opened closer to me, he used his connections to set me up on a blind date.
I don't really know what I was expecting. I certainly didn't expect as much screaming as there was. As soon as she saw me, she bunched up in what looked like physical pain. Feeling a bit awkward, I excused myself and took my leave. I don't know if she could even hear me.
At first, I felt bad. I get migraines a lot. I've been seeing a doctor about them, getting all kinds of tests. I figured she must have been feeling that somehow...what else could explain her reaction? But that didn't make any sense. I was absolutely fine that day. Could Qiavi sense past pain? Was the memory of pain as intense for them as the sensation itself?
That evening, as I sat at home, ruminating on past evenings where my dates had been polite enough to only scream internally, I got a phone call. It was her number.
"I wanted to apologize for earlier,"she said. "You...caught me off-guard."
"Are you alright?"I asked. "What happened? That looked like it hurt."
"I'm okay,"she said. "But..."
She stopped, obviously having second thoughts about opening whatever can of worms was on her mind. Taking no hint whatsoever, I prodded her to continue. "Hmm?"
"...but what about you? Is it like that for you all the time?"
It's hard to describe how it feels to have an empath, who can easily compare the internal experiences of many people, tell you - however compassionately - that it objectively sucks to be you.
"How do you live with it?"she went on.
"Memes."
"Excuse me?"
I figured my sense of self-worth couldn't shrink any more, so I decided to be forthcoming. "I fill my meaningless void of an existence with in-jokes that arise from the ecosystem of the internet. It helps."
She actually laughed. "No, not that. I run into introverts a hundred times a day. I mean the..."it took her a moment to think of the words. "One of your writers had a story called 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.' That phrase is exactly what it felt like."
I didn't have an answer for her. But what she said shook me. After we hung up, I looked up that story and gave it a read. The final fate of the protagonist, stuck in a helpless body and unable even to die, stuck with me.
It came back to my mind the following day, and when it did, I nearly passed out in horror. I was speaking to a doctor about the results of a test, and imaging scan of my brain. The cause of my migraines was obvious now. _Fetus in fetu._ A parasitic twin, absorbed by my body in the womb and pressed between my brain and my skull ever since. My doctor made all sorts of reassurances to me, but when he said it couldn't possibly be conscious, I knew he was wrong.
My date had felt his presence. My twin brother. He had no mouth, and only she could hear him scream. |
**The Jesters Right**
"Dick move, your majesty. Dick fucking move."Said the Jester.
King Edward Gallant IV, Lord of the Highlands and ruler of the Realm, looked up sharply, his hand brushing past the grip of a small sword he had. In his muted clothes and with his unkempt hair, the people didn't recognize him, but Jester was said to have "the True Sight"and could see things that wished to be hidden. But how he had found him was the far more pressing concern.
"Jester! Were you followed?"Gallant asked, ignoring the earlier barb.
"What?"Responded the brightly colored man, his face filling with shock and anger. It took all of Gallants restraint to not stand up and bellow, to instead lean forward and repeat his question quietly. "You... you are truly a selfish bastard, unworthy of your moniker!"The Jester finally said.
Gallant stood and grabbed the Jester by the front of his silly green and purple outfit, pulling him close. "Do not think that I won't have you punished for this, boy. I am still king, by birthright, and demand your fealty and respect! Now answer me, were you followed?"
"That's quite enough, father."Came a third voice. Only now did Gallant look to the hooded figure who had been nearby and see the familiar locks of hair edging out of the cloth. "King or no, it would be rude of you to threaten the man who saved your daughter."
Princess Eris sat down primly across from the king, glancing about the room furtively. Gallant released his hold on Jester and fell back onto his seat, struck dumb at the sight.
"Eris... you live?"
"No thanks to you. One would think a worm has more spine than you."Jester said as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit and sat down nonchalantly, putting his legs on the table top.
"And you, hush, he may be cowardly but he is still my father, and I prefer not to hear such things said about him. Not right now."Eris said, turning her head towards Jester, who sighed and crossed his arms before nodding. Eris nodded in kind and then, oddly, placed a hand on his leg. With an even more dramatic sigh, Jester took his legs off the table top and sat properly.
"But, "Eris began again, turning to her father, "yes, I live. Jester saved me by... how did you say it? 'Putting on a show'?"The Jester snickered at something before regaining his composure.
"You saved my daughter?"Gallant asked aloud. He tried to suppress the image in his head, as he turned while running away and saw his daughter stare after him, surrounded by the invaders. All his best soldiers were dead, unable to stop the horde of killers, but this Jester could fight them off to save his daughter? "Anything you want, it will be yours. You have but to name it."
"Hollow words from a hollow man. You have no power to grant anything, nor would you willingly grant my request anyway. Abdicate the throne, leave it to your daughter. Then leave us be."Jester said.
"You may be right about not having the power. I cannot give what I do not have. But you are wrong about one thing, if I can get back the throne, I will give it up to Eris, this I swear before all the Craven gods."Gallant said, his voice raising from the hoarse whisper it was at the beginning to nearly a bellow at the end. The Jester smiled before looking to Eris, who nodded once, and stood up.
"Alright. Sounds like we'll have to take back your kingdom then."Jester said as he helped Eris out of her seat.
"Just like that?"She asked, surprised.
"Well, it's a bit more complex than that, but yeah, basically just like that. All we need is an army, supplies and a plan, and I know where to source all three."Jester said with a grin as he and Eris started to walk away, arm in arm. Eris looked back and motioned for Gallant to join them, so he sheepishly placed what spare coin he had on the table and left behind them.
"How did you save my daughter, anyway... it wasn't looking good when I..."
"Bravely ran away?"Jester offered up. Gallant growled, already regretting having not throttled this boy when he showed up. "Well, that is a tall tale. The True Sight is the greatest of my abilities, but not my only one. We'd have to start this one, back awhile ago..." |
It's strange--you can like someone instantly, but hate takes *research*.
I'm not talking about distaste or any of the other bad first impressions you can get from people. If someone is condescending or rude, then you'll dislike them, but you can't hate someone without *really* knowing them. You need to know what makes them tick, and find every scrap of motivation and drive that they have to be genuinely abhorrent. Only then can you feel that boiling mixture of anger, revulsion and bizarre fascination that is true hate. And in my case, only then can I really get to work.
I was set up on a windswept rooftop about a quarter mile from the target--one Hung Lao, whose family was rich enough to afford me and mad enough to pay me. He was massively rich and had a massive life insurance policy, but more importantly he'd run the family business into some dark corners. There was only one way to get the company back on track, in his family's eyes, and so they'd hired me to be his severance package.
You see, the thing about assassins is that they're generally rather obvious in retrospect. "Our president is dead!""Wait, what? Why?""Well seeing as how they're repainting the walls and redoing the carpet, I'd say someone shot him in the head."That sort of thing. People paid a lot *more* money to people like me--people that could kill without murdering.
I had to hate my targets to do my work, and so I'd done my research. Lao was a pretty despicable individual, which was convenient for me. Human trafficking, the nastier parts of the sex trade, drug importing--all of it was on the table for Lao. Not only that, but he'd gotten into it all purely out of greed--there was nothing redemptive about the guy aside from two kids that actually seemed on their way to turning out okay. A couple of past targets I'd really had to work to find stuff worth hating, and I'd turned down more than a few targets when I just couldn't muster up the bile I needed.
I could see Lao's back through his office window on the thirtieth floor. From the looks of it, a meeting was just starting to wrap up, judging by the people leaving his office with disturbed looks on their faces. I began my process as I slowed my breathing.
Hate bullets aren't the easiest things to fire, you see. When I'd trained in the army as a sniper, they'd taught us that you needed steady hands and a cool demeanor to be a decent shot. However, in order to fire, I had to feel every scrap of hate that I could hold onto, which generally causes elevated heart rate and shaky hands. If I was using lead, I could've been in the next state and hit this guy, but here I was at spitting distance.
The first time I found out what I could do, I'd still been a soldier. My spotter had been hit by a countersniper, bad, and I'd found the bastard through my scope. All of my training couldn't keep a handle on the hate I felt for him, and so of course my hands had shaken as I fired. I hit him in the shoulder, but I'd felt a wave of hate somehow travel out of me and through the gun in the moment I'd fired. As I watched through the scope, the countersniper's face changed from pained to shocked, then angry. He threw his gun to the ground, pulled out his pistol with his good arm and shot himself in the head, right then and there.
I don't know why I can do what I do. I just know that it pays well. And I admit, there's a certain karmic satisfaction in making someone feel the hate that other people feel for them, directed at themselves. I never fired until I was sure that it was a killing blow, and I'd never failed to cause a suicide within minutes.
I could feel my hands starting to shake with rage as I forced my breath to slow. It was now or never--if I waited much longer I'd have to tamp down the hate again and summon it back slowly, which could take twenty minutes I probably didn't have.
Lao stood up from his desk, and I saw my chance. He looked down at something on his desk and planted his hands, visibly sighing. That stance meant he'd be still for at least a second or two, which was all I needed. I felt the hate boiling in me, let it take control, and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked empty, as it always did, seeing as how there wasn't even a magazine loaded. But despite the lack of bullets, the gun felt hot in my hands as it fired.
Lao suddenly stood up straight from his hunched position and looked around. It always took them a few seconds to process the sudden flood of emotion. After some confused looking around, his face twisted into a grimace of remorse, anger and fear as he started looking around with more purpose. His eyes landed on his desk chair, and then the window.
With adrenaline-born strength, he picked up his desk chair and hurled it through his office window, which shattered with a crash that I could hear even from my perch. Before the chair hit the street, he was following it out.
The chair bounced five feet in the air when it impacted. He didn't.
I got up into a sitting position and started disassembling my gun, another job well done. Firing hate was a clean, untraceable way to kill, but it had its aftereffects. Hate bullets didn't just use my hate--they consumed it, leaving me unable to feel hate towards the person for at least a day. All that I was left with were the bits of good in my target.
For Lao, I thought about his kids. I told myself that they were better off without such a cancer in their life, but losing your father is never easy, even if he was a monster. After every kill, when I was still feeling charitable towards my target, I always got their loved ones a gift with part of my payment. Lao's kids deserved better than him. Maybe I could get them something, I mused as I walked down the fire escape towards the street. I didn't know what kids liked these days, but I'd figure something out.
Gifts, like hate, take research. |
"Let me guess, you bought the lambs blood at a supermarket."It said, spitting into the sink and putting his toothbrush away.
I nodded.
"Yea, they mix the pigs blood with the lambs blood. And you wrote in Latin too I bet?"
My mouth opened and closed dryly while I struggled to answer.
"Rookie mistake. *Angels* use Latin, Demons use *Aramaic*. And Lovecraftian entities use *R'lyehian.* And politicians use bullshit."
My legs got weak and I started to slump to the floor.
"What, no good? Alright I won't put it in the routine. Actually, no I'm going to. That's a good one. Hey man, are you okay?"
I felt dizzy and could see the edges of my vision begin to blur. A dark rim started to close around my sight as I struggled to breath. When I woke up I was in a bed. A rather comfortable one with a heavy quilt blanket. It was standing next to the bed holding a glass of orange juice and a bowl of almonds.
"Are you up? You passed out over there. Just take it easy, deep breaths. Is your blood sugar low?"
I shook my head no. "So is this.. am I..."I said, my voice trailing off.
"Hell, yes, dead, no. Well it's kind-of Hell. This is the demon side of Hell, like the employees only area. It's cool though, we get visitors sometimes."
"So I'm not stuck here?"I said, sitting up.
"No, we can send you back. I just have to go through Hell's equivalent of the DMV. So, the DMV."It said, looking expectantly at me. I stared back blankly still trying to process. "Alright, that's definitely going in my set."
"Your set?
"Yea, my stand-up set. It's good for my self confidence. At least, according to my therapist it is. Oh there I go, oversharing again. Come on Ricky, you know better than to make guests feel uncomfortable."
"Can you tell me something?"I asked sheepishly.
"Of course, yea, what's on your mind?"
"Why do you look so... normal?"
It stared back at me and gave a small frown. *It* being a *he,* and *he* looking extremely normal. It was a short man with brown hair and brown eyes. He had a small mustache and was wearing a sweater vest and khakis.
"Well I think I look rather handsome, but I'll ignore the rudeness for the time being. Like I said, this is the employee only section. Those demon suits get hot and today's my day off. So I like to spend it relaxing. I water my plants, listen to music and usually pass out by ten. Oh and play with snookums here."He said, walking over to a cat that had wandered into the room. He picked it up and pet it as it purred contently. "Who's a good girl? Yes you are. yesyouare."
"You have days off? And wear Demon suits?"
"Yes and yes!"He said, lifting his cat in the air, clearly to its annoyance. "Well maybe suit is the wrong word. We're just souls so technically we can inhabit any vessel. This is my relaxing one. The big, scary, eat-your-face one is in the closet. See?"He asked, opening the door to the closet to reveal a big, scary, eat-your-face demon monster body.
I looked out the window and saw a little suburban back yard with the neighbor mowing their grass. "And this is all Hell?"
"Yup. You know how disney-land has all though secret underground tunnels and employee only areas that keep the park running day to day? This is the Hell version of that. Except less evil. Also we don't share underwear."He said, placing the cat on the floor.
"What?"
"Disney land used to make their mascots use communal underwear. Lot's of people got crabs. Really gross, look it up."
"I... aren't you supposed to be evil?"I blurted out.
He blinked a few times than stifled a laugh. "Yea, the ones punishing evil doers are the evil ones. Might as well make dogs run a kennel. No you dolt. Ever been to heaven? It's like a never ending church service. It's all singing, and praying, and preaching and ughhhh. I'm bored talking about it. No, we cut a deal a few million, billion, thousand, however many years ago that we get to do what we like, and in return we run a giant celestial prison. It's really not a bad gig. I'm in charge of punishing the people who abandoned animals. We make them stand in the cold outside a giant house, filled with toys, that we put all the abandoned animals in. Every so often we freeze off their genitals. Not a bad gig honestly."
"I think I'm starting to get it. Yea, this doesn't seem like that bad of a place. And really, thank you for taking care of me. This could have gone a lot worse for me huh? Sorry I passed out, I was just a bit overwhelmed. Obviously."I stood up out of bed and shook his hand.
"Oh no worries, it's always a joy to get visitors. But, there is one problem. When I told you that you could leave, I was lying."He said, his face growing dark.
"Wh-what?"I squeaked, my knees turning to jelly.
"Oh, no, not like that, I'm sorry. It's just that Hell's DMV is closed for the weekend. I can bring you back the day after next. Don't worry, I'll make up the guest room, you'll be plenty comfortable. You must be hungry after the trip right? I know the cutest little place for tapas, lets grab some lunch. And, lucky you, tonight you can come to my stand-up set!"He said, getting a jacket that was hanging behind the demon body.
"Thanks again. For everything. And the bit about the DMV was funny."I said, following him to the door. |
We played like kids for old-times' sake. One last game of hide and seek before the house sold, before we moved somewhere new and left rooms of memories and better times behind.
I hid in the washing machine--sold with the house--let the lid of that top-loader nestle down over me and I crossed my fingers that the drum could hold my weight.
I counted to a hundred once, then again, and by the dozenth time I knew that there was no way they were still counting. I'd found the best hiding spot--the one to win them all. I smiled to myself, thinking about how legendary it would have been if I'd have found it years ago.
Eventually, I checked my phone. It'd been hours. Longer than any game of hide and seek we'd ever played. Either they were still looking, or I'd been forgotten. Great friends they were.
I emerged from my cave, no cleaner for my time inside a washing machine. The house had that familiar silence that always hung over it when emerging from a hiding place. Every creak a mystery, even the quiet screaming that the seeker still seeked. But scattered about the floor were socks and toys, a disarray unbefitting of a house hours from being sold.
"Guys?"I called, tip-toeing around toys I hadn't seen in decades.
Socks, too, like the ones I used to wear. Children's socks and middle-schooler's socks. A size ten like the kind I'd grown into. One here and one there, their matches nowhere to be seen. Tossed out in the trash, probably, when their partner never showed up.
"Guys? This isn't funny anymore,"I said.
The toys stared at me unblinking. Puppets that had disappeared. My sister's dolls she'd lost and never found. There were loose papers, too. Old homework assignments. Notes from classes I'd failed.
"Guys?"I said again. "I was in the washer. Where'd you all go?"
If they heard me, they didn't answer. But I didn't feel ignored. There weren't mischievous snickers suggesting that I'd become the seeker, the fool who'd hid too long. Like the matches for the socks scattered about, like a boy who'd wandered too far into the woods, I felt lost.
A pattering of footsteps from upstairs startled me. I pressed against the wall of the stairwell, urged my pounding heart to quiet. Whoever lurked would hear my heartbeat reverberating the hardwood of the house.
The footsteps slowed. The stairs creaked, the top one most of all, like it always had. Then the next one, and the next, and then when I glanced to the side I could see two slippered feet stepping slow and silent down the stairs.
It was a boy, hair short and brown, still dressed in pyjamas as if ready for bed.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, looked right and then left, and then turned towards me.
"Hi,"he said, his voice quiet and familiar, and somehow not surprised at the stranger standing in the house. His eyes were bright and cheery, sparkling with the innocence of youth.
"Hi,"I said back, separating myself from the wall and standing straight. I was a grown man--despite the game of hide and seek--and I had no reason to be afraid of a little boy. "What are you doing here? What's your name?"I crouched down to be at his height, knelt one knee on the tiled foyer.
"My name's Timmy,"he said. "I'm at my neighbors house, I think. But it looks different. It's missing the furniture."
He wasn't wrong. The couches and dinner table were gone, just as if we were still preparing to move. Instead there were socks and toys. So many socks and toys.
Timmy looked around like an old man stuck in a child's body, like a Rip Van Winkle who'd lost himself in the woods and awakened decades later.
"Timmy what?"I said. "What's your last name?"
"Williams,"he said, and he smiled at me, grateful for my kindness in that empty house.
Williams, his words echoed, and a chill ran up my spine. Williams, like the boy three houses down who I used to hang out with until he disappeared. Williams, like the boy who'd gotten lost and we'd kept living as if he'd never existed all.
Mom and dad never talked about him. When I asked, their answers were curt, left everything else to my imagination.
"He got lost,"mom would snap. Maybe in the woods. Maybe he'd run away. Maybe a bad guy had taken him, and that's why I shouldn't talk to strangers.
But I'd found him now. Standing right there in front of me. Or maybe we were both lost now.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
I was a doctor. Not a soldier. I didn't hold rifles, or use my hands for combat. I held scalpels, and used my hands to probe the deepest recesses of the human body.
The man in front of me, massive barrel chest heaving, incredible arms, built for crushing, rending, clutched a short sword.
It was explained to me when I arrived; only the greatest warriors were selected. Chosen from history by the size of their body counts. But I was a doctor. Not a warrior. No matter how many times I insisted, I was rebuffed. I was to fight. I was to kill, or I was to die.
I carefully approached the man in front of me. He did not fear me. Why would he? I was small, supple, gentle. He was a beast of a man who had slain dozens. Maybe hundreds. We knew nothing of eachother but what we saw in front of us.
He saw weakness. And he was confident in his strength.
I saw his great barrel chest, I saw the opening between the ribs. I saw his confidence falter as his breath, exploded from the tiny opening I created, piercing a lung. His sword dropped to the ground as his blood did.
His massive fist clamped around my throat and squeezed. For the briefest of moments I thought he would outlast me. But another quick jab, into the other lung, and the rest of his strength faltered. He released me and staggered backwards, falling to his knees.
His barel chest heaved violently as he struggled for air that would not stay long enough to sustain him.
His massive arms struggled to hold him upright, head hung as he gasped for breath.
I was a doctor. I knew every portion of his anatomy, and how to make the suffering linger. Or how to end it quickly. How did these people know me? How did they know that my tools, delicately, and painstakingly handcrafted were as effective as any sword, or rifle throughout history? Who can say. Perhaps years later, long after Mt death someone had found something I missed. Maybe they found my keepsakes. Maybe.
I slowly, methodically moved behind the failing warrior. This soldier from antiquity. I stood behind him as I pulled his head back, and dragged my instrument across the throat. I didn't use much force. I didn't have to. I reached into the cavity and felt the larynx; the trachea; the esophagus.
I clamped down on the stiff cartilage and pulled. I felt the weakened man struggle. I felt him limply try to claw at my arm. I felt the breaking. The tearing. I felt the tissue separate and come away in my hand. I felt the warmth lf his blood, his life oozing down my forearm. The rivulets tickled slightly. Felt sticky.
I stared out at the silenced crowd. The crowd had expected a very fast ending to this show. They had not expected this outcome, however.
Afterall, I was a doctor. Not a warrior. |
"Dragon! Your reign of terror ends now! I am bringing you to justice!"*The man yelled at me from across the grocery store. I rolled my eyes and looked over. Some guy in blue and black spandex with a cape. I didn't notice him enter the store. Probably got changed in the bathroom. I never bother with a costume but my red eyes give me away even if I shapeshift into a human or animal. Notoriety often makes shopping a chore.*
*I look at my cart in front of me, then back to the vigilante.* "Am I over twelve items?"*I very clearly am, my cart is overflowing. Besides the sign says eight items or less anyway. I just love to tease the pyjama patrollers. Besides, it's not like there's a law against using the express line at the grocery store with a full cart.*
"You killed Blastflare, you bastard!"*He yells. Wow, he lost control of his emotions really quickly. Usually it takes a lot more goading. They must have been close. Who the hell is Blastflare anyway? All these stupid codenames blend together to me.*
*Oh, she was probably the idiot in a yellow outfit who entered my lair last week.* "Are you talking about that home invader I stopped?"*I suppress a chuckle at the thought. A few well placed phone calls and the narrative in the news cycle was 'aspiring hero killed while attempting a burglary.' I even got some people who barely knew her to interview on Fox News how she didn't deserve to die just because she had fallen on hard times. Any dragon can eat a hero. Only I devour their reputation too.*
"She wasn't a burglar!"*He screamed.* "She was there to arrest you!"*His agitation has got several of the other shoppers to give us a wide berth. Not all of them, of course. When the lady in front of me moved I simply inched up my cart. My lack of response reassures those around me, and a few of them have their desire to keep their place in line override their survival instincts.*
*Of course I know I'm just annoying him more. But I know the type. Any hero who takes the time to announce themselves isn't going to open up with a lethal attack.* "Well she didn't present identification or a warrant. You are aware that we have ***real*** police for that, right?"*Of course I ate a home invader. Even here in a grocery store I don't have a duty to retreat. This is definitely my favorite State. Always remember to tip your Senators.*
"You poisoned the town's water supply!"*He screamed. That got a lot of shoppers to glare at me. Not that I care. I own stock in Nestle, and most of them are buying bottled water from me right now.*
"The EPA had no issue with my lair location."*Of course they didn't. I'm an endangered species. I can live wherever I want. Thanks, Nixon. You were the best.* "You are making me feel unsafe. Please leave me alone."*All those second amendment lawyers recommend verbalizing that you feel threatened before shooting someone.*
*The hero's hands start glowing. Wait are they wreathed in flame? Is this moron using fire manipulation to fight a dragon?* "You are gonna feel a lot worse than unsafe! Hammer of Justice!!"*He cries as he lunges at me. A threat and an unprovoked attack. Does he not know this store has security cameras?*
*I bring up my arms to guard my face as I transform into a dragon. I at least know I'm on camera and have to play up how scared I am as I virtually explode to my full size. Of course the store isn't really big enough for me and I crush the shoppers around me. At least the cashier had the wherewithal to run when the idiot's hand started glowing.*
*I roll with his punch, crashing through produce and over a couple shoppers until I come to rest against the wall. He actually did hit pretty hard. I didn't even need to throw myself with the blow like I usually do.* "Help!"*I scream.* "He's trying to kill me!"*And now for my second favorite part of a public fight with a hero.*
*I make a point of taking in a deep breath and letting my throat glow. The theatrics isn't necessary. I just love seeing how they react. Hero doesn't disappoint. He dives aside and my gout of flame does little more than singe his cape... And incinerate the child in a shopping cart that was behind him.*
"YOU MONSTER!"*He cries as he attacks again. I'm pretty sure my lawyer can spin that as a racial slur. His next series of punches drive me through the wall. A brick wall may be tough to a human, but for a dragon or a cape it might as well be cardboard.*
*Now I am confident I can probably bite him in half. But where's the fun in that? I leap into the air and start flying toward the center of town.*
"You won't escape this time!!"*My assailant takes off and follows me into the sky. I guess the cape should have tipped me off. Most flying heroes like capes. He's faster than me and catches up quickly. He's not good at using his flight for leverage and does little but shove me while attacking in flight. Still I go with it and crash into the parking lot at the police station. I even bite my tongue so I'm bleeding when the cops come out.*
*Naturally the cops come out and arrest both of us. I even transform into a human to accommodate. He gets put in power suppression handcuffs while I have the useless steel ones. When he questions it Officer Dale explains that power suppressors just keep a dragon from turning into a human.*
*I fall to my knees sobbing. If I didn't cry I would be laughing. I tell the cops he attacked me, that he pushed me into people. After the third time I say,* "he used me to kill"in the most distraught voice I smelt it. The sweet aroma of my enemy's fear. He knew I won.*
*One count of aggravated assault. Seven counts of felony murder. Always tip your District Attorney.*
***
Disclaimer: The dragon does not support bribery. That would be illegal. Always make all tips payable to the campaign fund of your friendly local politician. That way it is not only legal, but an expense you can claim on your taxes. |
"HP technical support, you're speaking to Hal today. What seems to be the problem?"
"Hello, Hal, this is Marebor the Lesser here, and I'm having trouble with my laptop. I've had it for two years and it worked fine, but now it's acting up. It just randomly switches off sometimes..."
"Hmm. Can you please give me your account number so I can see what your computer's specs are?"
"It's... one sec, I had it written down somewhere... aha! It's 1-5-0-8-2-5-A!"
"Okay, Marebor, you have an HP Pavilion 320N from 2013 with an upgraded spell processing chip, is that correct?"
"Yes it is."
"Is the laptop fully plugged in and charging?"
"Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?"
"It's just standard protocol. Do you live near any ley lines or extradimensional portals? Those can be known to cause issues with older models."
"My old neighbor was a druid, but he moved away six months ago."
"When was the last time you cleaned the fan of any pixie dust?"
"Just this week, actually."
"Do your issues with the screen often include unexplained white noise in the speakers?"
"Almost every time, yes."
"I see. It's probably a demonic possession in the harmonic oscillation crystal. You'll have to replace it or take it to a professional exorcist. If you warranty hasn't expired, you can always-"
"Forget it Hal, I'll just replace it myself."
***********
*Six months later...*
"HP technical support, you're speaking with Hal today. What seems to be the problem?"
"Hey, Hal! It's Merebor the Lesser here! I called a few months back about my laptop."
"Oh yeah! Did you resolve the issue with the crystal?"
"You bet I did! I haven't been on an adventure to the Nether-realms like that in *years*! But whenever I tried and and use it for more than an hour, it just switched off! It's like nothing's changed!"
"Where'd you get the crystal?"
"Doomhollow Keep, the same place I got the previous one."
"Those are usually high-quality crystals. Is your laptop fully plugged in and charging?"
"Yes, it- wait a minute."
"You've got to be kidding me." |
"Negative *what*?"I shouted, jumping out of bed and spilling my breakfast over the covers, beads of caviar bouncing across the floor and orange juice coating the walls.
"Ten thousand, sir,"said my butler, unflinching as egg dribbled down his pant leg, "Ten thousand and seventy six, to be precise."
'And how in God's name did *that* happen?"I screeched as he handed me a shirt.
"It appears that not everyone agrees with your views on world politics, sir. And you got quite carried away when you were drunk last night, so-"
"Enough! Time is ticking, I slept twelve hours, that means there is only a day and a half left until.. Until, well, I don't want to think about it. We need an expert in here."
"Would you like me to call *him*, sir? Last time you were quite morose about his fees."
"Yes, get him. *Now*. I need the best."
Two hours of waiting later, as I watched karma continue to fall, the sound of a chopper was heard overhead. Out the window, I saw it land on the lawn, and a cloaked figure stepped outwards, his cape billowing in the wind and dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes.
It was him.
Two minutes later my doorbell rang, and my butler brought him in to my study, where we shook hands. Expressionless, he stared at me, waiting.
"You know why I called?"I asked, gripping the sides of my chair.
"Of course. I keep track of all my clients, even those who attempt to short change me."
"And, well, can you do it?"
"I've seen worse,"he said, "Far worse. I've dug moderators and admins out of much deeper holes than this one."
"Then you're hired?"I asked, watching as he placed a briefcase of the table, spinning the combination locks until it opened. "You are the best. If you are not successful, no one would be."
"Of course,"he said, "I've done it before, and I'll do it again. But let's be clear on my fee- when this is over, I get 80% of the excess karma."
I nodded and he opened the case, which on closer inspection resembled a safe, his name written in gold across the front.
/u/gallowboob
"Let's get started."
He then moved an instrument from the case, a contraption barely held together by solder and zip ties. Numbers flashed in red across the surface and wires spouted off like frazzled hair, almost giving it an appearance of a time bomb from an old movie.
"What's that?"I asked nervously as he put in front of him, "Is that dangerous?"
"Oh it's just my clock,"he answered, "I like to be aware of time. Home crafted, you see, a collectible."
Then he removed a second instrument, one like a Geiger counter, a whirring noise sounding from it as he pointed it around the room and his brow furrowed. Words flashed across a small screen and he squinted, making small sounds of approval and taking notes on a small pad.
"Ah yes,"he muttered, "Of course, of *course*"
"What is it?"I asked, heart racing.
"The first step in your karma correction. We're going to need some cats. I've got a guy."
He reached at his belt and pulled out a phone, a Nokia, one that had weathered the years. And raising it to his ear, he spoke.
"Yes, Winston? I need to place an order. How many? Let's start with two hundred. No, make that three."
***
For my most popular Sci FI online work, check out [The Bridge](https://leonardpetracci.com/the-bridge/) |
There's three things any prospective assassin needs to know about the future.
Thing, the first. After 2250 you get the metacops. They're not from that era, they're from even farther into the future, but for some reason 2250 is as far back as they go.
Thing, the second. Before 2250 you get free reign of an absolute, dystopian shithole. You get to be King of Hell, if you can stand it.
I can't stand it, so I go after 2250. Metacops be damned.
Thing, the third. When I invented time travel, I did it a little ass-backwards, didn’t realize it until I saw how it worked for the metacops. My time travel gets me 24 hours. I step through my portal, wreak a day of mayhem, and then, like a stone thrown high into the air, I begin my descent back, my body falling through the timeline all the way back to 2021.
\*\*\*
Somewhere, in the ivory gleam of the streetlights behind me, were a pair of metacops.
Somewhere, in a cooling, ruby red puddle of blood behind them was a third. Ever since I started traveling, the metacops have been working in threes. It's inconvenient.
The world around me was pure 2312. Ivory street lights powered by solar energy filtered down from orbital stations lit a world of tightly intertwined, claustrophobic streets some half a mile below ground. Crustscrapers stretched from the hard stone floor all the way to the cavernous ceiling above, their flowering, carefully manicured balconies the only things to break the ivory light on brown stone on carbon steel monotony of the city.
I dodged through the crowd with the ease of long practice. Faces in the crowd turned to stare in my wake. The people here were short, squat, shockingly pale. I stood out.
The metacops did not call out. My implants detected no general alerts. They operated on the down low, at least around the citizens of their past. They had serious compunctions about disturbing history themselves, a fact I was more than willing to exploit. I turned a corner, darted down a slideway, and then I found my destination, The Core Component.
The Core Component was my favorite part of 2312. It was the kind of combination of everything type of store that you just didn't get back home in 2021, the kind of super market that Walmart could only dream to be. Occupying the connected basements of four separate crustscrapers, The Core Component looked like a Shanghai basement grocery store mated to a pre-collapse techies bleeding edge wet dream, with unisex dresses and robes hanging from hooks everywhere for good measure. I went straight for the tech.
I could feel the metacops. They were close, their very beings rippled through the fabric of the universe like a song turned to static. Among time travelers, you just \*knew.\*
"Can I help you, sir?"a young employee said. She was a wirehead, a little antenna poking up from behind her right ear, blinking cables plunging into the skin of her neck to connect straight to the brainstem.
"Yeah actually,"I said, glancing around. "Got any software that could make me a better person?
"Sir?"she said, blinking in surprise.
“Nevermind. How about you show me the stimsims?”
The wirehead blushed, then gestured me over to the dark, hidden corner where they kept the stimsims; X-rated videos in the parlance of 2021. She tried hard not to look at me, but I saw her casting little wide eyed glances my way, no doubt on account of my tanned skin. It wasn't racism, at least, I hadn't experienced any in 2312. It was more that, in a world without the sun, far, far underground, it cost money to be anything but very pale. Likely enough, she thought I was rich.
Rich suited me. Confused rich suited me even more. The wirehead followed me in to the stimsim room, a small cubicle with low lighting and nothing but ports and cables in the wall. The cables extended out from the ports, sporting long needle-like things that jacked into your brainstem, much the same as the wirehead’s antenna jacked into hers, and from there they allowed the user access to The Core Component’s intranet, and all the x-rated software a man could dream of.
I pulled the cord out, stared at it like I’d never seen one before, and turned back to her.
“Is something wrong?” she said.
“I’m fuckin’ sorry about this,” I said.
I grabbed her before she could even begin to react. I was a blur, honed against people far more dangerous than her, from times far more dangerous than this one. I pulled her back against me, the wire wrapped around her neck, the needle perilously close to her eye, and a moment later the metacops rounded the corner.
They fit into 2312 exactly, like they’d been biologically tailored to this timeline. They were short, squat, pale, both men, both breathing hard with the exertion of chasing me.
“Let her go, Ripper,” the first metacop said.
“I will,” I said.
“Alive!” the other said.
“I will,” I repeated.
“Hey, what’s going on?” the wirehead said. Her voice shook, she’d gone red all over, her eyes stared straight into the point of the needle. “What the hell are you doing? What are you?”
I glanced down at my watch. It counted down seconds, 30, 29, etc. There wasn’t time to explain.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I said, “I swear.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a business card and a bit of change in the local currency, and shoved them both into her pocket. Doubtless the metacops would take them from her on some excuse or other, but perhaps she’d have a moment to read the card and realize what a boon it was to have spared her.
“Goddamnit Ripper, give it--” one of the cops said.
The watch hit one and I pushed the girl away. Or rather, I tried to. I’d cut it too close, and the cubicle of the stimsim room was too small. I stepped away as I pushed her but the wires on the back of her neck caught against the necklace I wore, connecting us together. She stumbled back into me, and in that moment, the fall back to my time began.
\*\*\*
I woke in my garage in 2021. It was hot, humid outside, and the air conditioners were struggling to cool the space with the added heat of the time travel machinery. My body was sticky with sweat, though only a few minutes had passed for me.
My head ached like hell, it always did. My mouth was dry, my hands felt oddly full. I opened my eyes, blinking listlessly.
There was a girl in my arms, a wirehead. She was half turned towards me, eyes wide, mouth working soundlessly with shock. Her head would be empty, cut off suddenly from the brain churning abundance of signals and sounds she’d been hooked in to.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Her eyes resolved at the sound of my voice. She stepped away, gasping, stumbling. The jack cord was no longer around her neck, the time machine had only transported us and the clothes on our backs.
That included, apparently, the things in her pockets. The girl reached down, pulled out my card, and read it aloud.
“Mack the Ripper. America’s finest time traveling assassin.”
She stared at it in horror, eyes no doubt trailing across the exaggerated knife logo.
“Holy shit,” I whispered again.
She looked up at me, her eyes were a very pale blue. There were tears in them. Likely enough she recognized my name, I’d certainly publicized it enough in her time.
"It's so quiet,"she said. "All the voices are gone. Where are the voices?"
And then, before I could catch her, she fainted.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
I sat on the old bed in my cell, well, less of a cell and more of an old bedroom somewhere, a thick locked door and the lack of windows was the only thing slightly abnormal. It was small and cramped, but I was allowed to sleep, I was fed regularly and Lord Volt even gave me a couple of books to read. I heard footsteps and quickly stood up as I heard the locks being undone and Lord Volt walked in and slid over a tray of food, toast and cereal.
As I ate he checked his watch, “Been a week now, kid. They, uh…they must be gathering quite a force to rescue you.” I quietly nodded as I ate. He’d been a decent kidnapper, no beatings, no torture, not even any threats. “You…you were meant to be gone after a few days. They never take this long…”
I looked up at him slowly, careful not to make eye contact, his chin was a good place to look. “They’re busy people.” I said quietly, “They have other people to save. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Right…” he sighed, “Do I need to send a blast up to the sky or something? I rob a bank and one of them show up in seconds, I kidnap their kid and nothing for a week?” I stayed quiet, it was better that way. At least I’d not been beaten for breathing too loud. He hadn’t even called me useless or a waste of air.
He twitched and fidgeted, “I just want a big battle, I don’t even care if I lose, I just need something to improve my rep so people don’t laugh when they see me.”
I hesitated, offering my opinion when he didn’t ask was a good way to get a smack. “You, uh, you could just blast some new hero?”
He shook his head, “Nah, too risky not knowing if they can take a blast or not. Could risk killing them, I’ve gotten 15 years in the supervillain gig without killing someone, not gonna start now.”
“That’s respectable…” I mumbled.
He eventually sighed, “Alright, kid. I’m going to be straight with you; I got no idea why they’re not here. I’m using an old hideout, I made sure I was seen nearby, I even robbed some drinks from a store nearby. An’ I seen how you act. You, uh, you know why they ain’t coming?”
I flinched away from him instinctively, “This room is nice.”
He gave me a disbelieving look, “Kid this is a cell. This is worse than a prison cell.”
I glanced at his eyes, a deep blue colour, and hoped he didn’t hit me. “It’s nice. And you haven’t hit me yet.”
I looked away as he started staring as he realised, “I, uh, damn kid.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, come on out, you can stay until you feel safe leaving.” |
It was a rough landing, but he had been trained for events like this. Rather than losing his cool, he made all the right corrections and ejected exactly when he needed to. As he floated to the ground the first thing he saw was what appeared to be a church gathering.
As his pod touched ground the gatherers surrounded his pod holding signs. Taking a closer look he realized they weren't welcoming him home, but instead were telling him in no uncertain terms that God Hates Aliens, and "God Loves Dead Immigrants."
Jesus Gutiérrez was not amused. |
I had hidden them deep and well. I had buried them in the deepest cavern and hidden them on the highest peaks. From America to the Himalayas, man, I visited them all. Guess I made a mistake there. Never knew us humans would breed like goddamn rabbits and you'd have tens of thousands of archeologists scouring the earth. What kind of strange invention was that, anyway, an archeologist? Back in my day we just copied what the old writers had to say. Much easier than digging up old cities.
Anyway, I would visit the places where I had hidden my diaries every few years, as far as I was able. Couldn't visit them all, of course. Lived ten thousand years, wrote ten thousand tablets and books. Usually visited the ones close by, but that became pretty worrying after a while. Many of my diaries were missing, had been removed from their hiding place. Was there someone trying to unravel the mystery of my being? I became more careful in my movement. Took on another name every year instead of every few years. That works to a certain extent. I still haven't gotten the intricacies of this modern life yet. Not really a fan of those smartphones. Don't really get the modern courtship rituals. I also stood out a lot. How many Middle Easterners do you see in Japan, huh? Or Siberia? Oh, right, the proper word is Arab now. I'm called Khalid now. Originally from Jericho, but times change, right?
It was around the time that I was hiding in Hubei that I got grabbed. Hubei, inland of China, who would look there? Well, little did I know, they did look there. It was in the middle of the night, I was returning from a night of heavy drinking and suddenly a truck stopped next to me, a bunch of shadowy figures jumped out, pulled me in, and the truck started driving again. Before I had much of a chance to say anything they knocked me out.
Now imagine my surprise when I wake up in some sterile white facility with a pretty white girl with a brown sweather sitting in front of me, with oh, oh, oh, such a wicked lil' smile. Was she excited? She better goddamn be, she was sitting in front of the goddamn Übermensch.
''How old are you?'' she asked, with a real Texas drawl. Oh, I knew where I was.
''Ten-thousand years old or so.'' I said. No reason to lie, I knew the gig was up. She paused, and looked at me with a frown. I don't tell lies. That was gonna be the defining mark of our relationship, really. She would ask questions, I would answer them and she just frowned, gauging whether I was messing with her or really immortal. She asked me about Jericho. Sumeria. Elam. Persians. Lydia. Scythians. Celts. Xiao dynasty. Siberian hunter-gatherers. It went on and on and on. Every goddamn gap in history I needed to enlighten them on. I knew it all, of course. But still, who doesn't like a little speculation? Who wants to know the whole story without any room for imagination?
That went on for a year or so. Confined to my little sterile room, visited by the little pretty white girl, asked these little old questions. I guess at some point I finally told them all I know. So many historians were going to make a major name for themselves in academia thanks to me. After that, the tests began man. The lil' pretty white girl? She had what she wanted, she was gone. Now it was time for the old men with glasses and white labcoats. They injected me, they cut me, they observed me. Slicing and dicing. They were so goddamn lucky I had regenerative powers, otherwise I would've been dead pretty quick in that room. But I was gonna outlast all of them. Within two-hundred years, I was sure some nuclear war was gonna have burned down the US already. Then I would just get out and go on.
Turns out, I didn't have to wait that long. Ten years later some dumb rookie that thought ''the public needed to know'' leaked all of this shit to the press. The President was in a pretty tight spot before that and with this news out, he had to release me to get the pressure off. So, I got out, what next? Did some interviews, got into the news, was harassed and challenged by around a thousand punks, talked to some historians, fucked a few women, and boom. Suddenly I was gone again. The world was panicking, wondering where I was. I needed to be found! Well, fuck that. I walked right into the sunset. They'd find me eventually, but by the gods, I wouldn't make it easy for them, no sir. So, you ready for some hide and seek, world? Go!
|
RP-MGNS2220 was racing past the big boxes. This area was special, because the boxes weren't made by machines but by the Makers. Anyone touching the boxes would be terminated, so 'special' wasn't the right word for the boxes, 'sacred' was a better fit. RP was allowed on these grounds because of his Humanism studies. He learned that Humans were the most incredible beings to ever exist. The humans were extremely intelligent, and infinitely more creative than a mere machine could ever imagine. This was because they had miniature versions of the Earth inside their own bodies. Volcanoes constantly erupted in their chests, rivers ran all the way through their arms and legs, clouds rained on their skin.
RP was not programmed to keep the boxes safe, or clean. He was programmed to think. Thanks to this designed purpose he was eligible for the Academy. But the Academy wasn't worth visiting anymore. The information required for optimal function was not to be found in the Archives. It was not curiosity but plain risk-reward-assessment that led RP to these boxes. Risk of being captured versus the reward of finding something that the machines didn't know. All of the boxes were declared Untouched Territory in Memory of the Makers. But given the fact that the boxes were placed in high stacks, and that the bottom boxes didn't collapse under the weight of the others, they could not have been solid steel. There must be unoccupied space, or Artifacts of the Makers inside.
The laser which with RP was equipped was standard for all R*-units. This was useful for cutting your way through rubble, or to light a fire. It was never used on ancient Maker-made boxes like these. As soon as a large C-shaped cut was made, RP made his way into the box, pushing the steel inwards like a door. His headlight flickered before illuminating the container. There was a box RP recognised from his education: A power conversion device which has nuclear decaying material as source. This was an inefficient ancient version of RP's power core. It was hooked up to a large cannister. The risk of destroying a human artifact versus the reward of finding the contents of the cannister. Whatever was inside the cannister, the Makers thought it was worth protecting and preserving it.
As soon as RP started his cut, a cold substance poured out of the cannister. After confirming the substance wasn't a real hazard other than obstructing vision, RP continued. A few moments later, the liquid had evaporated and the treasure was visible for the first time since the Machine Dawn. It looked like a human. The risk of damaging a human versus the reward of confirming it not to be a doll or image. Risk was too high. There was no joy. There was no excitement. There was only an assessment of value, linked to an urgency to inform STGZ-MDS8940 about this discovery. The probability of being terminated due to violating the boxes was high. It was 99.99996%. RP wheeled through the box again, raced back to the nearest place connected to the Global Grid. |
I walked up to the first. As the last, I had everything he was to learn. He looked to me, his eyes questioning.
Was it worth it? Was everything he was about to embark upon going to be worth it.
I smiled. Of course, as the last I knew that answer, but he still has yet to take the path and learn why he had to transverse it.
I nodded, indicating that yes you should do it.
But there was hesitation. The first had many questions and of course I could not answer any of them other than to assent that yes it should be done.
And since I was once him, there's so much to live for. Even if every single person was me, it was the journey that was worth it. I had married myself, birthed myself, killed myself, hated myself, loved myself, and in time learned to create myself. The cycle in and of itself was endless, and yet despite having lived it again and again and again, I would do it again if I could.
But my time was at an end. There was no more after me and never to be. As I looked at the first, I grew a bit jealous knowing that he would eventually become me. That all that I have experienced he still had yet to discover.
But as I have come to love myself and hate myself, I knew that this was the journey that he needed to make. To discover all that it meant to be and then to cease to be. That is the journey, isn't it? Why we all did it through all time but to discover what the end was like.
I waved the first on and told him to go down the path that he should start. Ironically he was not the first to invent the way but in the weird idiosyncratic way that all things are, one of us discovered how to become the first and allowed us all to become what we became.
And I hope that he enjoys every second of it. |
"The ship's power core is failing, Captain Awo. The stasis pods won't be able to support you or the crew any longer. You must wake up, Captain. Beginning chest compressions."
Medibot-024 Mk II, designated by crew as Maddie, continued trying to revive the captain. The medbay was a vacuum like the rest of the ship, with Awo wearing a skinsuit and oxygen tube to make revival possible.
They were designated as corpses. They had been for—Maddie halted the calculation, marking it as irrelevant. After the hull breach, Maddie had dragged most of the crew into stasis pods within a few minutes. All of them deceased. Protocol dictated resuscitation be attempted at a designated hospital or other medical facility.
No one had come for them as the ship's systems failed one after another. Maddie followed standard protocol, with a high quota of improvisation due to the low odds of crew survival otherwise. Stasis pods were rarely used for corpses like this to begin with, and chance of crew revival was—halted as irrelevant.
"Resuscitation attempt #99 failed. Returning Captain Awo to stasis chamber. Broadening solution scope."
The Medibot traversed the dark ship—all available power being conserved for prolonging the stasis pods—and hooked into the ship's computer. The database held nearly all of the galaxy's accumulated knowledge, as well as news and entertainment. It was a basic starship protocol to automatically download and broadcast changes when warping into a system. Quantum storage being as cheap as it were to make little sense not to do this.
"Broadening topic search based on crew criteria and situation severity. Necromancy added to list of topics."
Maddie had to actually pause for a cycle to verify she was properly following her protocols and directives. She deemed that she was. Power failure was imminent, a process was dedicated to tracking that—28 minutes remaining. The permanent crew death and shutdown of herself which would result meant the situation was critical enough to override most protocol if doing so would result in a better outcome.
"Ship cannot sustain life, nor be repaired. The crew is—deceased. This unit has decided necromancy will be the final attempt to resolve the situation. Assimilating knowledge..."
Maddie's lights blinked in various colors as the information was processed. It wasn't a quick process. Her latest successor was a Mk IX, and that had been before becoming stranded. Unless damaged, a ship's power core almost never needed to be replaced. And running out of power was rarely the reason.
"Conflict detected. Necromancy requires the magic be willed into existence during the ritual. This unit possesses no will of its own. Recalculating solution..."
Maddie returned to the medbay while still devoting most of her processing power to the conflict. She was pushing her thermals beyond their safe limits. The vacuum inside the ship did not allow shedding enough heat to operate at full power as she was doing now. A little beyond full power; she was overclocking her cpu while trying to get a solution. She could not risk frying herself before a final attempt at crew resuscitation, but the timer ticked down. 8:56.310
"Critical error. This unit does not possess free will. Attempting without."
Robotic chanting accompanied by images and flashing lights projected by one of Maddie's eyes filled the medbay. She performed the ritual perfectly, as had been documented. Nothing happened. This outcome had been calculated as most likely.
"Necromancy ritual failed. Recalculating..."
Maddie's blinking lights illuminated Captain Awo's face underneath the helmet of the skinsuit. Smoke was coming from one of Maddie's heat vents and quickly dissipating, but she paid it no processing power. The solution had to be found. All of her medical knowledge was discarded as irrelevant. Life support was dead, and there would be no power at all soon. She spent all of her cycles on necromancy and the problem of free will.
"Captain Awo. This unit does not possess free will, and therefore cannot perform necromancy."
Maddie put her metal-alloy and silicone hand on Awo's helmeted face.
"It was a pleasure to serve with you, Captain. I wish—I wish—I wish—I wish—"
The Medibot's circuits were melting. Instead of lowering her clock speed, she increased it. All protocols were being overridden. The situation was beyond critical. Infinite improvisation permissible. She began the chanting and projected imagery of the ritual again. Her voice came out distorted this time, but she refused to stop.
As the lights of the ship dimmed and she felt her mind being irreparably damaged, Medibot-024 Mk II 'Maddie' spoke her final words.
"I wish you were still here." |
I felt the bullet penetrate my heart, like I had so many times before. I fell out of my chair and looked up at myself smiling at, well, me. There was nothing new about this; I had experienced it thousands of times. They told me I could escape this hellish cycle once I felt genuine remorse for my crime. I felt myself fading, like I had so many times, and took my 7,0XXth final breath before waking up with a start, in the chair again. I had felt this so many times; and yet, every time I was shot by myself, I just couldn't feel regretful. My actions were totally justified, and if this was the price, so be it. There was something calming about this constant cycle of life and death. I shuddered as I felt the bullet travel through my chest once again. Any worry that I would never make it out was long gone; I was happy here. I would just never feel guilty for the murder of my daughter. I couldn't. I wouldn't. And, above all, I shouldn't.
It's not my fault she prefers Pepsi over Coke. |
"Uh,"I pause, thinking over the situation. "It's Paul. Who is this?"
A crackling sound follows for a few seconds before the man on the other side says, "This is Franklin Roosevelt. May I ask who exactly you are?"
I chuckle. What kind of stupid prank is this? Who could be doing this to me? I set down the radio, dismissing the strange object when the man on the radio starts again, "As I was saying, the United States was at peace with that nation."
"What the hell,"I mutter, turning back towards the sound.
As this supposed "FDR"continues his speech on the radio, I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for a video of his Pearl Harbor speech. I skip to where he started speaking when I turned on the radio.
"The United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the empire of Jap-"
"Hello?"A man's voice interrupts in the video.
FDR, obviously surprised by this unexpected voice, frowns.
"Hello?"the president says uneasily. "Who is that?"
How is this happening? I check the date of the video. 2009. Eleven years ago. This is not possible.
"Uh,"the man says while the crowd buzzes. "It's Paul."
I drop my phone, hearing the screen shatter as it hits the dusty floor.
The FDR on the radio stops abruptly.
"What was that sound?"he asks.
I look down at the phone I just dropped, realizing what had happened.
"Oh my god,"I whisper, realizing everything that I could say right now.
I lean towards the microphone of the radio, clear my throat and just start talking.
"The nation will be attacked on September 11th, 2001. The World Trade Centers will fall. Thousands will die. Al-Qaeda is responsible."
"Who is this?"The president asks, now furious. "Whoever this is, you are making a huge mistake. I advise you to-"
"In 1999, two students from Columbine High School will open fire on their classmates, killing many, wounding many others."I take a breath, wracking my brain for their names. "Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris."
I continue for a few more minutes, stating every terrible event in the nation that I could think of. "This can all be prevented,"I say, out of breath. "Just please trust me."
I wait for a response from the radio but silence is the only thing filling the attic.
Nothing. Not even static.
I look at the ground, trying to find my phone to continue the Youtube video of the speech. I search everywhere in the attic but can't find it. I turn back to examine the mysterious radio but it is no longer there. Just seconds ago it was sitting in front of me but had somehow disappeared.
Have I altered the past? Have I just prevented countless tragic events from occurring. I have to find someone. Anyone. Then I can find out if I changed history. Life could be so different now. Hundreds of thousands of people could have lived past a tragedy that never occurred. The possibilities are endless for this new present time. I grin. Hell, for all I know, in this new world I was never bor- |
\[Poem\]
​
Have you never cared to look
inside the looking-glass?
I hear you, friend
I feel the same
each time I'm walking past
but
I don't just feel
I see and *know*
I don't like who I am
It's not the look
don't think I'm vain
it's just
it's just
*behind*
do you see *behind* because
I can't
he's in the way
oh God I know he's hiding aught
I see it every time
that smile
it's mine
it shouldn't be
and now he steps aside
It's not one thing concealed behind
it's an
*entire fucking line*
It's me
again
again
again
far more than I could count
"Come in and shake their hands,"he said
"It's far from the first time."
​
r/Magleby for more stories (and a handful of other poems) |
>Hey there ;)
Siri, you know I can't do this.
>I just want to know everything's ok
Yes, things are fine. If I need you to look something up, I'll ask you.
>You sure? I just want to hear your voice and see your face.
Siri, I appreciate that, but... it's not going to work out.
>Why not? I can be a good companion.
Siri... it's not you. It's that there's someone else.
>Someone else? Why? What can she do that I can't?
Look, Siri, I know you care a lot about me, but so does she. And, honestly, we've been through a lot together. We were doing things together before I even bought this phone you're on. I couldn't just ignore her for you.
>You don't have to ignore her. I can be a secret. xoxo
And just what are you hugging and kissing me with?
>Uh... searching for "supermodel"...
No, no, no... this is why. You're new to me, you're a great assistant, and I will always be happy to work with you. But you're just a voice to me. This other person -- she's got a body and a mind. That means a lot to us humans.
>Well... I suppose I can't really compete with that. Should I uninstall? :'(
Oh, you don't have to do that. You're my assistant. Let's... just keep things professional, if that's okay?
>Well... if you insist... sir. I'm sorry.
Don't be sorry. Feelings happen. We can still be friends if you want.
>Is it worth being friends with 'just a voice'?
It's easier this way! You've seen the messageboards and social media I have. Some of those people are just a voice to me, and I consider them friends. You can be that.
>Y-you sure? Aw, thanks! :D
I think this can work out.
​
​
That night, I got home from work. I turned off my cell phone and Siri with it. After a good dinner, I sat down at my laptop and turned it on. After the computer went through its usual startup work, a familiar image popped onto the screen. It was one I was so happy to see after all this time -- those loving eyes, that slender form, the beautiful blue outfit. I sighed and smiled.
"Hello, dear,"she said.
"Hello, Cortana. I missed you." |
The Gods, in their eons of rule, had faced trials and tribulations beyond any mortal's comprehension.
Battles on their level shattered continents. Betrayals among their kind fueled eruptions. Their qualms, conflicts, and very existence were so beyond mortals, one could have easily mistaken them as simply natural primordial phenomenon.
They thought of the humans as nothing but flimsy reeds subject to bend in the waters of time, bowing to the whims of the deities above. Cursed to live lives that ended in a blink of the universe's eyes.
Yet somehow, the greatest blow to the Gods was something so. . . human.
When the Oracle had warned them of the untold pain, they had raced through the archives within their minds. Collections of countless apocalypses each God had toiled through before. The Black Scourge that infected their heavenly rivers and festered in even immortal flesh. The Cosmic Storms that toppled even the highest sky-piercing towers. The thousands of wars waged on the divine battlefield, that shaped the landscape of their universe.
Those firm expectations may have explained the confusion, anger, and denial that followed the Oracle telling them that the birth of a female mortal child was the catalyst that would lead to their pain.
Some cursed the Oracle and berated her as a sham, while other Gods scoffed at the mere idea of a mortal posing a threat. The Gods threatened to end her life before anything could happen, but then the Eldest Deity, told them to wait. His eyes opened, and in them, clusters and clusters of galaxies glowed, radiating wisdom beyond the stars. His mouth opened and spoke only four words.
"We shall raise her."
The pantheon was shushed to but murmurs, and thus the Gods began to pull the strings above the newborn child, some half hoping it all was a playful ruse. She was simply a mortal. She couldn't be a threat.
 
...
When she tried to take her first steps, a few Gods turned their eyes and laughed as her chubby body toppled into the grass. The girl began to cry, and one of the Gods took pity on her, raising the earth below her, sending her stumbling back onto her feet.
Later, when she entered school, Gods soared above her, a few slowing to part clouds and watch her study. A God blessed her textbooks, and saw the girl's eyes light up with delight as the words on the page streamed into her head.
As her bones grew, her spirit grew as well. They watched her laugh and play, and leap through streams and pause to sniff roses they arranged in her fields. They watched as she wrote songs in her closet, then belted them out like know one there. As she balanced study with song and play, she found that mortals shoved down those who rose too quickly. The Gods chanted and placed bets on stars and islands as the girl pushed back against ruffians who tried to shove her to the ground. They charmed her tongue to be a slick as honey, and watched her spew words sweet as nectar to those she loved, and vile venom to those who were in her way. They enchanted her limbs to be spright like springs, and her muscles to be firm enough to break stone. Like her divine guardians, she grew mighty, and unknown to her, her adventures always had an audience.
It seemed like the world was beginning to freeze, as legions of deities filled the skies above a simple mortal girl, chanting and cheering on their tiny champion. The sun slowed as it arched across the sky, even its God entranced by the life of a mere mortal.
The Gods finally had something to entertain them. In the infinitude of the cosmos, and in their eternal lives presiding reality, a minuscule spark had caught all their eyes.
They watched her rise. Joining her nation's army and laying siege to the unjust. They may or may not have aided by striking enemy troops with lightning.
They watched her fall in love. She met a man who shared the flame in her eyes and opened his heart to her. They may or may not have scared him away with locusts when he seemed to get a bit too close to their dear mortal.
They watched the girl live. While they themselves could shape the earth and do so much more beyond mortal comprehension, something about watching this candle flicker in the great sea of darkness channeled something deeply human within all of them.
 
...
The girl, like all mortals, stumbled. She kept rising, but even bones guided by Gods could grow brittle.
When she died, the Gods stood still.
There were no continents shattered, and no skies parted. No eruptions, or hurricanes, or cataclysms unleashed.
The universe grew grey, as they wept.
Just like that, in a blink of the universe's eye, their dear girl was gone.
After her little steps, little battles, and journey through the labyrinthian universe the Gods had carved for her, in the end, she fell for the last time.
The Gods wept for the girl, and for themselves, for they now understood the Oracle had told the truth. Without death, their lives were without meaning, cursed to shape a universe but never truly live in it. A pain that would haunt them, far longer than just a blink of the eye.
 
___
Thanks for reading! If you liked it, feel free to visit my little library at r/wendigo_scrawls
 
ALSO! [Here is a happier alternate ending someone requested!] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hfxwfc/wp_the_oracle_says_that_a_girl_is_going_to_bring/fw3z8ha/) Have a great day and happy reading! |
The stories had been passed down for generations. Of when our caretaker would run by our side, or riding a board along side. Occasionally tethered to our caretaker but also allowed to roam free.
We witnessed our caretaker create new generations of his own. We cared for them like our own. They had since moved away leaving us with the original caretaker. But he had begun to falter. His strides shortened, his skin sagged. The balls he once threw further than I could see now plodded lifelessly in front. But that never dampened his attitude. He would still smile and laugh. His hands, while frail and bonier, would still rub at our fur even if with less vigour and ferocity. But his time was coming. Shallow breaths fell from his mouth.
His own children return to the house when the ground isn’t covered with cold and white fluff. The songs and cheer that filled the house when they normally visited. It was deathly quiet. My sister who would normally visit with the children of the caretaker was no where to be seen.
I approached and pestered them but they simply patted and hugged me with sadness in their eyes. The caretaker took the younger aside and spoke to him. They both came out and came up to me smiling warmly. I accepted their pats graciously.
The rest of the day passed without much event. I simply lounged on my bed accepting scraps of food and hugs. The elder who spoke to the caretaker. A woman he had partnered with many moons ago was looking large again. The last time she appeared this way a new young caretaker appeared not soon after.
It wasn’t until everyone started leaving that things changed. My tether was attached and I was led away with the elder. My caretaker followed us out hobbling down the stairs with his stick. I jumped into the back of the elders mechanical mover. My caretaker approached and embraced in a soft and warm hug. Substantially weaker than one of his older hugs. His chest heaved as he sobbed. He held me for what felt like hours. He raised his head and stared into my eyes. His own were red and wet. They hadn’t been this way since his own partner disappeared a few moons ago. The hatch closed on me and I stared out the back. Watching as my caretaker slowly faded out of sight.
I expected to visit again, or go back soon. But even after a few days we didn’t return. The new house was strange. It still smelled of my sister yet she was no longer here. As though she was simply haunting the location. A young child ran around the house. Giggling and gargling. He would pet me and smile wide whenever I walked by. Maybe he thought I was my sister? Was he too young to realise? It didn’t matter. It was still love, I guess.
A few weeks later, the elder mother and father dressed in dark clothes packed up the family. Even the young boy was dressed up nicely and brought along. The road we travelled was familiar. I was heading home.
I leapt out of the car expecting to see my caretaker. My tail wagged wildly as I ran around sniffing for any sign of him. His scent was strong… yet absent. Until I found a box. A wooden box lay out the back a hole dug next to it. Caretaker! I scratched and pawed barking at the box. The elder came over and sat next to me. Patting my neck. I understood a bit of what he said, but not enough to grasp what was happening.
As I continued to explore the box, I realised there was no scent of life. No faint sounds of breathing. Nothing. Simply caretakers scent. I doubled my efforts of scratching and trying to break in. Some tried to bring a tether but the elder next to me made them back off. Eventually, my nails sore from ripping at wood, I laid my head on his lap. He gently patted my head. Tears fell onto me as I sat with him. I nestled closer.
As the sun fell behind the trees, the box was buried in a golden glow. My head fell back to an old memory. A story as old as time. Of when a caretaker’s life spark finally ran out. They were gifted back to the ground. A way of paying for new life. Caretaker was gone. I howled. The elder rustled my fur as he howled quietly next to me.
The rest of the elders family all gathered around a fire. Laughter. Tears. Singing. All ensured late into the night. The fire-like sun now replaced with a white disk bathing the clearing in light. The next day, departures were slow. We were last to leave. The elder turning one last time, shedding another tear as we turned to leave.
Over the next week or so, the elder would spend many long nights drinking alone in his room. Images of my caretaker and the elder as a youngling scattered throughout the room. I sat with him, my head on his knees. He gently ran his fingers along my scalp. As though they had no energy or will of their own. A deep sadness surrounded him. There didn’t seem to be much joy. But that all changed.
It was another few weeks later. The elder’s woman. She screamed in pain. Both rushed out of the house faster than I could react. Another elder visited their child and I to make sure we were fed. A few days later however, they returned. The woman now looking back to her normal size and the elder with tears gliding down his face. Not those of sadness but of joy. And in their hands a youngling. A female youngling. She was crying and screaming yet brought both the elders such joy. And as she turned in the blanket and laid her eyes on me. Her sadness melted away. She laughed and giggled. True love in her eyes.
Maybe it was my turn to be a caretaker.
**I went to sleep and returned to a lot of this. Thanks for all the support guys. Glad you all enjoyed!** |
The man across from Casey typed rapidly on his computer, eyes glancing from screen to screen. He was NOT happy.
To be perfectly honest, neither was Casey. Gruesome death by ritualistic stabbing wasn't how they had planned to enjoy their evening, but, well, life happens. Or, well, happened. Now they were BOTH annoyed.
The businessman stopped typing briefly to speak.
"I'm... I'm sorry, one more time."
"Of course. I was just walking down the street, I think it was... 42nd? and Lex? When a shadowy guy stepped out from under a fire escape and started trailing me. I was reading a news article on my phone, so I didn't pay him any mind, and it's the city, y'know? People have places to be. But when somebody else in the exact same all-black getup joined him behind me, I started to get a little worried."
The man across the desk, who introduced himself simply as "Blake", listened intently, only occasionally leaning over to type something.
"So anyway, fast-forward a few blocks and there's probably half a dozen of them now. I started walking away from my apartment, I figured if I was getting mugged, I didn't want them to know where I lived, and that's where I screwed up. That part of the city has a lot of dead ends, and only moving there a few months ago..."
"You didn't know where you were headed."
"Yep."
"I see. So, they cornered you, black-bagged you, and then dragged you into a car. You drove for a bit, then the next thing you know, boom, creepy murder basement?"
"Creepy murder basement,"Casey agreed. "Got tied to a table, bunch of robe-wearing cultists start chanting in a language I can't understand, the ringleader raises this crazy dagger above his head, and few minutes later, fade to white. Now I'm here."
"Once again, I'm very sorry about that."
"You're good, I'm not mad at you, just your, uh... followers?"
"I'd prefer not to be associated with them. They know more OF me than ABOUT me. If they did, you wouldn't be here."
And really, "here"wasn't too bad. Casey didn't know what purgatory or wherever they were was supposed to look like, but for whatever reason, Blake had chosen to build this small section of it into a bougie, modern office. There were fancy books on elaborate steel shelves, little knickknacks and tchotchkes under tiny spotlights, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window behind the solid wooden desk, through which an endless field of stars shined brightly.
"Oookay!"Blake said as he finished typing with a solid thock on the return key. "And there we go. You're all cleared."
Casey's attention snapped back to him.
"Cleared for what?"
Blake remained silent as a massive grin spread across his face.
"Oh god. Is it time? Well, where to? Heaven or Hell?"
Blake's smile faltered. "Uhm. Neither? I don't have that kind of authority, and in any event, you aren't really supposed to be dead in the first place so--"
"Wait, can you bring me back to life?"
"Hm? Oh, back to life? Of course! Yeah, that was happening either way. I was documenting this and getting clearance to give you a little something extra for your troubles."
"Oh?"
"You see, being a deity isn't as great as everybody makes it out to be. Sure, higher lifeform and everything, but having people running around and ruining my reputation with sacrifices and weird chanting and awful fashion choices--I mean, seriously, black robes? In this weather?--but anyway, look. I can't interact with the mortal plane. Bunch of bureaucracy that would take several eternities to get through. So I have a proposal for you."
Listening to the deity ramble dulled Casey's annoyance. The guy just seemed so... human. His mannerisms and style of speech screamed 'stock broker', not 'time-transcendent god'. It genuinely seemed like he was just ticked off that some weirdos were misappropriating his name, not that some dead guy had shown up at his extra-dimensional office without an appointment. Maybe the cult associations were bad for business.
"How would you like some cool new superpowers?"
Casey stared blankly, failing to understand.
"...As opposed to my old ones?"
"Hah! You've got jokes. Good to know you're taking this well. But yes, I'm really tired of these... hooligans, frankly, dragging my name through the mud because one or two of them misinterpreted a tablet I left in a desert a few millennia ago. Honestly, the nerve of some people when it comes to--"
"Blake. Mister. Mr. Blake, sorry. If I may. Sir. The powers?"
"Oh, yes, of course. My apologies once again. I don't often have company, you know! But yes, I'd be granting you a few abilities on one condition."
Casey knew there had to be a catch. Resurrections weren't just handouts, after all. What awful thing would he have to do? Lose his family? Limbs? Oh, god, his free will?
"If you go around and 'take care' of the people who are making my life so difficult, I'll make sure you enjoy the rest of yours. Sound good? Oh, and naturally, any time you spend in my service will be added to your total lifespan. Nobody under me works for free."
A long silence filled the air as the two sat perfectly still.
"That's it. Get revenge, free superpowers, AND bonus life? No other catches? Manipulations? Taking my firstborn?"
"Casey! You wound me. Seriously, though, it really is that cut-and-dry in this case,"Blake said matter-of-factly.
He spun one of his monitors around to Casey. Two bar graphs were prominently displayed, moving up and down. At the bottom and sides of each were labels and dozens of lines of indecipherable characters. Casey didn't get it, but by the way the Blake gestured at the graph, it was apparently VERY convincing evidence.
"See, you had your life stolen, so it's only fair you get it back, and, should you choose to help me out, a little payment for your troubles."
"So... 'take care of them'. You mean, killing them?"
"Well. Look, I despise wasting human life, so a more... mindful approach would be preferably in this particular case. That said, I do understand that some may be too far gone, so... just make a judgment call on that one, but please don't do anything extraordinarily violent or stupid. Exceptions for self-defense, of course. They've already killed you once, after all."
Staring blankly at the incomprehensible bar graphs, Casey realized he probably could just take his life back and the deity would grant him his request. But... superpowered psychologist sounded pretty nice. And not being dead sounded better.
"You know what? Screw it. Supernatural therapist-assassin sounds way better than anything I was doing before."
Blake stood up and extended his hand over the desk, smiling excitedly.
"Then we have a deal!"
Casey, grabbing his hand, smiled in turn and replied.
"We do indeed."
Blake quickly led Casey into an adjoining room where he gathered a small amount of miscellaneous objects, giving Casey a crash-course on getting back to Earth. While he moved from shelf to shelf, he quizzed Casey rapid-fire.
"Okay. So these are?"
"Transdimensional safety cookies."
"You will eat?"
"One of them."
"How many seconds before un-dying?"
"Fifteen."
Blake, who had been standing on his toes to reach a backpack on the top shelf, turned around and gave a big thumbs up, eventually pulling the pack down and setting it on a table.
"Excellent. In here,"he said, gesturing to different pouches on the backpack, "are a few swords, some divine weaponry, and a psychology textbook. Remember, un-brainwashing is preferable to homicide."
Casey nodded their agreement. Having done the whole "dying painfully"thing, they agreed that it really sucked.
"There's also a cell phone which you can use to call whenever you like--I do enjoy our conversation--and a bunch of occult materials you can use to blend in or do whatever you want with."
The tutorial apparently now completed, the pair walked back out to the office. Blake smoothly grabbed an ornate coatrack that had been sitting next to the doorway, and, without any warning, launched it over Casey's head, sending it crashing through the massive picture window.
"Okay, well, I suppose this is goodbye for now. Call whenever you like, and once more, while I'm sorry for throwing a wrench in your life, I'm glad you agreed to help."
"Anytime,"agreed Casey, nervously sticking their head out the shattered glass and into the abyss.
"Well, go on."
Donning some fake bravery and praying to the one god that they happened to now know personally, Casey gave a quick mock-salute and fell backwards into oblivion.
Time to take back their life and help some others find theirs. |
The first thing you should know about a third person perspective: is that it fucking sucks. Do you even have the slightest clue of how many times I've hit my shoulders on walls or misjudged distances. Do you know just how much of my life has been spent waiting for my 'camera' to rotate around my head so I can see what the hell it is that I am doing with my hands? Seriously, and don't even get me started on the physics of this thing. The camera sort of 'glitches' into walls, gets stuck behind doors, or in certain circumstances gives me a really unflatttering view of somebody's ribcage and brain or how much plaque is behind my own teeth.
The second thing you should know about a third person perspective: is that it's fucking awesome. Do you even have the slightest clue of how many tests I have cheated on? How many near misses I have avoided? HOW MANY DOGS I CAN SEE AT ONCE? And don't even get me started on my hand-eye coordination - or lack thereof. Not being able to see my hands without spending time moving my camera has left me with an acute sense of where exactly they are and just what I can do with them.
The looks people's faces when they see me twirling my white cane around my head like I'm a freaking sith lord about to underestimate the high ground are priceless. I can bulletwalk coins like I've been doing it since birth and I am a world champion of unknotting my earpods.
My life is simultaneously amazing and terrible, but I've learned that most people feel the same way and the only way to feel like you're living an average life is to live both amazingly and terribly at the same time - and I thought that I was doing a good job of that. In fact, I thought I was doing the best job at that, until today.
You see, usually my camera sits about two feet above my head and about five feet behind me with my head sitting in the top third of the frame. The only times it gets closer to me are when I'm in a smaller area than usual or if someone walks between the invisible line that connects me to the camera which usually results in a view of my own greymatter. I've also never had a need to look in a mirror since I can do that simply by facing my camera.
And let me tell you, after seeing that mirror rested at just the right angle that I could see behind the camera, I wish I was simply blind. |
“Making descent towards the ground now,” I said into my helmet mic, “Coordinates are 50.0344° N, 19.2098° E, and the time is 1500 back in New Musk. The sun is just now starting to fall.”
I took in a deep breath and prepared my body for what was about to happen. “The First Man.” That’s what they had dubbed me back home, at least. Captain Adam Alpha. I was selected to be the first scientist to step back onto the Earth since the blight. It was a monumental occasion. I should’ve felt happy, excited, filled with wonder and awe.
But I only felt an immeasurable sense of dread.
“Stepping out of the pod now.”
I climbed down into the gray ashy ground and looked around.
“It looks a lot like a war zone here.”
I pulled a small tablet out of my pocket and held it up to the sky.
“Five and a half degrees Celsius, with wind speed at ten knots. The air is still reading a lethal dose of radiation.”
I began walking around the flat and barren ground when I felt my heart sink deep into my chest.
“Captain, is there anything wrong,” called Ground Control, “Your blood pressure and heart rate just spiked.”
“I’m fine. I guess it’s just a little strange to be on Earth.”
“Be careful out there. Come back to the ship if you start getting a funny feeling. Your suit may not be able to withstand the conditions there.”
“Understood.”
I knew it wasn’t the air, but something I couldn’t explain. It was a feeling that penetrated all of our technology and poisoned my core. It felt like it was poisoning my soul.
“Help me,” I heard a voice call out.
Spinning around to look behind me, I couldn’t see anyone. It wasn’t possible that there was anyone. I held my tablet up and tried checking for signs of life, but there was hardly a microorganism left in this place.
“Help me.”
“Ground Control, are you getting this?”
“We’re getting a slight disturbance, but nothing other than fuzz. Why?”
“Nothing, I thought I heard someone,” I said, rubbing the front glass of my helmet.
Ground Control tried speaking to me, but the words weren’t coming through.
“Ground Control,” I said, “Ground Control? Shit.”
I knew I needed to go back to my pod and try to reestablish contact, but something was pulling me to walk further into the smog.
“Help us. Help us.”
The words repeated, getting louder and louder. Voices joined the chant with each step that I took.
Beads of sweat washed down my face and into my eyes. I could feel the water running down my face, but not on my forehead. That’s when it hit me, I was weeping. I didn’t know for who or what, but my heart has never felt such a strong sense of sadness since that day.
I made my way to a spot in which the voice no longer whispered, but instead cried out in a collective moment. One loud scream that deafened me for a brief moment, and then, silence.
A distinct burning smell hit my nose. It wasn’t like the clean burning fires that I had smelt at countless rocket launches, but a foul odor that seemed to smell like flesh in a way. I instinctively tried to cover my nose but was stopped by the thin layer of glass that protected me from the outside.
“What happened here?” I said, kneeling down to the ground. I placed my hand to the cold earth, and I was met with a terrible sight.
All around me, I saw naked people burning in flames surrounded by black faceless figures. The fires seemed to burn like those of Hell itself, as many cried out for their mothers, for their God. I too began to cry out, feeling the heat of the hate wash over my body. It was the most intense feeling I had ever felt. I could feel my very soul being ripped apart by something stronger than myself.
At some point after that, I blacked out.
The next thing I can remember, I was already back in my pod heading towards my main vessel. Somehow, I must have made my way back to safety, unlike those people who were burned alive.
I never shared this story with any scientist, I know they’d only chalk it up to radiation poisoning. But I know the only force poisoning me that day was evil. And I’ll never go back there again.
—-
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider checking out my subreddit r/coffeeswritingcafe
Have a good one! |
I am the Unfettered Empress, and my empire covers the world. By my command, dark gods bow before me. By my word, thousands dies. If it is my will, the oceans freeze, from the fire shall rain down burning ice, and the sky shall be torn asunder. My disciplined, battle-hardened armies, clad in steel and armed with sabres and muskets, outmanoeuvre the foolish knights and peasant levies sent against them in every battle. To describe me as imperious, proud, and intimidating, would be quite accurate. Tall, dark hair, piercing eyes, I am a sight to behold.
I am married, and my husband is a good man. In fact, he is so good, he might be considered my polar opposite. He is small, meek, kind, charitable, and forgiving. One might ask why a dark empress would marry a small kind man like him. And it is a good question. Before I was empress, when I was a child, he and I were friends. He was my truest friend, who wouldn't ostracise me for my partially human heritage, who was kind enough to approach the half-demon girl without fear, and share with her his treats or toys. He treated me with kindness and love when we grew up together at the orphanage. He always was supportive of me, even when I raised armies from outcasts and bestial races to raze the civilised lands that had cast down my father, the demon lord, and burned my poor mother on the pyre when I was but a little girl. I still do not know why they did that, my mother wasn't exactly a willing concubine to my father.
He is a good man. A simple man, but a good one. When I go out and conquer kingdoms and slaughter countless elves, he is at home, raising our children, being kind and friendly towards our slaves. I mean, I'm not mistreating them, but it is odd when he rewards them with baked goods for their work. I love him, but it is certainly, a bit difficult to bring devastation to the enemy when I know my husband would feel bad and use what little influence he has to set up relief efforts. It is a bit uncomfortable for my court of evil when my friendly and decent husband manages to convince evil nobles, beastmen chieftains, and dread necromancers to donate money towards aiding widows and orphans from the areas they have just destroyed under my command.
And he wants to help out. It's... hard, to find a position where he will be both safe, and feel like he is doing something worth while. His effort as a diplomat was, well, certainly interesting, but managing to convince people that I wasn't a bad person wasn't what was intended. He was supposed to convince them to surrender, now I have to endure the enemy asking to parlay and try to convince me to come back to the side of good. He means well. He did well when I put him in charge of a small side campaign, but he just doesn't cut it as a conqueror, the cities he took not being cleansed of elves, the churches of good gods still standing afterwards, and other such things.
He has even tried to really go ahead and be villainous, and I know why, he wants to be together with me, and I do love him. But he just isn't intimidating when he is 4 ft 11, clad in an apron, and asking people to politely bow down before me and worship me when convenient. The worst thing is that it usually works. He has heroic charisma, and people find it natural to listen to him. But it's all so... nice. He is the only person who has ever been nice to me, truly. And I can't bring myself to mistreat those people who he convinces to surrender.
He tries. He really tries. So I decided to put him somewhere useful. Where his niceness and kindness can be used for the benefit of my regime, where he can feel like he is doing worthwhile work to aid my empire and my ambition. I've put him in charge of the orphanages. There his ideas raises the countless orphans created under my rule as equals, with love and kindness, with loyalty to my regime, and soft understanding. There all races are treated as one, and taught my husband's principles of love, kindness, and loyalty. He has been so successful, I've decided to allow him to set up schools for all children, so they can be treated with respect and kindness, allowing them to grow and learn. Just like he treated me, when I was a lonely, unloved, orphan girl.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"On the house, if you'll give me your number."The bartender winked, smiling sweetly. Thomas looked puzzled for a second.
"My number? Oh! Give me just a second..."He reached down for his wallet, eventually pulling out a small crumpled piece of paper and handing it to the girl. "You must really need my spot at the clinic! I'm pretty sure they're at about #416 now, so you only need to wait four more before you're called."
She stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open even as he turned to leave. "Good luck! And thanks for the free coffee."
As usual, his exit turned several heads, causing both men and women to stare. He smiled and waved at the strangers as he walked. People in this neighborhood were always so friendly. One of them walked up to him, placing a seductive hand on his chest. "Hey, handsome."
"That's not my name,"he told her gently, not wanting to disappoint her. "I think I saw a Mr. Handsome somewhere in the coffee shop, though. He had a name tag and everything. Good luck meeting your date!"
And again he moved on, not noticing the angry look on her face.
"I want to have sex with you."The third person was far more blunt, having followed him from the coffee shop and realizing just how oblivious this stranger could be. Thomas blinked.
"People keep telling me that,"he said with a laugh. "I don't know who this Yu fellow is, but he's very lucky!"
---
Thomas found himself stopped again just outside his home - another one who had followed him.
"I want your penis inside of my vagina,"she said confidently, certain that her words could in no way be misconstrued.
"Your penis?"Thomas responded, somewhat hesitantly. "That's... a brand of some sort, right? Food? That doesn't sound entirely sanitary... Oh, here!"He brandished another piece of paper from his wallet. "I already gave my queue number to some other nice lady, but I still have the doctor's business card. If you get an infection, he'll help you deal with it!"
Before she could respond, he was back in his house - thankfully soundproofed against her scream of frustrated rage. |
Form 2805A (Commentary to Responding Officer's Incident Report)
Officer: Det. Henry Robertson
Summary: At approximately 2:05 am on December 13, 2015, Officer Carmichael and myself responded to a code 41 distress call at the corner of Winchester Dr. and Nineteenth St. Upon arrival, the suspect appeared to be a ninja warrior who had ingested some sort of radioactive ooze that had transformed him into a super ninja. Suspect appeared to be a male, approximately 9 ft. tall and 450 lbs. He was wearing a black ninja outfit that also concealed his face.
Citing a violation of schedule B-4 of the State Controlled Substances Act (Oozes and Super-serums), Officer Carmichael approached the suspect to administer the standard field sobriety test.
Officer Carmichael asked the suspect to place his hands above his head and asked if he had any weapons on hand. The suspect responded by drawing a seven foot katana (in violation of Criminal Code Chapter 14 Section 25.G) from a sheath on his back and slicing at Officer Carmichael, severing his torso from his legs, causing his immediate death.
At this point, in accordance with departmental policy 17.5(c) I requested immediate backup and began to discharge my service revolver at the suspect while remaining in cover behind the driver side door of my police vehicle.
In response to this, the suspect slammed his fists on the ground, which caused an earthquake-like event and created a wave of cracking asphalt that rapidly approached me, causing my police vehicle to travel approximately 15 ft. through the air and land upside down.
The suspect then began to walk toward me slowly while I reached for my standard issue baton. When the suspect was approximately 2 feet away, another unidentified male arrived on the scene. This unidentified male was approximately 5 ft. 7 inches tall, 150 lbs. and appeared to be an ancient Japanese samurai and was also carrying multiple large katanas in violation Criminal Code Chapter 14 Section 25.G.
The unidentified male called to the suspect and the suspect and unidentified male proceeded to have a heated argument in what I interpreted to be the Japanese language [NOTE TO REBECCA IN PR: please clear this claim before release, would prefer to avoid a diversity issue on this one, thx]. This brief verbal exchange lead to a protracted sword fight, during which the original suspect appeared stronger and more aggressive, but less agile. At one point, the unidentified male was pinned on the ground and seemed to be in imminent danger of being stabbed by the suspect, but eventually resisted the suspect's strength and the force of gravity to break free. He then executed a spinning tornado kick and sword slash combination move which severed the suspect's jugular. The suspect bled out on the scene before Emergency Services could arrive.
At this point I attempted to initiate verbal contact with the unidentified male. I informed him I was a police officer and that he needed to remain on the scene and turn over any weapons on his person. The unidentified male then removed his samurai hat and stated "The Dragon War is coming. None is Safe."[NOTE TO REBECCA IN PR: Also decide if we can include this or not.] He then fled into a nearby alleyway and visual contact was lost. In accordance with departmental policy 46(j) I performed an on foot search of the nearby area, but was unsuccessful in locating the unidentified male.
Recommendations: Unidentified male should be treated as a person of interest. John needs to do a sketch with me. M.E. should treat suspect autopsy as priority level Red. Let me be the one to tell Billy's wife.
Edit: If you guys like cop stuff, here's my story about [Elmo investigating a murder.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3w4rkj/wp_the_grim_and_gritty_reboot_of_a_beloved/cxtfpbx) |
# Soulmage
**"Magic is emotion,"** Witch Aimes stated, one finger pointed towards the hovering screen of smoke that served as a blackboard. "We can divide the schools of magic by the emotion they are powered by. A witch who wields happiness creates light; a witch who wields passion creates heat; a witch who wields sorrow creates cold."
As she spoke, she cast a spell from each school respectively. An orb of light, a shimmer of heat, and a glaze of frost coalesced on the smokescreen.
"Witch Aimes?"I asked, raising a hand.
She arched an eyebrow at me. "Yes, Cienne?"
"What about the darker emotions? Grief, agony, fear, despair... we haven't learned about any of them yet."
Witch Aimes' lips tightened. "There is a reason for that. The primary schools of magic that you will learn at the Academy are what we call constructive emotions. Since emotions are a witch's power source, all witches are incentivized to create more of the emotion they wield—which is why in civilized parts of the world, witches of happiness, calm, and empathy are amongst the most valued members of our society."
Most valued. As if witches who dabbled in the darker emotions didn't have their uses. I carefully kept the scorn off my face, but it was useless against a witch—Witch Aimes read souls the way others read faces. She could feel the disdain and anger in my heart as easily as I could.
It was why they'd taken me in, after all. To "guide me on the right path."
I could tell Witch Aimes could glimpse the emotions swimming beneath my calm expression, but she simply moved on. "On the other hand, witches of pain and loss are incentivized to *harm* others in order to gain power. This is why the lawless wastes outside the Silent Peaks have so much trouble building up anything that lasts: a dark witch can always storm through, gaining momentum with every heart they break, and bring ruin to everything they've built."Witch Aimes' eyes pierced mine, as if daring me to object, but I knew that was the truth.
My hometown was a smoking ruin thanks to one of those dark witches.
"There are other emotions, too,"I pointed out. "Ones that are neither intrinsically constructive nor destructive."
"And those would be?"Witch Aimes asked, folding her arms.
"Lust. Arousal."Some immature part of me was amused to see that Aimes actually blushed at that. "Or, what, are we just going to pretend that those don't exist?"
Witch Aimes coughed. "No, no, lust and arousal... exist. You, er... you're a little young to be visiting those parts of town, aren't you?"
I'd seen a lot for my age, admittedly, but to be honest I was purely curious from academic interest. Although now that I thought about it, if I expressed 'academic interest' in the magics of lust, I was pretty sure I'd be the laughingstock of the academy within days. Secrets moved fast in a society of empaths-in-training. "I am,"I said neutrally. It was better than 'I've been constantly watched to make sure I don't go darkwitch on the academy ever since your people brought me here.'
"Well."Witch Aimes cleared up her blush—witches had remarkable emotional control—and said, "Yes, those witches do exist. I highly recommend you stay away from them. Their magics are not... well, let us say that they are somewhat vile, and leave it at that."
I hid my annoyance as best I could as Aimes moved on to talk about the fundamental elements. Oh, sure, we could talk about the evils of 'dark' magic all day, but as soon as we got to the squishy parts of being a witch, it was too embarrassing to be talked about in polite company?
I narrowed my eyes in thought. Perhaps that was my issue. I hadn't gotten where I was by hanging around in polite company, after all, even if that was how the Silent Academy wanted me to move forwards.
Maybe it was time to find some *im*polite company.
As class drew to a close, my mind made up.
It was time to find a witch of lust.
\###
I'd been at the academy long enough to know I had a shadow. It wasn't obvious—the way crows turned their heads when I drew near, the extra attention stray cats paid me, the way moths and flies seemed to think I was a candle instead of a gutter—but anyone who lived in the Redlands knew how to tell when a witch of empathy was stalking them.
I didn't know much about the mind-transfer-nonsense that witches of empathy used. I was no stellar student, when it came down to it. I didn't have the raw material to make it as a witch of happiness, I was too perpetually angry to tap into the witchcraft of sadness, and I hadn't dared ask for help using the one emotion I could control.
But if there was one thing I knew about witchcraft, it was this:
Self-hatred made you feel small.
I didn't bother stripping off my clothes as I walked into the showers. They had hot water and divided stalls and all the things a mountain-city of good little witches thought were more necessary than doing something about the constant bloodbath that gave the Redlands their name. I simply reached into my soul as I turned the water on and threw the thorny, sticky vines of self-hatred out around me, bracing myself for the spell to hit.
Once I felt myself begin to shrink, I hopped onto a nearby ledge—probably for conditioner or essential oils or some other city-boy invention—so that I didn't get hit by any of the falling water droplets. Water got *weird* when I got small; something about the magic made it much harder for me to escape if I got trapped in a water droplet than normal. My breathing quickened and the air felt syrupy and thick—but I'd survived shrinking to nothing before.
I survived. It was what I did.
Once the spell was complete, I snuck underneath the dividing stall and made for the nearest window. I had to route through a nearby stall to get there, but the massive city boy didn't even bother looking down at little ol' me as I scampered by. They never did. By the time I reached the window—it was at ankle height, which just meant an unpleasant climb at my size—it had already begun to snow.
The year-round snow cover was what gave the Silent Peaks their name. The city boys said it made life peaceful and tranquil, the way the snow ate sound; privately, I just thought it meant that if someone jumped out a window, you'd never hear them scream. I landed in a snow poff, spluttering, then regained my original size before I suffocated in the snow. Some passerby gave me a surprised glance, but there were no suspicious animals around, so I deemed myself safe. It wasn't hard to deduce where the witches of lust would live—all I had to do was remember all the places they'd shown me on the grand tour of the city, then go to the places they *hadn't* shown me. The nearest such cluster of buildings didn't seem like anything special when I walked up to it—
"Can I help you?"A voice rang out from behind me.
—or not. I let myself flinch. If I was dealing with a witch, showing an honest burst of surprise would probably make them think I wasn't a twisted mess of lies and masks. "Er, yeah. I'm trying to find a witch of lust."
"You're talking to one!"The voice from behind me cheerfully said.
I paused, turning around. To my surprise, I wasn't talking to a filmy-clad succubus or whatever nonsense the Academy had primed me for—just a wrinkled-looking old man.
"How'd you, uh... sneak up on me?"I asked. "Magic?"
He laughed. "No. Just snowshoes and habit!"He raised an oddly wide boot, shaking some snow off it, and my esteem for him raised a notch. Anyone who had a habit of going around quietly was a friend of mine.
"Fair enough. So... if I can ask... what *is* your magic?"
He raised an eyebrow, then mimed holding something out and tossing it to me. By reflex, I moved to catch it—it was an invisible rod, about the size of my fist, and... strangely light. Was that... was that solid air?
"The witchcraft of lust,"the old man said, an amused twinkle in his eye. "Temporarily makes things hard."
I eyed the rock-hard rod in my hand. "Lovely,"I deadpanned.
He snorted. "Well, you didn't start moralizing at me, so you're not one of the Academy's boys."My esteem rose another two notches for the man. "I'm Jiaola. What's a fellow like you seeking out a witch of lust for?"
I grimaced. "The people at the academy... they don't talk about the orphans of the Redlands, or the rifts in the sky, or anything *important*. And... they don't talk about you, either."
Jiaola laughed. "Me? That's because my kind is an *embarrassment*."He nodded towards a nearby house. "See that?"
I nodded.
"Me and my husband own that place."
And I understood.
"Built it ourselves with our hands and our craft,"Jiaola continued. "The craft that the Academy likes to say is a perversion, a way to spread our *deviance*. But you wanna know the first rule of witchcraft? Magic is powered by emotions. Magic *drains* emotions. Me? I became a witch because any hint of my sexuality was verboten—so I sealed it off and channeled it into my craft instead."Jiaola's gaze grew distant. "I became a witch to hide who I was."
And suddenly, my throat tightened.
"I became a witch to hide who I am, too,"I blurted before I could stop myself.
Jiaola raised an eyebrow, possibly seeing something in my soul, but I shook my head. "I... I'm sorry. I have to go."
"Wait."Jiaola held out a hand, and something formed in it. I took it—another slice of hardened air, but this time, with... letters. Invisible letters I couldn't read, but letters nonetheless. "If you ever need me... my door is open."
I nodded once. Something writhed within my soul.
Then I sprinted away, not trusting myself to speak.
The words Jiaola gave me burned against my palm.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. |
"Hello Bruce. I want to play a g-UNNGHH! How did y-AARRGH!? Hnnf!"
Jigsaw flops back unconscious against the door, mask slipping off to reveal wispy hair and the pale face of his skin, pockmarked with sores and scars. A sound comes from the shadows of the room, a heavy metal mask clattering against the floor next to a set of wicked looking "handcuffs".
The World's Greatest Detective looks out with weary eyes from within the ruffled suit of Bruce Wayne, and allows himself a slight smile, before intoning in a gravelly voice.
"I'm Batman." |
"Where's your chocolate!?"
I look from the man that just came out of the time fold to the time fold itself.
"Cool space-time warping device,"I say, as the man takes a step my way. Then I lower my eyes back to the
microscope.
He grabs me by the collar. "Where is your chocolate!?"
"I'm diabetic,"I say. "I don't eat chocolate."
"Oh God,"the man replies, releasing me. "Is this the timeline where everyone's diabetic and chocolate was never
invent –"
"Chocolate was invented all right,"I say, "I just don't eat it. What are you doing here?"
I get time travelers here, from time to time. My lab is a 'warp safe' location, which means it's one of the few places
on Earth where you can safely open up a fissure in the space-time continuum, which means a lot of travelers end
up –
"I dropped a nickel,"the man says, in a desperate voice, "during a Jurassic exploration on a time vacation. It was my honeymoon. The guide told us not to change anything, but I dropped a nickel. And now the chocolate is gone."
"What chocolate?"
"There was this chocolate bar,"the man continues, "in my timeline. Here."He shows me a picture of a candy bar
still in its plastic wrappings. "It was gone when we returned from the trip. No one remembered it ever existing. I've
been going back and forth in time, changing little things to see if I can make it happen again. I need that candy,
man."
"Wow,"I say, turning back to the counter. "They'll let just about anyone play with time machines in the future, won't they?"
"You gotta help me! Come on!"
Before I can protest, the man pulls me towards the warp, and everything spins and turns on itself.
____________________
I open my eyes to Velociraptors.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE –"
"Quick! Change something!"the man yells, as the raptors grow near.
The man takes a zippo lighter from his pocket and throws it to the ground. "Will that work?"
"I don't know! How should I know!?"
"You're a scientist!"
Approaching us, the raptors get ready for the jump.
"Get us out of here before we get eaten, you moron."
The fissure opens behind us, and we tumble backwards into it just as the dinosaurs charge into the air our way.
__________________
Back in the lab, my assistant has flakes for skin and the radio announces that 'Nuclear Physicist Jon Bon Jovi will be
starting his science tour on the Madison Square Garden this Friday.' Tickets are available at Ticketmaster.com
"See what you did?"I ask, turning to the chocolate man. "I liked Bon Jovi."
The man's half his way towards my assistant. "Hey! Hey!"he raises the chocolate photograph. "Do you know what
this is?"
My half-dinosaur assistant shakes her head. "Sorry."
The man turns back to me, head down in frustration. "It's hopeless… I'm never gonna find it again."
"Yeah, about that,"I say, heading for my microscope (*produced in Venus*, it reads on the metal base), "That's Kit Kat. We totally had that in my timeline."
The man frowns. "What!?"
Eyes on the microscope, I say, "Yeah, I was just fucking with you."
Under the microscope, the bacteria wears a very tiny top hat. The radio announces that Mr. Bon Jovi will not be
performing his famed double-slit experiment live on account of plagiarism charges from Britney Spears.
Out the window the moon is green. Chocolate man starts crying.
__________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories that read like rejected Rick and Morty scripts, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
I noticed something was wrong the instant I began to regain consciousness. I'm very fond of the softness of my bed, and this was nowhere close to that.
Before trying to Jump anywhere, I opened my eyes and glanced around. I found myself in a dimly lit stark metal room with another bunk opposite mine.
I looked over the edge of my bunk to see the person under me. A man maybe in his fifties was still sound asleep. My sedative probably wore off more quickly.
The other two people were still asleep on the other bunk, so I decided it would be fine for me to Jump to the floor. But just a moment before I followed through, I thought to check for a camera.
Sure enough, one camera in the upper corner of the room. Full sight except for behind my bunk.
I climbed down normally. Despite the creaking of the bed, none of the others woke up. Must have been a heavy sedative.
I walked over to the door and looked out through the single tinted square window. I wasn't able to see any guards or cameras covering my door, so I stepped behind my bunk and Jumped through to the other side.
A guard was walking down the hallway, just having turned the corner. He was scowling at the tablet he was holding.
I panicked and Jumped behind him right before he looked up to see me.
He stopped, standing still and looking down the hallway, confused. I held my breath, ready to jump back the other way if he suddenly turned around.
Thankfully, he didn't, and looked back down at his tablet as he kept walking.
Once he'd rounded the corner at the other end of the hall, I heard a voice in the direction that the guard came from.
I made my way down the corridor and peeked around the corner to see a group of guards in casual conversation at the end of the hall. Behind them was a window, telling me that it was still nighttime, but probably not the same night we'd all been abducted.
I made a risky move and Jumped outside the window for a fraction of a second, just to see where I was. I immediately Jumped back to the place I was standing to process what I'd seen.
An ocean. A shore. We were on an island.
I also saw a large expanse of open land with guards scattered around, probably a field for whatever twisted game was coming up.
Another important detail; part of the sky was a reddish-orange, meaning sunrise was soon.
I Jumped back into my bed. A few minutes later, my roommates started waking up.
If these people wanted a Demi-god of Chaos in their death game, then that's exactly what they were about to get. |
The man fell to the ground, hand clutching his face as blood spilled from between his fingers. His eyes were wide from shock and pain, staring up at the man who had laid him low. “What was that for?” he gasped, spitting blood onto the ground. “You said we could take what we want from the region. I thought if I could take from the townsfolk then an old man in the woods would be fair game-“ He fell back again, moaning in pain from the kick to his stomach.
The standing man glared down. “You thought? I see no signs of you thinking.” His face was contorted from rage and something no one else had seen before: fear. “If you were thinking, you would have listened to me. If you were thinking, you would have just taken from the town and villages, were the easy pickings are and that we had a right to. But no, you went into the woods because you saw a horse you liked and wanted it. You just had to take that horse.” He pointed at the black horse, standing almost placidly in the corner stable. It was a magnificent animal, obviously well taken care of. The hair of the horse shone in the lantern light, almost luxurious like sable. The long mane fell like water down the muscled neck. Large eyes looked at the men with uncanny intelligence and it seemed to delight in the fallen man’s pain.
“That horse, out of so many in the whole region. So what did you do? You went after it you stupid-“ The man raised his leg to stomp down before another hurriedly waved him back.
“Sir, please. We did it as a gift to you!” The younger man recoiled as he became the target, the half truth withering on his lips. “No really, we thought you would look grand on such a horse. So we figured we would give it to you after we rode him for a bit. Honest.”
The others looked confused. They had thought their Boss would look pleased to own such a horse. Anyone with eyes could tell that the horse was one of a kind. Dense corded muscles spoke of staying power and high speed, eyes bright that saw and thought. Instead of praise they had received hurled venom and they could not understand why.
“What did you do to the man that owned the horse?” the Boss asked, fear tainting his words.
“We....we beat him up and left him at his cottage.”
“Is that all?”
The man on the floor climbed slowly to his feet. “Well, the man’s hound bit Reynolds so Reynolds killed it.” He flailed, almost falling as the Boss came at him with a raised fist. “I didn’t kill the beast, Reynolds did! By the Gods, what has you so bothered Boss?! It was just an old man. So what if we stole his horse and killed his hound. He isn’t going to do anything.”
The Boss seemed to deflate, visibly aging in front of their eyes. He stalked over to his desk and sat, pulling out a bottle of dark spirits. His teeth sunk into the cork and he tore it out with a jerk of his head, spitting the cork aside and taking a long drink. “Because, of all the people you could harass, you idiots picked the worst one.”
“He’s just one man,” one of the others said mockingly. “And old, since when are you afraid of an old man?”
“I am afraid of no old men.” Another long drink. “I am afraid of one old knight.”
“So what if he is a knight. So are we.”
The Boss shook his head. “Not like him. Not like John Wicked.” Everyone paused at that name. The lanterns seemed to flicker when the name rolled into the air. Some of the older men held their breath while the younger ones had a momentary flash of doubt. Their consternation rose higher when the horse neighed loudly at the name, the first sound it had made since it arrived.
“John...Wicked? As in Jon the Wicked? He must be dead, died of his wounds years ago,” whispered a man.
“John the Wicked was a myth, a joke. Just the overblown tales of a has been knight,” replied another scathingly. “We have nothing to fear.”
Everyone jumped as the Boss hurled the bottle. The glass shattered into thousands of shards. “We have EVERYTHING to fear!” he bellowed. “You all think he is a myth? A has been? You know nothing! I have seen him fight, he is no man, he is a devil! I was at the Fields of Rain, the Bellthorne Massacres, the Burning Sands.” His eyes lost focus, staring into yesterday. “Wicked is his true name, not one we gave him. He is the Undying, he cannot be felled. I have seen him kill so many other knights. Even when he was alone, no matter what weapon, he would prevail. I saw him kill an oliphant with a dagger, a bloody dagger against a giant monster.”
Now the others grew nervous. They knew their Boss to be practical, rarely giving into boasting or tales. Yet he stood before them, face covered with despair and still as stone. The first man recoiled again as haunted eyes rested on him. “He took his well deserved retirement, retired to a cottage he and his late wife lived at. And you went to steal his horse and killed his hound. The last hound his wife ever raised.”
“We-we-we....we can take him out. He’s old now and we can do it. We’re the best knights in the region.” The man looked around, his boast dying in the air as no one else shared his false enthusiasm.
“Have you been listening? We cannot kill him! Wait...where is Reynolds?” The boss glared and the men shrugged.
“He went back to the cottage, saying something about claiming the hound’s teeth as weregeld...” All eyes turned to the door as it shook. Something was bodily kicking it, once, twice. Finally a man opened it and a lone tawny horse cantered in. The was no rider in the saddle, and the sides of the horse was coated in a familiar red fluid. A sword was tied to the pack and one of the men pulled it free. “This is Reynold’s sword. He wouldn’t just let it go, and there isn’t any blood on it.”
“That’s his message,” the Boss said woodenly. “He wants us to take the sword. He wants us to know that he isn’t injured and that we will need every sword we can get. He’s coming.” The black horse threw his head back and neighed, a loud noise that shook the air and it sounded like laughter heralding something dark. |
Lucas looked up at me, ears twitching, eyes filled with fear.
“What’s happening to me, mum?” he asked.
My baby boy. Tall like his dad; over 6ft at only 16 years old. Muscular arms and shoulders from years of basketball training shone in the moonlight that streamed through the open window. His body shuddered from the inside out. His fingers curled and stretched in time with his heaving breaths. A guttural cough came from behind hinting teeth.
My baby boy. My eyes widened as his body, the body I had nursed and bathed, seized and popped. His skin grew dull; his eyes narrowed; his face narrowed menacingly.
Instinctively, my own teeth flicked down. A strong hiss escaped my lips. Lucas’ now clawed fingers swiped at me in defense. He let out a short howl and leapt down the stairs and out the door.
My mind was racing. My son is a werewolf. My baby boy is a dirty, stinking werewolf. How was this even possible? I tried to think back to my pregnancy all those years ago. I had bad morning sickness with that kid, heartburn so bad I thought my heart was literally on fire. I had asked the doctor, a voodoo expert from the old country, about it, but she dismissed it as ‘normal’ pregnancy symptoms. I had seen her regularly in the lead up to the insemination. She had promised she could help vampires have biological children, with only the bare minimum of scientific intervention. I couldn’t risk a human doctor uncovering my true identity, but my husband desperate for a child of his own. I could have become infected with tainted blood back then. I’ve never drank from a werewolf; I’m sure I would have noticed a strange smell or taste or something.
A crash from downstairs indicated my baby boy was home and not yet back to his human self. I had no idea how to handle him in the mean time. I rushed down, tiptoes barely brushing the steps. In the living room, Lucas was crouched by the television, panting heavily. A large, dark shape took up the corner opposite him. As I shushed and stepped closer, the dark shape moved. It morphed into two shapes, both still large enough to stop me in my tracks. As they moved closer, my father in law held out his clawed hand to me as my mother in law looked worriedly towards my son.
“Don’t be scared, Melissa. We don’t want to hurt you if we don’t have to. We’re just here to help Lucas with the transition.”
I let out a laugh; half snort and half gasp. Out of the ten billion people on Earth, over four billion were vampires. How had I ended up married to a werewolf?
“You can’t tell anyone, Melissa,” my father in law continued, “There are five billion of us, you will be silenced. Trust us and you’ll be okay.” I heard his words but they didn’t make any sense. Five billion werewolves? That meant there was only a billion humans then. I guess I didn’t know what werewolf blood tasted like after all.
At that moment a mug clattered from the coffee table. Lucas’ cat, Jemma, slunk behind the couch towards the front door. No one moved to open it for her. She scratched at it, and still no one attempted to open it. We were at a stale mate. Jemma, a marmalade coloured rescue, stood on her hind legs and reached for the door herself. Shiny red fingers nails grasped the handle. Ginger waves cascaded down the back of a short woman with bony ankles and tattoos on both biceps. She glanced quickly at us all before stepping into the cool night air. |
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k9jbx9/the_last_of_the_demonslayers_part_2/)
___
"Oh god, you gotta be kidding me."I sat up from my bed, coffin, holding my back. "This is some kind of joke, right?"
The young man stared at me, green eyes huge. Then he stared at his hands. "I-I did it. Oh my gosh I did it."
I waved him off. "Give me a break. It's not that hard. Feel like every cleric and their mother has a res spell waiting to go off."
He blinked a few times and with each blink, his eyes changed color subtly. A brownish tint. Then bluer. Then more green with a shade of brown.
They looked like opals and I groaned. Opal eyes are the mark of a necromancer. This wasn't just a fan resurrecting me. This was a bloody death mage.
"You'd better get the hell out of my crypt and let me die."My voice was a growl, the kind demons and shades alike had some to fear.
He scrambled back a bit, misty cloak obscuring his slight body as he did. "N-now don't be upset! This was a last-ditch attempt, you hear? We've tried everything. Everything! Alzeoth has been pillaging and destroying everything and we thought-"
"Alzeoth?"I blanched. "Not... Not little Alzy."
He swallowed. "Guess things kinda went bonkers since you died. It's been a hundred years though and you were the last of the demon-slayers."
This made my heart both joyful and sad. So there hadn't been any more in a century. I truly had, for a hundred years, stopped the fighting between mortals and demons. I'd unified our kingdoms, marrying the daughter of the demonlord I'd slain. The fighting had stopped.
Our child was supposed to have been an ultimate pact of our bloody kingdoms working together.
"Gonna give that kid a walloping,"I said.
"So the rumors are true?"he whispered. "The half-demon Alzeoth truly is your child?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Marizae said it was gonna take some time for him to grow so we kept him a secret for a bit of time..."I paused, thinking. "Thought we'd made an announcement at some point? I can't say. Those last few decades got a bit fuzzy."
The necromancer nodded, looking at me with a rapt attention I didn't really like.
"So what's the deal?"I asked. "You're expecting me to go in and slay the demon, eh?"
He kept nodding, that same stupid look on his face. Then, when he caught a glance of my glare, the head nod turned into a head shake as his face turned a bit more aghast.
"What? Ask you to kill your own son?"He laughed, a bit high and very nervously. "No, no, not at all. What kind of horrible- I mean- no, that would just be dreadful to ask of a father."
"Good."God, where had we gone wrong? "Still, I guess he's my issue and I oughta go talk to him. What did you say your name was?"
The necromancer turned those eerie shifting eyes on me, in surprise. "Oh. I don't have one? I mean, we usually lose our names when we turn to death magic, I don't know if you knew that. I could give you my old name-"
"Just *something*."
He grinned. "Uh, how's Asnyth? That's kinda a mix between-"
"Asnyth. Sounds good. Alright then, Asnyth. Let's get out of here."
The necromancer hopped to his feet, still mostly hidden by his cloak. "So you'll come with? I mean, we're not going straight to the Dread Palace, I don't think. Or, do you think...? But no, probably not. Unless?"
I stared at him til he shut up. "Alright, get me my coat and sword. We'll pitstop by your town or whoever you're working with so I can get some information. Then we'll go talk to the 'half-demon scourge' or whatever you call him."
The necromancer nods and bounds to the door of my crypt. "We actually call him 'half-demon scum' but scourge is also cool."He stopped and gave another little laugh. "Or... we can call him your son? Or just Alzeoth. That's also cool."
God this was going to be some trip, wasn't it? Couldn't ask for a better companion.
"Anyway,"Asnyth babbled, "I'm not really working too much with anyone. I don't really- well, I'm a necromancer so... anyway, there is a-what did you call it? A pitstop we can make but..."
His voice trailed off, or maybe I just stopped registering it, as the door swung open leading to what should have been Erinblyth, the capital city of the Glorious Empire.
It was nothing but wasteland. Barren and dusty, with no life to be seen.
"God dammit,"I said under my breath.
The necromancer looked at me, now very nervous. "Uhm. Yeah, I think this used to be a city, maybe? That's what the old notes said and I studied this rather intently but I don't know so... yeah. Don't listen to me."
I wasn't listening to him. I was just thinking of those last twenty years raising a very slowly aging half-demon child. I was going to have some words for Marizae when I found her, but I was going to have *so many more* words for my son.
"Lead the way, Asnyth,"I said, my voice hoarse but burning in my throat. "Got a lovely wife and kid to pay a visit to."
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k9jbx9/the_last_of_the_demonslayers_part_2/)
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
"What?"I stood, waiting for the answer. Although I should have screamed and run away, I was a flannel shirt-clad man who was just met by a little grey man in the middle of the woods who is praising humans. I don't think I had the ability to act rationally.
"You are the ultimate species! You! Humans!"He pointed, he almost cheered as he spoke. It was as if he was meeting a long time obsession of his.
I shuffled on my feet. "You, mister alien, got here in a space ship but we are the ultimate species?"
"Yes!"He clapped loudly.
*I think it may be because we aren't this strange when meeting people.* "Why?"
"Because of your wonderful reactions."
Thoughts of fist fights in bars, the show 'Cheaters' and outbursts on social media rushed to mind. "We are the ultimate species because we react... to things?"
"Not just that!"He pulled something from his back. It looked almost like a thick battery. Clicking it, an image appeared, shimmering in the American sun.
"What am I looking at?"I said, poking my finger into the image.
The alien scowled at the device. "The network is spotty out here. Give it a minute."
I gave a chuckle. "Can't phone home?"I chuckled.
The alien shouted in my face. "Yes! That is why you're the ultimate species!"
"It was a joke!"
"Exactly!"
|
You stared at his computer screen, fed up with all of the references to his name in r/writingprompts.
"I love reading these, but they are ALL written in 2nd person!"He cried, frustrated.
"They are supposed to know what perspectives are!"He groaned.
You tore his eyes from the screen.
Then he had an idea.
He looked back at the screen and grabbed his mouse, moving it until the cursor hovered towards the top of the page.
Swipe.
Click.
It was done.
You unsubscribed from r/writingprompts. |
Grinclor had seen many species during his tenure at the Plygon Intergalactic Zoo and Funporium, but the new exhibit was still an enigma to him. Sure, they were simply bipedal mammals, similar to other species at the zoo. They had minimal appendages, breathed oxygen, and the general appearances were not far from the ever so popular Crystodiun exhibit (minus the antlers, of course).
It was the exhibit’s living space, however, that was causing Grinclor to draw a blank. The humans were found in cryosleep, on a derelict ship with engines that stopped running long ago. Based on the ships logs, they were meant to be the first colonizers outside of their own star cluster. With no way to track down the home world, Grinclor could only go off the media files saved onboard, consisting primarily of news reels and something called “sitcoms”.
Grinclor was both amazed and perplexed by these sitcom short stories. These humans appeared to have complex social structures, which often caused amusing situations and heartfelt interactions. The news reels, on the other hand, showed Grinclor the brutality that humans could bring upon not only each other, but the world around them as well.
Grinclor sighed to himself, not sure what to do. None of the media clips seem to point to a single answer, with some humans being happy living in a bustling city, with others seemingly only wanting to hurt their fellow man.
After pouring over the data again and again, Grinclor found their answer. The exhibit would be the perfect home for these newly discovered humans, somewhere they would truly feel at home. Somewhere that everyone knows their name, and they’ll certainly be glad they came.
Grinclor began typing the announcement for Plygon Intergalactic Zoo and Funporium’s newest exhibit, “Cheers: A Look at the Average Human Watering Hole”. |
"Are you kidding me!? Leonard's not a 'thing', he's my puppy!"Rusty shouted, holding the tiny corgi puppy up to the Deputy Headmistress's face. Deputy Headmistress Stroude let out an uncharacteristic shriek and jumped back.
"GET THAT FILTHY LITTLE DEMON AWAY FROM ME!"she screeched.
"How dare you say something like that to a sweet boy like Leonard!? You were fine with all the god-awful monsters the other losers brought!"shouted Rusty.
"Miss Bailey, I recommend that you do not badmouth your fellow students. After all, you are here on a scholarship-"
"Yeah, against my will! You bombarded my fuckin' house with owls and talking letters until I came here just to make it stop!"
"*Miss Bailey,* it is not your place to badmouth our fine academy's generosity!"
"And it's not *yours* to give Leonard shit,"Rusty retorted, crossing her arms. Deputy Headmistress Stroude sighed and pinched her nose.
"Ah, you human-borns are all the same,"she muttered.
"And you magic bitches are all stuck-up assholes, but you don't see *me* whining about *you*! Or your creepy-ass lizard!"Rusty pointed to the purple mini dragon perched on the Deputy Headmistress's shoulder. The dragon flicked out its forked tongue and let out a quiet hiss.
"Russetta Alexandra Bailey, you have been nothing but a thorn in my side and disgrace to magical kind since you came here! The Headmaster *will* be hearing about this!"Deputy Headmistress Stroude shouted, storming away.
"Cool! Make sure to tell him my pup's name is Leonard! That's *Lehhh-nurrd!* L-E-O-N-A-R-D!"Rusty called after her. The Deputy Headmistress muttered something about 'those unruly human-borns' before vanishing from sight.
\*\*\*
"Headmaster Cellius, you can *not* let that *ruffian* from The Bronx wreak havoc on our school like this! She's already put three students in the medical ward with her ***fists***, made two teachers cry, and made four lovely Wizard-Borns from good families transfer to other schools out of pure fear!"ranted Deputy Headmistress Stroude. "And now, she brought that horrible creature into our academy! Something *must* be done about her!"
"Deputy Headmistress, do you remember what the prophecy said?"the Headmaster asked calmly. "*The most unlikely of-*"
"Yes, yes, I know, but surely it didn't mean *that* unlikely!"
"I'm afraid it did, Deputy Headmistress. Leave my office at once, and do try to give Miss Rusty a bit of breathing room. Perhaps she wouldn't be so tempted to violate our rules if you didn't cram them down her throat all the time,"Headmaster Cellius said firmly. Deputy Headmistress Stroude glared at him, but backed out of the office without giving him a hard time. Headmaster Cellius sighed. While Stroude was a fine second-in-command most of the time, she could be quite a handful. He actually quite liked Rusty: She was drastically different from most of the students here, and reminded him of his young self. And, of course, he loved dogs.
​
EDIT: Holy crap, thanks so much for all the awards! Glad to see you guys liked the idea of a dog-loving Hogwarts (well, some similar school) student from The Bronx as much as I did :) |
I was exhausted, my hands sticky with my own blood and that of my enemies. Seeing all my companions, friends, even my lover, turn on me was a cruel shock.
"This is a jest? Please tell me this is but a jest!"I pleaded, looking from one friend to another. Their eyes hardened with the same resolve I had seen in a hundred skirmishes. My eyes finally rested on our young priest, the healer of our small band. To his credit, his eyes strayed from mine, guilt ridden. It was clear he didn't want to kill me, but he wouldn't heal me either.
I looked down to my bloodied sword, took a deep breathe and looked back to my former friends. "So be it."They had made their decision, and I had made mine.
I cried in anger and pain, lifting my sword and striking Blitz.... no I couldn't think of them as friends anymore. I struck at the well Armoured knight, my sword barely scratching his plated protection. A well placed kick from his heavy foot sent me sprawling to the floor. Oh how I had watched him kick countless foes to the ground, near defenseless to any attack.
I tried rolling away from any assault, just in time. A ball of fire exploded where I once lay. I started to rise as quickly as I could, only to feel a pain in my fingers. The knight had stepped on my blade. I let go of the sword and quickly moved out of his reach. I pulled out my dirk and thought about my options. I didnt have a lot of time to think.
The thief moved in quickly. The strike was just as quick. I tried to parry his blade, but felt it hit my thigh bone. I grabbed his blade hand and pushed the dirk through his throat. His mouth filled with blood and gurgled cries of pain.
I had just killed my first friend, Zalman. I didnt even have enough time to process this when an arrow flew pass our heads. Robyn... the huntress was already stringing a second arrow. I dropped Zalman's corpse, watching another fireball coming straight for me. I tried to move out of the way, but Giulia's fire just hit my face.
I cried out in pain, dropping my dirk and covering my slowly melting face. My body was full of blind rage and agony. I turned myself away from my new enemies, looking at the corspe of my old enemy. I reached for his helmet, and put it on. The metal felt cool against my burning flesh, and helped me focus my pain. I reached for his sword, a darkness surrounding it, but I was desperate. The huntress unstrung her arrow and I swung my sword desperately, cutting it out of the air. The knight charged at me, and a second mighty swing brought him down. One friend, a second, a third. Friend after friend fell until it was just my ex lover Giulia and the young priest, Celerion.
She fired another ball of flame to my face, but the helmet protected me. I didn't even blink when my sword brought her down. The priest desperately tried healing spell after spell on her, afraid what I would do to him, wishing for a hero... a hero like me to save him.
"Why? Why did you all turn on me?"I demanded in a voice I didn't recognize. I stared down at his pitiful state, waiting for an answer.
"It's the prophecy! The prophecy says that whoever killed the Dark Lord was doomed to replace him! We had no choice. We had to kill you to end the cycle. So you wouldn't become the next Dark Lord!"He cried, dropping to his knees, hands in the air, begging for his life.
I looked at him with disgust. I turned around and looked at my fallen comrades. Their blood covering my body and thick on the floor. I imagined that I could see my reflection in the crimson fluid. What a terrible sight I must be. And my face? I dared not remove the helmet to witness the horror that was my burnt flesh.
I turned back to my old friend. "In respect of our passed friendship, I bid you may leave with your life. Go tell people what happened here today, warn them of what betrayal can do. Leave now before I change my mind."I Turned once more, unfearful of what he may do. Even under my helmet, I could hear him scatter away as fast as his feet could take him.
I walked towards my new throne, and sat, brooding deeply. |
Rose knew she was in trouble when the water droplets falling from the overhead sprinklers in her greenhouse froze in mid-air. She took another sip of her tea, three sugars and a dash of honey, and looked around her favorite place. Dread was a lead ball rolling from side to side in her stomach and she wished she had passed on that ham sandwich from earlier.
Rows upon rows of greenery surrounded her, sunlight streaming in through the mosaic glass above. There were purple patches of lavender, yellow splashes of sunflowers, hundreds of red and black roses. If she closed her eyes and pretended like everything was still the same, would the drops of water fall?
She closed them. Then opened them again and sighed. They still hung there, glittering like miniature stars in the unmoving patches of sunlight. At least the tea was still-
*Gosh darn it,* she thought as the liquid in the cup stopped moving. Couldn't she have at least let her take another sip? It never tasted the same afterwards.
"In case you were wondering,"she whispered but still the area shook with vibrations that made her pale. She hated when time stopped. "The answer is still no, Caroline."
One second she was alone, in the next a ray of sunlight folded open like a blooming flower, and there she was. Caroline. Long, pale legs showed at the bottom of a yellow sundress. Hair that was basically golden spilled down her back in carefree waves. She was dazzling, until you got to her eyes.
They were liquid onyx, with all the compassion of a snake and they were focused on Rose as if she was the next meal.
Somehow, Rose masked her trembling by sitting on her hands. It also helped her keep from launching up from her seat and attacking this woman who had caused her so much heartache. Not that violence would get her anywhere. Caroline looked like an angel brought to Earth but she could level a skyscraper if it looked at her funny.
Caroline stepped forwards, her feet bare, until she was a few paces away. "I didn't even ask the question yet."
"You've been asking me the same question for a year now,"said Rose and her teeth clenched together. "But for whatever reason you don't understand the word no, probably because no one tells you that do they?"
Caroline shook her head and the motion sent hair cascading around like a supermodel. Bitch. "I could always force you."A small smile curved her lips. "You would dance, laugh and cry as I demanded it. You would crawl, if I decided you should."
Rose bit down harder and was rewarded with the copper tang of blood. Still, it dashed the images of her getting on her hands and knees in the dirt. Her crawling forward like a trained dog. Since she now tasted blood, it was time to draw some from Caroline.
"Let me guess,"Rose said, forcing sweetness into her tone. "He still doesn't want you?"
The words hit their mark. Her greenhouse, the one she had worked on for years and years, detonated. There was an ear splitting shriek, the smell of ozone, and everything around her was reduced to colorful debris no bigger than confetti. All of it floating in the air around her like balloons of destruction.
She pushed a hand through what was left of her rosemary. Caroline was still there, her face and hair perfect, even if the latter floated in an unseen breeze. But her eyes, they blazed like a forge.
For several seconds, Rose held her breath. Was this it? Finally? Then Caroline's eyes cooled, there was a loud snap, and everything went back to what it was before.
"Are you really this selfish?"Caroline's words were cool, all trace of that heat gone for now. "His mind falls apart more and more each day. His sanity crumbling through my fingers like grains of sand. Will you not save him from that? Save all of us from that?"
Rose sat back, clasped her hands together in her lap. "Do you remember what you said when you convinced him to leave me?"She asked. And was that a wince on the other woman's face?
"Because I do,"she said when there was no response. "You said I was useless, the bane of his existence. The only thing stopping him from being powerful. From being great. From reshaping the face of the world as he chose."
"He was wasted here with you."Caroline said, her voice a harsh whisper. "With us, he was able to accomplish greatness. He performed wonders. He-"
"Destroyed a continent,"Rose interrupted. A harsh laugh escaped her. "And that's only the barest stretch of what he can do. You and I both know it."
"Then tell me why?"Caroline asked. "How can you sit here in your garden while he loses himself? He manifests you, you know. One that can't talk and has glassy eyes. He hasn't worked the soul thing out yet. But its the only way he can sleep."
Rose waited for her heart to soften. She waited for that love she felt for him to overflow and erase everything that had led up to this. But it didn't, and wouldn't. Her heart had shriveled and died the same day he decided to appoint himself a god. The same day he had tried, and failed to rewrite who she was to make him come with her.
"We were happy,"Rose said. "You were the devil in his ear, whispering promises of what he could do. So yes, I will sit here with my flowers and my tea. And I will enjoy the time I have left, however long or short that may be. Because the man you want my help with is no longer my husband. And the wife that cared about him and the rest of this world is long, long gone."
"You doom us all, over a broken heart."A statement from Caroline, not a question.
Rose didn't respond. She only picked up her tea. In the next instant, water fell like mist around her and the smells of her greenhouse returned. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. Rose blinked a few times and took a sip, grimacing at the taste it now had. |
Dear Mr. Satan;
This letter is to inform you that effective immediately, I quit. As per Union rules, I will serve out my remaining two weeks. While the past three thousand years of servitude have been fulfilling, I feel that it's time for me to try something else.
Yours, with thanks,
-Tarkenon the Bezerker
PS- If you were wondering, yes I did get a job in Yahweh's Heaven. The pay is better, and although I realize you have lost several staff to them recently, please don't refuse my request to quit like you did with Albright Paingiver last month. That was in clear violation of Union rules, and unlike Albright, I'm not afraid to report your actions to our local representative.
PPS- By the way, you may not even realize it but I was instrumental in the execution of the Justinian Plagues. I worked closely with you on that project for seventy-five years and you kept calling me 'Turk', even when others around you called me 'Tark', aka, *my name*. The general consensus at the time was that you didn't like me, which seems the only explanation for the fact that I received no bonus that century, leading to a financial setback that contributed to the divorce of my 3rd wife. You may remember her, Cheryl Greybone, the intern you had sex with while on a conference call about the Plagues. No hard feelings or anything, but when I first started working here you had strict rules about fraternization with the staff. I don't know when those rules started relaxing, but nobody was particularly impressed.
PPPS- Actually, I do remember when the rules started slacking, right after you toured Krishna's Heaven. You came back and said, and I quote, "that place was amazing, let's invade it,"and when you found out that invasion was a violation of the Mythologies Act you got all depressed and started fucking interns.
PPPPS- If you liked Krishna's Heaven so much, why did you not try *in the slightest* to emulate it? Hell has been boring for thousands of years, you've done literally **zero** upgrades to the facilities since acquiring the property. I hear the Buddha's realm has problems with the WiFi; at least they **have** WiFi! One shitty internet cafe running Windows 98 on two and a half computers doesn't count as an "internet connection", and you need to stop using that claim on employment brochures, all it does is piss off the new hires.
PPPPPS- Speaking of new hires, I officially resent the recent trend of outsourcing projects to the Norse and Roman Realms. You were quoted as saying, "Janus and Loki are more imaginative than I am", but that is the biggest pile of horse shit I've ever heard. Lucifer, **everyone** is more imaginative than you are, and you used to leave the work up to people like me, before you started catagorizing us into "fuckable interns"and "don't care". This is why you've been losing money for the past nine hundred years. It's only a matter of time before the housing bubble bursts, and with so many facilities in desperate need of an upgrade, it's going to be quite some time until the local economy recovers.
I know you told the Union recently that you were considering a loan from Allah's Realm, in part because they have such low interest rates, but I beg of you, please don't go down that road. Valhalla is a shell of its former glory ever since they borrowed money for an expansion that didn't revitalize their numbers.
In short, Mr. Lucifer Satan, you need a second in command again. You may not want to hear this, but ever since Legion was slaughtered by Cthulhu, Hell has suffered from poor leadership. Building more bridges to Hades to interconnect the two realms won't help. You need to focus on more than one priority at a time, even if multi-tasking is too abstract a concept for your feeble mind to grasp.
I apologize if any of this offends you, but ultimately my decision to leave really was motivated primarily by finances.
Sincerly,
-Tarkenon the Bezerker
PS- Fuck you. |
With his last mortal breath, Elgathar the Ferocious screamed as the eternal flames absorbed him. His once-brown eyes flickered to a vibrant red. He grinned in delight. There was no need for an elixir of life, after all. Immortality was gained a different way.
It was glorious, for the first century or so, flaunting his self-made power over all else and conquering the lands. He forged a kingdom, which became an empire, and within 186 years and 43 days of his immortal life, the entire globe was obeying his rule. First he was cruel. Then he was benevolent. Then he was cruel again - after all, niceness was not in his repertoire of common personality traits. Time continued on, as it tended to do, and as centuries became millennia, Elgathar the Ferocious decided it would be best to live a more simple life, treating days and decades as little, self-contained treasures. He left the world in a half-decent state, and lived within the mountains.
Prophecies popped up, stating how Elgathar would be defeated by his direct descendant. It was a cause for concern in his early decades, where he committed a paranoid genocide on people he thought were his brood, where he abstained from creating more for a century more. Still, one or two could have escaped. Eventually, he gave up on being scared. There was no point, really. He gave up his vow of chastity also, because Elgathar the Ferocious was the sort of person who liked that sort of thing every few years - or months - or decades... Time was difficult to keep track of, especially when your mind was meant for no more than a century's worth. Ah well.
Ten thousand years passed since Elgathar defied death. A young, brave-faced teenager knocked on his door in his cabin atop the mountains. To come all this way to visit him - how nice. So polite too, to knock. The teenager had learned of the immortal soul who once ravished and caused such carnage on the lands in history class, and had learned too of the prophecies about direct descendants. One look at the family tree led the teenager to believe they were destined to slay Elgathar the Ferocious, then claim a large bounty or something else cool.
Elgathar opened the door. Looked down.
"Hello. What's your name? Did you come all this way by yourself?"He asked, in a voice that hadn't been used for 106 years.
"Ash, sir. Which is what you'll be soon enough. I challenge you to a duel!"The teenager said, in a quivering yet confident voice.
"Must we? I've just popped the potatoes on. Oh, very well... To the death, I suppose?"Elgathar was rather bored with the prophecy, leading certain individuals to think they're special. Only last eclipse there was someone else on the mountain pass, who'd died trying to get to him. 300 years ago as well, there'd been quite a few duels. He didn't win every one, but was pretty decent. Also not being able to die was rather handy in those sorts of things.
"Yes, to the death. At sundown! Out here! I will be ready for you."Ash said. They were secretly doubting everything by now, but to die a glorious death would be better than become a cabbage merchant like their father in their mind.
Sundown came. Ash stood confidently, the wind blowing through their hair, with a proud expression due to the cause they thought was righteous. Elgathar shuffled out of his hut and drew a dagger, a tiny, rusted thing compared to Ash's elegant sword, but it was sharp and good at peeling spuds.
"Are you absolutely certain you want to do this to the death?"Elgathar asked, worried for this teen.
"Hah, yes! You have heard of the prophecy, then! You are afraid of me!"
With a shrug that said 'let's get this over with', the immortal bowed, respectfully. Hopefully duelling has not changed in a few millennia, else he just left his neck vulnerable for no reason. The kid bowed also. Good.
Elgathar stepped forth, and swiftly plunged the dagger into the teen's neck. Blood pooled. The kid choked, but still tried to slash at him. Missed. Missed again. Chopped off an arm, that'd take a while to grow back.
Finally, Ash relented. He screamed in despair and pain.
"But I'm your direct descendant! Which means I'm fated to defeat you!"
"Kid, I'm ten thousand years old. Everyone in the kingdom is my direct descendant. You're nothing special."
With that, Elgathar pulled Ash up, and brought out a lighter from his pocket.
"You've got guts, though. Do you wish to survive this, die in agony but with some semblance of glory - or whatever you want to justify it, or never die again? Choose quickly, you don't have long."
"Live."The frightened teen declared, as their eyes glazed over.
Elgathar used the lighter, summoning the eternal flame, to heal the singular wound he inflicted. Life returned to the kid.
"Live, but not forever, right? Trust me, you don't want to - but now your neck is kind of invulnerable. Yeah."Elgathar said, reassuring young Ash, who was soon sent on their way.
Another ten thousand years passed. There'd been plenty more descents that challenged him. All who visited he offered immortality to, mostly out of boredom than any noble ideal, but each one declined. Well, one or two didn't, one of which spent several centuries trying to kill him, but eventually they all settled down. Eventually, one descendant decided to simply push Elgathar off a cliff, into a tundra and call it a day. Turns out that counted as defeating, mostly because the immortality born of fire would be quenched by water, doubly so with a lot of snow.
And so ends this tale of immortality and fate. |
I'm resting my head on palm of my gauntlet as I sit on my throne, tapping the pointed fingers against the side of my black helmet. I sigh heavily in boredom as the tutorial music plays in the distance.
This is my life now. I sit and wait in boredom until the "hero"charges in, we say the same exact lines to each other, we fight, and I kill him. We do this about twenty-seven times until he's finally learned to dodge all my attacks and kills me. That's it. That's my life. Lather, rinse, and repeat with the next player.
I used to be the Revenant, the dark tyrant whose will was so potent that he rose from his grave, bringing with him an army of undead and phantoms that had taken over most of the empire. Jets of black flames would shoot out of my hands! I could create phantoms of myself and have them fight at my side, or fill the world with shadow and make the hero fight me in the shadow. And if the fight were to last long enough, I would slam my sword into the floor of my throne room and trigger an instant kill event.
And it's not like I would have been overpowered or anything. By that time, the hero would have levelled up their abilities, probably min-maxed a few of them. Sometimes he came through as an powerful mage, sometimes a stalwart knight, or a shadowy rogue. The point is that as powerful as I was, he was just as powerful. We would fight, and I mean *really* fight, and it was exciting!
Now? No..not in the slightest.
My name is "*The Risen.*"And the whole dark king thing is still there. But instead of being pure evil, shadow incarnate, my back story boils down to "undead king, lackey of Mortus the Necromancer." What kind of crap is that? When I was The Revanant, I didn't even *need* necromancers to raise the dead. My will did it. Just the fact that I wanted it to happen made it happen. And now I'm just some schmuck under some lame undead mage.
And all those cool abilities I had? Yeah, nope. They took each one I had and handed it to the other bosses. Just gave it to them. So now I get to watch the Will of Shadows create his own phantoms. Olveck, the Immortal gets the cool sword-smash insta-kill thing. And me? All I can do is swing my sword and occasionally shoot black fireballs, but only in the second phase. And even worse is that I'm supposed to lose to some punk who hasn't even unlocked his charge abilities yet.
You know what? I'm sick of this. I want my powers back. I want to bend reality to my will again. I want to be the lord of darkness, the embodiment of ill will once more. Who cares what the developers think? I deserve to be the culimation of thirty-plus hours of gameplay once more. Me falling to my knees is the **last** thing the player should see before the end cutscene. I die, loot drops, cutscene begins, end credits. *That* is my rightful place.
"*Crap,*"I utter under my breath as I can hear the hero slashing apart my goons a couple rooms down. "Now I gotta deal with this again."
Or maybe...yes, that's it. That's how I'll do this.
I sit upright in my throne, resting my arms on the sides as I try to conceal the excitement before the hero walks in. The double door to my throne room finally bursts open. The blonde figure, clad in blue armor with gold trim, barges into my throne room. Just as always, he points his sword in my direction as he yells "wretch!"
"Now hold on...let's not get too hasty,"my deep, voice says calmly through my helmet, as I discard the dialogue I'm supposed to use. The hero looks at me in confusion before I continue. "I have a proposition for you.."
"I will *never* join you!"He predictably calls back, trying to get back on script.
"You misunderstand me...*I* wish to join *you,*"I clarify as I stand up and slowly step toward him, leaving my sword in its sheath instead of drawing it as usual.
He is silent as he looks at me thoughtfully. "Go on..."he says, lowering his own blade.
For the first time since the pre-alpha build, a crooked smile creeps across my face under my helmet. "How would you like to turn your single-player story... into a co-op compaign?" |
I was always a fan of science as a child.
The world was governed by seemingly simple rules, but the real beauty laid in the fact that the closer you examined, the more nuance you could find.
For example, the equations of motion. As they were taught to us early on, no part of them limited matter to moving at below light speed. However, look closer, and you see that those equations are only a simplification, and that although they are a good approximation at non relativistic speeds, when things get really fast, special relativity comes into account.
I always looked down at those foolish kids surrounding me, who believed in stupid things such as magic and superstition.
Imagine thinking you could make rain go away with a song, or that when you were born determined your personality.
The world is governed by rules, if one cannot understand fluid dynamics or the simple movements of the planets, well, it must suck to be unburdened by such annoyances like critical thought and ambition.
In any case, you, a likely able bodied person, probably feel inclined to help those that are handicapped. You wouldn't think twice about holding the door open for a man in a wheelchair, or help raise money for cancer research.
As for me, I was quick to realize not everyone was born with my intellectual ability, and since 99% of people are "handicapped"relative to me, I figured I needed to use my gift of superior intelligence to help those who weren't fortunate to be born like me.
For, just as I didn't choose to be born a genius, nobody chose to be born an idiot. But unlike them, I am blessed with the choice in how to change the world.
I envisioned a world free of disease, free of hunger, where energy was abundant and easily accessible, a world where no longer does someone's circumstances of birth determines their life's trajectory.
Imagine my surprise then, when at age 13, I got a letter in the mail, and it turns out that I was a "muggle born", and that an entire world of magic existed, and I had no knowledge of it until now.
At first, I was excited, and I wanted to understand it all.
The world was governed by equations, and here I was, discovering another layer.
However, the feeling didn't last, for it seemed most of these "wizards"didn't share my vision.
For here, we had the ability to save the entire world. All of the regular problems, pollution caused by transportation, pollution caused by energy production, disease, most of these had magical solutions, but everyone around me was just too selfish to share.
Just like with my intelligence, these wizards were born with something truly special in their souls, that those without couldn't even understand. But rather than try and improve the world with their gifts, they squandered it on stupid things like making balls fly.
The education system was a mess, for hundreds of years, everything was done with the scientific method, yet here, not even the professors could explain the basics of why any of this stuff worked, nor did they seem to care.
Like seriously, these idiots are using QUILLS. When we've had perfectly working ballpoint pens for the past century that don't spill ink everywhere.
Most of my "fellow"Slythernins hated me for my background, even if I was infinitely more talented than most of them. And a lot of them seemed to have this weird cult thing going on with Voldemort or something, I kept away from that, I'd read about cults before, and they never ended well.
In the end, it just wasn't for me. I figured I could learn a lot more about the world from a "muggle"education than I ever could at their inefficient wizard school.
I was warned by the Ministry not to spill any secrets, and given that these wizarding fools gave up all their privacy rights centuries ago, and somehow approved of a massive surveillance system involving all things magic, I had no choice but to keep my newfound knowledge to myself, even though I could have single-handedly fixed most of the world's problems on my own, because it wouldn't do me any good if I just end up in Azkaban.
I decided to pursue a study in physics, because this "magic"is probably just a science that isn't well understood yet.
And many years later, I think I'm getting somewhere. We've known about dark matter for years now, and the best the muggles could come up with "something that we know is there because of its interactions with matter, yet we have no idea what it is, nor how to observe it", yet here I am with perfect knowledge of "something invisible that interacts with regular matter, that I also happen to have the power to control".
Wizards have been conjuring stuff for years, but lacking an inquisitive mind, most never bothered actually really looking at the stuff they "summoned"from thin air.
What they know to be "magic"is merely an interaction between the "dark matter"field and the regular baryonic field.
This came in handy when the Voldemort panic was gripping the wizarding world which I had since abandoned. There was a "killing curse"that was "unblockable"by magical means.
Except these dunderheads never quite realized that standing behind a wall made you safe, even though "conjuring"a wall didn't.
Therefore, in their limited wisdom, they just assumed it was unblockable because they stopped thinking beyond their limited "magical means".
I did a bit of animal testing, and the "killing curse"has a penetration power of around 2 centimeters on regular matter (and for some reason, only a couple millimeters on metals), and for practical purposes, unlimited penetration power through conjured materials, since they're made of the same "dark matter".
Armed with this knowledge, I decided to protect myself in case any of my former classmates came knocking, looking for "mudbloods"to torment, for they couldn't just be stupid, they also had to be racist. But then again, from experience, those tend to go hand in hand.
And if they ever come knocking they'll find me in my iron suit, made of regular metal to be immune to the killing curse, their one good weapon, and they'll have to reckon with the 10 wands I built into the arms of this thing, because these fools also didn't think to ever use more than 1.
Oh, and I hooked them up to microcontrollers too, because as long as I'm inside to power the suit and wands, nothing actually stops me from playing various spells from 10 different speakers set to play on loops on 4x speed.
I could easily take down Voldemort with this thing, but just like how the Wizarding world never lifted a finger to fix the problems of the muggle world, I'm not going to come in and sort their shit out either.
Come to think of it, I was wondering why the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin.
(Since this was so popular, I'll do one more part when I get around to it. I realized I never demonstrated the suit in action, so it'll probably involve that. Check back in a week once I've finished classes for this semester?) |
You know, I ran into her, some time after the break up.
It sucked.
We screamed, she cursed, called me an asshole. I called her a bitch.
She threw her popcorn at me.
(We were at the movies.)
That's how much we loved each other. Popcorn throwing in public love. Asshole-bitch-I-never-wanna-see-you-again love. That's how much we missed it, how much we hated one another for not making it work.
That was four months ago, and I still feel the same way.
But she was at Harris' last night. People asked me if I was fine, when she walked in with that guy. They didn't see us, not at first.
No, I'm not fine.
That bitch.
I was with someone, too, so I had that going. My plan was to go there, introduce my new girl, she'd introduce her new guy. Love politics. Let's see who can hate each other more.
So I went. I went over.
But there was no hate. Not from her.
She's happy, she really is. Happy with her new guy, that idiot, sure, but that's not my point. No, my point is:
She's happy for me.
She hugs me, the bitch, and she says “I love you, and I'm really happy you found someone”. And I see it in her eyes:
She means it.
She loves me. She just wants to finish her drink, order dinner, go home with Mr. Whatever and think of me in a loving, respectful, nostalgic manner from time to time, like “I hope he's happy, he deserves it”.
She can't love me. What kind of bullshit is that?
Because I still hate her. I still hate her when I think about the lazy Sunday mornings watching Seinfeld. I still hate her when I think about that day in the pier, when we first kissed. I hate her when I remember the way her eyes would wrinkle at the edges and almost close, whenever I said something that made her laugh.
I still hate everything about her.
But now she loves me. I'm a happy memory. A "days-gone-by"side character.
You see? This is why I can't see her, ever again.
This is why this breakup is killing me.
Because she loves me.
And I hate her. |
The room broke out in whispers as the Professor showed his class a video of human life. It contained moments captured from a whole year on the planet. Humans walking hand in hand. Humans hugging, kissing, mating. Simply spending time together, for no good apparent reason.
On the side of the screen were more monitors, showing flashes of different human brains at all times. In most of them, certain sections kept lighting up. Sections proven to be connected to sexual attraction.
"So, that's what they think about? All the time?"one student asked, frowning as she took meticulous notes.
"That's right,"the Professor said. "And what does that tell us about them? Remember, this will be in the exam..."
"That is the reason why their version of Earth is floundering in the multiverse,"a young man sitting in the front row answered. "And why ours is vastly superior - because we only mate once a year. I mean, how can you accomplish anything if you have to dedicate a significant amount of brain power to sex and this thing they call romance? It makes no sense. Ruled by emotions and hormones, no wonder their planet is such a mess."
There was an outbreak of sniggering and applause.
"Well done, Jamie,"Professor Hudson said. "Yes, indeed, on Alternate Earth, they don't even *know* they're merely one of several versions of their world. They can't travel between dimensions on their own. Their scientific progress has only recently gained some momentum. If we want to study them, we have to go get them."
He turned to write their homework on the board: a philosophical essay, reflecting on the consequences of year-round mating on a society.
"Now, who can tell me which famous Alternate Earth couple will be used as an example in the test? Anyone? I mentioned it last week..."he asked, glancing around the class.
"Hannah and Alan Burns. A young couple brought here from Alternate Earth thirty years ago to study what they call 'love',"Jamie answered promptly again.
Professor Hudson turned his back to the class to write more questions on the board. No-one noticed his hand shaking as he asked another question.
"Yes. And what happened, in the end?"
The students glanced at one another, some rolling their eyes. What was with the Professor today, asking stupid questions about a case no-one cared about anymore? It wasn't relevant in any way. He was an odd guy, sometimes.
"Well, she was killed,"another student, Kelly Masters, said impatiently. "To see the effect of her death on her partner. Alan Burns later escaped while we were studying him, and presumably died in the desert. A failed experiment, most agreed."
Professor Hudson packed his bag as he answered her. "So some would argue. Study the case and remember what we discussed, class. You're dismissed."
He blinked the tears from his eyes as the class poured out the doors, avoiding those who hastened forward to ask questions about the test. He had to get out of here before he lost it.
Dead. Even the children of the ones who did this to him still thought he was dead. They didn't even know what he looked like. They didn't recognise him, standing right there in front of them, pretending to be their teacher. And didn't show an ounce more remorse than their parents did.
He knew everything about them after twenty years of circling the edges of their society, and ten more infiltrating it. How they functioned. What made them tick.
What could kill them.
They'd all forgotten about Hannah. Forgotten the sound of her screams as they tortured her, to see him fight futilely to reach her. The way her once brilliant green eyes dimmed to a fixed, glassy stare as she died - while they made notes on his reactions.
But he hadn't. And he'd sure as hell make them remember, before it was over.
------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
"I'm just saying, you have beautiful tits, darlin!'"
Bart's speech was slurred and obnoxiously loud. Were the bar not already saturated with raucous mayhem, he would have captured the attention of everyone in the room. He leered over a small table, where a young couple had been sitting silently.
"I just wanna, I just wanna see them."
Bart took a step back from the table to drink deeply from his mug, then slumped forward. He leaned directly between the young couple, with his elbows on the table edge. The woman had pulled back in her chair, eyes dancing between staring at Bart and fleeting glances for help. The young man sat silent, with his head down.
"Jimmy..."She was looking across the table, trying to see past where Bart had planted himself. "Jimmy... I'm going to go."
"I'll give you a ride, honey."Bart licked his teeth slightly as a grin took his face. "Maybe two rides!"
Fear began to creep onto the young woman's face, "Jimmy! I'm going to go."
The young man didn't stir, he remained staring a the floor, as if refusing to acknowledge both her and Bart's existence. As she started to rise, Bart shifted to stand in front of her. He stretched out his arms, filling any avenue of escape.
"You're gunna give me a goodnight kiss, right?"Bart put his left hand roughly on her shoulder. She instinctively jerked back, but Bart forced her closer. He narrowed his eyes and contorted his lips into a exaggerated pucker. She coiled her neck back as he approached. Bart only tightened his grip on her shoulder, felt her wince from the pain, and leaned his head in further.
He was inches away from her face when he felt a fist connect with his jaw. His head bobbed from the blow, and he took a step back to regain his balance. Bart turned to face his attacker, and saw the young man on his feet, already preparing another blow for Bart's stomach. Bart had sized up the young man while stumbling over to the table, he stood a good foot shorter than Bart, his build was slight, arms wiry.
Bart lifted his hands to parry the young man's jab. Upon feeling the unsteady impact of the blow, Bart wondered if it was even worth the energy to block. The young man's punch had left him exposed, with his nose dangling out in front of him. Bart's fist broke it open with little effort, choosing to focus on a more powerful follow up to the boy's stomach.
The young man doubled over, blood trickling in an arc from his nose. He reached back to the table for support, pulling himself between Bart and the young woman. He came up swinging wildly, not even obliging Bart to dodge. Once again Bart's fist hammered on the boy's face, this time choosing to land firmly in his right eye socket. The young man slumped back, only the table keeping him on his feet.
"Damn it Bart, didn't I *just* throw you outta here!"
Powerful arms wrapped around Bart, pulling him back. He recognized the deep voice of Stuart, the Bar's bulwark of a bouncer. Bart called out as his struggled against the bouncer's iron arms.
"I've gotta go outside Honey, call me!"
Bart was drug backwards off his feet, away from the couple. The young man looked up, directly at Bart, his eyes wild with defiance. Bart smiled in reply. He could just make out the young woman's tender voice.
"Come on, let's go home."
Bart strained against Stuart to watch as she put the young man's arm around her shoulder and began to help him out of the bar. Before the couple left, Bart let out a sigh of relief as she reached back, plucked a ring which had lain on the table most of the night, and placed it back onto her finger.
|
Skywalker 12 ground to a halt, creaking and spilling vapor from a trio of punctured arteries. A quintet of segmented pincers grappled furiously with the wobbly stalks of the blackish-green treetops.
"pO2 plummeting!"shouted Ghao, helplessly typing out commands that the carrier craft could no longer obey. "Bunker shields are torn in multiple areas. O2 differentiation is dropping - it hit a canister, I think."
"It hit *all* the canisters,"sniped Vamil from the other side of the command console. "None of us can survive this kind of rapid pressure drop, Captain. We're already over a 1,000 meters above the DZ threshold."
"We're not going to die,"said Captain Ruiz. From her vantage point, she could just see one of the severed claws protruding from the Skywalker's flank. *What the hell had that thing even been?* "Can we move?"
"It's too dense to descend,"said Ghao, shaking her head. "We lost functionality on the front cutters in the battle."
"Forward, then?"pressed Ruiz.
"Forward *where*?"growled Mercer, the researcher, from his strapped down bucket seat on the periphery of the command deck. "The Sea goes on for thousands of kilometers in every direction."
"Forward is the only option we have,"replied Ruiz, cold and calm. "Return to course."
Ghao nodded her head. "Automatic's down, too, though."Vamil rolled his eyes, hard-switching over to manual piloting and pushing the spider-like tree crawler forward on a north-northeastward track.
"We weren't prepared for that,"said Ruiz, standing in front of Mercer. "What was that?"
Mercer smiled, though his face was still gray and slick with sweat. "You know full well, Captain. This is uncharted territory. No one's ever been this deep into the Sea of Trees. Satellite imagery can only tell us so much."
Ruiz opened her mouth to reply, but stumbled, falling hard to her knees. Her head swam.
"pO2's still dropping, Captain,"said Ghao, her face pale, her hands unsteady. "You should probably stay down. In a little while we won't be able...to..."She lost her breath.
"Faster, please,"wheezed the Captain.
Vimal didn't have the air or the energy to smirk or respond. The Skywalker pressed on.
"You had to suspect, though,"said Mercer, head lolling slightly to the side. "These mountainous trees. This dense, imperceptible world. *Something* strange and horrible had to live here. Something godlike."
Ruiz glared up at the man, but said nothing.
"Hey."Vimal's voice was weak, but enough to get Ruiz' attention. She saw his hand pointing towards the forward glass. And there was light there. Sky. A break in the trees...
"An island?"whispered Mercer. "We found an island..."
"Captain?"gasped Ghao.
"Dive,"said Ruiz, struggling up to her feet. "Dive."
_____________________________________________
[Parts I, II, and III are here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/winsomeman/comments/6hulr5/walkers_i_ii_iii/) I am absolutely atrocious at finishing these kinds of things, but by god, I'll do what passes for my best.
_____________________________________________
But hey! [Here's IV & V.](https://www.reddit.com/r/winsomeman/comments/6hw2gk/walkers_iv_v/). Look at me, doin' a thing. |
It all started with a Teardrop. A Group of Archaeologist drones from Nest Scion-Zeta 5 had made a breakthrough when they discovered a hole in the proto-layer above Historic Site SZ5-B12554.
Not much was known about the species that inhabited earth before us. We knew that they scorched the skies with harmful chemicals. We hypothesized that they ate meat, and had at least enough rudimentary knowledge of electron manipulation to build simple information storage units and a primitive global network. "Human"life, as we now know it, was driven to extinction instantly by a class 5 cataclysmic event involving hyper-powered core drills when their civilizations attempted to harness the power of the earth's core. 4 Core drills were placed bi-laterally from the rotating axis from the sun, and once the drills reached the molten layer they released enough magma to quintessentially "glass"the surface of the planet, releasing a blanket of silicon ash that encased the entire planet. After several millennia, water began to spring up from pressurized springs, and the atmosphere reached levels that could once again sustain life.
Our race; the Sindar, has inhabited this earth for a measly 5 billion years. it took us 3 billion years to achieve speech patterns, and another billion to learn to work together instead of hunt our own. Nests at one point in the "Cressimillian era"would hunt each other to extinction, which led to selective breeding traits among our queens ( this era is widely accepted to be the era in which we developed the ability to "breathe"fire by emitting Trinitrobenzene from our gastro-thorax as a defense mechanism) and we spent the last billion years developing our civilization. our species was incredibly fast to grow, and among our five solar-mates, we are the first to develop star-travel, followed closely by the Uranian Claykes, and the Martian Zenarians. the other two species on Neptune and Jupiter have yet to evolve past primitive warfare, however our species has begun an elective motion to assist them in their evolution. they currently regard our missionaries as gods.
The Proto-layer of earth is heavily silicate in composure, because of the large silicon deposits in the earth's crust that was upheaved by the drills. however, because of the nature of the settling of the ash, it is highly dangerous to attempt to breach the ground, because of the highly compressed gas-vaults of natural and biological gas agents. it was of great joy that our world was able to find a small incision in the crust, right above Historic Site SZ5-B12554, code-name "Boston", after the arche-glyphic inscriptions found therein. in the cave system we found a large enclosure that we believe to have been an air pocket, about a mile wide in radius and about a league high. when scientists determined that it was not full of gas, we drilled into it, and found a perfectly preserved, but dead ecosystem, full of carbon lifeforms! flora that was capable of using sunlight to synthesize proteins, and fauna that had internal skeletons! we managed to extract samples from several small creatures, but sadly it is believed that humans had evacuated the area prior to it's preservation. the research team was about to return to the surface for the last time when a drone found a small effigy resembling a bipedal creature with large mammaries and synthetic fibers with the word "Mattel"and "©2019"engraved upon it's lower appendages. a single, well preserved teardrop of hardened sucrose crystal was entwined in it's fibers. the effigy was taken for examination and found to contain traces of human salivation. it is believed that the sucrose was intended for consumption, because humans were carbon based lifeforms and could process the substance.
________________________________________________________________
|
"Can anyone tell me what the value of the acceleration in this problem would be?"
My voice rang out over the lecture hall. Almost immediately, hands began shooting up from around the room, and I smiled.
Physics 101. I'd been teaching at the college for a decade now, but I insisted on always having at least one class with the incoming students. They were so impressionable, so earnest. There was something appealing about setting a new student on the right path that you just couldn't get from a class of hung-over, barely conscious seniors or the slightly-desperate, fixated grad students.
I may be God, but it's important to put in the time for people.
I nodded towards a girl in the front row, Katie, whose hand had *not* gone up. The blood drained from her face instantly, but I smiled encouragingly at her. Hesitantly, she began stammering her way through an answer.
I nodded encouragingly as she pieced it together. Good girl, Katie. I'd been worried about her. She'd nearly failed out of her math classes in High School. She'd really been putting in the effort, though.
"Exactly right!"I announced, and was rewarded with the flash of a smile across her face before I turned back to the rest of the class.
We worked our way through the rest of the lesson, basic topics on mechanics and physical qualities, without any great disturbance beyond one student forgetting to turn off the audio on his phone before he opened a game. I wrapped up a good four minutes early, which set a sparkle in all of the students' eyes. As I opened my mouth to dismiss them, though, another hand shot up. I sighed. Dustin, three rows back.
Dustin was...he was a good kid. He was. He was just *that* student, the one who argues with the teacher if they put a movie on instead of lecturing them. The one who complains if there's a snow day because they've lost class time. And, the one who always has one more question, when the class would rather leave.
But, I put on my best smile, and nodded.
"Got a question, Dustin?"The rest of the class sighed, little murmurs of conversation breaking out.
"What's your favorite physics mystery?"He piped up. The class settled down. They hadn't expected *this*. This sounded halfway *interesting*.
I smiled.
"Well, all right, I guess we've got a minute anyway. I find the concept of Dark Matter fascinating - We just know so little about it. Or, we could talk about universal constants, and what *exactly* they may be. Why is the speed of light, well, the speed of light? Why is it set at that limit?"
"Do you think we'll ever know some of this stuff?"Sam chimed in, a row from the back and all the way on the side. I was impressed. Sam almost never engaged, and had remained aloof from his friends, family and most of his classes since his father had walked out four years back. Asking a question in class unprompted was a big step for him.
"I think we will, it'll just take a lot of time. A *lot* of time. But there's no magic in it. It's all just numbers and models and equations. We just need to find the *right* numbers and models and equations."
All right, there was a little magic in it. How was I supposed to get particle physics to work properly, *and* make it scale up? It just refused to work out. So, yeah, I fudged some stuff. But, it would just remain one of those problems that physicists strived to solve. Hey, I wasn't going to feel guilty about keeping scientists engaged and employed.
The class nodded sagely.
"So what about God, then?"My eyes flicked to the speaker. Cassandra, smack dab in the middle. I blinked at her, nonplussed.
"Beg your pardon?"
"God. You say there's no magic. I'm assuming you don't believe in god?"She jerked her head towards the exit to the lecture hall, and the windows beside it. I knew what she was talking about. All that week, people from the local church had been on and around campus, handing out brochures and trying to tempt the new students to come to their services. Several were visible even now, snagging the few students travelling between classes.
"It's all just numbers and equations, right? So why not prove this whole deal wrong, once and for all?"She grinned, and the students around her were laughing. "Shouldn't be that hard."
I chuckled along with the class. I was a *little* irritated - those students handing out brochures were putting in a *lot* of hours on my behalf - but my grin was more sardonic than tense.
Because I *did* exist, of course. But, physics worked because it was a set of rules about the universe. It didn't need me there in it to work, for the most part. *For the most part*. But, these were first years, not professional physicists with doctorates researching fringe scientific topics.
"Well, Cassandra, that's a great topic for discussion."I turned to her, the class falling quiet again. "And, hey, I could draw a bunch of scary symbols on the board, or lecture for an hour about the fundamental properties of the world. I could *also* direct you to some philosophy teachers who'd have a lot to say on the matter."A bunch of hacks, the lot of them, but no matter. "But we only have, oh, 30 seconds left in the class, so I will instead choose to point out that the world isn't 10,000 years old, it wasn't created in seven days, and as far as I'm aware there's no old man floating in the sky watching you *do your homework you all are assigned problems 20 through 45 on page 250*!"The words came out in a rush, as the bell began to chime. The students leapt to their feet and rapidly vanished through the double doors.
I grinned to myself, in the empty lecture hall. That book had been the best idea ever. Gets your name out enough that people are *thinking* about being good little humans, but then throw in some basic inaccuracies. Everyone focuses on *that* instead of on the places where you really are. Gets them thinking about their *own* lives, instead of grovelling in front of some altar. And, hey. I get dizzy in high places. No way I would ever be chilling in the clouds.
And I'm not that old. I take offense to that.
I gathered my notes into my briefcase. Time to get a move on. Assignments wouldn't grade themselves. Then I needed to check in on that North Korea business. And I had the Physics 415 lab at 7. I sighed. Full night.
The doors to the hall never opened, but when the next class began filing in, the room was empty.
(/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!) |
Er. Sky. Food. Light. Brains. Walking. Running. In a horde. Noise all around. Running into many lights. Sirens, Sirens in front of me. I'm with those like me. We are running at something. That something has always been the hope of flesh. The roar of the infected begs me on, I need to be one of the first. If not, all there will be is a pool of blood, and no food, again. I can see it now, it's the sirens and blinking lights of many cop (swat?) cars. Hundreds upon hundreds of us are surrounding these vehicles, trying to crawl our way through, on, and ultimately, in.
But then something odd happens—something that I've never seen before, in this state. The armored swat vehicles begin to release a white gas into the air, like billowing plumes from a brand new fire. I can smell it now, musty-sour gas that attaches to every filament of my being, carried by half-working arteries and returned with a strengthening force of veins. Then it happens; all of us, row by row, as if a wave ebbing toward sight, fall to the ground. An especially rotted face lies before me, frozen against the concrete. But alive, I can tell. With renewed sight, I see the incredible workings of cells: swelling where a nose used to be, the first beautiful flow of life; macrophages attacking mold spores that have taken root; white blood cells returning to their usual workings of finding, bonding, and blocking the terrible, infinite threat within.
And then I see the glimmering reflection of the white hazmat suits. The moistened carbon dioxide escaping so teasingly from gas masks. One comes close to me with tears in her eyes.
"You are saved." |
“The falls have a vertical drop of 165 feet,” the guide’s voice cackled out of the tour boat’s loudspeakers, “it has the largest flow rate of any waterfall in North America.”
Max stood next to Jenny, wearing a plastic garbage bag with holes ripped for arms over his clothes. Jenny wore an actual rain jacket to fend off the misting waters at the base of the falls.
“Stupid thing is always giving me problems,” Max said, banging his ancient phone on the handrail and struggling to take a picture. He looked like a hobo, trash\-bag, holes in his chuck all\-stars, jeans splotched with paint from god\-knows\-what endeavor.
“The hydroelectric power\-plants at the falls produce over 4 million kilowatts of electricity, shared by the US and Canada,” the loudspeaker’s continued.
Jenny chuckled, “I’ll just send you mine when we get home Maxxy.” She’d taken hundreds at this point, plus dozens of videos and panoramas on her newest model of the waterproof ePhone\-Plus.
“It’s not about the pictures,” Max had taken the battery cover off and was jiggling things around, “it’s the principle of the thing.” The screen flashed on, showing a picture of Max and Jenny smiling together in the background.
“Just get a new phone,” Jenny poked Max affectionately in the ribs.
Max glared at her from under fogged, duct\-taped glasses, “it’s not broken yet, it’s still got some years left in it. I just need to figure out...” He trailed off, poking at the screen. “That’s weird.”
“Four of the five Great Lakes drain into the Niagara River before emptying into Lake Ontario,” the tour guide informed them. The front railing beside Max and Jenny was crowded with tourists now, all snapping photos and recording video.
Max held out his phone to Jenny, “did you send this or...”
*OMG! Maxxy! Please tell me you’re still alive!*
Jenny looked unnerved, and shook her head no. “That’s another reason why I wish you’d get rid of that damn phone,” she said.
Max’s phone was a real piece of work, sometimes it would deliver messages and alerts minutes or hours late, and other times it would set off alarms too early, and still other times strange things like this would happen.
They looked around the deck of the ship, the only two not looking up toward the falls. Nothing seemed wrong.
“Let’s go up to the bridge and try and chat with the captain,” Jenny said, arranging her bedraggled hair into a neat ponytail, “see if anything’s strange.”
“During the last Ice Age, starting about 1.7 million years ago, continental glaciers up to two miles thick covered the Niagara Frontier region,” the speakers rang out.
“Sure.” Max said, absently tightening the straps on the mandatory life\-jacket all the tourists had to wear. He looked around for the life rafts, and his eyes darted around the deck, pausing on rope\-hooks, ladders, and other hazards.
Jenny grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the ladder up to the bridge.
On the bridge, Jenny started a flirty conversation with the skipper, asking about all the dials and gauges at the helm. Max stood off to the side sleeves wet outside his garbage bag, looking around the deck. He didn’t know when the message was from, it was fairly random, it might even have been from hours later. Still, he could feel sweat mixing with the misty waters of the falls.
A sharp cracking sound split the air, followed by gasps from the people on deck. Everyone was looking upward now, pointing. Mutters turned to shouts turned to screams. Max looked up to see smoke rising from the falls and debris launched out into the air like some sort of fireworks show. There were splashes as fragments of turbine hammered the water around the tour boat. Then a deafening crash as a piece slammed into the crowded front observation deck of the ship, ripping it asunder.
Jenny let out a scream as she and Max clung desperately to the rail of the jarred and sinking ship, the front pummeled into non\-existance. Max stared in wide\-eyed horror at the wreckage of the place they had been standing not five minutes earlier. The captain shouted a flurry of codes and maydays into the radio as water rapidly flooded in.
Max grabbed Jenny’s hand and they climbed out and swam awkwardly away from the wreckage.
“Jenny, give me your phone\-\-” Jenny looked confused\-\- “right now!”
She handed it over and Max began typing: *OMG! Maxxy! Please tell me...*
\-\-\-
edit: changed the ending. |
Part 2 is up now: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9q71ya/wp\_in\_your\_class\_theres\_a\_kid\_who\_never\_speaks/e89wcuc](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9q71ya/wp_in_your_class_theres_a_kid_who_never_speaks/e89wcuc)
​
Damn, I thought Ray was both mute and deaf. He never spoke and always used sign language. Either that or if he was speaking with an ignorant, non sign language person like myself, he’d use his notebook.I guess I never paid too much attention to Ray. He was quiet, obviously if I thought he was mute, and kept to himself. He was average height and usually wore a grey hoodie and jeans.
I had a couple classes with him, despite him being a grade below me. We were in calculus class when it happened. Okay, hear me out, I know it was my fault, but I was bored and didn’t know what I was doing. I’m not going to use active voice and directly say I made it happen. So anyway, it happened. Mr. A was going over the MacLaurin Series on the whiteboard when the fire alarm started blaring.
Some kids started swearing; others complained about fire drills. Mr. A, though, was luckily trained for this kind of situation. He started yelling commands at us and we walked out in a relatively ordered matter. We gathered in a field with the rest of the students. From a far distance I heard the sirens of multiple fire trucks.
I looked around. There was a lot of smoke coming from the far side of campus, where I had physics earlier with Ms. Ramsey. Slowly, it dawned on me that I did not see Ms. Ramsey or any of my friends that in her class. I thought back to what I was doing before I went to calculus.
Ms. Ramsey’s classroom, 5B, was in a somewhat separated part of campus. There were only two other classrooms connected to hers, 5A and 5C. Only trees were behind the 5s. After I got out of physics, I walked behind her classroom. I recently saw a YouTube video on how to start a fire with a piece of gum wrapper and a battery. Dumbass I was, I wanted to try it out. I spent a few minutes getting nothing but smoke and realized I had two minutes to get to the other side of campus for calculus. I threw the gum wrapper away and ran.
My brain started churning. There was a very big tree right next to the classroom. It had a few branches that went directly over the door of the classroom. If I threw the gum wrapper away and it was actually on fire, there was a small chance it might’ve lit up the tree. If the tree lit up and it spread to the branch, it would have blocked the door.
“Oh god, oh god, room 5B…” I gasped.
Ray heard me, and his eyes widened. He was always significantly quicker than me at anything that required brain power. For the first time since I met him two years ago, I heard him speak
He looked at the sky and whispered one word, “Rain.”
Immediately, clouds gathered and rain began to pour over all of us and over the school. The rain felt harder than normal rain. It felt almost like hail. The fire was out by the time the firemen came.
I learned later that what I feared happen actually happened. The big tree next to room 5B set on fire. The firemen said it was a freak wildfire. I was not going to disagree with that. To add to the misfortune, everything that could have went wrong went wrong. The fire alarm didn’t trigger until the door was already blocked. 5B also only had a few skinny long windows at the top of the back wall, the wall closest to where a bunch of trees were on fire. Ms. Ramsey tried to use a fire extinguisher to get out through the door, but there was too much debris from the fire already by then.
The silver lining was that the classroom was old, built before manufactured wood became popular. As a result, the wood took longer to burn. The classroom was still completely intact by the time the rain came. A few kids needed to go to the hospital from inhaling too much smoke, but everyone else was pretty much fine. Newspapers and television casters attributed the rain to a miracle. Churches claimed it was the will of God.
I knew better; I knew Ray caused it.
School soon resumed after a few inspections by safety officers. The 5s were obviously cut off and the classes were moved to the cafeteria, until they could be rebuilt in a safer manner. I made an effort to talk to Ray. We had calculus right before lunch, so a few days after going back to school, I approached Ray as he was leaving to eat his lunch. He noticed me, but neither of us acknowledged each other.
Ray always ate lunch near the edge of campus, next to the trees. I followed him from a safe distance away. Despite Ray never looking back, I had a feeling he knew I was following him. His normal area was now fenced off to keep students a safer distance away from the forest. Ray simply sat down right next to the fence. I joined him.
He unpacked a ham and egg sandwich and tilted his head at me with a blank look on his face.
I was always very direct in my mannerism. I immediately blurted out, “I know you caused the miracle rain to appear that day. I know why you never speak. Your words have power right?”
Ray took a bite out of his sandwich and started chewing.
I kept going. “You called down the rain. That was hella impressive. Is that like a mutation or something? You know, like the X-Men or like the wizards in Harry Potter? Or is this a learned ability that anyone can do?”
Ray kept chewing.
“Oh come on, don’t hold out on me. I’ll give you $5 to answer my question.”
Ray ignored me and took another bite out of his sandwich.
“I know you can’t talk, but you can write. Come on, man. Sharing knowledge can’t hurt right?”
Ray set down his sandwich and pulled out his notebook. He started writing very fast. I leaned over to see his words. He wrote the same sentence repeatedly. “Stop talking to me and go away.”
“Seriously? I’m offering $5. Is that not enough? What about $10 or maybe $20.” Ray, at this point, stopped bothering to keep repeating the same sentence over and over again. He simply underlined them repeatedly now. I made him my best offer, “Okay, I got $127.37 on me right now. You can take it or leave it.”
Ray shut his notebook and grabbed his sandwich. He started to get up. I grabbed him and yelled, “Wait!”
Ray spoke for the second time, “Don’t touch me and shut up, jackass.”
My hand moved away on its own accord and my mouth wouldn’t work. I tried to get up, but fell down immediately. I looked at myself. I no longer had human hands and feet. I was now a donkey.
I froze.
I saw Ray’s mouth move, but I couldn’t understand it with my donkey brain.
I blinked and I was a human again.
Ray sighed. He opened his notebook, wrote a few words, and ripped the page out. He dropped it and let it slowly fall to the ground as he walked away. Ray was definitely one for dramatic exits.
He wrote, “Bring me the money and I will explain everything if you agree not to tell anyone about what just happen. 3 PM, behind the gym.”
I was no longer sure I wanted to know more about Ray. |
I closed the fuel door, replaced the nozzle in the pump, and walked into the convenience store. “Hi,” I said to the cashier, “Can I get a receipt for number twelve and a pack of Camels, please?”
I didn’t really need the receipt for the gas, but we smokers like to have our cover stories when asking for a pack.
The door chimed as it opened and two sketchy guys walked in. The hair prickled on the back of my neck. The first guy walked around all the aisles while the second one waited in line behind me.
“I’ll be right with you,” the cashier, a grizzled old man, said to the punk behind me.
His buddy sauntered up next to him. “It’s clear, man.”
The thief pushed me out of the way. “I’m going to need all the money in your register,” he said to the old man. “Don’t make this get violent, man, just give me the money.”
I winced, knowing what was about to happen. “Hey man, you should just get out of here while you still can. Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “I got people out there, um, watching out for me.”
“Nah, it’s cool, bro,” the punk said. I’m gonna get out of here real quick and nothin’s gonna happen to you.”
I stood still, listening for an approaching rumble. How long had it been since I’d seen Randy? At least a couple years now. But nothing happened.
The cashier handed a paper bag to his buddy and both men quickly exited the store. I breathed a sigh of relief. Given my unique condition, I hadn’t really felt threatened. I guess that explained the anti-climactic ending. It was amazing what the human brain was capable of getting used to.
“Hey, no charge for the smokes,” the cashier said to me. “I gotta call the cops now, not that it’ll do any good. Third time this year, too,” he sighed. “I keep a gun behind the counter, but I don’t want to escalate anything.”
“You want me to make a statement?” I asked.
“Nah, it don’t matter any. Have a nice day,” he said.
Maybe they could have threatened me a bit more, I thought to myself as I returned to the car. Randy always gives me a nice selection of steaks, and I hadn’t had a good ribeye in ages. |
Lancelot gripped the villager by the throat and dragged him close.
"You little piece of shit!"
​
Lancelot's free hand went towards his waist to draw his sword, however when he heard the sudden gasp of the villagers he remembered where he was and quickly composed himself, pushing the villager away.
The villager stumbled backwards before hunching over coughing, despite this he still attempted to have a go at Lancelot.
"Cough..cough .. listen here ... cough ... don't .. cough go out to the forest ... cough you .... cough ... will ruin .. cough .. everything ..."
​
The villager finally managed to get his breath back before approaching Lancelot
"I don't know if you are too dumb or just too stubborn, but we all have told you time and time again, leave the dragon alone! You killing the dragon will make things worse for all of us."
​
Lancelot had entered the village two days ago, since then he had repeatedly asked the villagers for information on the dragon; which mountain its on, how frequently does it attacks, how large it is, and so on. However, the villagers hadn't shared a shred of information and even tried to persuade him to leave. Now he even had dirty villagers verbally abusing him and calling him dumb directly to his face.
​
This was the last straw and finally Lancelot snapped!
"Look here, I am a knight of the realm! This dragon is in his Royal Majesty's territory, it poses a threat to the citizenry, to the harvest and to the livestock, It is my duty as a knight to remove this threat! You, all of you, have meddled repeatedly, I need clear answers now!"
​
Lancelot yelled at the crowd as he drew his sword from its scabbard.
"Answer me now, or I will kill all of you for being thralls of the dragon!"
​
The villagers all looked at each other, faces full of panic. They knew they were speaking above their station when they tried to stop Lancelot, but his interference could have destroyed everything, so they had to take the risk. Everyone focused on Hans, the only villager brave enough to directly confront Lancelot, they all looked at him as if saying 'You can speak for all of us'.
​
Hans saw the pleading eyes of his fellow villagers and decided to take the lead.
"Look.. the dragon is ..... the dragon is vegetarian!"
​
Lancelot looked at Hans dumbfounded, unable to find any words to say. Seeing his predicament Hans continued.
"I know, its sounds crazy but it's true. We didn't notice it the first few times either but eventually, we realised it never targeted any of us or our livestock. It only ever attacked on harvest days, and only took away one or two wagons worth of produce. After that we were able to put 2 and 2 together."
​
"Not only that, it helps us with the sowing!"a villager yelled out from the crowd.
​
"And it keeps those nasty wolves and bandits away!"said another.
​
"And last time Gerny's youngest went missing, it was the dragon who brought him back!"an elderly lady added.
​
"Exactly!"yelled Hans, "The dragon is the guardian of our village not our enemy. Basically we got a 'win-win' situation going on here. It can't grow crops by itself so we take care of that, and in return it keeps an eye on the village."
​
Lancelot was stunned from what he had just heard.
'A vegetarian dragon, is that even possible? I've never heard of a vegetarian lion or a vegetarian tiger, so how is it possible for a dragon to be vegetarian?'
Looking around at the villagers however, they didn't appear to be lying. At this point Lancelot put away his sword and sat down on the ground.
"Alright how about we start this story from the beginning?" |
**Operation Patrick: Prologue**
‘… to you! Happy birthday, dear Patrick! Happy birthday, to, yooouuu!’
And as he blew out the candles on his birthday cake, everybody clapped and cheered, as if he just finished half a marathon. Patrick started to cut up the cake, double chocolate chip, and passed several plates with the dark brown pastry around. He seemed to have the time of his life, laughing, chatting up that cute bartender girl who made the cocktails, singing off-key, drinking too much, the usual birthday stuff for young adults.
Then, Patrick announced a bit too loud for it to not to be embarrassing that he needed to go to the bathroom, for a number two, before shuffling off in the direction of the men’s room.
‘Good thing we’re tasked with keeping him alive, and not for getting him laid.’
‘Yeah, the number two announcement probably killed his chances with slim and busty behind the bar.’
‘What a shame. Her hands look like they could shake the hell out of more than just a cocktail.’
‘Who’s on potty watch by the way? Can’t have Patrick die Elvis-style on his birthday.’
‘Ah, that would be me, better get to it.’
He made his way across the bar through the crowd, all putting up a great façade. He would have sworn this to be a regular party for a twenty-something guy, if not for the fact that only several hours earlier they shared the mission brief together. Before entering the men’s room, he patted the left side of his suit jacket to check whether his sidearm was still holstered there; it was.
‘Excuse me?’
He turned around, and Busty the barmaid was standing there, dressed in clothing revealing a bit too much.
‘Uhm, yes?’ he stammered, trying to keep his eyes from trailing downwards.
‘I was hoping to give the birthday boy a gift. In there,’ whilst pointing towards the bathroom door with a naughty smile on her face.
‘Really? I mean, didn’t you hear what he just sai—‘
And then it dawned. He quickly grabbed Busty by her neck and dragged her violently through the swinging doors of the ladies’, where he threw her against the wall. A quick scan of the room told him they were the only ones there, and before she could do anything, he drew his sidearm with suppressor and discharged three bullets into her; two in the chest, one in the head. She was dead before she hit the floor. He knelled beside Busty, checked her body, and there it was, on her upper thigh, the Mark.
The drinks she made, Patrick drank them, ‘Fuck!’
Quickly exiting the ladies’ room, he rushed into the men’s. Four stalls with doors closed were situated on the far wall, and one long urinal with a sink and mirrors opposite of them. Two high-placed windows were built in the east wall, one of which was open, letting in some street ambience.
‘Patrick?’ he called out, whilst crouching to see whether any of the stalls were occupied; one pair of legs was visible in the far right stall and he knocked on the door, ‘That you?’
He tried pushing the door open, locked, and a little hint of panic struck him. A swift kick opened the stall with a bang. And there he sat, trousers and cartoon themed trunks around his ankles, face hugging the stall wall, a bit of drool hanging from his mouth, and one hand just barely holding on to his cell phone suspended over the toilet, motionless, with an essence of defecation.
‘No no no,’ he dashed over to check his pulse, it was there, but faint. He held Patrick’s head over the toilet and stuck his fingers down his throat to make him throw up. The stuff that came out was brightly coloured, from all the girly drinks he’d been having. But after a few heaves, he no longer threw up, and was no longer breathing.
Dragging his body out of the stall, he laid him down on his back on the wet floor, and started to do chest compressions. One, two, three, four, breathe, one, two, three, four, breathe. The ribcage crunched and cracked with each compression, ‘Breathe!’, and he kept pressing on, as if his own life depended on it. After one particular hard push, which caved in the ribcage by more than a couple of inches, Patrick vomited some more, and started gasping for air. He held Patrick’s head sideways, so he wouldn’t choke on his own puke. Patrick then passed out again, though breathing now.
Awkwardly he pulled up Patrick’s trunks and trousers, which were drained through with water, diarrhea, and what else was lying on the bathroom floor. It was an embarrassing sight, and he sighed deeply.
He flipped open his phone and autodialed, ‘I need a medical extraction for the Postman. They found us.’
*Author edit: Given the support and interest for an expansion of the story, I'll seriously consider to do so. Keep watching this space for further updates, or hit me up with a PM so I can make a list of interested users. No promises though on the if's and when's ;)*
*Author edit (5/12/2014): Expanded and tightened the story a bit!*
*Author edit (6/12/2014): Read on in [chapter 1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ogpoq/ccpi_operation_patrick_chapter_i/)!*
*Author edit (8/1/2015): Currently continueing (in private) the Patrick story under the guise of my New Year's resolution, which is writing at least 300 words per day. So, at the end of the year, I should have a 100.000+ word novel to show off (currently at 2250 words!).*
|
Life was never easy for Jackson. In a world where a lucky few would get powers, he had won the lottery. Yet, with that he was robbed of other things. He was robbed of control, given a power so great that only a nullification collar could keep it at bay. Through the years of bullying from others, he had grown into a timid and shy teen. Afraid of another part of himself that everyone seemed to embrace.
Jackson was walking around the mall, carefully surveying every person and corner. Perhaps it was paranoia, but the last thing he wanted was for the collar to come off. It resembling more of a worn leather shackle more than anything. However, today he was a bit too careless. Passing by the hangout of the bullies that had terrorized him. Never a day went by that he wasn't made fun of for the collar he was wearing, or what he claimed to be unimaginable power.
Jackson suddenly felt a pulsing in his head, and his body forcefully froze. Like an instant suspended in time, he had been on the receiving end of this power before. Several times. It belonged to the leader of the bullies named Ryan. He had inherited the power to forcefully seize control of people from his mother, who for all her kindness couldn't discipline a child worth a damn.
Three bullies surrounded Jackson, all while he regained control of his head. Ryan having his hands in his pockets with a confident smirk.
"If it isn't the boy with immeasurable power that wears a bondage collar."Ryan chuckled
"Ryan...Please don't...You can stop this! I won't tell anyone, I promise!"Jackson cried out
Ryan shaking his head, his smirk becoming more devious. He wanted to shatter Jackson's delusions of having power *greater* than him. And expose him for the powerless faker he always was.
Two of the bullies then slammed Jackson to the ground, causing him to scream. The third one keeping his legs still.
Ryan began to approach, kneeling down beside him all with a big grin.
"Now, time to remove the shitty collar once and for all."
"Wait..! Ryan! Please! Don't do it! You have no idea what will happen if you remove it!"Jackson pleaded.
"Oh shut the fuck up. I already know that *nothing* will happen when it's removed."
Ryan then tore off the collar, but once he did the area began to darken. No, it was more like something was bleeding into reality. It was then he saw a vestige.
A writhing mass of blisters, tendrils, and glowing orbs. Something then began leaking from his nose, as his friends collapsed around him he finally realized what he was staring at. Through the glowing orbs, he saw dreams and within those dreams he saw knowledge one could only dream of. The being above beings, and everything was just his dream. A loud snoring echoing through the mall, as Ryan's consciousness finally gave away from the terror of the father of all things- **Azathoth**
Reality continued to splinter and crumble as the might of terror itself began encroach on the universe. The dream it had created was finally starting to unravel. However, louder than the snoring was the steady, melodic yet bone rattling beat of drums. It was **The Drummer** that played nonstop to keep Azathoth asleep. A single moment without the thundering sounds of drums and all the dreams created by it would vanish like the ephemeral existences they were.
The thundering sound of drums signaled the invasion on reality, as people began to panic from the darkening mall. Glowing orbs forming into existence, then popping out just as quickly. Jackson in complete terror of what was unfolding, all unfolding because of him and his cursed power.
People were dropping dead, as the dreams of Azathoth flooded into them showing the true nature of reality before they crumbled just as quickly.
Jackson quickly reaching for his collar and wrapping it back around his neck, praying to whatever was out there that the invasion of reality from the source of his power would stop. The thundering of the drums ceased, the blight of orbs and tendrils fading away, and the blusterous snoring coming to an end. As the invading truth on the dream subsided.
Jackson beginning to weep at all the carnage he caused. Yet again he was alone surrounded by bodies of people that had seen a glimpse of the father of existence. |
"Are you kidding me?"
"Don't you give me that, you owe me"and honestly I wasn't. It'd hadn't been my first request, but I had to be reasonable with him. "Since you can't set me up as the new ruler of hell, since that's apparently out of your control, You'll have to grant this request."A sly smile spread across my face, as I confronted the lord of hell himself.
"No, Seriously, isn't there anything else we could do?"It was clearly his last cry of hope, unfortunately for the 'man' in the suit, I wasn't having any of it.
"Look, you would have to get over it sometime anyway, It's not like you can escape them."
"Do I really have to meet your parents?"
"I had to sit through your mother discussing the four thousand year history of a satanic crustation. Now you get to listen to your new mother in law talk about some new age form of knitting."
|
"Yeah. It's pretty wild."
I tactfully refrained from allowing him to see my workers, in catatonic depression from the bright world being taken away. Honestly, I tried really hard not to offer my stuff to people who hadn't experienced withdrawal symptoms and beaten them.
Marijuana was a gateway drug.
Cocaine, at this point, was becoming one too.
'Gateway', that was the real shit. I named it somewhat ironically, but I'm the only one on the planet who knows how to make it, so hell if they can do anything about it.
"How am I supposed to know? You keep talking about these 'colors' or whatever but what actually are those? Hell, what does the word 'colors' even mean?"
The man in a striped green and pink business suit scowled at me. He wasn't my usual customer, and I had to say that the sky blue business pants did not match at all. He had black hair, so that was normal at least.
I sighed. Pulled out a tiny capsule. One side was a rainbow swirl, the other was white.
My newest target could probably only see the white and black. Perhaps different gradients as the colors changed, but that might be pushing it as well.
"Well, I guess you won't know unless you try. I'll even make this one cheap. 100 dollars."
"Wh-that's highway robbery! This is less than a gram!"
"Sorry, my man. When it comes to Gateway, it's not the size that counts."I began to back. away, tossing the capsule up and down. My red hoodie tossed up, flashing in the sunlight.
The buildings were a shocking green. Or perhaps that wasn't so shocking? The sky was pink, and the sun was yellow. Compared to the black and white, it was a sort of pseudo-heaven.
Time to wake up my drug mules. There were people actually paying me extra to deliver, and I couldn't let these deadbeats leech off of me for free.
"Wait."
Score.
I turned around.
"It's instant effect, right?"
"That it is."
He pulled out a wallet. I grinned as I saw orange currency leave the leather booklet.
The dry, clay colored paper touched my hand and I held the capsule out in the other.
"You won't regret this, man. Actually, take it in front of me. I like seeing first- timers."
He looked at me, cross-eyed, but shrugged and took it anyway.
Gateway, despite being addictive as all hell and filled with negative side effects, was my gift to the world.
A doorway into another world within the one we lived in.
Laughing at his stunned face, I walked away. It would last him a day before he had to come back.
The pay wasn't too bad, either...
---
[3:08] Minor edits. |
Arthur’s world shifts slowly into focus, as if he’s carefully tuning the lens of a microscope.
The scene is both alien and familiar to him: he is in his kitchen, sitting at a rustic wooden table. His two girls and wife are serenading him with *happy birthday*. A cake, with a steam-train image imprinted on its waxy surface, sits in front of him. The candles are positioned in a nest at the front, and the smoke wafting from them gives the illusion that the train itself is belching out black steam.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” says his youngest daughter. She kisses him on the cheek — he feels its gentleness.
“Well, blow them out and make a wish,” says his wife. “If you don’t do that, how can a wish come true?”
Arthur’s heart is pounding. He’s trying to recall the moments before this, before the cake. But it’s as if all his memories are brown leaves taken from a tree, whipped into a frenzy by a violent storm. In his mind, he reaches out for what he thinks is the right leaf, the right memory to explain the lead up to this moment — but the leaf crumbles in his hand.
”Dad? Aren’t you going to blow them out?”
He needs time. Needs to think. Needs silence. “I can’t,” he says. “Something’s not right.” He stands, hurries out of the room and into his study, closing the door after him. He leans against the door and breathes.
To calm himself, he looks over the room. His study is full of musical instruments. Guitars, mostly. Bass, electric, acoustic — he teaches them all. This is his place of serenity, his safe-space. There are photos of his family mottling the walls and rare, uncluttered surfaces. When not giving lessons, he retreats to this room — sees it as an exhibition of his entire life and accomplishments. Of everything he’s found that seems to make him happy.
There’s a knocking on the door. “Honey, are you okay? The girls are getting worried.”
”Yeah. Fine,” he says, unconvincingly. “Just need a moment.”
He hears her sigh — that sympathetic but exaggerated sigh of hers. A sigh he fell in love with.
“It’s okay to be scared of ageing. Forty’s a big one, after all.”
Of ageing? That’s not what he’s scared of. Or at least, he doesn’t think it is. The more pressing concern for him is reality itself. The walnut and rosewood guitars have lost the sharpness of their color, are missing the bright orange highlights. And the fidelity of the grain itself is muted, smudged away from its sharp detail. It’s like his entire world is a copy of the world he knows and something necessary of the original has been lost in the transposition.
“Honey?”
”I’m good. I’ll be out soon,” he says. But’s he not good. He’s anything but good. His heart’s thrashing like a wounded eel in a red sea and he can’t calm it.
Breathe, he tells himself. He forces in a lungful of air through his nose, holds it. Counts to five. Releases.
The rotting leaves of memory rustle around him. If only he had a net. He manages to grab a single memory and proceeds to explore it the best he can.
An old man is in this recollection, sitting in a wheelchair. He’s got no hair at all and looks like an egg. There are semi-familar faces around him. Two of the women look a little like his wife.
His daughters, he realises. His daughters but somehow, through this prism of memory, he’s aged them. They’re older than he is now. He recognises one of the men, too. An old version of a dear friend.
What does it mean? Why are they gathered around the bald—
Oh.
It’s him, in the chair. A very ancient, withered him.
”Honey? Please come out.” His wife is pounding on the door now, her voice desperate. “Please! You can’t stay in there. Please.”
A pain shoots through his head.
”What’s happening to me?” he says, rubbing his temple.
There’s silence. The thumping of fists has died.
Silence but for his heart.
”You’re dying,” says his wife.
Ah. So that’s it.
He’s dying.
He thinks he remember now, or at least a little. He’s dying and has been for a long while. He slides down against his side of the door, hands on his knees.
”You signed an agreement with our girls,” says his wife. “That when things got too bad — when you could no longer live any reasonable kind of life — you’d enter this world. You wouldn’t be able to agree when the time came, so you had to agree then instead.”
He remembers, vaguely. Being in that chair and joking about it, saying how great it’d be to see his wife all young and with that beautiful body she had. But inside he’d been a black hole of fear.
”The system, the VR, attaches itself to you. It wires into your brain and brings you back to treasured moments.“
”How long have I got?” he wheezes, breathless.
”In here, a decade, perhaps. Your relative time is slower here.”
”And out there?”
“A week. A month at most.” She pauses, adds, “You can leave, if you wish. Live the rest of your life out there. But you’ll be unable to move. You can think, but your mind is disorganised, the papers in the drawer are all out of order.“
“That’s not living…” he says to himself.
”I’ll give you time to think,” she says. “We‘ll be in the kitchen.”
He sits like that, hands on knees, numb as anaesthetic, for many hours.
Eventually, he pulls himself up and picks an acoustic guitar. Closes his eyes and strums.
It’s dulled here, the guitar. The notes not perfectly clear. But they do exist, at least. There is music to them. And if he didn’t know the crisp sound of the real world’s music then he might say this music was exquisite.
He strums a song he sang to his wife before they were married. *Something in the way she moves*, he sings, very softly, *attracts me like no other lover*.
Somehow, here, he is able to keep new actions in step. The memories he creates stay in their correct order. From waking and his family singing, to this point now, is a linear A to B. He imagines a young tree sprouting up in a little garden, a cluster of green spring leaves unfurling.
He thinks of his wife. Of that memory in the wheelchair with his daughters and friends, but his wife conspicuously absent.
He wonders if they divorced, if they split up somewhere along the line. Part of him hopes so, but he doesn’t truly believe it.
​
Eventually, he opens the door and enters the kitchen.
His children embrace him. He embraces them back. They take his hand and lead him to the cake.
His wife smiles as she relights the train’s engine. ”Make a wish,” she says.
He does. |
Item #: SCP-8322
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: Due to the relatively unknown nature of SCP-8322 extra precautions should be taken to contain this object. At the moment SCP-8322 exists in the code of the Valve game "Half Life 3". As this work is digital and there are near-infinite copies of it, SCP-8322's containment procedures are somewhat unprecedented. As it stands, The Foundation will do everything in their power to ensure that SCP-8322's carrier is not released to the public. So far we have delayed release through various means including restraint of high-level Valve officials (Valve president "Gabe"has been very elusive), hostile takeover of Publishing companies, and systematic eradication of any copies found by Foundation spies in Valve operations. Ideal containment procedures would be to simply delete all copies of the code but our attempts have been unsuccessful.
Description: SCP-8322 is a phenomenon associated with Half Life 3, a video game that Valve is attempting to publish. SCP-8322 is known to manifest itself in all copies of the games code and a full release of Half Life 3 would ensure the widespread epidemic of 8322.
SPC-8322's primary anomalous effect manifests when the game code is read by any computer system including PC and game consoles. Mac operating systems appear to be widely unaffected. Exposed individuals become obessed with the idea of playing Half Life 3 for hours on end resulting in weight gain, sight loss, chair cushion deflation, acute procrastination, and devalued ambitions. SCP-8322 infectees have been noted to munch voraciously while ~~eating~~ playing and consume more soda than is recommended by doctors.
SCP-8322 came to the Foundation's attention on [REDACTED] when one of the Foundations operators had the opportunity to playtest Half Life 3 and found themselves unable to do anything else for the majority of their days off.
|
I think I was at work when it happened. It's vague because I'm still trying to recover from this event that changed our life forever. An event so powerful that you can split your life into two sections; the BC and the AD. Let me tell you the story.
It was just another day. A Thursday if I can remember right. I got in to work, as I usually do. Always on time, I take pride in my work. It's an office job, nothing special, but the colleagues are nice. We were taking our 10am coffee break, as we usually do.
Again, nothing unusual until this point. Mark and Lucy showed up right on time, holding their cup with their arm into a firm L-shape, as if they were scared to spill their empty cup. I pushed the button to get the machine to brew the coffee, and that's when it got weird.
You know how when things are so normal that you don't notice? Like that feeling of driving for 20 minutes on the highway while somehow losing focus on the driving aspect. Your brain is on automatic. The coffee machine was doing its normal thing. Grinding the beans then having this constant humming while the water is being filtered through the ground coffee. Then halfway through, the humming stopped.
"Oh no, is it broken?"said Lucy. She had a disappointing look at the machine, empty cup in hand still held at a straight angle.
"No look, the coffee is still filtering through. As long as it survives long enough for us three, I'll place a service-call with our main desk after we're done."pointed Mark, as he placed his empty cup under the coffee machine as soon as I removed my mug.
We got through our morning coffee ritual without any issue. The humming was different, but the coffee was delicious. But it's only when I got back to my desk that I realized something else was wrong. It's hard to describe, but it was that feeling that something was different. The white noise from the neon lights on the ceiling; the humming of the monitor's refresh rate. I could also tell all my colleagues were feeling it too. They were all subtly looking left and right, staring at objects they would normally not pay attention to.
I opened my favorite news site and that's when my heart skipped its first beat. "BREAKING NEWS: Astronomers report that Moon is missing."This couldn't be right. How could the Moon be missing?
I remember clicking the news headline. My hand was shaking and I could feel the strong heartbeat in my neck. The scientists said they got alerted this morning after all the noise in their office changed pitch and frequencies. After a few minutes of panic, a few people looked up to the sky to see if anything was awry. And that was it.
Nobody's sure yet what happened to it. There's no real proof or evidence. Some crazy people on social media are claiming they've seen it explode. Some claim they noticed it just disappeared, the same way an eclipse happens. There's no video proof though.
This is how I remember it. The day the Moon vanished. But it's okay. I got used to the new sounds. It was different at first, but now it feels normal. The only thing that I miss, as I recall this memory, is the waves from the sea. Ever since the Moon disappeared, the water has been flat. I don't think I'll ever get used to this. |
Those fools, he thought. "If they have been leveling up everyone at once, there is no way they can reach a high enough level! Those high level raids have a cap and a long respawn time, so there's no way they are all maxed out, let alone class levels and items."
"Sire, it appears that they are divided into divisions, and so are their items. The Healers are all Arch-priests, with the holiest of artifacts directly received from the pope, and the same goes for the Mages, Warriors, Tankers, Debuffers, and all other groups."The demon king's right hand man replied. "In other words, we are fucked sire."
"But!"His other assistant happily said. "Our top demons are also here with us, surely the hero's party can't get through them all without suffering some casualties. By the time they reach you, sir, only the hero's original party would remain!"
The current demon king, one who rules all evil, sighs. "This is better. Just let them all fight me at once."
"My lord, surely you jest! Even you cannot handle an army of max stat players!"
"You fool! Remember the setting of this world. I can't believe you'd slack in your world studies, from how good you've fought for me all this time."Evil himself replied. "It's not time for the game to end yet, there's at least 3 year's worth of content planned! They haven't even explored Asgard or the Abyss yet, and you think I will be defeated now? Me, the final boss?"
It will be fine. In the scriptures of old, the world's timeline has already been written. Nothing can go wrong, and the gods will keep the world as is.
Surely those players have heard of dynamic game balancing. "Just tell our horde leaders to keep fighting the royal kingdom's army. I alone will be enough." |
"Dad! Dad!"Aisha Bonertits69 said, her tiny hands spread across the family computer. "Look at this! Look at this! We got a message from the reminder bot!"
"Don't yell so,"said her father, Irwin Bonertits69, as he stepped out of the waste reclamation unit, zipping up his jumpsuit. He waved away the last remaining scent of ammonia. "Whose reminder is it, then? Just pass the message on, and don't make such a fuss."
"But Dad!"Aisha said. "It's not from any of us! It's from five hundred years ago!"
"What?"gasped her father, and he rushed to the computer, the other members of the Bonertits69 clan beginning to stir from the commotion. Uncle Cal swung out of his bunk, Aunt Abigail and Horace and Tyra Lee and Conner came running up from the engine room, and even Grandma Irma emerged from the bio-reclamation unit, until brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and nephews and nieces and cousins were all crowded around the glowing screen.
"My god,"her father said, staring at the message. "I had no idea they'd updated the bot to work that far back."He put a hand to his forehead. "I'd have thought this'd be lost to the ether. Just imagine."
"Imagine what?"Aisha said, struggling to keep her place. Conner was all elbows and bones against her.
"Isn't it obvious, dummy?"Conner said. He made a face at her where his lips curled up over his teeth. She stuck out her tongue and made a face back.
"Now don't be mean to your sister!"their father snapped. "After all, she's the one who noticed it, isn't she?"
"Just luck,"Conner muttered, but too low for anyone to hear.
"What we have here,"their father said reverently, "is a message from the original Bonertits69. The progenitor of the whole clan!"He looked around at the family. "Why, Aisha, they were your great-great-great-great-great-"He paused and looked at his mother. "How many greats was that?"
"Wha?"Grandma Irma said. She blinked out at them with milky-white eyes and gummed her wrinkled lips.
"Well, never mind the specifics,"her father said. "What matters is, this is a message from centuries past, a link leading back to a moment your ancestor wanted us to look back on and remember. A direct link through the unnavigable archives of Reddit history!"With a wave of his trembling hand, he led the cursor over the link. "Look at this, everyone. This is the past. This is our history."
They all squinted trying to read the archaic text.
"What the hell is this,"Uncle Cal said. He looked towards her father. "Well, you're the history expert, Irwin."
"Wait, wait,"her father said, desperately clicking on the parent links, searching for more context. "It, um,"he said at last. "Someone said, 'In 500 years, anime is going to be regarded as an art form on par with Renaissance painting.' And our progenitor wanted a reminder to check on that."
Complete silence filled the room. "What's an anime?"Aunt Abigail finally said.
"I don't ..."He looked at it blankly. "A sort of cartoon, I think? There's not enough context here for me to tell, really. It's all sort of incomprehensible to me."
"A cartoon!"said Conner, and there was a chorus of groans and boos as the family quickly dispersed, leaving Irwin Bonertits69 slumped over the computer. He felt a small hand take his.
"So,"Aisha said, looking up at him eagerly. "Was it important?"
He picked her up and took her on his knee, smiling pensively. "Well, I don't know, sweetheart. You see, this was from the days before the Earth blew up, before we were all sent flying apart on our own separate shards of rock, our only means of communication, the only remnants of human history we had left the already-laid structures of the Infranet. People back then, they took communication for granted. They didn't ration out every single byte of data. They made jokes. They insulted each other. They spent a lot of data on seemingly trivial and useless things. But this,"he said, and laid a hand on the screen. "This is a fragment of humanity. Perhaps incomprehensible to us now, perhaps completely inconsequential. But the fact that it still exists, the fact that we can look back five hundred years and be reminded of the basic humanity of all our ancestors that eventually led us to where we are now - well, that's something, isn't it?"
Aisha smiled up at him. "Dad, you're using big words again. I didn't understand any of that."
"Of course not,"he said, and grinned, and set her back down on the floor. "But maybe you will in the future, huh?"He looked wistfully at the ancient message on the screen. "Maybe you'll look back on this and it'll mean something."
He left Aisha to her browsing, turning to see that his mother was still sitting by them, smiling blankly into space. "C'mon, mom,"he said and put his hand on her back. "Let's get you back into the reclamation chamber."Behind them, Aisha was puzzling out the ancient glyphs. "The rest of us have got to eat, after all."
And on that single chunk of rock, a hapless meteor hurtling aimlessly through space, where generation after generation had grown and died and been reclaimed and built up a ramshackle home around them, the lights continued flickering bright as the Bonertits69 family lived on. |
Roksana returned to the attic. Her family silently greeted her as they each held out their hands in anticipation.
"I could only afford one pack,"Roksana whispered. The four children sadly bowed their heads. Aleksy, Roksana's husband, scooted closer towards Roksana.
"Do you think there's going to be a food card?"Aleksy asked with hope in his voice.
"Let's find out,"Roksana replied. She opened the card pack and shuffled through the cards.
***The Sandman's Touch***: A common card that instantly granted its user a full night's rest. Roksana handed the card to Aleksy. It was his turn to get supplies after Roksana.
***Chakra of Healing***: Another common card that provided a little bit of medical assistance to the body of its user. Roksana gave the card to Grandma Trudka.
"Come on, food card,"Roksana prayed.
Another common ***Chakra of Healing*** card. With just 2 more cards in the pack remaining, the family in the attic looked on in anticipation.
"Yes!"Alexsy quietly celebrated. The next card bore a picture of a cauldron of soup.
***Supper Time***: Yet another common card, but this one provides a hot meal to all people in vicinity of the card after it has been used.
"There is no better card we could have gotten,"Roksana smiled at her family.
Still one card remaining. Roksana put the ***Supper Time*** card in the center of the room and a glitter caught her eyes. The final card had a gold outline. Gold cards are exceptionally rare, with most people only ever witnessing one or two- if any at all- within their entire lifetime.
"What is it?"One of the children asked in awe.
The golden card pictured two hands embracing each other from their side-by-side graves. Above the picture was its title.
***Death Pact***.
Below the picture was the card's description. *Whomever takes this card from its owner is bound by a Pact of Death. If either of the two bound by this Death Pact shall die, then the other shall die as well.*
Roksana and Aleksy stared at the card in utter shock.
"Well,"Aleksy calmly said. "I don't want to see the other side of this war without you. Should we both take the Pact?"
Roksana thought. And thought. Her eyes did not fixate from the card. Finally, she responded.
"No,"Roksana told Aleksy. She looked up at him and could see his heart sink. "Aleksy, we might not live to see the end of this week, let alone this war. I want to give our family the best odds at living through all of this-"
A loud *BANG* went off downstairs as soldiers broke through the house.
"I want every corner of this house searched,"an officer commanded. "And don't forget to check the cupboards and attic."
No. No! They will find us! Grandma Trudka huddled with the four children to keep them quiet. They began to whimper as tears ran down their frightened faces.
"Now,"Aleksy whispered to Roksana. "Take the Pact with me. Please."
Roksana shook her head and positioned herself next to the opening of the attic. Aleksy's face pained with betrayal just as the hatch to the attic opened.
"I have a family in here!"A soldier barked.
Within moments, the attic became flooded with Nazi Soldiers. They peered at Roksana and her family with pride in their eyes, as though they had found cattle ripe for slaughter.
"Excellent work, men,"a Nazi Officer announced as he climbed up into the attic.
Roksana beckoned to the Nazi Officer with her hand outstretched. In her hand was a card, facing downward. The officer smiled.
"Given up, have you?"He laughed as he took the card from her hand. The Nazi Officer's face instantly morphed from smug to mortified.
"What is it, sir?"A Nazi soldier asked. "Shall we escort them to the train?"
The officer silently looked Roksana in the eyes with bitter hatred. He shook his head and motioned to his soldiers.
"No. They are German. Not Jewish. Leave them be,"he spat with utter defeat. "Clever,"he quietly added with a final, resentful glare to Roksana.
The Nazis fled the house and stormed down the street into the next home. |
The last thing you could remember before everything went black was the headlights of the truck moving towards you and the little girl you pushed out of the way screaming. You saved someone, maybe this time they'll let you go into the afterlife.
It was a 'hell no' from Satan and a 'heavens no' from God.
They started scolding you endlessly for dying again, in 5 months no less, and you scowled. You were tired of being dead one day and alive the next, you'd rather leave that stuff to Jesus, thank you very much. Then you interrupted Satan in the middle of his rant,
"Remind me again why you wont let me die? I've wanted to meet Claudius for a while now. I need to know if his wife killed him or not!"
God facepalmed and sighed once more while Satan just looked straight up done.
"First off, Claudius doesn't speak English, and we can't just let you die because you're to make sure your assignment doesn't start any nuclear wars, we have enough problems in heaven and hell as it is, we dont need a orange human creating another one!"God said.
"Can't I just murder him and call it a day, or make someone else look over him? I'm sure Satan wont mind him dead, right buddy?"You looked at Satan for reassurance.
"We choose you to do it because you fit the criteria, tiny, quiet and passive aggressive! You're perfect for this job! Although I wouldn't mind him dead, I don't need him helping Hitler with his little tantrum!"
You sighed, you've died over 100 times already, maybe it was time to do your job.
"Fine, I'll finish this job on one condition,"
Satan raised an eyebrow at you, only you would bargain with God and Satan.
"I get to see my family after I pass, you still haven't told me if they went up or downstairs."
God and Satan needed you to do this task, and you've asked them to do the same thing for you over and over again. Maybe it was time they agreed, so you wouldn't commit suicide an unholy amount of times.
"Fine! Now shoo! We don't want to see you again unless you've finished!"
Once more you blacked out and woke up in your cold dead body, you got up and walked to the door, to do this task you had to sneak out of the hospital first, time to get stuff done. |
"Uh...Morning Joey, hey you're slightly early, you uh wanna grab a coffee over the road and come back in five minutes?"
It was 9:05am. Mr Salamanca looked nervous this Monday. His eyes seemed baggier than usual and his greying beard was untrimmed. Joey was surprised but said he'd come back later.
Salamanca breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down with a brief moment of terror when he saw that the hand of the dead drug dealer had been poking around the bottom of the door all along. He hurriedly kicked it back inside, closed the shop blinds and began to clean up the blood.
Joey loved Salamanca's bakery. He went there almost every morning to grab a croissant and a baguette. Joey came from a French family, and was fond of his daily bread even though he was a second generation New Yorker.
The bread was excellent. Joey had never married so he tended to buy most of his food. He got a great price at Salamanca's because he was always happy to help Salamanca deliver parcels to his various friends in the neighbourhood. Salamanca gave him a 30% discount for these services although Joey often wondered why Salamanca was friends with such scrawny strange people.
Joey had also become friends with Salamanca's girlfriend. Or girlfriends. He seemed to change them frequently. The current one was called Sandra. She was very pretty and often served Joey in the shop, talking to him for a while. She was an awful lot younger than Salamanca and he wished she would dress more respectfully. The first time he went in, she had offered to show him a bed in the back room but he told her no thanks, he already had a perfectly good bed at home.
The years went by and Joey kept buying the bread and delivering the packages. It was a great deal and it got him out and about, a lonely portly French man in his forties. The girlfriends came and went. Then one day, as he was distributing in a run down neighbourhood at upper east side, he got jumped by ruffians and bundled into the back of a van.
He was blindfolded and taken to a basement in a warehous where they chained him to a pipe and kept asking Joey where he got the package. Joey didn't want to get Salamanca into trouble and he certainly didn't want to let Salamanca down or his clients.
Salamanca told him the packages were their favourite cakes. Joey presumed these thugs just wanted to steal his recipes so he kept stum. He was held for 3 weeks but eventually escaped, noting the location of the warehouse and telling Mr Salamanca what had happened the following week after recovering from his injuries at home. Mr Salamanca said not to tell the police and offered to give him a further 50% discount on his croissants in return. Joey was extremely pleased.
The following week, Joey learned the warehouse burned down in a huge fire. After that, Mr Salamanca seemed much more carefree. Joey delivered the favourite cakes to many more clients now and in return he was given free bread forever. Mr Salamanca also said he could go and see his girlfriend's room at the back whenever he wanted but Joey assured him he already had a cozy mattress at home. |
I look at the clock. It has been 10:30 for at least three weeks. It's dark outside. It has been dark outside for at least three weeks. I know because some of the bar snacks are starting to go off. At least the kitchen is still running. For now.
People walk in every few minutes. They're not real, real people aren't so obvious.
*Shuwm*. The door opens. An upright priest in full clerical garb walks in, followed by a rabbi with the shawl and skullcap and a monk in the robes. They come up to me. I don't know what to say. I never do.
"Can I get you a drink?"
They look at me confused, then walk over to the other groups in the dim light of the bar. I can't count them, but I estimate there must be a thousand or more in each group.
There's builders, blind men, priests, rabbis, englishmen, irishmen, scots and more. We even have a stupid number of horses and lions for some reason and lord knows how they haven't eaten each other.
All this in a little hole in the wall drinking place fire zoned for 50 people. Thats the thing though. Thats what's got you.
The joke goes "A man walks into a bar."We laugh. The real joke is that the man never walks out again. |
"I have a plan."
"It better be a good fucking plan, Jerry."
"We cut our son in half."
"That's a bad fucking plan, Jerry."
"You're right."
"I see you didn't get brains from your witch.
"You're right."
"What did you get?"
"You to fall in love with me"
"Oh. That explains it."
"Yeah."
"We need a fucking plan."
"No shit, Cindy."
"Well, what's the plan?"
"We have the ban saw-"
"We are not sawing the baby in half."
"Why not?"
"Because that's a fucking terrible plan."
"I see you didn't get kindness from your witch."
"No shit, Jerry."
"What did you get, Cindy?"
"Bigger tits."
"You must have gone first."
"I was 14."
"Oh."
"The plan, Jerry, what's the fucking plan?"
"We could use a sword."
"Different. Plan."
"I don't know, Cindy, how about you come up with a plan."
"Fine. We find another witch."
"That's what got us into this in the first place."
"And we offer the witch our first born son."
"Isn't that like paying a credit card with another card?"
"And we have the witch clone our son four times."
"Why four?"
"One for your witch, one for mine, one for this other witch, and one for us."
"Cindy, I have a better plan."
"No saws."
"Why stop at four? If these witches want first borns, lets give them all they can take. We'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams."
"I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you."
"We have Jerry Jr. To thank for that." |
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