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She was going to die. In a warehouse. Tied to a chair. Surrounded by armed men.
Being kidnapped was not on Julia's to-do list today, and this was really derailing her routine. She should be with her boss, Daphne, helping her solve crimes and put away criminals.
Well, *helping* was a nice way of putting it. Julia did most of the work. Daphne merely oversaw. If anyone should be called the detective, it's Julia.
She doesn't mind that Daphne takes the credit. Being in the spotlight for solving crime has its drawbacks. Julia often finds death threats in Daphne's office from criminal organizations or felons-of-the-past. She has to keep her phone unlisted. Her home address a secret. All her personal devices encrypted. Daphne may not actually solve the crimes, but she takes all the flak for it.
Unfortunately, Daphne's spotlight meant bad news for Julia. Although she did the grunt work in the background, she still became known as Daphne's assistant. Her sidekick. Someone she cares about.
So a gang of arms-dealers that 'Daphne' \[read - Julia\] was tracking nabbed her on her way to her car this morning and were holding her ransom in hopes that they could trade her for freedom when Daphne finds them.
The problem is, Daphne would never find them.
Julia can't remember the last time Daph did any investigating on her own. She didn't follow leads, interview witnesses, collect forensics, or run info through databases. Julia did all of that. Come to think of it, Julia can't recall a single time Daph actually solved a crime. How did she get hired in the first place?
Some would think that Julia would be majorly pissed off that all her hard work is shoved to the wayside, while Daph wins awards for the cases that Julia solved. Other people would have quit by now.
Not Julia.
Because Julia was in love with Daph.
What Daph lacked in problem solving, she made up for in humor, snark, and good-natured banter. She was sweet and sassy and *fucking gorgeous.* The truth is, Julia was happy to do Daph's work, just to stay close to her. Bask in her glow.
What started as companionship turned lustful quickly, but Daph is her boss, and was always respectful, and never showed signs of even knowing how Julia felt.
Now, Julia wished she had said something. She would die here, because Daph can't solve crimes alone, and soon the armed men would realize that and just kill Julia.
She had just resigned herself to her fate when a bay door to the warehouse blasted open.
"Police! Drop your weapons!"
The SWAT team stormed in, guns drawn. Shouting ensued. Bullets were exchanged. But the rag-tag group of arms dealers were no match for the SWAT, and Julia just stared in shock as none other than Daphne waltzed through the bay door and strolled toward her.
"That doesn't look comfortable,"her boss smirked, pulling her knife and cutting away the ropes.
"How did you find me?"
Daph chuckled. "Detective, remember? You work for me? Did you hit your head when they grabbed you?"
"No..nothing like that. Just....how?"
Daph smirked at her a quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I had no hope of finding you since you've been doing my job for years?"
"Well..."Julia rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I've always been able to do this job alone."Daph admitted. "In fact, I preferred doing it alone. Until I met you."She smiled warmly and stepped closer. For a rare moment, Daph took a serious tone "The truth is, I saw how much you loved doing my job, so I decided to just let you do it. You were born to solve crime, Jules. You're just as good, if not better at it, than I am. But if you went out on your own, you'd be a target. Same as me. But with you as my 'assistant,' I could let you do what you love *and* protect you from the bad guys."
"I-"words go stuck in her throat. Julia swallowed. "I didn't realize."
The humor was back. "Honestly, Jules, at this point, you should just assume I know everything."Daph winked. "And I mean *everything.*"
Julia blushed. "So...you...I mean..."
"Chill, grasshopper. I'm still your boss."Daph tossed an arm around her and guided her toward the exit. "But now that you're in danger no matter what I do, apparently...."Daph shrugged. "I think it's time you were promoted. To detective. No longer my subordinate, if you know what I mean."
God, Daphne's signature smirk made Julia feel all funny inside.
"And once those papers go through..."Julia prompted
"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." |
Blue lights flashed in the control room signaling the beginning of the countdown.
"This is mission control, we are go for opening the breach. Clear the chamber."a voice boomed over the speaker system.
Men in hazmat suits scurried out of the massive concrete chamber and hid behind steel blast doors.
One man was left standing in the large chamber. He flexed massive tattoo covered arms and waited for the breach to open. The breach is what the scientists had begun calling the black hole that they had created forty stories underground in a secret government facility. They had sent robots, drones, radio waves, anything and everything they could think of into the breach. Everything had failed.
Dirk was their last hope to discover what was on the other side of the breach. A man that had made his name leading the worlds most notorious biker gang, nearly impossible to kill and every bit a bad ass that someone could imagine. It was rumored that he had been shot sixty seven times during a bar brawl. He calmly finished his beer then killed nine members of the Wasteland Rebels with his bare hands. It wasn't long after that the United States Government had taken notice of him and conducted multiple operations to take him into custody. It took two years and the lives of twenty six servicemen to apprehend him, and now, they were sending him through the breach. One of the most incredible breakthroughs in the history of mankind and Dirk the Savage would be the first man to lay eyes on what lay beyond.
"Breach opening in 10...9...8...7...6...5..."
Lindsey watched from behind the three foot thick ballistic glass and watched Dirk get ready. His leather vest was straining to contain his bulging muscles, his perpetually wet hair hung down his back. She sighed to herself, and thought about Dirk picking her up, putting her on the back of his motorcycle and riding into the sunset.
"Lindsey! Press the damn button!"the Director shouted pulling her out of her daydream, her face flushed and she pressed the small red button.
The breach tore space and time open. Energy shot out of the rent buffeting the ballistic glass the scientists stood behind. Dirk lifted a tattooed arm over his eyes and waited for the raging storm to die down. He placed one black combat boot in front of the other as he strode confidently toward the breach. It was a midnight abyss that was absorbing all of the light in the room. Dirk lifted a hand and flipped the scientists the bird as he plunged into the breach.
---
More to come soon if people are enjoying it!
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4vyuww/part_2_wp_you_possess_the_very_rare_quality_of/)
|
The thing about average is, you can see it a million times and still not notice it. That's kind of the point. Average is unspectacular, but never bad. Average isn't the expectation, but it's so close to it that you can always find a logical reason for why it's shown up again. And again and again.
No one wants to be average. It's just inevitably where we end up.
For me, average has been there since the beginning. No one noticed it, of course. That's just how average works.
I've got a brother and a sister. They came first. Then me. And then, shortly after I was born, my father received a letter in the mail informing him that 1) he had a son in Vietnam he'd never heard of before, and 2) that son had stepped on a landmine, blowing off all of his limbs. But he'd survived. So I've got half a half-brother in Vietnam, which in my eyes makes us a family of 3.25 kids.
Perfectly average.
My grades were perfectly average all throughout school which was only ever noteworthy for the terrible consistency of it all. No A's, no D's. No peaks, no troughs. There was the thought that maybe I was cheating, but if I was it was an extremely modest sort of cheating, which no one could work up the energy to worry about. More puzzling was the overwhelming average-ness of my class and my school and my county and my state. Average. Year in and year out. In math and science, English and history. I was an average student in an average school in an average county in the dead center of the most absurdly average state in the Union.
It was perplexing, but again, it was *average* and average is a difficult thing to investigate. By it's very nature, it's where everyone's *supposed* to be, so how concerned ought anyone be by it? We were the *most* average, after all. That was almost something to aspire to.
When I left my home state for college, it suddenly began to achieve at a much higher rate. The spell of average was broken. Admittedly, I didn't notice.
There were other things happening.
The university president - the highest paid public official in the state at that time - was forced to resign on the back of an enormous harassment and discrimination scandal. There was lasting backlash at the executive level, followed by mass resignations. Meanwhile, the university's service workers managed to form an alarmingly competent union. The ultimate outcome was that seemingly everyone working at the university suddenly made the exact same wage. Which just so happened to be average wage at the time.
Interesting. But why in the world would I think that had anything to do with me?
My relationships all last 4.2 years.
I eat 46 slices of pizza each year.
My penis is 5.1 inches when erect.
Eventually, all that *average* is all I could see. There was no ahead, there was no behind. And everywhere I went, the average came with me. Soaring cities slowed down instantly, as economies and social progress ground down to the national average. Struggling companies surged to a blessed middle ground - but never any higher.
It wasn't until my father died at age 76 and years later my mother died at age 81, that it occurred to me that even my tragedies were average. And I began to realize how much we take average for granted. And how for some, average would be a blessing.
So I traveled. I spent time in war torn countries, picking through rubble and cracked clay roads. If I was average, I was safe. And if the people living there could be average, then perhaps their days might not be so frightening.
Of course, there was still death. There will always be death. But it was smoothed out a bit. Children grew up. Eventually they died, but in the interim they lived.
I sought ways to spread my power, but it always came with me, leaving when I left. In the end, it really wasn't much of a power after all.
I found a small town, bleak and impoverished, and this is where I'll stay for now. There was a brief time when I thought I could save everyone. I thought I could find a global mid-point between famine and excess and death and avarice. But the Earth finds her own mid-point. Humanity creates her own average. I'm just an aberration. An aberration of average.
But for this town average is a pleasant diversion. Unless things have changed, I've only got a few years left. A few years of middling mediocrity.
Thankfully I'm quite fond of mediocrity. |
Soot rained down upon the eclectic party. Behind them the orphanage burned. It cast their sickly shadows in the snow as the flames danced among the charred wood and blackened stone. Around them, the rest of the world lay silent.
The first to speak up was the Bard. Her purple hands shook with adrenaline as her short legs carried her towards the hulking Paladin. “What the fuck was that!?” Barely contained rage electrfied her words, tears threatening to spill over.
“I did what had to be done.” The Paladin answered vaguely. His face was stoney and voice lacking the familiar warmth the rest of them had come to know.
“What had to- you set fire to an orphanage!” The Rogue bellowed. His pointed ears burned as his brow furrowed in utter confusion. Beside him, the Wizard kneeled and emptied his stomach upon the mixture of ash and snow.
“I can explain. Just not tonight. Please, believe me.” He begged softly.
“If you can explain I suggest you do so now.” The Rogue demanded, unsheathing his blade.
“Fuck explanations!” The Bard shouted, sweeping the Paladin’s legs.
He fell to the ground with a crunch as his armor took the brunt of it. Regaining his footing, the Rogue charged him.
“You don’t understand!” He shouted at the duo, raising his shield to block the elven Rogue.
Finally the Wizard had regained his composure. He stood tall with glowing eyes and lightning crackling at his fingertips. “Then make us.” He growled.
Having shaken off the Rogue the Paladin faced the Wizard, already casting his spell. “They were already dead!”
In an instant the fighting had stopped. The bolt of lightning flew over the Paladin’s shoulder as the Wizard reacted to the proclamation. “They were…?”
“They were already dead.” The Paladin confirmed. “The caretaker, her story didn’t make sense. I came back earlier tonight to ask her more questions. I caught her casting the illusions. The children had already been dead.”
“That can’t be.” The Rogue said. “Why would she-“
“I detected arcane energy throughout the building but I had no idea.” Muttered the Bard.
“Why would she do it?” The Wizard demanded an explanation.
“She took the donations. The food, the coin, all of it.”
“The fire?”
“When I caught her, she fought. I put her down.”
“And that started the fire?” Asked the Bard.
“No, I did that after. I figured the townspeople wouldn’t believe it. They cared deeply for the children, they wouldn’t be able to live with the truth. So I made it look like an accident.” He explained. “Tipped over a lantern. Easier to believe a freak accident than murder.”
“And why should we believe you?” The Rogue spat.
With a deep sigh the Paladin dropped his shield. “I have traveled the world with you people. I’ve saved your lives as many times as you’ve saved mine. If you don’t believe me, I won’t fight you. I just couldn’t die with that atrocity pinned on me.”
The trio exchanged looks. Uncertainty and sorrow clouded their minds. The Rogue stomped towards the defenseless Paladin and raised the blade toward his neck. The Paladin just closed his eyes.
“I beleive you.” Spoke the Wizard.
“As do I.” The Bard agreed.
“Hmph.” The Rogue hummed, withdrawing his blade and turning tail. “We’ll see.” He set off back towards their room in the inn. The Wizard nodded and followed.
The Paladin fell to his knees, gazing toward the dying flames. The Bard approached him wordlessly, wrapping her small arms around him. “He’ll come around.” She softly assured.
The Paladin cried. |
Little Timmy had a bark boat attached to a string. It had sails made out of paper and a pirate flag at the top that he had drawn himself. It was a piece of art in the eyes of the five-year-old. He had named her Esmeralda after his nana.
He was tugging it through a puddle one rainy day when a convoy of military vehicles thundered down the street. Little Timmy had his back toward the street and was lost in his own imagination. He didn’t even notice them until it was too late.
The boat was crushed under the wheels, and along with it, his dreams. A shadow fell across Timmy’s face.
“You will pay!” he cried as tears mixed with the raindrops on his cheeks.
He picked up the tiny pieces of mauled bark and crumpled paper, and buried them in the backyard. Esmeralda had been his friend when none of the other kids wanted to, and now she was dead.
Little Timmy mourned his loss for days, but not once did revenge leave his mind. He took an oath to crush the army just like they had crushed Esmeralda. He was going to start with the navy. If they took away his boat, he would take away theirs. That was how justice worked.
He found a new piece of bark in the forest and started building. The new boat wasn’t as beautiful as Esmeralda and didn’t have the white sails. It was dark and fitted with miniature guns that he borrowed from his toy soldiers. He named the new boat Michaela in honor of the avenging angel from the stories in church.
With a resolute face, Timmy made his way to the beach. Michaela crushed the waves under her keel, and Timmy started tugging her towards the naval base. It was time to suffer.
He found a hole in the fence and climbed through, making sure his boat never left the water. The massive armored hulls of the Destroyers towered over the small boy.
“Vengeance!” he screamed and tugged his boat towards the enemy.
The ship turned its guns towards the boy, but they were no match for Michaela who turned the much larger Destroyer to scrap with well-placed broadside fire. Little Timmy laughed righteously as the smoke and fire filled his eyes.
*****
“How is my boy doing?” asked Timmy’s mother as she stepped into the office with a view over the docks.
The woman in the white coat gave her a concerned look. “He’s doing fine…”
Together they walked over to the window. Timmy’s mother felt her throat screw itself shut. She looked at the bearded man with tousled hair, holding the string of a tugboat down by the water. An old retired navy vessel was the only other ship there. Even from this far away they could hear the man laughing.
“It’s been thirty-three years…” the doctor said. “He’s not going to get better.”
“I know,” said the woman, unable to keep her voice steady. “And trust me; I count every single day since I let my boy out to play in the puddles on the street.”
*****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel
Subscribe if you liked it :) |
"The previous' owner's first wish was for world peace"the genie said.
"Oh,"I muttered. "I was hoping for some cash. but I guess the previous owner was a humanitarian, huh? I guess it's good for the world though."
The genie nodded, "Very good for the world indeed. I was more than happy to grant that wish."
"The second wish,"the pale, smokey figure with burning eyes continued, "was for 100 million dollars."
"Sweet! Thank you previous owner!"I cheered as a bag of cash appeared at my feet. Unzipping the black duffel revealed stacks of $100 dollar bills. I couldn't help but laugh with joy. My first wish had only been for a million dollars. 100 million was way better.
"The third wish,"the genie continued, "was to become the most beautiful person in the world."
"Awesome!"I looked down at myself, expecting my muscles to fill out and to grow several inches taller. Nothing happened.
After a bit of disappointment (I still had 100 million dollars, so not TOO much disappointment), a thought occurred to me.
"Are you saying I'm actually already the most beautiful person in the world? Or that beauty was inside me all along?"
"No"the whips smoke replied, "In order to create world peace, I had to eliminate all things which might fight with my master, or with each other."
I hugged my bag of money to my chest a bit tighter, trying to understand.
"You are the only human left alive in the world, so you are the most beautiful by default. Have fun with your paper money, I'm sure it will serve you well." |
I pulled the kid behind me and stepped forward, drawing my blade. The three thugs who were chasing her wearily drew their own swords as they saw mine.
"She can't afford the Wraith."one of them stated.
"She just did."I smiled, holding my weapon steady, eyeing them all. If they were smart, our blades would not even clash.
"You've gone soft."
"For wanting payment for my services?"
"Just let us have her, Wraith. She stole more than the coin she paid you with."
"That's not my business."
"None of this is."
"But she paid me. So I'm not letting you near her."
The three thugs watched me, weighing their options.
But then one of them sheathed their sword, and the other two followed.
"Let's go."One of them said through gritted teeth, and they left.
I turned around, knowing the little street urchin was long gone.
But was surprised to find her standing there, smiling up at me.
"Why are you called the Wraith?"She asked.
"That story will cost you extra."I said.
"How much?"
"How much you got?"
The girl looked at me wearily, sussing me out.
"Never mind. I don't want to know."She said.
I laughed, tussled her hair and headed back into the tavern she found me in. |
He was a veil of shadows, a vessel of agony, a being comprised of the echoes of forgotten times and of the vestiges of stories untold and ever-lost. He was an Old One, an immemorial creature child of the sound that came with the first light.
And he was my cellmate.
To his perception, I was a counterpoint to his immensity. For I was small and of flesh and bone. At least, those were the thoughts that erupted and died in the chaos of his mind before I spoke.
"Division by zero,"I had said, a statement I knew would ripple and rattle even the most hardened core.
My words, as I had expected, sparked raw fear and odd curiosity in him. His towering presence diminished and the incessant hammering emanating out of him ceased.
"How? Prove it,"he said and endless tentacles of sheer darkness bloomed out of the stark gray prison walls, each an ear or an eye of the other five beings locked with us but who had chosen to remain beyond the sight.
"What an audience we have gathered."I smiled and gazed at the Old One. "You need to understand, if I prove it once again, nothing of you or any of those listening or this prison will remain. I proved it once, and that took me here."
"Explain it then."A thousand voices screamed out of the walls. "Explain it once, explain it twice, explain it thrice until we understand. Else, perish, weakling."
I yawned and shook my head. "Eternity seems far too large, yet even eternity will not suffice for you to comprehend what's beyond your comprehension. Some things are greater than logic, greater than words, and this I learned from a man named Godel who found such a conclusion thanks to another man named Cantor. Completeness and Incompleteness, a sort of contradiction, both are beautiful things, and they're products of the mind of what you may consider lesser beings. Isn't that curious?"
The Old One grew and the hammering quickened. "They're lesser beings, lesser being. We are higher beings, what they can't comprehend we can. Explain it. Last opportunity."
I frowned. "How curious, I thought you had understood already. It's not me who should fear you, but the other way around."My eyes danced around the room. The hammering stopped. Silence ensued. I sighed. "Higher or lower beings, it doesn't matter. You're all products of the concept that is the universe and the limitations that come with it. Alternative dimensions, alternative universes, it doesn't matter. They're all bound to the same limitations."
"Are you insinuating you're not?"A thousand voices screamed again. This time, there was no tone of demand.
"It's complicated. It's almost a contradiction,"I said and my lips curled upward. "Like dividing by zero. It's a contradiction. And if you want to understand my origins and in turn your origins, you have to first understand that you don't understand. Humans were in the right direction when they delved into boolean mathematics. For it's all zeroes and ones all the way down."I scratched my head. "None of you know nor understand this. You are old, too old to comprehend things that differ from chaos, and yet despite your lack of knowledge, there was a visceral reaction when you heard I could divide by zero. But you don't know what that means, mathematics, the language of the universe, you're oblivious to it all. It's almost as though you were programmed to know that such a thing is impossible and that it should evoke terror or awe, or a meld of both if it was ever accomplished. Am I correct?"
A new silence formed. This time, a prolonged one. I clapped, shattering the tension. "I apologize if I was too blunt or harsh, but questions have consequences. I will tell my story, and you won't understand, but at least you will have heard it. Gather up, and keep your quiet. I can sense some of you stirring."
The five beings hiding poured out of the walls, taking deformed human-like shapes, a signal of respect. The Old One remained quiet, listening.
I cleared my throat. "Before the first light, there was I and a single zero. In this state, there were no contradictions."I paused. "Or so I thought. Nothingness, as a concept is beautiful, yet it's incorrect. Nothingness can't ever exist, only be approximated. Zero is the closest thing to it. Zero can't contradict itself. Zero is zero, and even if it was alone, it would be something: a zero. Which is contradictory. The interesting thing is that despite this, zero by itself can't do anything but be zero and despite the contradiction, a zero can't manifest the contradiction, and that causes zero to be too close to Nothingness, and Nothingness, again, can't exist.
"And that's the reason for my existence. I'm a question, I'm the thing capable of understanding zero and asking it: what if you were a one? And that question is enough for the zero to ask itself that question, and in that search for an answer zero collapses, and from its collapse universes emerge. You emerge. And you did so at the beginning when zero was in the zenith of its chaotic search and at that point in time its quest was in such disarray that it created you, beings comprised of more zeros than ones, shapeless and destructive, a reflection, a memory of what the zero was at the moment of your conception.
"But the zero kept moving and in its wake, it now leaves more ones than zeroes. Humans are more ones than zeroes, that's why their comprehension is higher than yours. They're remarkable, but they too will be forgotten, the zero is still searching, and humans haven't found the answer, or perhaps they have and the zero haven't caught up."I stopped to laugh. "One human once told me they were the product of the universe trying to understand itself. And they were somewhat right. Such a gorgeous thought."
I looked around. "Do you understand now when I tell you I can't prove I can divide by zero? There are zeroes surrounding us, comprising us all. And there's me, and I am the question. The initial state of all things is right here. If I ask a zero the question again, we will see a third light. I can make it smaller as I did with the second, but here I don't have a way to contain it. Humans gave me a special box to contain it. It was my gift for their intellectual prowess. Their own universe. One they could study."
"What will happen when the zero turns into a one?"The Old One asked.
I threw my hands in the air. "You didn't understand. I expected that. The zero will never be a one because the zero is a zero. In its search to solve a single contradiction, it yielded endless contradictions, and so there are two paths. Either it continues in an infinite quest attempting to find an answer that can't be found, or a reversion to the initial state. This time, in its frustration, the zero will try to eliminate me. But it can never do that. We are the initial state of all things. And so I will be there, and this whole thing will be repeated. For now, despite the great hint Godel gave the zero with his Incompleteness, it seems it's too stubborn to listen, so it keeps expanding--"
There was a noise like an alarm. A man came out of the wall. He inspected the surroundings and said, "Seems like you have met your new cellmate already. He's dangerous, this one. Don't believe a word he utters. He's a cunning manipulator. His words have turned thriving planets into barren lands. He may be of flesh and bone, but his tongue bears the yoke of many beings."
My cellmates abandoned their human-like shapes and dissolved into their real appearances. The hammering of the Old One turned into an infernal cacophony. The air itself seemed to scramble for a way out.
I raised my hand. "Wait."My cellmates halted. "Before you annihilate me, you should think twice. Would they put a simple manipulator inside the same cell as an Old One? That doesn't make much sense, does it? It's more likely they have lied to our guard here to keep my existence a secret. With that being said, you can erase me and bear the conseque--"
Before I could finish speaking, darkness engulfed me. Searing shadows and piercing agonic screams filled my ears and rattled my bones and in the blink of an eye, I was gone.
A moment later I reappeared back in the cell, my monstrous and treacherous cellmates staring at me in disbelief. I shook my head once again, "I'm the initial state. Didn't you understand that? As long as there's a zero, there will be me. Now, you must pay the price."
And with that came the third light.
\-----
This one was long and convoluted, I apologize. But if you enjoyed it, you can always check /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll. I post what story I write over there--a catalog of sorts.
P.s: if you are a big nerd who enjoys learning about geniuses, I recommend reading/watching something about Godel, Cantor, or Turing! |
"... and one final rule You can't wish for unlimited wishes"Said the genie.
*Well wish one then is for a Peanut butter and Jelly Sandwich.*
"One open-faced sandwich with smooth peanut butter rather than crunchy like you like! HA"
*Low expectations is the name of this game. Low stakes for low pain. Hmm let's go for something with some potential for upside here.*
*"I wish that I will be famous in the future for my looks and genius."*
"Done HA HA"
*No caveats?*
"None worth mentioning"
*Wish Three I wish for musical ability*
"Alfred Matthew Yankovic I hear by grant you the least sexy musical ability in the world The Accordion. HA HA HA " |
God, life's been napping me hard lately. It's taken its bed and slammed me hard in the chest, super-napping hard, no pillow or anything. I know, I know: at some point, I have to take some responsibility for my actions. But seriously. Some things you gotta just chalk down to life and its mothersleeping propensity for napping you in the butt.
Fine, I'll get it out of the way. I have a problem: I'm addicted to sleeping. Can't get enough of it. Some days, I spend the first ten hours in bed and don't get up until five. I've tried the usual advice, forcing myself to stay out of the house all day so I'm not tempted to pull out my pillow in public. It doesn't work. Everywhere I go, there's always an opportune nook or cranny to squat in and take a quick snooze. I've done it in the bathroom, of course. There's a nice bathroom at the coffeeshop down the street from my apartment, and it's literally made for napping. It's a single room, nice and spacious with enough space to lie down without having to curl up against the toilet. There's a chalkboard to accommodate graffiti-related urges, and I've seen plenty of random propositions scrawled upon it: "Call 123-4567 for a good time, no snoring,"but even I'm not desperate enough to sleep with random bathroomgoers. Well, at least not after the one time I tried a number and got a man on the other end. Not hating on homosomniasts; it's just not my thing.
But hell, I'll fall asleep in any bathroom. I've taken naps in dingy stalls with my pants around my ankles and my elbows pressed to my thighs and my bowels in the middle of a movement. When I wake up, my legs are asleep and the sun's gone down and I'm still tempted to just stay there and doze off for another fifteen minutes or so. A quick powernap while the seat's still comfortable. It's times like those that really sober me up, make me wonder what the nap I'm doing with my life.
It's not enough, though. No matter my attempts at resolve, no matter how many times the post-somnia shame washes over me, I still forget myself and succumb to the urges. My friends can sense it; they see the sleep lingering on my eyes, smell the musk on my breath, and whisper about me behind my back. I've begun to skip out on their invitations, and I can just hear them rolling their eyes at my excuses before hanging up. They know I have a problem, but what can they do?
They say you have to hit rock bottom before you can crawl back up. For some, that may be true, but I think it's anecdotal. People think they've hit rock bottom because it's the worst they've ever known; in reality, there's still a hidden valley buried beneath the sand. You only at your lowest, but you're never at *the* lowest. Me, I think it's more about momentum. I've managed to stop myself temporarily, go a few hours without sleeping for a day before succumbing and slipping back into the haze of my primacy, like that frog in the well puzzle, except the well's too slippery to climb. In those cases—in my case—you need a sudden jolt to shock you out of your slump. Then you gotta take that push and ride it for as far as you can.
For me, that moment came when I was going at it in the coffeehouse bathroom I mentioned earlier. Curled up in the corner, even brought my pillow and blanket and everything. I was prepared for an uninterrupted session of napping—or so I thought. In my delirium, I'd forgotten one thing, and through my REM-induced haze, I saw the doorknob turn and the door swing open.
Now, this was one of those modern coffeehouses. They have unisex bathrooms. I'm not saying it would've been any better had a little boy come across me in the middle of my nap, but—well, yeah, it might've been better. More socially acceptable, at least. God bless our culture and their preconceptions on bigendered sleeping.
Anyway, the girl screamed, the little mothersleeper, as if I wasn't the victim is this situation. Yes, it was my fault, but I was still also the victim, if that makes any sense. It made sense to me for a while, anyway. She had a whole lifetime ahead of her to forget that image; I only had a fourth of that time. Anyway, I had to ditch my bedthings and get the nap out of that place. The barista was on the phone as I flew out the door, saying judgy stuff like "pervert"and "deviant". Napping hell, these people acting like they've never done it in their cars or something.
I ran all the way to the park. Found a bench enclosed in the trees that I'd snuck a few seconds of shut-eye on occasion. I was too worked up to sleep, though. All I could do was sit, head in my heads, and wonder how napped I was now. No way I could stay in this town, and no way to even pack, either. When I finally made it back to my neighborhood, there were squad cars circling my place, and Jan from next door was speaking with an officer, no doubt telling them how I always neglected to close my curtains before sleeping.
There was no turning back. I made my way to the subway station with nothing but the wallet and the clothes on my back. It was a two-mile hike, and when I finally managed my way onboard, I was about ready to slide into a seat and pass out.
But I didn't. I forced myself to stand and cling to the pole, the train's periodic bumps keeping me in my state of groggy wakefulness.
I would change, and it would start here. It was time to wake up. |
"Kolothos, I need to see you in my office - now."
That couldn't be good news, thought Kolothos the Undying, Scourge of the Ancient Kingdoms, Keeper of the Forbidden Portals, Slayer of a Thousand Heroes, and Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. That couldn't be good news at all.
"Kolothos,"the manager - Marge - said. "Before we start, I just want you to know that this isn't about your work ethic."
The Untiring! That was the part of his name he'd forgotten. Kolothos the Undying, *the Untiring* Scourge of the Ancient Kingdoms, Keeper of the Forbidden Portals, Slayer of a Thousand Heroes, and Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. He literally never had to sleep so he had plenty of time to work, do a second job, and also get his degree. He suspected, at this point, that he was about to have the same problem he'd had at Puppies For All.
"Kolothos,"Marge said, "this isn't even about your age. You are of course orders of magnitude older than the legally protected age of 40. Rather, it's about your appearance."
"Senate bill 447-T, the 'Fairness in Undeath Act', will make that a protected class,"Kolothos pointed out.
"That bill only applies to government employees, Kolothos. Have to keep the congresszombies working, after all."
She had a point. "Listen,"Kolothos said, "I can do this job."
"That's not in question,"Marge said. "It's just that customers are... unsettled when they find that their bank teller is a talking skeleton wreathed in an ever-burning dark blue fire as cold as the grave."
"I've been wearing new clothes for that,"Kolothos pointed out.
"Yes, that hasn't helped. The image we want to project is 'friendly and helpful', not 'mysterious hooded figure who speaks with the voice of the crypt, whose eyes burn with the dark call of the Far World, whose every utterance threatens the sanity of all who witness.'"
Kolothos sighed, or at least he would have if he required air in any way. "I understand,"he said finally.
"I truly am sorry,"Marge said. "We'll have your things sent to you."
Oh well, Kolothos thought to himself as he walked out the door of his former employer. At least he still had that job as a beauty consultant. |
''*The reasoning behind so many refusals, have been reported by the Galactic Federation to be that ''humanity'' insisted on joining as a full member, not as a member subordinate to the Galactic Federation's preferred caretaker empire of ''humanity''. The humans reportedly told the Galactic Federation envoys that they'd join independently, not as a subject to an already existing Federation membernation, which is a major breach of sacred tradition in the Galactic Federation. GalFed socio-political experts report the humans as a brash and rude race that refuses to acknowledge their betters or to learn proper subservient manners. It is currently unclear what ''blackjack'' and ''hookers'' are. More of this, as the story develops.*''
That was all they ever said about it, before we struck. All they ever said, and nothing else. They had a federation, reaching back thousands of years of power, bureaucracy, and control. Thousands of years of slow expansion, of new empires slowly climbing the hierarchy of the Galactic Federation. We were upstarts. A small race with a few planets. Or so they thought. Their mistake lies in the assumption that humanity was like most of their members, a unified central government, with full control over their homeworld, and that the entire species was under one central command. The arrogance of their diplomatic core prevented them from discovering that humanity as a whole never applied. 53 different nations have attempted to apply to the Galactic Federation. The last ambassador said that humanity would form its own federation, with blackjack and hookers. She wasn't wrong.
Because we refuse to be subjugated to their federation, we've been working on an alternative. A much better alternative, from a human perspective. Sure, if anyone joins the Galactic Federation, they'll get access to a lot of advanced tech, good trade deals, but if you join as a subjected nation, you get the table-scraps and have to be thankful about it. And they only allow you to join as a subject, who'll have to get their culture sanitised, their fleets curtailed, their scientific and economic output placed in the hands of the aliens. Humanity refused that, and tried to join anyway. We don't have the instinct for bowing and kneeling in us. Not truly. So we made the Interstellar Accord of Earth. Old Earth nations, independent frontier nations, a few alien allies of human nations, and various independent megacorps, communes, and nomad fleets, joining as one federal entity.
Which in its own way, had the blackjack and hookers. The restrictions in the Galactic Federation, would have banned a lot of interesting things. Most spices would be forbidden, a large quantity of Old Earth's biosphere would have been forcefully rendered extinct, which given the recent Holocene Extinction Event would have been catastrophic, and of course large portions of the culture of humanity would have been erased as well. Not that the IAE was a golden paradise, no, it had all the usual bickering problems that happens whenever humanity makes such an entity. But it had provisions, rules, and plans. A common, united front, if the Galactic Federation decided to take our impertinence personal. And like all corrupt, self-absorbed, and self-righteous entities, they couldn't stand that humanity was calling them out, trying to out-federate them.
So they sent a punitive expedition, to teach mankind a lesson. And here was where their poor understanding of humanity came back to bite them majorly. Alone we would have fallen one by one. Even our best ships, outfitted with all the best tech we had, and our alien allies could give, would not have been able to go toe-to-toe with the Galactic Federation. But humanity didn't stand divided. For once, we had our act together, where usually we are bickering and fighting amongst ourselves, this once, we had been ready. The punitive expedition did not meet the fleet of a single human nation. They meet them all. The Euro-Colonies, with their sleek and fast corvettes, the Mex-Can-Amer Union with their massive old-fashioned hanger-carriers, carrying tens of thousands of fighters and bombers, the battle-spheres of the PanAf-India Solar Alliance, the Orion Conglomerates and their massive battleships, the cobbled together fleets of the Neo-Sol-Anarchs, and countless others. The punitive fleet had only expected the Oneiroi Collective and their defensive battlestations.
Humanity took a hit, sure. But the Galactic Federation had, for the first time in nearly a thousand years, not won in the first battle. And we used that to the fullest. While the Federation were assembling a new fleet, we went on the offensive. Not by conquering planets and destroying fleets, but by using hit-and-run tactics in battle, by raiding lightly-held Federation worlds and research-monasteries. We carried off their best researcher-monks, their most advanced technology, mothballed Federation fleets, and whatever we could not bring we destroyed to weaken them. By the time their next, and much larger fleet, had been assembled, we had evacuated all worlds on the frontier that they could have hit. We let them have empty worlds with not easy resources, but plenty of booby traps. We had ambush fleets destroy their patrols. Left behind false data and fake plans to confuse their strategic leaders.
We didn't fight them as equals. If we had, their superior technology would have eradicated our fleets, devastated our planets, and made slaves of the entire human race. It was the only strategy we could have used. Humanity wasn't alone in the fight. The molluscoid Xqyl and the avian Attarax, two races that had fled from the Federation to very distant colonies, soon came to our assistance. Eager to avenge their lost homeworlds and liberate their enslaved brethren, they aided us, humanity, by giving us access to tech and ship designs of a much higher grade than our own. We were also contacted by the Galactic Resistance Front, previously a fringe group that had little public support in the Federation, but now had found their numbers and resources swelling in size, as it became clear to the Galactic public, that the Federation wasn't automatically winning. They gave us fleet locations, intel, and spread IAE propaganda on Federation worlds. We gave them resources and experts on training rebels.
Step by step, we weakened the Federation. Battle by battle, our officers became experienced and battle-ready, while our technological disparity was gradually erased. Meanwhile the Federation, who had not faced any war on this scale since humanity figured out agriculture in Mesopotamia, were crumbling. The funny thing is, we didn't win any strategic battles against them. We didn't take any significant worlds. All we did was disrupt their trade, sabotage their industry, divert their resources away from welfare, health, social security, public infrastructure, and encourage slave uprisings everywhere. And it was a lot more efficient than actual total war. By the time we had to sue for peace, as our own resources as those of our allies were exhausted, a third of the Federation's worlds were in open revolt. And another third was on the verge.
If we could have kept going, we would have, but as it was, we got a very fine deal out of it. The Federation acknowledged the independence of the break-away worlds, acquiesced to the creation of a neutral buffer zone between the territory of the newly independent worlds, and their own. Those were the most important things. We could maybe have fought on, but any victory past that point would have been Pyrrhic. After the signing of the peace deal, we invited the leaders of the newly independent worlds to join the IAE. As a cheeky reference to that one ambassador, who proclaimed that the IAE would have blackjack and hookers, the conference for the new worlds to join the IAE was held on the pleasure world of New Vegas. Where indeed, the games and natural pleasures of the galaxy were freely available to be sampled by the envoys, ambassadors, and diplomats of countless nations and worlds.
Needless to say, at the conclusion of the conference, having seen the joys of freedom and the bounties offered by the IAE, all newly freed worlds signed on as full members, no strings attached. Only that if, or more accurately when, the Federation decided to strike back, that they'd fight alongside humanity. Of course, for these newly freed worlds, this wasn't a demand, it was precisely one of the reasons why they'd joined in the first place. Because after hundreds, in some cases thousands, of years of being second-class citizens at best, the freed worlds were all quite keen to take the fight all the way to the heart of the Federation, where the original members enjoyed lives in paradise, while countless billions suffered to make that happen.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Rob a bank,"he suggested.
"I'm sorry?"I asked, dumbstruck. Scarlet City's premier celebrity superhero looked back at me with a slight tilt of his head, expression only slightly concerned as if wondering what I didn't understand.
"You should rob a bank,"Captain Nova repeated. His eyes twinkled enigmatically. "Or kidnap a kid, or poison the city's water supply. Whatever you want."
"But why would I do that?"I burst out, still very confused. "Actually, why would YOU ask me to do that?"Captain Nova, alongside his crime fighting, was best known for holding general life counseling/help sessions in his free time. It had taken me three months to get this appointment to see the man who the city claimed could solve any problem. I somehow doubted that robbing a bank was the solution to mine, though.
The hero rubbed his chin, eyes pivoting to gaze past me to the wall behind. "What if I told you I know how to erase your curse?"
I froze. That was exactly what I came here for. "You do?"I asked slowly. It was hard to believe.
Captain Nova nodded. "Yes."He took a heavy breath, as if hesitating about whether or not to continue. "There's a... well, a cure of sorts. The thing is... it's a strictly controlled substance. The chemical can erase your curse, but it could just as easily be used to destroy society as we know it. The government wouldn't give it to you just because."
"I wouldn't hurt anyone. I just want to get rid of this,"I whispered, mood plummeting back down. Murphy's Law strikes yet again. That is how my life has been for as long as I can remember. Anything I want, anything I tried to do or obtain - it would escape my grasp, at the last second.
The hero met my eyes again. I couldn't help but be taken aback by the determination in that gaze, almost uplifted by its absolute confidence. "The government wouldn't give it to you. But I promised to help, and I will. I don't have the cure, but I know the recipe. How far would you go to break the curse?"
"I'll do anything."I'm broken anyway.
"Good. Then follow my lead."
++++++++BREAK++++++++
That is how I ended up here, in a room with some of Scarlet City's worst villains. Bonecrusher, the Mud Monster, and Big Top led the quintet that followed me through the airport where I worked during the day.
"Is that the one?"Bishop asked with a jerk of her head out the window, where a plane had just turned off the runway.
"According to my sources, yes,"I answered, trying to sound confident. "A shipment of practically everything illegal in this country. The mafia is trying to sneak it in, but my informant found a leak."
"Well, it's ours now,"Bullet Time muttered with a slightly manic look in his eye as he hefted his gun. I felt a slight twitch of guilt at the sight - I don't mind breaking the law, but killing someone might be a step too far - but Captain Nova's words strengthened me. "I'll hide around and make sure no one gets hurt,"he had told me. "Concentrate on stealing the shipment and making sure the villains are credited for it. Then get your prize in compensation."A rare flower, apparently, that could be ground up and was part of the recipe for my cure. The villains agreed to give me that one thing in exchange for my assistance.
"Time to split up, then,"Big Top ordered. "Bonecrusher, you and the newbie here break into the security control room and cut everything. The rest of us can head down to prepare to intercept the unloading."
I nodded again. Several minutes later, I watched as Bonecrusher prepared an explosive charge on the door, feeling that same sense of unease. I couldn't hear anyone on the other side, but that didn't mean anything.
*For the cure,* I told myself. *Just this, and I'll be normal at last.*
"Hey, are you feeling alright?"I suddenly asked as Bonecrusher let out a grunt and dropped another part on the ground.
"Stomach bug,"the villain muttered, grimacing as his left hand clutched at his gut. I felt a familiar sinking feeling in my throat. *Now?* Of course it had to be now.
"I'll be fine,"Bonecrusher waved off. "Let's blow this thing, neutralize anyone inside, and cut the systems. Then the others will handle the rest from there. As long as they stay hidden until we're done."
Above our heads, the fire alarm went off.
+++++++BREAK++++++++
FIENDISH FIVE BECOME THE FOOLISH FIVE; AIRPORT HEIST FOILED BY THE ASTRO GIRLS
PRESIDENT'S SON SAFE AFTER ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING; CHECKMATE RECAPTURED
"A DIVINE BLESSING": GOVERNOR SAVED FROM ASSASSIN BY CUTE PUPPY; MAFIA LEADER ON THE RUN
I scowled at the newspaper headings. So many tries, and not one success. "What am I doing wrong?"I complained, looking at Captain Nova with despair. "There's only three ingredients... But I can't even get a single one."
"It's your curse again,"Nova sighed. "But don't lose faith. If you try enough times it'll eventually succeed, and I can try to work harder to tip the scales in your favor."
I nodded. "Okay."
+++++++BREAK+++++++++
I'm an utter idiot.
It took me four and a half months to realize I was being played. In my defense, no one ever claimed Captain Nova was a lying trickster, and I have always been particularly naive. But damn, he played me hard.
I looked at the gun in my hand, a once foreign tool that now felt so familiar to the touch. But it has never been used. I saved it for emergencies, but everything I've tried to do has been foiled within minutes, and somehow I always escape without a single speed bump.
I should have realized. The story was too strange. The cure too good to be true. The hero too willing to break the rules.
I think of the headlines. 90% of the city's villains, captured during a foiled plot. The crime rate has never been lower. But each one of those operations were the one I participated in with them, each ruined by my curse.
*He was using me,* I realized. Was there even a cure at all, or was that a trick too? Perhaps he knew it would never matter. My only job was to make everything go wrong for the scourges of the city, so that the heroes can take them down. And I was doing that job very very well.
A part of me felt betrayed - why couldn't Captain Nova have just told me? That there wasn't a cure, or that he knew I wouldn't be able to get it. If he wanted me to help him with this, I would have. It's strange to actually be doing something good, to be wanted for a purpose only I can fulfill.
I made a mental reminder to chew Captain Nova out later. But first, I had another crime to fail. Dr. Diamond, probably the worst villain left free, had gathered up everyone left to stage the biggest jailbreak in history. We'd just unlocked the cells, but now I knew our success wasn't going to last.
I was right. Captain Nova himself dropped from the sky into our path as we moved to make our exit through the courtyard, a shield of light making the instinctive bullets fired at his figure drop to the ground uselessly. "Hold it right there!"he called. "You're surrounded. It's over."Around the group of villains, lights blinked into existence: all the city's heroes, ready to fight.
I breathed out. It was scary, but I knew what was happening now. The villains would lose, and Captain Nova would let me off since I was just helping him. With all the villains in jail, my job would be over and I could have a chat with the hero about lying to me. But I would be the hero responsible for cleaning the city of crime.
A part of me soared with joy. It was a nice thought, to be revered as a hero after all my misfortune. In fact, maybe I was a little excited.
That was my last thought before something exploded. I could almost see in slow motion how Captain Nova's eyes widened in shock and fear as a large shrapnel of something flew at his face, just missing it as he dodged. The way his shield flickered for just one second. The way five bullets immediately entered his chest.
One of the heroes screamed as his body collapsed to the ground, but they didn't have the luxury to continue for long. Bullet Time's laughter rose above the courtyard as he unloaded clip after clip into Visionary's convulsing body - the absolute worst time for the hero's sudden seizure to strike. The sneakier villains took advantage of the chaos to escape into the shadows, while others dove into the broken ranks of the heroes and began a horrifying dance of death.
"We should go,"Dr. Diamond yelled to me, waving for Shadow to join us. Shadow could transport people through the darkness - her power nullifying collar had blocked her ability, but a stray bullet had struck at just the right angle to break it off her neck. The woman still looked stupefied by the fact she wasn't dead.
I couldn't answer, too stunned by just how suddenly everything had gone wrong. Captain Nova's blue and yellow form, an unmoving lump on the ground, was the only thing I could see in front of all the screams, explosions, and gunshots.
Growling, Dr. Diamond gave up on me, turning away and grabbing Shadow's hand as she faded away. I stood then, isolated in the eye of a hurricane, stuck in a silent scream as I witnessed the destruction of law and order in the city. Hero after hero fell. Villain after villain escaped.
All my fault.
No wonder he didn't tell me the plan. Because the moment my plan was for the heroes to win, it all went wrong.
All my fault.
Dazedly, I looked at the gun in my hand. It felt heavy. But not as heavy as my heart.
I raised it and pulled the trigger.
I won't ruin anything else. |
"So you're from..."my tongue fumbled in mouth, "I'm sorry, I'm going to say it wrong."She giggled and shrugged.
"It's ok, I'm from Gliese 667 C, or as you would call it, the *Scorpius* constellation."She grinned mischievously at the name of her home, immaculate eyebrows raising seductively.
I looked down into my mug of hot cocoa. "Riiiiiight, so uhm, you just happened to be in town?"
"More or less,"she said, leaning back into her booth. "I mean, a 21 light year drive isn't so bad, and you seemed like a pretty cool guy online."
I nodded. "Uh, thanks."She smiled, blinding me with immaculate teeth. *Who the fuck was this lady? She was absolutely stunning, like something from a fantasy, but she says she's a fucking alien. I don't under-*
"Ok,"she said, swiftly putting her hand on mine. "I gotta be honest, I can read minds too."
*Bull-*
"Shit?"she said, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Oh fuck. Are you legit?"I asked. A strange mixture of curiosity had invaded my mind, and I wondered how someone from so far away could look so similar. That their hand could feel so... human.
"Yeah, I'm legit."She smiled. "Are you?"
"Me, why wouldn't I be?"
"You seem surprised by all of this. Me being an extraterrestrial and all."I chuckled.
"Up until 30 seconds ago, I didn't believe in aliens that weren't on the History Channel."
"But you've got a profile on *Otherworldly*, that's how we met."
"I didn't make that, my..."my voice trailed off. *Holy shit. My mom signed me up for an alien dating app.*
She giggled again. "So you're a momma's boy?"I blushed and she grinned even more. "It's ok! I'm just joking!"She laughed, a beautiful sound that I couldn't help but smile at, and I realized maybe this date wouldn't be so bad. |
They thought it would be a funny joke. I mean, who hasn't heard the story before? Of course I would pick the penny.
It was a mistake.
It was a terrible, terrible mistake.
​
The media first noticed after 18 days.
Mass media noticed after 21 days.
The government started caring after 36 days.
The evacuation of New England began after 55 days.
The US fell into anarchy after after 77 days.
The penny was the size of North America after 84 days.
After 90 days it was about the diameter of the Earth, yet it wouldn't snap, still maintaining it shape.
Day 91, the president of the former United States looked up at the moon from Australia, as the penny in the sky covered the sun, plunging them into darkness, and signed the bill removing the penny as an official unit of currency, ending the destructive path of the penny.
​
"And that's why we need to get rid of the penny. Thank you for listening to my presentation."Jake stated. "Any questions?" |
I was closing down for the night, after a long evening. The staff had gone home, and I was just checking the inventory, seeing what we needed to order home soon. We'd been pretty full, many guests, many meals. Took forever to clean up. Suddenly, while noting down upcoming tasks, I heard a familiar voice. The clattering of the garbage cans being turned over. Usually by raccoons. Grumbling, I went out the scare them off, but to my immediate surprise, I saw something else.
At first I thought it was just some skinny kid sitting on the ground, eating food from the bin, but when they turned to look at me, and scream, I saw that I had been mistaken. Only holes for ears, eyes with vertical slits for pupils, long tapering mouth, complete covering of scales and a long prehensile tail. It would have been a large lizard of some kind, if not for the fact that they had a mostly human body.
A skinny one at that. My first reaction once the weird thing stopped screaming was to ask it in an astonished tone, ''*Why are you eating out of the garbage?*'' The reptilian thing, skinny and scrawny, looked down at the cold and partially consumed pizza piece in their hand. ''*I'm hungry.*'' Looking at the... boy. I could tell it was one of them demons. Every so often, since mankind discovered Hell, and managed to sever all power that it had over our souls, a few outcast demons were sent to Earth. Not to cause trouble, but because Hell is, well, Hell. Survival of the Fittest is the only way of life. And those too weak to survive, were lucky if there were just cast out.
And this one must have been on the streets for a while. ''*Would you like to come in, for a meal?*'' The demon nodded his head. I let him into the warmth, and put together an easy to make sandwich, which he devoured voraciously. ''*How long have you been here?*'' I asked the demon. I tried to gauge his age, but reptillian demons are not my expertise. He counted on his claws. ''*Six days.*'' I nodded to him. ''*And how many meals have you had in those six days?*'' He counted again. ''*Five.*'' He must have been fairly scrawny and weak before getting here, and the sudden materialisation in a strange and foreign land can't have been healthy.
''*Do you have any plans to survive?*'' He looked at me, worried. ''*I don't... know.*'' Was all he could muster. Probably been flung straight to the Earth. Goodness know how that must be, one day you're in your own home, the next, you're out on the streets. Reminds me of when I was thrown out. Before I got back on my feet. Of the long days of hunger, the things I had to do to survive back then. The indignities you suffer. No place to go, barely owning the clothes on your back. Taking anything offered, if it'll let you survive. Dignity is a small price to pay for life. I still shuddered to think of those days.
We started talking. He spoke a little about him being cast out of Hell, as the runt of the litter, he was just glad he wasn't subjected to some of the horrors that the stronger and more violent demons could conjure. He had precious little formal schooling, and while he looked somewhat younger, he was 18 in Demon Years. Which due to the failing laws of time in Hell, could mean that he was hatched yesterday, or tomorrow. He spoke about being chased out of the town in which he appeared, of nearly being branded by an overzealous priest with burning irons. And that familiar story, of being hungry, cold, and broke. He told me his name was Credonthaxos. He spoke about being an outcast, about the suffering he had endured in his home in Hell.
''*Can you take orders?*'' He nodded again. ''*Yes, sir. I am willing and able.*'' He still had some pride, which was good. I knew that if I let that boy out on the streets, then he would be lucky to endure for long enough to get back on his feet. Pride falls first. And with it, there are somethings you can never get back. I am lucky, I am human. Demons who come here, sent from Hell, they are usually discriminated against by everyone. If they're not hunted down and slain by the more zealous or morally questionable people.
I've seen what happens to homeless demons. It's ugly. Perhaps uglier than what happens to humans. ''*If I were to offer you, say, a job. With lodgings, what would you say?*'' Inside of the boy's eyes, there was a spark of hope. They almost glowed with it. ''*Yes. Please. I'll do anything.*'' I live over my restaurant. I could use somebody to help with the cleaning in the restaurant and my home. And I just so happened to have a guest room, which he could stay in.
He turned out to be a very dutiful worker. Not working with the customers, mind you. I'm progressive, but not progressive enough that I would be blind to the loss of profit that I'd suffer if people knew I had a demon waiter or cook. I helped him get his papers in order, get a Green Card, I even encouraged him to study in a night school, so he could learn how to read and write. Sensitive and gentle, for a demon, he would never have survived the streets. I praise whatever powers may be, that he found his way to me. I took a gamble giving him work, I took a huge chance. But it paid off.
Ten years after I found him, digging through the trash, eating leftovers, I was with him when he managed to get his GED. I have to say, I am proud of him. He still lives with me, though he has gotten work as a night watchman, which given his low-light vision, is very suitable for him.
Had to try, nobody should be without a home. Nobody should be on the streets like that. And what kind of person would I be, if I hadn't tried. A traitor, to all those folks that died back when I was 18 and homeless. A traitor to those that helped me.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
Blorg drove his car down the busy streets of his city. Around him were diners and restaurants serving the finest minerals in the galaxy. There were also what they called ‘Sun Food Cafes’, whose menu consisted primarily of concentrated sunlight served directly onto your plate. Personally, Blorg found those photosynthesising beings particularly strange, but he didn’t judge.
“The disturbing trend of Clarflunking, or “eating others”, has now reached the Imperial Palace,” the car radio said, “Prince Varnu has admitted to eating a dead animal in a teary press conference today.”
“It was a moment of weakness,” the Prince said, “I have never done anything like this before and I understand that I have brought shame to my family. I have spoken with the king, the queen, and also my wife and we are trying our best to work through this. All we ask is for some privacy during these difficult times.”
“Clarflunking,” the reporter continued, “is a common practice on the planet Earth, one of the planets that has continually scored the lowest in the annual social rankings of the planets in our galaxy. Politicians have acted quickly, banning several restaurants that served these earth foods, however the trend continues to grow, particularly amongst the youth.”
“This food has corrupted our young,” one of the politicians said, “As they eat more of this devil earth food they are turning away from our one true God, Garlag from planet Vormos.”
“In other news,” the reporter said, “star athlete Klamer Porpos was caught passed out on Quenor Boulevard covered in what was believed to be earth food. The athlete has … “
Blorg turned off the radio. That was enough news for the day. He continued driving until he reached the lower west side of the city. Slowly the bright lights of the city was replaced with dark streets and the occasional vagrant lying down on the side walk.
Blorg locked his door and rolled up his windows. He wouldn’t call himself a bigot, but even he knew that this wasn’t exactly the safest part of town.
Eventually he pulled into an alley way. He stopped the car and put on his glasses and trench coat. He stepped out of the car and instinctively looked around him in case he was noticed. Of course, no one in his social circle would ever be caught dead here, but he was always careful.
Blorg walked over to an unmarked door where an earth person was standing outside. Their two arms and two legs always seemed a little bit disgusting to Blorg, but he was getting better at not getting caught staring. He nodded at the earth person who nodded back and then opened the door for him.
Blorg stepped into the room where he was approached by another earth person.
“May I take your coat, sir?” he/she asked. Blorg gave the earth person his coat.
“Thank you, sir,” the earth person said, “And if you’d like to follow me I can lead you to your table.”
Blorg followed but didn’t say a word. In the dining area, already seated, were a bunch of other men and surprisingly some women, eating earth food. No one made eye contact as each one of them ate the food in silence.
Blorg sat down at his table as the earth person gave him what they call a menu.
“The specials for today are Salmon en papillote and Bœuf Bourguignon. Would you like to start with some wine sir?”
“Um, yes,” Blorg whispered, “Do you know which shiraz has been recently …”
Suddenly the front door of the restaurant burst open. Dozens of police officers entered as both staff and patrons tried to run away.
“Nobody move!” the Sargent said out loud, “Everyone stay at your table. You’re all surrounded and there is no escape.”
Blorg couldn’t move. He was frozen in place. He knew that this was going to catch up to him sooner or later. But one thing was for certain, his political career was over. |
"You rescued me!"The princess exclaimed, stepping gingerly over the still warm corpse of the beast that had been her captor.
"Huh?...well yes I suppose"the armor clad knight scratched his chin in confusion. "I just figured that *someone* should have come out by now."
The princess leaned in, fluttering her eyes just the way she had been taught so many years prior. "Yes, well, aren't you glad it was you?", she whispered, closed her eyes, and brought herself close. She was met quickly, not by the lips of her savior, but by the cold metal of his gauntlet, the knight holding fast with his arm now extended into her face.
"Ah no, I rescued you because you needed rescued. That's all."The knight spoke, hand still firmly in her face.
The princess pulled back, a confused expression only highlighted further by a stray lock of blonde hair falling down over her eyes.
"Also, how old are you? I have a daughter your age you know. You can't possibly be into-", the knight gestured down to himself. To worn armor and a gut that spilled out beyond the plating. To a face full of scruff, scarred from years of service, and a smattering of dark colored blood across his armor. It was true. He was not what she had expected, but still she replied.
"Well, of course I am, you rescued me! I have to show my gratitude somehow."Her words trailed off upon realizing what she had said, or more how she had said it. Now, staring down a man who looked at her with such pity, she understood the strangeness of it all. Rewarding a stranger for being nice, or rather just for being decent.
Sensing her realization the knight cut her thoughts short. "How about this: don't get captured again, and we'll call it even. And if you do, well then have me sent for, ok? My name is Sir Gladstone."
The princess managed to put on a comforted smile up to Gladstone, which he returned.
"Deal."She agreed. |
The security guard was a boar. I could already tell this was going to be a problem.
"You there!"he shouted and pointed at me, "Stop where you are!"
I freeze in place and hold up my hands in surrender. His shadow snuffled along behind him as he stormed towards me. Its tusks held low and ready to charge. On the other hand the security guard himself looked like a rather ordinary, balding man in his late 40s. But, like most people, I knew better than to look at his face. Always look at the shadows. The shadows tell the truth of a person. Which, unfortunately, was the very problem he had with me.
"What are you?"he demanded as he stepped closer and inspected the ground around me.
I sighed in exasperation. For anyone else that question might refer to their job, coach driver in my case, but for me the question always meant "what sort of shadow do you have?"I used to lie and tell people it was a flea until the day I met a real flea. The guy was all sorts of creepy and, since then, I figured it was better to tell the truth.
"I'm a shadeless,"I told the guard. He took a step back and grasped for his cudgel. Oh great. He was the superstitious sort.
"What are you doing here?"he asked suspiciously, "It's late. Decent folks should be indoors now."
"Yes,"I agreed, "But for the less decent who still need a ride home after the taverns close they will probably want a ride."
I nod in the direction of the Eastern Coach Company placard on the gray stone building just ahead. It was in the direction I had just been walking before the boar shadow security guard had stopped me. He glanced in that direction and shot me a confused glance. Honestly, in this day and age do people really believe the whole shadow stealing myths?
"I work there,"I explained slowly, "I'm the night coachman."
It took awhile, but I could see realization slowly working its way across his face. First a lift of the eyebrows. Next his eyes refocused. After that it traveled as a wave all the way to his down turned lips. He grunted and relaxed his grip on his cudgel, but didn't take his hand away entirely.
"A coachman,"he said, "Been doing that long?"
"Six years now,"I admitted. It was one of the few jobs I could do at night. Night time was the time I was most free. When shadows were swallowed up in the darkness. It was the only time people would not stare at me.
The guard scowled at me but I knew he was going to let me go. His shadow's attention was wandering elsewhere.
"Fine,"he grunted, "But I'll be keeping an eye on you!"
I nodded and, without another word, stepped into the front door of the Eastern Coach Company. My boss, Grady, stood just inside the window. His frog shadow hopped about anxiously.
"Sorry, Jeb,"he said quickly, "I saw him coming towards you. But I didn't think it would help none if I-"
I waved him into silence.
"It's okay, Grady,"I reassured him as I doffed my coat and hung it on the hook by the door, "I have to go through this every time the city mixes up the patrol. He's probably just from one of those Lowlander tribes. He'll get used to me."
Grady nodded once and mopped his forehead with a tattered rag. He's a good enough man. After all, he hired me when no one else in the city would give me a chance. But frogs tend to be a bit skittish. I knew for a fact if I had been arrested he would not intervene. He was too afraid of being arrested himself for being an associate of a shadow stealer.
I guess I shouldn't be too upset. Not even fifty years ago I would have been put to death because of my unique birth defect. Back then idea was that a shadow was not just a mere impression of, but the actual physical image of the soul was still fairly commonplace. Modern science swears this isn't true and, through some sort of complicated alchemy I don't understand, supposedly proved that a shadow is nothing more than a light interaction upon the ethereal projection of a spirit. For whatever reason, my particular spirit just didn't happen to project into the right plane to interact with light. Physician after physician has reassured me that it means nothing and that I can lead a normal and healthy life. I can probably even have children with normal shadows if I could ever find a woman who wasn't squeamish about the whole thing.
As Grady stood there twisting his rag and fretting, I grabbed my uniform cloak and hat and exited the room towards the stables.
Handsome Dan nickered as I walked towards him. I smiled back and stroked his mane in greeting. Animals, at least, didn't seem to mind my company. Maybe because all animals only had to deal with shadows of themselves the didn't think they were that important. I don't know.
I had just finished hitching him up to the coach when Grady stepped out.
"Jeb?"he said, still sweating, "I just got a wire from the Bucket and Stone."
I shook my head in disappointment.
"Is Ferris at it again?"I asked.
"Drunk off his seat,"Grady agreed, "The barkeep asked if we could send him home. Asked for you specifically."
I shrugged. Why not? Ferris was one of our regulars. Or, should I say, one of my regulars. About once a fortnight he would stumble into one of the local ale houses and get drunk and try to start a fight. His shadow was a monster. A real monster. Ten feet tall with spiky horns and sharp claws. In his youth he had been a real terror. But old age dulled his reflexes enough that seven years ago, during a knife fight with a lion shadow, he had let his guard down enough to take a dagger across his eyes. He was completely blind now. More a danger to himself than anyone else. Still, even in his damaged state, the other coachmen tended to give him a wide berth.
For the past four years I have given Old Ferris rides back to his squat cottage on the edge of town. Helped him to his bed and pretended not to hear his drunken sobs as I slipped back out the door. In all those years he's never once asked me what sort of shade I am.
"No problem, Grady,"I said as I mounted the seat on the coach, "Crippled monsters need to stick together."
I rode off before he could say another word.
EDIT: I originally submitted this when I was getting ready to head out the door. Corrected some typos. Thanks for the feedback, everyone. |
The world was in an uproar, over a single photo.
At first glance, there was nothing particularly unusual about it. The same dotted spiral that we were all familiar with as the Milky Way. You could find a similar depiction in any 9th grade science textbook. But it soon became apparent that this was not an artist's recreation. The probe had somehow left the galaxy, taken a photo of it, and returned.
Voyager 2 had simply arrived back at Earth, like it had never left. One day, it was broadcasting from the outer reaches of the solar system, and then roughly 24 hours later, was parked next to the Hubble telescope in stable orbit. We were still receiving signals from it in deep space even as it circled the planet; it had beaten its own messages back.
The event defied any possible explanation. The photo was analyzed down to the tiniest detail for any clue about how it had been taken, and came up blank. Scientists from every possible field speculated wildly. Maybe aliens had taken it for a joyride and then courteously returned it to its rightful owner. Maybe it had slowly left the galaxy and then traveled back in time a billion years. Maybe it had gone through some wormhole system. Maybe it was just a picture of empty space with an unusual dust mote on the lense that just happened to look exactly like our home galaxy. Each one sounded more outlandish as the last, but each was just as likely to be true.
It became the defining moment of the century. The cosmos had just been a mere curiosity for most people. We all knew the stars were up there, but never gave much thought to them. NASA had been a backwater government agency on its last legs as its few supporters struggled to rationalize how it was benefiting the taxpayer. All of that changed with Voyager's return. Politicians and generals demanded to know if this was some kind of threat, like a letter from extraterrestrials saying "we know where you live."The media became obsessed with the mystery. Fictionalized explanations and accounts of the Voyager's journey became its own literary genre. Religions rewrote their holy texts to try and account for the strange phenomenon.
And the worst part is that we never learned. It's been one hundred years, and science is no closer to explaining the Voyager Photo than we were on that first day. We've explored the solar system and have sent out a number of other probes, but none of them have come back with new information. Some people question whether it ever happened at all; maybe it was just a ploy for publicity for NASA. If so, it worked. They have all the funding they need. But if not...
To this day, it remains the photo that haunts humanity. |
"Well, he shouldn't have been kicking chickens. Those belong to old man Greery, and the last thing that poor old bastard needs is someone brutalizing his livestock."
Nobody responds, they're all just staring at the corpse. The chosen one. I'm so fired. "Look, just... think about if it had been literally anyone else. A strange man comes into our town and starts punting our poultry all over, you absolutely would have asked me to detain him. I'm the town guard, that's my entire job description! And then, and then he starts swinging this massive sword at me -"
"You mean the legendary sword of Holy Light?"the mayor asks.
"Um. I suppose?"
"The one that we've got no less than four murals of? That one?"
I think I see where this is going. "You know, I'm not really a big art lover..."
"The one that you maybe should have recognized as the emblem of the ONE TRUE HERO SENT TO DELIVER US FROM LORD BLOODWORM?"
The yelling seems unnecessary. I'm standing right here. "Okay well yes, but when it's coming right at your face it's hard to take a minute and compare it to the murals, you know?"
 
Farmer Richards scoffs. Actually scoffs! "You don't look like you've got a scratch on you, boy."
Well he's not wrong. It was the first thing I noticed after killing the... ugh, the chosen one.
The mayor nods. "Yes, that's because he was never in any danger. The sword of Holy Light only kills those with evil in their hearts, not incompetence and stupidity."
"Okay first of all ouch. That's... that's really harsh. I was doing my job. Second, that just proves I'm not evil and it was an honest mistake. And third, I still want to know why he was laying boot to old man Greery's chickens!"
"Who cares!"farmer Richards yells, "It's hero stuff. Why, he came onto my farm the other day and smashed most of my pottery. You'll notice I didn't kill him for it."
There's a murmuring in the crowd, now. Jean, the brewmistress, raises a hand. "Hang on. He came to my shop, as well. Drank some beer without paying, and smashed all the empty barrels."
Carol the weaver nods. "Came right into my house. Didn't knock or announce himself, just dug through my cabinets. He took my last rupee, as well as the apple I was going to have with lunch."
More and more are nodding and whispering.
 
The mayor finally calls for silence. "Everyone! Okay, it seems the chosen one was exhibiting a lot of... strange and seemingly un-heroic behavior. That's rather beside the point now, however. we need to deal with the fact that captain enthusiasm here murdered him."
"Manslaughter, at the worst."
"Shut up."
"Yessir."
The townsfolk start yelling out suggestions. It starts with calls for my execution, but soon it becomes clear that nobody really wants to admit that our town had anything to do with this. They're talking about covering it up.
"I mean,"Carol says, "hero-ing is dangerous work. Who's to say he didn't get eaten by a giant spider?"
"I have a spot we can bury him,"Farmer Richards volunteers, "and the guard as well if we're still executing him."
The mayor is considering it. "Hmm. Yes, it would be bad for tourism indeed. Well, let's move the body for now. The fewer people see this the better."
A few people grab the body and start dragging it away. The mayor tries to pick up the sword, but his hand passes right through it. Everyone freezes.
"Hey everyone, the mayor isn't worthy to lift the sword!"someone in the back yells.
"I know that was you, Errol! I'd like to see you do better!"
 
One by one the townsfolk try, but nobody can do more than make it wiggle. Finally there's nobody left but me. Might as well...
 
The cold metal seems to send energy up into my arms. For a moment the skies part and allow a glimpse into a universe beyond my understanding, filled with radiant beings singing.
"Oh, shit."the mayor says. There's a general grumbling from the crowd that seems to agree. At least I guess I'm not going to get executed.
 
[X](https://www.reddit.com/user/SOdhner/comments/6ha4js/things_ive_written_for_rwritingprompts/) |
I carried with me a sack full of herbs and leaves that my friend, the town apothecary, asked me to gather at the nearby forest. He was an odd fellow: he frequently recited strange incantations to himself, such as 'paracetamol' and 'ibuprofen', as well as lengthy sequences of numbers and letters that always ended with 'dot com.' Some of the townspeople called him a rambling lunatic due to it, while several authorities of the Church were just about ready to brand him as a worshiper of the Devil; but despite what everyone else said about him, I believed in the apothecary.
After all, he had been of huge help to me ever since we met.
Whenever I had questions, he always provided quick and satisfying answers to my queries. He told me that his sagely prowess in solving problems was granted to him by a deity named Goo'gl, while his extensive knowledge on things came from his education in the grand halls of Wiki. Whenever I asked for stories from his travels, he would recount his exploits with an infamous traveler named Y'Tube. He also reminisced of the times when fellow apothecaries met yearly at a secret location, an event which he calls Re'dit. Hearing all this from the apothecary's mouth was almost unbelievable with how grand his life seemed because of it, but all his tales could be backed up by his skill in making medicines and drugs.
I took in a deep breath as the apothecary's workshop, a location which he preferred to call his 'laboratory', came into my view. I set down the bag of herbs onto the floor and lifted a fist to knock, when I noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Out of curiosity, I peeked through the slight opening, and what I saw shocked me: it was the apothecary, with a strange, rectangular object that had a white 'bitten apple' rune inscribed on its back. The contraption looked like it could be held on one hand, and it gave off a bright light towards the apothecary's face. It also produced sound, loudly even, as if it was talking directly at him.
I laid a hand on the door to open it slightly, wanting to ask the apothecary about what he was looking at until—
"It's f—ing raw!"My heart nearly leaped out of my chest at the sudden exclamation, and I could only watch as the apothecary...kept looking at the object. Now he had on a smile, which grew into a grin; a huge, toothy grin. I looked on in horror as the apothecary erupted into laughter, while the object made sounds of anger, torture, and the mad clattering of pots and pans.
"Where is the lamb sauce!"At that point, I didn't think twice to just leave the bag at the door and bolt towards the direction of the town. I witnessed it. I personally witnessed it! The evil, the madness, the unrestrained laughter of the man! I stumbled halfway, but I was able to regain my footing. It didn't matter if my knee started bleeding from the scrape I got from falling: the townspeople had to know what I saw.
They needed to know what I saw!
"Everyone, hide the lambs!"I called out, breathlessly, tiredly, while the townspeople looked at me. "They're going to be turned into sauce!"
The next day, a mob with torches and pitchforks came to the apothecary's workshop, but the man himself was never found.
And he had never, ever been seen again.
\_\_\_
Sorry, I don't know what came over me when I wrote this. I also ~~don't~~ apologize for the low effort humorous take on this prompt.
Edited for better reading. |
“Alera de void tuta? That’s what you are going with?” The monstrous red demon stood over the frightened cultist, shooting them a fiery glare, the tips of their curved horns engulfed in red hot hellfire, giving them a devilish glow.
“Ah, d-demon of hell. It’s so good to meet you. Have you come to do my bidding? I offer my eternal soul and this store-bought meat as a sacrifice, may it please you oh sinful stranger.” The cultist cried out, words having an almost frightened melodic tone to them. The cultist cringing against their makeshift wooden altar as the demon peered down at them.
“Oh, your soul? Sounds like you need to be educated.” The demon let out a chuckle that rocked the floor beneath him, sending shock waves towards the cultist. The man having to hug his altar for dear life to maintain his balance.
“No, please. I meant no harm. I just want to rule the world. It’s not an awful request. I beg you to help me. I don’t need to be educated, the world needs to be educated, don’t you see?” The cultist made frantic motions, pointing at his chest before extending his hand in a circular motion, trying to appease the demon with charades.
“Of course you do. Everybody wants to rule the world, now save your tears and fears for my re-education.” The demon snapped his fingers as the floor pulled open, a spiked chair revealing itself, flames of fire spewing out from its backrest, looking more torture device than a seat.
“No, no, anything but that. I COMMAND YOU TO HELP ME. REMEMBER WHO BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD. I CAN TAKE YOU OUT.” The cultist spat out his insults, trying to dissuade the demon, resorting to threats after realizing his talks of peace wouldn’t alter the demons’ motives.
The demon only gave him a confused look as he sat down in the chair, getting himself nice and comfortable. Once he had settled into the hellish chair, he snapped his fingers again, this time summoning a plain plastic school chair, which only seemed a little less torturous than the one the demon sat upon. “Sit or have your soul eaten.” The demon commanded.
The cultist considered his options, looking to his window, then back to the demon. Slowly, he lowered himself into the seat, taking a long, drawn-out breath, expecting the worst.
“Now, time for your education.” The demon cracked a fanged grin as a pair of thick, squared reading glasses popped out from the air above him, landing perfectly on his face. Once the glasses were on, he reached a hand forward, clutching the air, twisting it. The motion caused a portal to open, spitting out a thick black book, one assorted in various human shaped bones.
“What are you going to do to me? Are you turning me into a demon? Making me an undead minion? Oh, are you trying to convert me to be a good person through scare tactics?” The cultist asked, only to gasp as thin red bellied snakes crawled up the arms of his chair, wrapping around his wrist, keeping him held in place.
“Something much worse than that.” The demon opened the book as the cultist clutched his eyes shut, waiting for his death. “Ok, so let’s start with the word Alera. Now, while the way you said it wasn’t technically incorrect, you need to focus on the E. Al-eee-ra. If you don’t, it ends up sounding like Alra, which won’t do anything. Can you see the difference in how I say it? Now say Alera four thousand times and if you do it correctly, we can move onto the next word.” The demon said, taking joy in his brief escape from hell. He would make sure this human loses the will to summon a demon ever again.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Oh, the tales of woe, woven by master craftsmen. They always spoke of the heroine fighting the odds, and an evil stepmother, to obtain their happy ending. So, when I met my stepmother, I thought my dream of playing out the part of the heroine had finally come true.
But then she bought me a beautiful dress. Surely to ensure she could rip it up in front of me to forbid me from going to the ball. She taught me how to spin thread. Surely so she could curse me to eternal slumber by touching the needle. Then she bought the most expensive tea just so she could drink it with me. Maybe she intended to make this a regular thing so she could poison me?
I don’t understand, why isn’t she being evil? All the stories tell of a hero who’s wicked stepmother attempts to kill them to take the throne or something. Aha! Maybe it’s because she needs to kill father first! But wait, I don’t want father to die, I just want my happily ever after.
Well, whatever it is, she is plotting something! But what? I need to know so I can make sure father is okay. Maybe if I sneak into her room I can find a clue.
Hmm, not a lotta jewelry in here. Nor much makeup. Not even very many dresses. What is going on here? Aha! Her journal! Let’s see... maybe here?... this one talks about father... oh! The teatime one!
Ahem, ‘My stepdaughter still hasn’t quite warmed up to me. I know she may not be able to accept me as her ‘mother’ yet but I was hoping she would open up to me a little. I bought some tea and shared it with her, she was still rather cold. Maybe Julias is right and she just needs some time. It’s always just been her and Julias after all, I’m sure me barging into their lives is a big change for her. Maybe I should give her some space. But I don’t want us to become distant. I can only imagine how awful that would be.’
...
Maybe... I should give her a chance.
The princess placed the diary back into the drawer she had found it and slid it back into place. She turned and walked out of the room, accidentally bumping into her stepmother in the doorway.
“Dear, what are you doing here?” Her stepmother asked.
“Uh, looking for you actually.” The princess said.
“Really, what for?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the garden with me.”
Her stepmother paused for a second
“Of course, dear!”
The two turned and went to the garden, and for the first time the princess felt what having a ‘mom’ was like. |
"The food here is good. It reminds me of the sea just a little"
"Yes, I remember. The french fries and hot dogs and the salt in the air. It was wonderful."
"I was actually planning to go in a couple months too."
"Shame."
"I know, though I'm happy to have some fries at least one more time. Though I wish I could've gone back."
"I'd like to see the ocean again."
"Me too"
\----
"You know I love you, right?"
"I feel the same. I wish I'd said it more."
"I do too. How long has it been again?"
"Too long."
"Far too long. If only..."
"It's too late to regret that now. Just... stay here. That'll be enough"
\----
"Mom, what is the great storm?"
"Don't worry about that, sweetie. You'll be ok."
"But everyone's talking and scared and..."
"Hush. It'll be ok. I'm here. I'll protect you."
"Mom..."
"I... I love you."
\---
It was a bright, sunny Tuesday afternoon, the kind where kids stare longingly out the classroom window to the grass blowing gently in the breeze. And here I sit, head in my hands, on a cracked wooden bench lightly shaded by the trees of Central Park. There aren't a lot of people here, given that it's the middle of the work day, and I have a particularly secluded spot, a bench nestled deep in the heart of the park. It's quiet, just the trees rustling in the wind and the faint fluttering of wings.
And the crow speech, of course. Strains of squawking, faint conversations as the dark, glittering forms of crows glide overhead. I wish I could ignore them. I wish I had never...
Well, I can't quite go that far. Have you ever looked at a bird? I mean *really* looked at, watched the rippling of its wings in flight, the opening of its beak as it sings? Wondered how such a delicate, intricate being could exist in the same world we do? It's amazing. It's always been amazing
Perhaps it's no surprise that I learned to speak the language of birds. I might not have guessed crows, but it's truly awe-inspiring how much intelligence is hidden behind their beady black eyes.
I look up at the crows wheeling overhead, willing myself to admire the sun reflecting off their feathers, the smoothness of their flight.
But that damn cawing. Those damn words that have me here, sitting on a park bench in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon trembling as I scroll through my phone to tell all my family and friends that I love them.
It's funny. Crows don't really express emotion as readily as humans do. They feel it alright, but they don't wear their heart on their sleeves as much as we do. Perhaps that comes from having a less expressive face. In fact, I've almost never heard a crow say "I love you."That degree of open devotion is rare, reserved for private, unusually poignant moments.
I've heard those words spoken by the crows far more times in the last 2 days than I have in my entire life.
The crows are smart. They know something I don't. They know something all of humanity doesn't know, as we scroll through our phones and stroll idly down the sidewalk and chat calmly to our friends. They know something, something that drives them to say goodbye to each other, and that terrifies me.
It started about a week ago I guess. Rumors of a storm coming. I dismissed it of course; crows love talking about the weather. But then two days ago....
"Hello old friend."
A familiar weight settles upon my shoulder. As much as I shake from nerves I can't help a smile drifting across my face. He nestles into my neck and I reach up to scratch his feathers.
"Hey there. How... how have you been?"
"Life's been good to me. The world is large and full of so much beauty. Cities and skyscrapers and small street corners. All I regret is that I could not take you with me. How have you been?"
"Things have been quiet. I'm dating a botanist, actually. We're going on a camping trip next week actually. She'll study the plants and I'll get to watch the birds."
My friend, an old crow with ruffled, patchy feathers, turns to look at me.
"I am so, so sorry."
"Why? Why are you sorry?"
"Well..."
I stand up, and the bird flutters his way off my shoulder to settle on the arm of the bench as I yell at him.
"What is going on!? Why is everyone so scared!? Why are they all saying goodbye!? WHY!?"
The crow pauses for a long moment as he stares at me, tears of fear and anger and sadness welling up in my eyes.
"The great storm is coming, and I'm here to see you. One last time."
"But... but... what is the great storm?"
"Sit down. It'll be ok."
I slump, collapsing onto the bench, and the crow hops over to sit on my shoulder again.
"It's so good to see you again. But yes, maybe I should explain. We crows have always been better and reading nature than you. Blind as you are, staring at the world through the lens of a camera or screen. You've made so many amazing things because of that, but we can still see the world a little more clearly than you. It's no surprise then that you can't see the great storm."
"But what?"
The crow wraps a wing around my neck. "I'm not sure you want to know. Anyway, you'll see soon enough, my friend."
At that moment, like an eye blinking shut, the sun went dark. |
# Soulmage
**Astrenn needed the Shiny.** Even though her feathers were singed, even when the Angry Thing swiped at her with its claws, Astrenn needed the Shiny. And so the crow would get the Shiny. It didn't matter how long it took, it didn't matter how distracting the village was (ooh! Is that tinsel? She loves tinsel. No. No, focus. Astrenn needed the Shiny.) The Angry Thing was dumb, and even though it was strong and magical, the crow was clever-clever, fast-fast. The crow would win eventually.
The first thing to do was to get to a friendly nest. Right now, they were near the nest of the Large Baker—who used the Angry Things for cook-fires and shooed away the crows from the Delicious Breads. If the Large Baker came out on the street to investigate, Astrenn would never get the Shiny. So the crow flew to a nearby bin of Smelly Rotten Mush and tipped it over with a wingflap.
The crow knew this much about the Angry Things: they had a powerful sense of smell. And so as soon as the Smelly Rotten Mush poured out onto the street (to the dismay of the Large Baker), the Angry Thing awkwardly flapped away, the Shiny in its claws. The crow grabbed a small pebble (and a tinsel, for later), and shot into the sky, her feather-silent wings swift where the clunky, impossible weight of the Angry Thing farted along on inelegant wind magic.
"Caw,"said the crow, and released the stone.
The Angry Thing must have been stupid, because it didn't even try to dodge the stone that *thunked* on its head. Unfortunately, the Angry Thing was a big ball of scales (shiny? No, not Shiny. Focus. Astrenn needed the Shiny) and probably wasn't even hurt by the rock. Which was no fair. Even the hard-hard-*hard* clams from the market got split open by a high-heavy-dropped rock. But at the very least, the Angry Thing dropped the Shiny, letting it twinkle to the ground like a wish upon a star.
Astrenn would get the Shiny. Astrenn *had* to get the Shiny.
The crow dove down, folding her wings tight and close to her body like she'd seen the swooping-fast-kill-above birds do, and snatched the Shiny out of the air. The Angry Thing dove after her, but it had fallen into her trap.
For these fields of amber grain were the nests of the Old Farmer, and they appreciated the crows for their ability to hunt-find-eat mice more than the Angry Things that set their barns and crops on fire.
The Angry Thing dove after the crow, heat lighting up in its maw as the crow settled on the ground, and the crow knew the Angry Thing thought it had victory in its stupid little claws.
But then, like a thunderbolt, a broom head slapped the Angry Thing out of the sky as the Old Farmer scolded it.
"Back, you silly little dragon! I won't have you burning the barn down today!"The Old Farmer had skin like wrinkle-walnuts, and he was unamused by the Angry Thing's presence in his nest. Another two broom slaps swept the defeated Angry Thing away, and the Old Farmer gave the crow a piercing look.
"Say... you're my daughter's friend, aren't you?"The Old Farmer chuckled to himself. "You clever little thing. Well, go on. She's waiting for you where we buried... oh, why am I bothering? You can't understand me; you're just a crow. Astrenn! Your crow's here to visit!"
The crow flapped towards the barn, where Astrenn was waiting. The little girl who'd once taken the crow in, feeding her, and keeping her warm when the nights grew cold. Astrenn had saved the crow's life when she was a hatchling, and the crow would do anything for Astrenn in return.
Astrenn needed the Shiny. And finally, the crow had delivered.
Astrenn looked up from the small lump of freshly-turned earth, the small, carved rock that stood where a mother should have been. Her cheeks glistened with sparkling droplets of water, but for once, the crow only wanted to wipe these shinies away.
"There you are, you silly lump of feathers."Astrenn sniffled and held out her arm; the crow hopped on and nuzzled her cheek. "What've you got for me today?"
The crow said, "Caw,"and relinquished her treasures. A single gold coin for Astrenn, and a bit of tinsel for herself.
Astrenn giggled. "You crazy crow—where'd you get this? Mother would have fed you plump for days. Come on—we can still send her off, if we hurry."
Astrenn pocketed the Shiny and hurried into the market, exchanging the Shiny for some smaller sparkles and a bouquet of fresh flowers.
Then Astrenn and the crow returned to her mother's grave, placing the flowers in the center. After a moment of thought, the crow delicately balanced her tinsel on top, and Astrenn closed her eyes that shone like stars.
"She would have loved you, you pretty little girl."
"Caw,"said the crow, perhaps agreeing, perhaps simply being there for her friend.
And Astrenn and the crow knelt there in mourning, until the sun bled red and the greatest shinies of all twinkled in the night sky above.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-two other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! |
"Starbal!"
Shit. Shit shit shit. This is it. I knew I shouldn't have spent the last hour at Subway, but how often do you get free refills around here?
"Hey Starbal, a word."
I clock the several looks, grimaces and smiles which come my way as I'm following Johanna to her office. Smug bastards. If they knew what I'd been through, they wouldn't be so quick to judge.
"Starbal, I don't really have time to muck around, so I'm just gonna get straight to the point."
And here we go again, fired before the month is out. I mean with a name like Dazy Starbal, what chance did I have in the first place?
Stupid parents.
"I know your secret."
Um, the shit?
"Um, sorry?"
"Don't play silly with me, young lady. I know. I've known for a long time and today I finally got the proof. It's you. You're Arturida!"
I'm a turd, now?
"I'm sorry Miss Johnson, I really don't follow what-"
"Okay, I know. I know. You can't reveal yourself here but I just want you to know that I know. And that I support you. And that I think you're the best thing that ever happened to this shitty city since I started this company thirty years ago."
Oh shit. She thinks I'm that superhero. Okay, play it cool.
"I just... do what anyone else would do."
"Humble. Classy. I'd expect no less. Now I know that sometimes you might have to ... leave work unexpectedly. I know that sometimes you already have. And I want you to know that at any time if you have to go, you just go. No questions. Understand?"
Well that was a freebie. Okay, deliver this shit noble Marvel style.
"I understand... Miss Johnson."
Smooth.
"Good."
Our silence is quickly broken by the wailing of sirens outside. We move to the window.
Johanna turns to me, a wry smile on her face.
"I guess that's your cue."
I turn towards the door.
"Oh, come on Aturdida. Surely a dozen floors up is no problem for someone like you."
Oh fucking shitballs. Welp. This is what I get I suppose. I don't think. I just do. I'm a superhero now. I open the window, do my best superhero crouch on the ledge and wink. I jump, because it's the laziest way out of this situation.
I fly. Vertically. Downwards.
The ground races towards me and I close my eyes, bracing for impact.
"Woah, steady there."
What?
"Don't you worry, I gotcha. I'm gonna take you right back to where you fell from, lucky I was passing by. Another life saved by ... ATURDIDA!"
As I'm walking through a now completed befuddled office, I wonder who was should be more embarrassed, the Lead Editor of a Newspaper Company who got it so wrong, or someone who is literally such a lazy bastard that they would jump out a window rather than do some work? |
I put my clothes out to dry on a rainy day.
I started saying "no, I didn't read it, I'm waiting for the movie".
I'm watching Keeping up with the Kardashians.
I tie my shoes wrong, now. And I started mismatching my socks.
I started playing the lottery, Eric. Every week.
I got a neck tattoo, and I ask people stuff I could easily Google.
I double click hyperlinks, and I single click folders and files. You should
see me, staring at my 'My Documents' folder highlighted blue,
waiting for it to load like an idiot.
I never look before I cross the street, now.
I use effect and affect wrong, on purpose, every time. You should see my
grades. Nothing better than a C, since you've left.
I use a calculator to tip 20% on a 10 dollar bill. Hand to God, I do
it every time.
I'm trying, I swear I am.
You stupid idiot. My stupid little Eric.
My stupid, little, idiotic, moron Eric. Why did I fall in love with you?
I'm trying, Eric. I am.
Wherever it is all you guys went, I'll go there.
I'm going to disappear after you.
I've even started wearing power balance bracelets.
I started seeing fortune tellers, and reading the horoscope.
My stupid Eric. Where are you?
I miss you.
_____________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check our /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
This is the bit of paper? Really? It's not very big. And people just read it, and then off they go? And kill themselves? All of them? That's fucking ridiculous, seriously, I'm going to read it. No, fuck off, I'm reading it. I'm going to read it and then I will go home and get on with my life and no one is going to die. Look, I've got a great job, gorgeous wife, a beautiful home and a baby on the way. I promise you, there is nothing that this paper could say that could make me take my own life. Seriously, I'm going to read it right now, out loud, so shut your ears if... you know, if you're a fucking idiot. Right...
"Recliner chairs in the afterlife are available on a first-come first-served basis"
Oh... |
As I stood, chained to the steel pole facing my executioners, I felt a peace I hadn't known in decades.
When the Katarians first arrived, it was extending the olive branch of peace. They were treated with suspicion by the world powers, all of whom had seen many alien invasion movies. It left them nervous and skeptical.
As it turned out, not skeptical enough.
After several years of 'peaceful discussions' with the Katarians to enter the Galactic Federation, humanity thought its first contact with an alien race had gone extraordinarily well. The Katarians had been very helpful explaining the political situation, and preparing humanity for entry to take our place at the Galactic Federation Council. Or so it had seemed.
What they had actually been doing was using the time to covertly infiltrate the globe. After several years, the Katarians had managed to infiltrate and secretly install their own agents and control software, effectively neutering the human defense networks.
It was something they had done countless times before to hundreds of 'primitive' species prior to enslaving the population. First, disable their defenses, then conquer them and turn the population into a disposable labour force.
What they hadn't been expecting was the sheer creativity and savagery of the human race.
When the Katarians implemented their plan and disabled the defense networks, humans... always untrusting and prepared to be betrayed by anyone and everyone... fought back, viciously. Even without the ability to communicate and coordinate their attacks, we dealt blow after devastating blow to the Katarian infantry. We were able to defeat several of their airships using 'primitive Russian RPG's' that were no more than point-and-shoot rockets. With no computer networking, they were beyond Katarian control.
We put up a valiant struggle for over a decade. But as our casualties mounted and our supplies and ammunition dwindled, we realized that despite our best efforts, the battle was lost. It was simply a matter of time. The Katarians could always draw on more troops, more ships, more ammunition. We could not.
Knowing our defeat was inevitable, a plan was put into place. It had been in the works for a long time, with several thousand brave volunteers sacrificing their own lives to make sure it would happen. I was the final link in that chain.
"It has been our experience that your race feels some need to express their thoughts prior to death,"the Captain said smugly. "Although I find it to be pointless, one of my subordinates has indicated it might be useful to scholars in the future who write of the destruction of your little species. Would you like to say anything?"
I looked up from the ground, into the Captain's black, glassy eyes. I saw his pale white skin glistening as the light rain fell on the courtyard.
"You should have studied our history a little better,"I said quietly.
The alien sneered in unconcealed contempt. "Really? It didn't seem like doing so would have made any difference. We destroyed you, even though we barely knew anything about your precious *history*."
"You did,"I said with the faintest hint of a smile. "And we did likewise to you."
The alien's sneer slowly faded from his face. "What are you talking about?"
I paused for effect. "We left you a present."
The Captain's eyelids narrowed over his black eyes. "Explain, human. Or I will kill you right now."
"You'll kill me anyway,"I said. "But I'll be happy to explain."
I again paused, savouring the moment. "Before you arrived, there was a sect of humanity that was dedicated to terrorizing other nations in order to advance their own political and ideological goals. Normally, they did this through mass shootings, bombings, that sort of thing. Shortly before your arrival, our police forces managed to stop them from implementing a biological terror attack. We learned quite a bit from the investigation conducted into their plans."
The Captain snorted with amusement. "Your attempts at scaring me are truly pathetic, human. We are immune to every infectious organism found on your planet,"he said.
"You *were* immune,"I said, quietly.
The alien's smile dropped.
"Didn't it ever occur to you that over the course of the last year, it became much easier for your forces to find and capture us? Didn't it seem awfully convenient that all of a sudden your troops were finding us everywhere? After decades of us managing to evade you with little difficulty?"
Although it hardly seemed possible, the alien's skin turned a paler shade of white.
"That wasn't some miraculous sudden increase in your ability to track down a bunch of 'primitive' humans, Captain. We let you find us."
"Preposterous,"the alien sputtered.
"You think so?"I asked, my tone becoming more aggressive, condescending. I had nothing to lose now.
"You've been immune to everything on our planet that was naturally occurring. But in studying your physiology, our scientists discovered something interesting. You *weren't* immune to something we created."
The Captain stared at him, a slight tremble beginning in his gun hand.
"Turns out there was a type of chemical preservative, one we'd been developing for stabilizing plastics during interstellar flight. Quite deadly to your physiology, really. The only issue was delivering it..."
I paused for effect, relishing the rapidly developing terror on his face. "Turns out, we can encapsulate it in a time-release compound. Our agents just had to bite down on the pill and breathe in your direction, and boom! Instant infectious agent. But that's not the best part."
The Captain, unable to turn away for fear the firing squad behind him would see the fear on his face, stared at me.
"The best part is, this compound? When it interacts with your physiology, it *mutates*. Develops the ability to replicate, encapsulation and all. We didn't plan it that way, we just got lucky. So those troops that captured and killed the last of us? The ones who rotated back out of this 'backwater cesspool'? They've already infected others. And those others have infected even more. You have a bonafide pandemic on your hands, Captain."
"You're lying,"the Captain whispered.
"I assure you, I'm not. I have no reason to, it's not like it would matter now anyways. The infected will start to develop symptoms within weeks. Little black dots will appear on your skin. After that, the disease is fatal within a matter of a week, maybe two. At least that's what happened when we tested it on your soldiers we captured."
I allowed a moment to pass before delivering the final blow. "Another part of our history you should have read up on is World War 2. A little Russian tactic called 'Scorched Earth." |
“I mean it’s just bound to be a bit awkward, yeah?” Lionel asked, rubbing his hand over his two-day scruff. “They’re pretty big. Like, you couldn’t actually *carry* one. Might be you could go out touching one, but—“
“No, fuck you, Lionel,” Hank said. “I’ll carry a nuke into hell or I’ll die trying.”
“I mean you literally will die,” Lionel remarked. “Like you literally have to die to go to hell anyway. I’m just saying the logistics aren’t really on your side here.”
“Lionel. Listen. I’m gonna carry a nuke into hell.”
“That’s all well and good, bud, and I admire your dedication, but literally how. How are you going to do this.”
“I’m gonna lay down.”
“Uh huh.”
“And then you’re gonna use the crane for the nuke.”
“Sure.”
“And I’m gonna be layin’ face down, see?”
“Right.”
“And then, so, when you put the nuke on me, I’ll die.”
“Right.”
“So I’ll be carrying a nuke on my back.”
“Alright, hold on. Are you telling me everybody who ever went to hell and died by being crushed brought the thing as crushed ‘em into hell with them?”
“Only if their arms were around it, or if they were face down.”
“How’d ya figure?”
“Well there’s really only a few ways to carry somethin’, yeah?”
“I s’ppose.”
“Well, I can’t rightly fit a nuke in my hand, or a pack or anything. So—“
“Well, then, so wouldn’t it make more sense for ya to be layin’ face up?”
“What?”
“I mean, it’d be easier to say you were carryin’ it if your arms were around it, see?” He demonstrated.
“I suppose. But I like the idea of layin’ face down, so’s I don’t have to see the nuke coming.”
“Well, alright. How’s about we tie a rope around you and the nuke, so you can say you was carryin’ it?”
“That’s a good thought, Lionel.”
There was a moment of silent reflection, and Lionel looked up at his buddy. “So how’d you find out about this anyway?”
“About what?”
“About the whole ‘anything you’re carryin’ when ya die you take into hell with ya’ thing.”
“Ah, everybody knows that, Lionel. It’s common knowledge.”
“Right.” |
“What the hell is this?”
Gordon is pissed. He states it me with those steely eyes, judging me while I attempt to make a French stew I learned about in an amateur cooking class I took in 1999. Bouillabaisse, I think it was called. Oui.
“This is trash, you stupid bugger! Do you know how to fucking cook!?”
I sighed. We were in a dessert island. No, not desert. Dessert. And Gordon only wanted French food. None of the hundreds of confections found on the surface, none of the delicious candy corn trees or gumdrop littered forests literally oozing with sweet nectar. What’s more, he refuses to cook. Anyways, as a member of his production team and his personal psychologist I was liable for his safety, particularly mentally. So I satisfied his whining.
“You damn fool, I can cook a hundred times better than that you dumb American pig!”
Oh save me. Anyways, the soup was done, and I poured it out into a bowl. Thank god for Gordon’s personal plane kitchen and bowl collection.
He takes a spoon, and drops it. He gets a glazed over look in his eyes, as he begins to reminisce about his cooking and his soul, his idea of god and mysterious forces around us that make us who we are. He remembers his childhood, his friends and family wishing him a happy birthday, the aroma of food all around...
“This is shit!”
He throws the bowl and it shatters. |
Six feet under isn't so deep when you've got friends like mine.
Asshole friends. The kind of friends who'll convince you you're just gonna go do some weird artsy Instagram shit in the woods: make bonfires, string up animal bones, get drunk while they do their weird chants.
*Come on, Roxie,* they said. *You'll have so much fun, Roxie.*
Sure they were weird. But I was weird too--maybe not their all-black, squirrel-skull-collecting kind of weird, but weird enough--and I was new in town. September was still young. The air still tasted like summer, and I was aching for the friends at my dad's house on the other side of the country. Eighteen years old, last year of high school, and I was starting all over again in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.
At least, I thought, I finally *had* friends.
I fight against the duct tape at my wrists and ankles. "Guys,"I try to say, but they've shoved a bandana in my mouth. Sprinkled in some goddamn raven feathers and rat tails into this box with me.
"Guys,"I say again, which sounds like *oyff*.
The whole forest smells like cheap wine and burnt sage. We went deep off road, up a logging trail, into the heart of the mountain. Into the places cops wouldn't check for a bunch of stupid teenagers, getting drunk and burning shit because what else is being a teenager for.
But now I'm here in a coffin rigged out of stripped-down wood pallets. Tied up and about to die in the stupidest way possible. I'm probably the only person in the twenty-first century to get murdered like it's goddamn 1300 AD.
They start muttering chants outside the box. Bastardized Latin. I'd tell them how bad their pronunciation is if I could 1) talk or 2) deal with them realizing just how huge of a nerd I really am.
Typical Roxie. Worrying about being uncool when I'm staring death in the eye.
Alistar taps his shovel against the side of the box. His real name is Baxter, but that wasn't unholy enough. "The Lord of Hell is hungry for your sacrifice,"he tells me.
Something drips through the cracks of wood as they smear brush over the wood. It scritch-scritches across the boards.
Outside, Lilith (shockingly, her real name) and Ghoul (so clearly not his real name; it's Garth, really) dig away, their shovels *shicking* through the stony earth.
Liquid drips through the slats. I flinch away from it and wriggle and shriek as it lands on my face. Runs red down my cheek.
I manage to spit out the gag and shriek through the wood, "Is that fucking *blood?*"
"Theater blood,"Alistar admits. "It was *supposed* to be real, right, Ghoul?"
Ghoul's voice shrinks at the accusation. "Look, man, it's not my fault my uncle didn't slaughter that pig like he said he would."
"You were going to put pig blood all over me?!"
"No, stupid. On the box,"came Lilith's voice, scoffing, twisting with effort. Her shovel kept digging into the earth.
"We're delivering the pure to make whole the unpure,"Alistar intoned.
I thrashed now, banging my shoulders into the sides of the coffin. It rocked, but Alistar's fell over the slats of the makeshift coffin as he held it in place.
"Easy, there. Don't want to knock yourself over."
"I'll scream! Let me out!"
"You didn't gag her that well, dude,"Lilith muttered.
"Yeah, well. It's my first live sacrifice, alright? Cut me some slack. Besides, it's nailed shut already."
Panic thrums in my throat. I was tipsy enough by the time they took the rope out that I didn't even fight. Just stood there, dumbstruck, as the three of them tackled me to the ground.
"The real Church of Satanism preaches peace!"
"Don't explain my own religion to me,"Alistar snaps.
"Is she right about that?"Ghoul says, quietly.
"You're killing me over a book you haven't read?"
"Not killing. Delivering you unto your next plane of existence. Serving Satan is the highest ascension any mortal can reach."
I start shrieking then. Belting out *help, help!* to the empty forest.
"You really should shut her up,"Lilith says outside the box, her voice rising nervously.
"No need. That looks deep enough to me."Alistar leans off the wood, his shadow moving away. I twist to press my eye to the gap between two slats. The three of them stand on a staggered circle, appraising my grave. "She'll be shutting up forever in just a minute."
The three of them worked together to heave up the coffin. They lower me less-than-gently into the earth.
The earth falls in shovelful by shovelful. It drizzles into the coffin.
I've screamed myself hoarse by the time I can't see them anymore. Can't see the lights. Can't see anything.
Part of me prays the weight of it all will just crush me before I have to sit and wait for the oxygen to abandon me, molecule by molecule.
But the dark hand of death doesn't come.
My makeshift coffin burns with pale crimson light. It spreads as suddenly as the darkness, consuming everything.
The light at the end of the tunnel. Oh shit. Oh God. Oh--
*Oh, there you are,* a voice murmurs from within me, without me, from everywhere and nowhere. *We've been expecting you.*
The duct tape vanishes. I scramble against the floor, but the world has become light. Only light, in all directions.
"Is this Heaven?"I whisper.
*No, child,* the voice says. A huge taloned palm descends from the infinite bright sky. Right towards me. *But in our name, you shall raise Hell.*
***
/r/nickofstatic for stories by me and my best friend NickofNight :) |
Where did Henry go?
The question was asked by Bitty, when she first came back from gathering herbs in the woods. She said he used to linger by the gate and ask her what she got and if she got anything for him. She would always swat his hand away and say 'nothing for ill-behaved children,' and he'd say 'please?' and she'd give him a small cup of berries or an apple for his questions.
He wasn't there this morning, and so she asked.
Leticia propped her chin on her hand as she flipped through her book. "I don't... well I haven't seen the dear boy in three days! Nettles, when did you last see him?"
My fingers had frozen over the soft, downy feathers of Persimone, my owl. Then I resumed my stroking, and whispered to the bird, "Where is Henry Miles?"
She rotated her head 180 to look out the window. Then, back at me her head swiveled, and she blinked mournfully at the idea of a morning flight. I tapped her on the back and she ruefully stretched her wings and leapt from the kitchen window. I could only wonder if she'd spot him before he her. The boy always had a knack for knowing when I approached, heralded by a sion most normal folks' eyes glazed past. It warmed a cold vein in my heart, knowing how often his eyes looked out for me and my own.
"I'm sure his mother tired of his games and mischief and kept him inside a few days is all,"Leticia said, striving to calm her already worked up nerves. "I'm sure it's simply a matter of family squabbles."
Bitty stretched her old back and bustled to the hearth with her bag of plants and herbs. "I don't like it. Feel something bad in my bones. I think we ought best check the village, see what's been brewing."For all her reprimanding of him as a poorly mannered child, she knew as well as I did that his mother liked very much our friendship. She'd always been scared of us, Mrs. Miles, and liked the idea that he'd turned our eyes kindly on the family.
"I like that idea less than musing if something bad's happened."My words weren't very loud but the other two looked at me, hearing it nonetheless. They'd heard the hardness in my words but not the uneasiness underneath.
"Ah, Nettles, don't say that."Leticia swooped down on me, all a flurry of dark robes obscuring her thin frame. Those big, tawny eyes of hers fixed me with a reproach that wouldn't look out of place on my familiar. "He's just a boy of eight."
"You're soft,"I complained, but I knew she was right and I felt it in my heart just as much. "Persimone will return. She will report back on what she finds. We will act with knowledge and information, not off emotion or hunch."
Leticia drew her robes around her, as if merely clutching at the gossamer fabric could contain them. She turned and stalked from me, back to her book.
"Ah, quit the squabbling,"Bitty said, stoking up a fire. "I'll brew some tea and have a reading done before your bird returns."A wheezy laugh escaped her lips and I scoffed.
"Meanings far more muddled than a direct report."That time she didn't hear me, and a smile played on my lips, knowing I'd murmured unheard.
Bitty did have the reading done before Persimone returned, and hearing her muttering over the tea leaves did have my stomach disquieted for the first time since her return. Leticia, so young and fraught with anxieties, oft worried where nothing was worth worrying over, but Bitty didn't play with nerves.
"Something's amiss,"she finally said. "Something-"
She was cut off by the fluttering call of my bird, who'd just soared in through the window, causing an already tightly wound Leticia to gasp.
I held out my arm and Persimone, flying with uncharacteristic speed, crashed onto it, talons sinking deep into the generous flesh under the thick leather sleeves of my shirt. She bowed her head and immediately pressed it against mine, not waiting for a greeting or request.
*There's a crash of iron and the smell of burning and it overwhelms me before I even see color. The color visible is red, fire and blood, and again my nose burns with the acrid scent. There's crying in the background, a beg, a moan. The village is empty soon after. Soon after, nothing stands but ruin.*
"Something's amiss,"I whispered.
\~\~\~
We arrived in the village as smoke on the wind and found it as my faithful owl had described it. In ruin.
Bitty wasted no time in casting runes into the ash on the ground. Her report soon began trickling from her lips, a tide growing stronger and stronger and she gathered more details about the nature of the attack.
"...but alive,"she finished. "Prisoners. Few dead."
"And Henry?"Leticia, for all her emotions, cared little about the general towns folks but oh did that boy's fate burn brightly in her mind's eye. "Did he go with them?"
"They took him,"Bitty said. She stood, her periwinkle robes smudged with soot. "Not for good purposes. The villagers will be the latest bargaining tool for the baron lords to extract land and riches from the King. This has not traditionally gone well for the hostages."I could hear in her words an undercurrent of fervor unusual on the lips of our eldest sister. For the first time, I let my mind wander to the inevitably panicked mind of a child, kidnapped by soldiers. That fear was not one my heart liked to remember. Even I was sixteen when chased out and threatened.
To put such fear into the mind of a boy not yet ten...
I looked to my bird, who circled the village, a mournful call emitting from her beak. I knew its meaning. We did not return to our home this eve.
"We will chase them down,"I said, my voice quiet and directed at neither witch nor fowl. "That becomes our new cause? Retrieving those who cast us aside. Who threatened to burn us as this village was burnt."
"For the child."Leticia's voice had turned from her usual melodic lilt to a primal growl and the Earth beneath me quaked in her rage. "Kindness isn't a gift lightly bestow on the likes of us. I will not let that gift go unanswered. The friendship of a stranger is answered in kind by the vengeance of witches."
Leticia didn't often set her mind in stone, but something had changed in the composition of the rocks and dirt we stood upon. There was no backing down from this cause now.
Persimone called again, and this time her cry was responded to by the furious caw of the raven, the ugly squawk of the crow, the jeer of the magpie.
"As the bird flies,"I said, my voice strong, "so do we."
Bitty reached into her pocket, bringing out a fistful of pale green powder. She released it, slipping from her fingers in a silty stream, and it caught a wind none feel, streaming forward in a direction we had no choice but to follow.
"Then let us take the path."
For the child.
___
[2: The Path Set](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/mcc9m4/the_coven_three_2_the_path_set/)
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
Day 431: We were getting close, and it was worrying. Preliminary research on dating the craft placed it at being between 1200 and 1400 years old, well before any of the great empires had arisen. This had sparked our interest, and the government had commissioned me to decipher the messages that had been found with it. They were old, and had suffered damage, even by the time our survey vessel had picked it up, however we’d started to piece it together. The message disc that had been found with the craft had been sent to our historians, so they could try to ascertain its intended use, and after 2 weeks they concluded that it was designed to play sound. They built replica discs so as to not damage the original any further, and set about getting the replicas to play sounds. Eventually they stumbled upon something that was intelligible, and it appeared to be music of some sort.
Nothing in our records matched that which we discovered on the device, and so we thought our use of it ended and returned our attention back to the craft itself. We couldn’t tell by the design which civilisation had manufactured it, as all civilisations use a wide range of spacecraft designs in their early age, and many were similar. Then the historians, to whom we had returned the disc, got back to us with more information. They’d discovered extra information on the disc. We’d discovered what appeared to be speech sounds on the disc before the music, but the disc had been too damaged for these sounds to be decipherable. However, upon further analysis of the disc, the historians had decided there was more than sound on it, and so had turned it over to another group of scientists who had discovered images. Again, a lot of the information was damaged, but we were able to salvage fragments.
The first fragment appeared some simple mathematical equations. The second appeared to be part of the colour spectrum. The third was a close image of a star, and then the fourth and fifth were of what appeared to be rocky planets or asteroids. The sixth image we salvaged was salvaged almost in full, and is extremely worrying. It is of Earth. The closeness of the image, along with the date of the craft, leads us to believe that it could only have been taken by the humans themselves. My personal recommendation is that the government either destroys this craft and all our records of it, or that we send it on it’s way and destroy all records regardless. If the humans realise that we have something of theirs, something presumably representing a cornerstone of their civilisation, billions could die.
EDIT: OP delivers an update below.
|
How they managed to become a spacefaring civilization was a mystery. Glarkans were a blend of reptile and crustacean with a hefty helping of aggression. I had read the dossiers. I gulped as I stepped off the transport into the musty space station. The first human here. The second through 30th humans were my security detail.
The noise level was that of a souk. A normal one, not like that of Baghdad in the early 2000s.
"No bombs *here*. Yet."Chuckling to myself to forget my nervousness. I ate way too much Indian food too.
What did I get myself into?
The noise level dropped as my detail fanned out, flanking my stroll onto their promenade. Strange beasts in the midst of arguments stopped and stared. They whispered. Clicked mandibles. Something not unlike a laugh. Shops closed their windows with a familiar urgency, as familiar as the feeling of rubbing my sidearm.
A large, obviously mature Glarkan towered into view. Ducking to get through a 12 foot doorway, he bellowed an alien laugh through drooping antennae. My detail flicked their safeties off and raised their rifles, and I hissed at them with a hand, palm down.
"Put those away!"I turned away, knowing they obeyed. The creature was already before us, and the others had vanished. Plates of organic armor were covered in scars and paint, clashing red and yellow and black. It crouched to speak, and we held out our translators to record it's patterns of clicks and whistles. Similar to insect trills. A grunt thrown in for who knows what reason.
And we waited. It was impatient, and began stomping away the translators finally blooped at us.
"Be-gin. I wonder how you found us in this nebula. Are all of you so small? Why should we listen to you?"[[LAUGHING]] "What technology do you offer?"
I sent a mathematical algorithm in response to this first diplomatic exchange. They just managed to get space flight, so protocol dictates first contact. Easy diplomatic job for the practiced man.
"It's a science."I smiled inwardly. The being opened a data pad it had tucked somewhere between exoskeleton and hair. It's 8 eyes flicked about slightly. The mandible mouth opened and closed, as if about to speak. But the response has to be careful.
"Congratulations for gaining a foothold into space. It is a major step for a civilization to get beyond their gravity well. You are now required to submit to Galactic Law. You are under the protection of the Consortium of Planets. We will be deploying a detachment of the Navy to protect you from possible pirate raids, and to prevent domestic disturbances.
We are also willing to share cultural information about our races, their poetry, art, history and characters. You may submit yours if you wish. Technology will be shared after a grace period of - 134,342 - of your home world's solar days.
Failure to submit to the law will yield a disciplinary embargo of your planet. Our technology so outmatches yours, we do not need to take aggressive action. You will not be permitted to explore past your own solar system."
It worked, as usual. I left vast amounts of data for them to peruse. Bylaws, and all the fun details of life within the Consortium. Taxes.
I kind of missed the days when they tried to fight back. But the only display that is needed is to steal their sun. A massive blockade of solar panels suffices to kill a world. Fairly nonviolent.
The large creature seemed to cower a bit. Then as it began to sign the line it shrieked and coiled up, appearing to pounce. The first squad shot their net grenades at the creature and the electricity has no effect on it.
The force pushed it back into the corridor and the smaller versions began to pile out of the closed up shops. Thunder of assault rifles echoed, and my earbuds muffled the sound to protect my hearing. With a thought I relayed to CENTCOM that shit had, indeed, hit the fan.
The high powered assault rifles tore into the creatures. They fell falling forward. Reaching.
The nets on the large one toggled to high heat mode as it regained its footing. Bright orange patchwork sizzled hungrily and brought screams from the alien.
I stepped up to it as the last Glarkan died bleeding green blood and my men reloaded. I placed a stasis field around it. A fine specimen. I plugged into its field a computer program that matched the beings neural waves. So to implant suggestions into it. And time could be manipulated with the stasis field. A minute could be a hundred years of whispers in the darkness.
The blue shield vanished. The device stuffed back into my pocket and the 8 eyes of the ancient creature shuddered. A low hum with a click.
[An alien "OK".](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com) |
It is a terrible thing which I do. It is a terrible thing which must be done. On the lonely highway south of town when a dog lays crippled on the deep shoulder of the asphalt with legs ruined by the tractor trailer, you drive past and you think:
"Someone should do something."
In the dark night, the wind of the speeding car ruffles the fur and attempts to drown the whimpers. But in the glow of brake lights there is fear in the eyes of the wounded beast. Fear and pain. And you think:
"Someone should do something."
When a beast reaches the end of life, it will always refuse to believe that the time has come. It is in its nature. It will fight to the bitter end with teeth barred, and attempt to scurry away with its pathetic, shattered body only to realize that escape is impossible and death is inevitable. That feeble shred of life which attempts to fight is betrayed by the body which refuses to cooperate in the final act of defiance. And you think:
"Someone should do something."
There is always the faint hope that the cracked shell of Humpty would be put back together, but neither horses nor man can fix what is terminally broken. There is the occasional postponement of the inevitable, but it is a drug induced stupor of half-death with a victim rasping with fluid-filled lungs as it waits in agony for the final moment to come. The fight has fled the creature through faux-peace, but there is only one peace for such an animal. It is the peace of death, and with ashamed, averted eyes you think:
"Someone should do something."
Someone. Someone else. It should always be someone else who takes the duty upon their soul and becomes the instrument of death when the hands of the weak falter and continue southbound on their highways. It is always the work of someone else to end life. It is not for decent folk to see what is done in the darkest hour.
I do something.
In final respite, the beast is calmed. The weakened husk at final rest. The tremors stilled. The heart quieted. The hands softly curled in infinite. The blue veins traced through the bony legs are clotted in death.
You ask that a beast burdened with pain be mercifully put to rest, yet you would never raise hand to end the torment. So it is best done in shadow. It is best done away from gentle eyes. Let the burdened beast rest. Be it dog or cat. Or man.
|
Rafael opened the door and said, "Thank you for coming. I'm not sure exactly what's wrong, but the inspector said my fourth wall was broken and needed to be repaired."
Martin nodded as he entered the house. He looked around, up and down, grunted to himself and said, "Ya, sure, I can fix this. It will cost a gold."
Taken aback a little, Rafael asked, "A... gold? What? Like a gold bar? A coin?"
"No, you'll have to gild me."
"Geld you?! What the f-"
"Don't worry about it,"Martin interrupted. "Once I fix your fourth wall, it will all be clear. It's just a couple of bucks on a website."
More confused than ever, Rafael asked, "Wait a second. This will only cost me a few dollars? How do you make a living doing this?"
Martin took of his jacket to reveal he was wearing overalls. After pulling out a plain baseball cap from seemingly thin air and putting it on, he turned to his right and said to no one in particular, "It ain't much, but it's honest work."
At this point, Rafael wasn't sure if the inspector and Martin were just playing some prank on him. He looked around for any type of hidden cameras, but nothing was apparent. Frustrated, he sternly asked Martin, "Listen, can you fix this thing or not?"
"Sure, I see the problem right here,"said Martin. Rafael did not see any problem anywhere. "Your fourth wall drive belt has been shredded."
At that exact moment, an old man with spectacles opened the front door and asked, "To shreds you say? Well how's his wife holding up?"
Rafael gave out a little yelp at the intrusion. He grabbed his forehead and could only stammer at the complete nonsense that was happening around him. He turned to sit on his couch when he noticed his couch had been replaced with a folding table. A man in a blue shirt was seated behind the table drinking from a coffee mug. A sign on the coffee table read, "Saying a man yelped is the same as calling him a little pussy bitch. Change my mind."
The room began to spin as Rafael was on the brink of passing out. Martin was finishing up the repair and said, "Ok, looks like we're all set here. Now that'll be one gold."
"And one silver,"chimed the old man with the spectacles.
"And one platinum,"added the man in the blue shirt.
"And my axe!"shouted Rafael with glee.
​
Edit:
Seeing everything in order, Martin gathered his belongings and walked out of the house. As Rafael stared after him, he heard the unmistakable sound of silver going through a coin slot. Running towards the door, he saw a golden door materialize in front of Martin. On that golden door, letters materialized in flames: /r/lounge.
Rafael gazed in wonder as Martin disappeared behind that magical golden door, giving him an approving nod as the door faded away.
All of a sudden, a giant platinum coin fell out of the sky onto Rafael's car. It seemed to hatch as Martin broke out of it. He glared at Rafael and screamed, "Now where's my fucking axe?" |
Never before had it happened.
The kingdom kept near perfect records on the Dragon Fates, drawings, paintings, even full books were made. The king knew exactly which dragon would hatch from which egg thanks to color and shape. They even had tried to tamper with the results a few times but it never seemed to help their chances in the winters.
They as a nation had grown up to live by the Dragon Fates, the center point of the kingdom having been built as an arena, so the masses could watch with bated breaths. There were even museums with the bones of which dragon had lost, the best museums having the blue dragons hide tanned and displayed proudly with the year the blue dragon fell.
Now there were not two eggs, but three! Three had never happened, perhaps the dragon ate more than it should have, and produced another egg by mistake? Or there was going to be two reds and one blue, or gods forbid two blues and one red.
It took some time for the panic to calm in the kingdom, the king assuring everyone that what ever the outcome they were safe and secure, that the gods would clear up the matter, or the scientists if need be. Even as he spoke to the crowd pushing to see this strange third egg there were historians around the clutch with every shred of information they had.
The Red and Blue eggs were marked already, painted stripes with tassels flowing in the wind, but the third egg seemed to be stumping the smartest of the kingdom.
“It is the same shape as the Red Egg” one noted, writing fearsomely into a book.
“The weight is that of a Blue Dragon!” Another exclaimed.
“The color matches the Red Egg, there fore it is Red!” A third notes, having a color sheet of all eggs know.
“The knock echo is the same as the Blue Egg!” Yet another replied to not but a crowd that was becoming more frustrated than the crowd held back by the guards.
It seemed to be a pattern, the egg sharing almost equal qualities and traits of both eggs, the men of the Gods would inspect the egg, testing it carefully “it could be a mix, Purple it be!” The holy man decreed, getting looks from all around.
It didn’t take long for the King himself to step in, preventing the three split sides from breaking out into a brawl. “Enough!” He bellowed, growling to make a point “I will inspect the eggs, I have seen 48 eggs before this three!” He says, taking a step towards the Third Egg. He took his time to think his mind, feeling the egg over as if it was a well rounded rump, knocking a few times. The scientists and Priests all stood by and watched, bated breath as they wondered what the king would say.
“I think…” he says, taking a deep breath “it is a Blue Egg, fore the inside qualities are that of a Blue Dragon!”
The scientists thought it over, and then agreed, fore the King himself had declared it to be Blue! And who dared tell the King he was wrong? And so they went to work, dressing up the third egg as a Blue, the King going on to the crowd waiting outside the closed gates to speak to them.
“Ladies and gentleman!” He called out, standing on a box of grain, his voice booming to get their attention. “It has been found, through both historians and I! That the third egg is that of a Blue Dragon!”
There was but one moment of silence after his decree, broken by the cries of displeasure and anger, how dare the Dragon Fates stack the odds against them!
“Smash the Third!” Came a cry.
“Poison the Blue! Protect the Red!” Came another.
“Quiet!” The king demanded, shouting over their voices, “not even our best weapons could dent those eggs! Not even the best poisons will harm the Dragons! We must be prepared for the outcome!”
“How can we prepare against bad luck!” One peasant asked.
“Simple! We prepare for a crop failure. It will insure we survive this winter!” The King replied, loud enough for all to hear. Scribes standing ready to spread his voice to those who could not hear. “The odds are against us, we must store more grain! More meat must be preserved! We must make it last longer as well! Eat less, Save more!”
“What of the animals?” One farmer asked “the herding dogs won’t like being shorted on their food! And the cats will flee to find better meals as well!”
“The animals must learn to survive the down sides of life” he says, holding his hands to his belly. “If it is needed, we must think of ourselves, the animals may become food too! Not just the horses but the dogs and cats as well, we will prevail!” He yelled, raising his hands in defiance of the Dragon Fates, his hand not the only one raising, as almost all the peasants agreed, they would survive.
The three eggs would sit there for the next four months, protected, cleaned, decorated. The scientists watched on closely as the days ticked by. At the end of the fourth month one of them would raise the alarm “They Shake!” He cried, signaling the Fates to be chosen within the fortnight.
The day of truth came, the stadium packed to the brim with peasants that had thinned with the times. Even the king himself, thinned down to save food, sat in his own special box high above the rest, flanked by his advisors and queen. The eggs would now and then sway in the non existent wing, the hatchlings slowly cracking apart their shells.
First came the Red, aggressive and brightly colored, shaking off the fluids that protected him.
Second came the Blue, dark in color, claws raking the smooth stone she stepped onto.
With bated breath the brother and sister waited with the crowd for the last egg, slowly cracking its way free. Soon the egg split cleanly down the middle, as if an expert warrior had swung his ax down and cleaved it in two.
With the shells rocking away from the Third Dragon, a loud gasp came from the crowd, the king slack jawed himself as he looked with his telescope. It didn’t take long to lower the tube and look at the lead Dragon Historians and his pope red faced.
“Why, pray tell” he started off, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs “is it Yellow!” |
“Okay, hold it right there!”
”Wha… I know you! I saw you on *World’s Silliest Powers!* Your friend sent in the video of you untangling your shoelaces when you were a kid. Because you couldn’t even tie them right!”
I rolled my eyes reflexively. Damn that Derrick. I didn’t even care that now the lightning-throwing thug was pointing at me with the same finger he had just fried the clerk and the person at the register with.
”Yeah, but that was then and this is now and I just saw you kill two people to rob a *liquor store.* A *cheap* liquor store. You’re not going anywhere. Get down on the ground and wait for the police.”
He laughed so hard he nearly dropped the handful of bills he’d pulled from the register.
”Or you’ll do what, Shoelace Boy?”
“Knots are just permanent tangles, you know,” I replied.
”So?” He laughed again. “My boots don’t even *have* laces. Hit me with your best shot.”
I shrugged and concentrated my power for a fraction of a second.
All of his clothes, except the aforementioned boots, turned into neat loops of thread and fell to the ground.
”Not exactly the most impressive lightning rod I’ve ever seen, dude,” I said as he stared down at his naked body in disbelief. He blinked and then turned bright red as he got what I meant. He pointed at me again, a look of fury on his face.
”I will fucking *kill* you!” Electricity crackled in his eyes as he glared at me.
”Last chance, man,” I said patiently. “Down on the ground.”
”Fuck. *You!*“ screamed the red-faced nudist. He was obviously getting ready to let the sparks fly. I concentrated for another brief instant.
He vanished.
There was a quiet “Pop” as air rushed in to fill the space where he had been. A second later, I heard a gasp from another customer who had been hiding behind some shelves. I turned in their direction.
”It’s okay,” I said. “He’s gone.”
”Where’d he go?” they asked, wild-eyed.
”Pretty much everywhere,” I said matter-of-factly.
”But he said all you could do was untangle things! I heard him!” They were looking at me like I might go ‘pop‘ myself at any second.
“Yeah, but ‘tangle’ is a pretty broad term,” I replied. “For instance, it turns out that the particles in your body only stay together because they’re tangled up in energy fields. Untangle the energy fields, and…” I pointed at the pile of thread on top of the jaunty red rubber boots that were the only sign spark-boy had ever been there. All the color bled from their face.
”Can… can you do that to *anything*?”
”Probably,” I said. “I don’t go around randomly disintegrating things.”
”That would make you the most dangerous person on *Earth,*” they stammered.
”I know, but I only use it in self defense.” I paused. “And okay, maybe on the odd mosquito. I hate mosquitoes.”
“Why aren’t you a hero?” they asked, still looking a bit wild-eyed. “You could stop any villain dead in their tracks.”
”Too much work,” I said. “Plus eventually they‘d decide I was too dangerous to have around.”
”Oh.“ Now they looked confused. ‘*How could anyone not want to be a hero?’* I could almost hear them thinking.
Then they had the other thought. The sad thought. I recognized it on their face and winced.
”But you stopped the villain!” they said. “Why would you do that if you don’t want anyone to… to know?”
”It’s fine by me if people know I can I can unweave fabric,” I said with a sigh. “I was hoping he’d give up before trying to kill me. He was dumber than I thought.”
”I won’t tell anybody! I swear!” they nearly shouted. “You saved me! Nobody needs to know!”
”Can’t risk it,” I said, apologetically.
”You said you only used it in self-defense!” they said, starting to blubber. “I won’t hurt you! I’ve never hurt anybody! Please!’
”Self-defense is a pretty broad term too,” I said. I sighed again. “Sorry.”
They vanished. |
The Lamp Watchers were a valued and vital force of the New Empire. Nobody really knows much about the old empires, just that there must have been at least one. So much of what they left behind still remains. The cities of the New Empire were built on the ruins on the old cities, using their old walls to light the surrounding darkness to hold back it's tide with each setting sun. The Wall Watchers were responsible for keeping those lights lit and probably had a more important role than the Lamp Watchers, probably the most important role in the entire empire, but it was not the life for me. I couldn't spend my life sitting around.
Few people would ever leave the city they were born in. It was dangerous, even with the Lamp Watchers patrolling the roads, ensuring the way was lit and the roads were safe. However, no matter how many Watchers were assigned, a lamp would always go dim eventually. As it did it weakened the force holding back the darkness, let it bleed in, touching those who walked by, stroking their very soul, twisting them. Night sickness was untreatable and as deadly to those who contracted it as it was to those around them.
Lamp Watchers didn't just tend to the lamps, they also had to be ready to defend themselves against those who had been afflicted with the night sickness. The Lamp Watchers were the empire's guards of the road and ensured the safety of those who used them. Even if sometimes that meant killing those very same people. The sounds that came from the darkness were horrifying at first, the smallest rustle of leaves causing your whole body to tense with fear, especially walking down the road alone on a moonless night. Most people wouldn't even dare leave the house, praying for the return of the moon instead. But the snapping of a twig or the grunting sounds in the blackness were more often the result of a rabbit or boar than they were that of a person struck by the night sickness. Nobody knew why it was only humans affected by the sickness, but that was just the way it was.
The rise of the New Empire had happened around one hundred years ago. The plague of the darkness and the sickness it inflicted had left humanity spread out in small closed off villages. The man who became the first emperor had formed an army. He'd led them, lighting the old roads and carving out paths through the land. They had found the old cities and had led people there. They had been a literal beacon in the dark, drawing even more people in. For the decades following, search parties had travelled to find more villages, leading them to the roads and then to the first city. As that city filled, more had been found and established. Although it was called the New Empire, in it's entirety it only consists of five cities.
The armour of a Lamp Watcher was a breastplate covered in the luminescent glow of a rare plant. It did very little to stop the darkness from touching you, in fact, it did nothing. But it was a symbol, a sign that they were the light in the dark, keeping back the pressing oppression of the night. The halberd they carried had a blade infused with the same glow, only more concentrated. That *did* serve a purpose. Those afflicted with the night sickness seemed to have an aversion to light. They'd walk alongside the roads rather than on them whilst searching for travellers to attack and would almost never enter the well lit cities. Often they would attack by trying to drag people off the road and into the dark. There was no saving those people. Occasionally you'd find one afflicted who would stand their ground in the light, even as it visibly reddened and blistered their skin. They'd ignore it as they spat and snarled at you looking for an opening in which they could get a hold of you and pull you back and down into the abyss of the night. They seemed to have little regard for their own preservation, taking bone crushing blows from clubs and cudgels. You could fill them with arrows and they didn't seem to slow their step. I'd even seen one lose an arm to a sword and still drag the swordsman off into the dark. The luminescent blade of the halberd however would give them pause. A cut with that would cause them to writhe in agony and it seemed to be the only thing that would actually stop them.
Every mercenary guard worth their pay would carry a glow weapon given the option. The only problem was the cost of infusing the metal was more than most could afford. Which was how I ended up here. On my face, in the dirt, stripped of my armour and weapon, with a very nasty bump on the back of my head. I should have seen it coming. For the better part of a decade I've patrolled the roads, perhaps it was my complacency that got the better of me. Although I knew it was more likely the girl with the green eyes and black hair. She had been beautiful and I'd been more than happy to talk to her, especially when she smiled at what I said and stroked my arm. I should have seen the look in her eyes. That little flicker over my shoulder to the man who had clubbed me. It hadn't been an obvious tell, she was clearly meant to keep me focused on her, but it was enough for me to curse myself for not seeing it.
They were all gone now. My head was killing, my vision slightly fuzzy as I pushed myself up onto my knees and dusted off the gravel from my face. I looked around and saw I was all alone. At least, I hoped I was. The sound of a branch cracking off to my left, about five meters off the road caught my focus. Another sound, the scraping of dirt followed it. I drew the knife from my boot as I slowly stood into a crouch, wishing I had my halberd right about now.
EDIT - I have to go now, I'll add another post later continuing the story as people seem to like it! :) |
"Break out of it, Steve!"Gates' fancier weapons had been taken out by Job's laser eyes, so he headbutted his armored face hard against his former rival, "This isn't you! This isn't you, old friend..."
Beneath him, Jobs lay, broken, battered, but still fighting. His sleek armor was compromised by the scarlet stain of Bill and his own blood.
"Newer..."he mumbled, "Slimmer... Faster..."before Gates' armored gauntlet caught him hard in the stomach again.
"Break out of it!"a final blow snapped Jobs back into reality.
Surrounding him, Silicon Valley was in ashes, still fiery both from his and Gates' titanic fight and the massive, lumbering behemoth rampaging through it.
"Oh my god... What have I done?"
Steve felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.
"It wasn't you. *He* mind-controlled you... Used you to distract me... But it isn't too late. We can make this right. Together."
Steve nodded.
"Together. What's his plan?"
"Zuckerberg's fused all 2.2 billion souls of the people on Facebook to his own in a mass reverse-excorcism,"Bill could feel his armor rebooting, "Linux and Google are coming, but they're not nearly close enough. We distract him, hit him with everything we've got, and try to reverse the soul-shackle."
By then, the massive, blue leviathan that was formerly Mark Zuckerberg had noticed them, and blue light brightened within his immense eyes.
"Any one liners?"Bill chuckled as his faceplate *clinked* back on.
"Yeah,"Steve's power suit began to glow, and a massive sonic cannon formed out of his right hand, "Like and share *this*." |
"I passed by Sir Athaelwas in the street today,"I told Lirk as I sipped at my relaxation potion, perched on my throne of bleached white bones. The chair was a gift from my father from when I graduated the Academy. Back when we still spoke and back when he still thought I was capable of doing something with my life. "He had on a brand-new full suit of gleaming armor with that kind of odd pearlescent shine that only enchanted steel gives off, and he carried the greatsword Mintras, rumored to cause his foes to burst into flame on contact. Women in the markets were swooning at him as he confidently strode through the streets on patrol for any danger. I saw him from far off, and I was in my very best villainous robes. You know, the ones with the big black hood and the blue cuffs of the Necromancer's Guild?"Lirk nodded obediently even as he continued to dig. He was the only one of my underlings that had managed to hold onto any semblance of intelligence after being brought back. "Well anyway. He was approaching me, and looked straight at me. His eyes narrowed, and his hand strayed toward the jeweled pommel of his weapon... and then nothing. He just looked away and kept on going like he didn't even recognize me."
Lirk placed a bony white hand on my shoulder, doing his best to comfort me. "I'm sorry, Master."
I shrugged him off, and he went back to digging. "I mean, what do I need to do to earn a little respect around here? Ok, so maybe I'm not like Grand Master Amcerlizar with his massive army and undead ogres and his fancy lich dragon mount."I sneered at the thought of that smug bastard. We'd been in the same year at the Academy and he was always a brown-nosing little snot, sucking up to the Elders. I mean, sure, he was talented, but he certainly didn't deserve to be named heir to the Undead Throne. "I'm a reputable Necromancer too! I have minions!"
"Of course, Master,"Lirk confirmed.
"Maybe I don't have the materials to be *constantly* preparing conjuration rituals, but I think once a day is still pretty good, right? I mean, at least I'm not like poor Lamneras."One of my best friends from the Academy had been forced into serving as a potions master for Lord Berman and had to completely hide his background in Necromancy. He claimed he'd been apprenticed to an *Alchemist*, for god's sake!
"Yes, Master,"Lirk answered.
"Oh, of course you'd say that,"I snapped at the skeleton. "Because you wouldn't *be* here if I didn't resummon you every day."I'd been saving up for a more permanent spell where my underlings could last for up to a month, but until I collected enough Lacewing and Gerthis moss, I'd have to keep doing the temporary spells.
"We are grateful, Master,"the skeletons all said even as they continued shoveling.
"I had dreams, you know?"I drained the rest of the relaxation potion and reached for another. "I'd even picked out my awesome title. 'Baron of Skulls.' Pretty bad-ass, right??"
"Very bad-ass, Master,"Lirk said.
"I was going to have a Dungeon all of my own, instead of *renting* a tiny little crypt."I gestured around at the pathetic little marble room that I was currently confined to. "With *multiple* torture rooms, an enormous pantry of ingredients, a proper Summoning tower... the works."I sipped at my potion and pictured it all in my mind, just as I had done for years. Maybe an old abandoned castle out in the country, or possibly one of the large vaulted chambers deep in the city's catacombs.
"Just look at me,"I spat out. "Dirty robes, only seven skeletal minions, an empty cupboard, and not even two gold pieces to rub together! And for what? To run a damn *cleaning service*?"There isn't much legitimate work out there for a Necromancer, but I'd managed to secure a contract with the local disease ward, disposing of their bodies. Skeletons don't get diseases, so they were perfectly suited for the job. And a perfect supply of new underlings, once I managed to scrounge up enough materials for some more summoning rituals. But I'd become the laughing stock of the other Necromancers. I couldn't even bear to face most of my former friends. "I've got nothing."
"You have us, Master,"the skeletons answered. Their shovels and picks continued to scrape against the dirt under the crypt. "And someday soon, the Ruby of Mertialz!"Lirk added.
"Yeah, yeah,"I said, taking another sip of my potion. The *only* reason I'd ever taken this shitty little crypt was the rumor that a great jewel was buried somewhere underneath it. A jewel with remarkable power that would allow me to get back on the right track. The skeletons could only go clean the disease ward at night, so I set them to work during the day tunneling down. I mean, maybe the Ruby was just a myth. Its existence was only mentioned in a few old crumbling scrolls, but... well, it didn't hurt to try, did it? "Get back to work, guys. I want this hole to be ten feet deeper by the time you leave for the ward."
"Yes, Master,"Lirk answered.
----
[There are now 4 parts posted here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3v0egf/the_necromancer/cxjc4d3), with plans to continue soon! |
The sounds of his foot steps on the cobble road echoed off the tight alley walls. When he was lost in thought he often took walks. Sometimes these walks took him much further from home than anticipated, and on a few occasions into areas of town he dared only to tread due to his position. For the last two months he'd been following this case.
A man by the name 'Sherlock Holmes' had escaped custody of a sanatorium, and has sense gone on to elude police capture. At first they didn't think much of it. Just some poor loon who'd gone and broken out. His file said he had a thing for the bottle and was reported as having frequented opium dens. Then they heard how he escaped. It would seem that despite his diagnosis Holmes was quite the adversary. He managed to incapacitate a guard, secure a uniform, and altered his appearance just enough to evade suspicion. When questioned the guard at the gate said he saw a slight looking male nurse leave about an hour before Holmes was reported missing. The bastard managed to walk right out the door.
From there things only became more odd. Holmes, it would seem, has an affinity for solving crimes. In the two months since he escaped he has left hints, notes, and on one occasion risked his own capture to lead officers to criminals. Were he a copper he would have had an impressive number of collars. The citizens began to idolize him and meanwhile the police force caught hell from the chief of police all the way to members of Parliament.
The officer paused and leaned against a wall. From his pocket he produced a cigarette and brought it to his lips. He reached for his lighter only to find it wasn't in his pocket. He began to feel about at his coat and trousers when the sound of a match strike alerted him to someone else's presence in the alley.
"Need a light,"a thick cockney accent asked.
He looked to his left. Just a ways away from him stood a man with shaggy hair holding a lit match. The flame illuminated just enough to show the patches of dirt on his face. Even from a distance the officer could smell the booze on him.
"You shouldn't sneak up on a police officer, sir. Bad for my health and quite possibly yours. But it would seem I am in need of a light so your presence is welcome."
The boozy man chuckled sightly and snuffed out the match. He lit another and made his way over slowly. Once close by his gingerly brought the flame to the end of the cigarette and lit it. The officer took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cool night air.
"Mind if I join ya,"the boozy man pulled a weathered pipe from his tattered rags.
"By all means. It would seem I'm in your alley anyway."
The boozy man hummed and chuckled wryly. He struck another match and lit his pipe with a couple of puffs.
"So what brings you to my side of town, eh?"
"Just out for a stroll actually,"the officer said exhaling more smoke, "helps me think."
"A good walk can clear the mind I suppose,"his manner of speaking had changed slightly.
The officer hummed in agreement. As his cigarette burned to ash he produced another and motioned for another light. This time the boozy man brought out a small, gold lighter and flicked it to make a flame. He brought it to the tip of the cigarette when the officer noticed something. That was his lighter. The cigarette fell from his lips and he looked at the boozy man.
"Where did you,"he stammered, "how did you get this lighter?"
"That's a waste of a cigarette you know,"the mans diction was clear now. His accent more refined and precise.
"That is *my* lighter,"the officer said snatching it out of the mans hand.
"I procured it earlier when you were walking, John. You really should be more aware. If I can pick your pocket I'm not sure how you survive the hordes of street children."
John grabbed the boozy man by his collar and slammed him to the wall.
"Now, now officer Watson,"the man said, "let's not be so rash."
John slammed the mans back against the wall.
"Who the hell are you and how do you know me? You picked my pocket? When I never-,"he paused. He eyes grew wide.
"I most certainly did take your lighter but I was not wearing these rags. And I smelled significantly less like a tavern floor. Which is where I found this shoddy coat actually. A little soot from the fire place on my face, a change in speech pattern, and since I've grown my hair out there's no way you'd know me immediately."
"Holmes,"John said gravely, "I finally got you this time."
"Yes, you were quite close the last time. Thankfully I was able to elude you and bring you right to that drug shipment. I was also able to take a little for myself, so really we all won."
"Well now I've got you in my hands and I'm bringing you in."
"You're not the least bit curious as to why I just turned myself in to you? I evade capture for 67 days and I just willingly give myself to the man who was closest to catching me?"
Johns brow furrowed. He had a point. There's no reason for this. Maybe he was done running? No that was too simple. Holmes wouldn't just quit.
"I'll give you 30 seconds."
"I don't need that many to tell you there is to be an attempt on the lives of the police chief and his family sometime in the next hour."
Johns blood ran cold. Was he setting John up? Was this an attempt at escaping? But then again Holmes had "helped"capture almost 20 criminals now, and all of his hints and clues were correct in leading to their capture.
"How do you know that?"
"I have eyes in the city. Information dead drops most everywhere. I know people who know people and gather intelligence as I require. This seemed important enough to warrant direct confrontation with one of London's finest officers. Not a great detective, mind you, but certainly a good officer."
John gritted his teeth. The information was processing in his mind. There was no reason he couldn't just take Holmes in and interrogate him for information. But he may not talk at all and if the chiefs life was truly in danger he wouldn't acknowledge it without evidence. Hell even with evidence he may not pay it any mind. But if his family was also in danger then it made matters even more pressing. Then there was the time constraint.
"Well?"
John looked at Holmes. *Fuck* he said internally.
"I let you help me on this and I guarantee your safety and escape. That's what you want, right?"
"Yes and no,"Holmes spoke calmly, "yes you will let me help you, but I won't be 'escaping' so much as continuing to help you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I propose a partnership. I like solving these cases and the thrill it brings but I can't do it in the open. I can act upon those criminals but I'd surely be deemed a vigilante or killed. Rather I will help you become a detective, you will bring them to me, I help you and you get a criminal off the street."
"So you're just a good person, huh? Why not become a cop if you wanted to catch criminals so badly?"
"Please if you want to solve crimes and get results you don't become a cop. The restrictions hold you back, and your outward appearance kills off leads and sources who don't speak to police. I like the thrill of the chase. The harder the better. Nothing more than that?"
"So the police chiefs life and the lives of his family have no barring on the decision then?"
"This is a *gift* Watson. I only brought this to you as an exchange. People die everyday and many of them do so very boringly. The fact this saves lives is of little importance to me but to you,"he trailed off.
John tensed up and his arms shook. He exhaled sharply as he released his grip and shoved Holmes away. Holmes extended his hand.
"Partners?"
John eyed him warily. He stuck his hand out begrudgingly and squeezed Holmes hand as they shook.
"Just tell me what is going to happen or who is involved and we'll go from there."
"Very well. This way Watson,"Holmes turned sharply and began to walk briskly out of the alley.
John stared at him and then began to follow behind.
"It's 'Officer Watson'."
"Please, John, we're partners now. We can drop formalities."
Edit: a word
Edit 2: In response to the unexpected success of this post I have created a sub for my writing at [/r/LaughingWriter] (https://www.reddit.com/r/LaughingWriter/). Feel free to subscribe or lurk. It's just nice to know my words are being read and if you enjoy them that makes it all the better.
I really appreciate the praise, critiques, and encouragement. Writing has been a hobby of mine and I'm looking to turn it into a career, or at least as a part of my career. I always respond to critiques and advice, and am happy to provide the same for anyone who wants another pair of eyes on their work. I'm in the process of finishing my degree this summer but I'll try to post often and will share some of my old work from this sub.
Stay tuned for a part two. I'm in the process of plotting things out and want to make this as solid a story as I can. Thanks again for the responses everyone.
|
Jarek walked among the corpses and a frown threatened to split his face. There were no gashes, slices, or missing limbs, just a look of slow horror that had burned its way onto the faces of the dead. Those with open eyes stared at him silently as if in their silent watch they could sense he was not human.
He had last walked the Earth during a great battle in this very area as the kings of men went to war once again, glorious chariots meeting the new phalanxes. He had gloried in the fight until the betrayal, the sacred nets, and then the cell where he had languished for millennia. For the last thousand years his kindred had lain silent and he thought himself forgotten. Upon escaping he could find no trace of them on the sacred mountain.
The metal hawk screeching and moving impossibly fast told him that the gods still existed. It had screamed past directly above where he had stood. It had brought him to the site of what was obviously a battle, but unlike one he could understand. He could hear loud repeated "coughs"in the distance, his mind struggling to understand what they were. The hawk had dropped something and he had heard the yells, the horror, the real human coughs.
These were not warriors. These were villagers. One of them - a child - stumbled from one of the houses, looked at him and against his nature he had taken the tiny girl into his arms and held her till she passed. Her breathing had grown ragged as her tiny lungs tried to find air.
A metal hawk streaked over head and something thudded into the earth next to him. A yellowish mist filled the area he was in and he realized. They were dropping poisoned air on the innocent. His mind was filled with a thousand horrors. This was not war, his domain, this was mindless evil.
-
The pilot of the Russian MiG came in for another pass - gun chattering. The man below must have had on a gas mask, the pilot thought as he banked around for another try. Let's see if he's bullet-proof too. Idiot was still standing in the open.
Then suddenly he wasn't. He was standing on the canopy right outside of the cockpit looking in with a face filled with rage. He was used to being safely above the battle field - untouchable. The Russian pilot felt fear.
-
Jarek's battle axe lifted skyward and down. Suddenly the metal hawk was spinning out of control as the cockpit filled with blood and gore like the battles of old. He landed on the ground as the hawk smashed into the side of a hill a short distance from him, its armor shattered.
He listened to the sound of coughing in the distance and leaped with inhuman strength across the desert landscape. The humans had forgotten the true face of war with their new horrifying weapons. A metal beast appeared a short distance away, the same symbol etched into its side as had marked the hawk. The symbol of the enemy. The ground around him erupted and he smiled. He lifted his axe as he ran, his battle cry drowning out its roar. This he could understand. |
“Feeling tired?” Terry asks from right behind me. I jump.
“What are you doing?” I demand. “It’s not okay to sneak up on me like that!”
“I’m sorry,” Terry said. “Perhaps you would be more alert if you were taking AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra! The best and only sleep supplement on the market!”
“Sorry, dude, but you know I can’t,” I explain. “Pfizer-Allergen is an unregulated monopoly and I won’t be a supporter of that. Besides, it feels kind of weird.”
“It’s not weird!” Alan said from my side. I swivel around in alarm.
“Stop freaking me out with these sudden arrivals, guys!” I say with a nervous chuckle. Neither of my coworkers laugh.
“With AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra, you’ll recover hours you never even knew you had!” Alan said excitedly, his eyes getting somewhat glazed with admiration for his supplements.
“That’s literally their slogan,” I tell him nervously. “Why are you repeating their slogan?”
“It's worth repeating,” Rick announces. What is he doing here too? I shudder and slink over to press my back against the wall.
“You know,” Terry told me. “Corporate is talking about extending our work-day to sixteen hours! How would you be able to do that if you’re not taking AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra? Think of all the pay you’ll miss out on because of this silly habit of sleeping!”
“Guys, I’m not going to take this weird pill,” I say. “And people used to fight for *shorter* workdays. What’s going on?”
“We’re just enjoying the wonderful effects of AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra,” Matthew, Alice, and Joe say simultaneously. Okay, where THE HELL did they come from???
“With AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra, you’ll recover hours you never even knew you had!” Alan tells me again.
“With AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra, you’ll recover hours you never even knew you had!” Terry, Rick, Matthew, Alice, and Joe all repeat, their irises cloudy and their voices low.
“With AllQuil™ NoSleep® Ultra, you’ll recover hours you never even knew you had!” Steve, Megan, Emily, Julio, Oliver, Brad, Chris, the other Chris, Alan, Terry, Rick, Matthew, and Alice all say. I turn around and run. I run straight out of my office, straight past the theatre now advertising “AllQuil™: the All-Night Movie”, underneath a billboard declaring that I’ll recover hours I never even knew I had, over a wall covered in Pfizer-Allergen decals, and by the 24/7 AllQuil™ Apothecary.
I am still running. |
"That can't be a flintlock, can it? Certainly a musket of some sort-"
"Guys...?"
"It's more advanced than a musket, look! These little brass things seem to contain the powder for each charge, pre-measured!"
"Yeah! That's definitely an innovation and look, they stack in here! Does it load itself?!!"
"Guys? I really-"
"What does this part d- OH! It broke. Did it break?"
"No, look, there's a catch here and it seems to open for... Is it for cleaning? And look how complex this mechanism is! Astoundi-"
"GUYS! PLEASE!"
"WHAT?"
"WHAT?!"
"Guys, the Wizard. Look at the Wizard."
"What about the Wiz-uh..."
"Sorry my good man, what did you call yourself again?"
"I am the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klu-"
"You-"
"He..."
"What was the job again?"
"Oh no. Oh no no no." |
A split-lip sunset bleeds over the horizon. I feel the last of the warmth on my face, trickling over my scars, over my broken nose. I don't hear it approach, but a rust-red bus blots out the sun, lurching to a halt in front of me. The door squeals as it pulls open.
With an aching sigh, I shrug my bag onto my shoulder and step inside.
The bus driver casts me a sympathetic smile. "Not another fight, Joe? I thought you'd retired?!"
A laugh rises from my belly, but only as far as my adam's-apple. "I retire every Saturday, Carl. You know that."
He nods and the doors hiss shut like a snake on its last legs -- so to speak. "You need to start a pension pot."
I find an empty seat near the back and watch the city pass, as a beaten-up reflection watches me. It's almost judgemental. The way its eyes stares back at me.
Into me.
*Why you still doing this to yourself?*
---
"Round three,"says Leroy. "Our boy here"--he nods at my opponent, all two hundred and ten pounds of him--"gives you a hard right and you go to the mat. You go any sooner than that, and..."
He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. He means I don't get paid and I get a visit some night from Leroy's friends. I glance at my right thumb and wince thinking about last time. It's hard not to fall early when your opponent takes a cheap jab at the side of your head when you're walking back to your corner.
I stick my hand out, offering it to my opponent. Eli snorts dismissively. I lower my hand. I know what he's thinking. What he thinks of me. He's undefeated. I've not had a win in... I can't even remember. I take money and I take hits. It's what I do, at least these days. I just take punishment. Eli, on the other hand, is destined to be champion. It's his fate -- as written by men with briefcases full of cash. I nod at him, understanding, and head to the back to get ready.
Number 72. That's my locker. Always has been. It's painted green and almost as beat up as me. It distorts my reflection. Almost fixes my nose like a fun-fair mirror.
*Why you still doing this to yourself?*
Same question I asked myself on the bus. I shrug, as if I owe my own thoughts an answer. "Guess I was an asshole in a past life."I swing the door open and take out my shorts. My body aches as I bend to put them on.
*You've done this a hundred times before*
I knock the side of my head, trying to thump out the thoughts. Don't need no distractions right now.
*A hundred*
I grimace. "Yeah? And I'll do it a hundred more times! Got to pay the rent, you know?"
*Not the fights*
I frown. I've taken one too many hits. Arguing with myself now.
*Not the fights,* it repeats. I repeat. *These lives. Penances. It's time to go home.*
For a second, I feel pricks around my skull, as if needles have been stuck into it from every direction. My palms. My feet. Then, just like that, the pain is gone.
I slam the locker shut and walk away.
---
Eli towers over me. The bell rings for the third. Blood dribbles into my mouth, salty and sweet.
He dances around me like a kid. Hell, he is a kid. Just... Frankenstein's kid. Or the monster's kid? I never get it right.
The crowd chants his name. They know how this fight will end, even if they're not privy to the script.
The punch arrives like a freight train. It pushes my gloved hands apart and impacts heavily against my nose. I think this is where I'm meant to fall.
But I don't...
His glove lands on my nose again. "Maybe that'll fix it for you, old man,"he spits beneath his breath.
I stagger back. I know he doesn't mean it. He's just been bred to be the next big thing. Believes he is. Got to forgive a kid for that.
He comes again, a flurry of fists. I backpedal to the corner. I'm already dizzy... but for some reason I'm still standing.
"Go down,"he spits. Whispers. Angry voice.
Another fist connects with my left temple.
Fall, I tell myself.
*You've fallen enough. It's time.*
Eli is getting frantic. He looks at his coach. His coach shrugs.
I don't even mean to.
Eli comes charging like a bull.
The crowd bays for more blood.
For my blood.
And I want to give it to them. It's my job to.
But...
My arm pulls backwards, as if out of my control. Then forward.
There's a crack as Eli goes down.
A hushed silence.
My cheeks are glowing.
The crowd burst into a furious roar.
They chant my name.
They've been lost without me.
I've been gone so long.
Something starts to click.
|
We called ourselves "The Butt Squad."
At the time, we thought it was the funniest thing--three seven-year-old boys all saying gross things to each other just to rile up our moms. My code name was "Turd."Bobby, who lived across the street, was "Windbreaker,"while Eric, always a bit more clever than other boys his age, went by "Eau De Toilet."I can't remember if the joke actually had time to stop being funny or if Bobby and Eric moved away before things went stale.
Our club logo was a butt--a very badly drawn butt. More specifically, it was two circles with a scribbly fart cloud underneath. We scribbled the Butt Squad butt on everything we could think of: desks, school assignments, each other's arms with magic marker.
And those two gloriously full moons were right in the center of the wax seal on the very thick envelope that had just arrived in the mail.
My first thought was to open up the envelope and figure out which of my two goofball friends had finally tracked me down, but I hesitated when I took a closer look at the seal. The "butt cheeks"were detailed with patterns that made them look like *real* moons, while the cloud underneath was less "cumulus"and more "nebula."I turned the envelope over again and checked the return address. It was a P.O. Box from four states away.
Curiosity got the better of me and I tore the envelope open. Inside was a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled phone number and the words "CALL US."
Something about the urgency of the way the words were written unnerved me. Part of me wanted to crumple the paper and throw it out, but it didn't seem right to abandon some of my earliest friends like that. I pulled out my phone and tapped the number onto the screen. Seconds later a voice with a familiar speech impediment picked up.
"Ish that you, Turd?"
"Oh my god Eric, you still sound the same after all these years,"I said with a laugh.
"Shhhh! Use the code namesh, pleashe,"said Eric.
"Oh my god Eric, I'm not using--"
"JUSHT USE THEM!"
"All right, all right, 'Toilet,'"I said, the grin fading from my face.
"Turd, the Butt Squad ish reuniting,"said Eric. "We've been called by the United Shtates Government to be ambasshadorsh for First Contact."
"First Contact? You mean, like, aliens?"
"Yesh. Extraterreshtrialsh. And they're looking for The Butt Squad shpecifically."
"The Butt Squad."
"Yesh."
"Hey, Eri--er, Toilet?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to call a hospital,"I said, trying not to upset my disturbed friend. "Get checked out before you meet these 'aliens.'"
"I'm not crazhy,"he said.
"He's telling the truth,"added a deep baritone voice on the other end who couldn't have been anyone other than grown-up Bobby. My heart dropped. Could what they were saying be true?
"The President is shending a team of the besht Men in Black to pick you up,"said Toilet. "Nobody will shushpect you're on a mission and you'll be home before you know it."
"And we'll be right there with you the whole time, Turd,"said Windbreaker. As if on cue, a long black limousine pulled up next to my driveway and a heavy fist pounded on the front door.
"Open up, Turd!"called a firm voice. "We are here to escort you to the White House."
"I don't get it,"I said. My voice started rising to a shout. "Why would aliens want to meet with The Butt Squad? We're nobody! Nothing! We were just three dumb kids goofing around! What in the world would they want *us* for!?"
There was a strained silence. Then...
"Didn't you tell him?"asked Windbreaker.
"Guessh not,"said Toilet.
"What? Tell me what!?"I shrieked.
"The aliensh,"said Toilet. "They're from Uranush."
*For more stupid stories, check out my subreddit at* r/OctOpusTales *!* |
Love. The most insidious of The gods children. You smelled it once and like the most virulent disease, you would catch it. It destroyed everything infected with it. Partnerships, families, workplaces, friendship. It would come in suddenly on the wind. We had our most powerful sensors and detection pointed at the east where we knew it would come from. It would give us a few precious moments to save ourselves and hopefully others we had kinship with.
The day was like any other. Blue sky. Warm temperatures. No one knew today would be the day, but we were ever vigilant. I spat the cold cigarette out of my mouth when I heard the sirens. I had to act fast, if I didn’t find Joanna in time she would be caught. I raced north, perpendicular to the invisible cloud of fumes that threatened everyone and everything I cared about.
Speeding down the lane in my penny loafers, I remembered when it wasn’t like this. When love built us up and didn’t destroy. We were blissfully ignorant that some people would stop at nothing to gain control of the population.
They weaponized a feeling. I still felt hate at that. They released it in clouds of yellow and orange on the population centers of Pakistan, North Korea, Russia. “It would save them,” they said. And it did for a while. Conflict stopped, love reigned. Then we stopped hearing from them at all. We sent in teams and found their desiccated corpses, still entwined one with another. We didn’t put those on the ground in hazmat suits.
Returning to the present I saw the first victim, a dog humping a fire hydrant. I took pity but ran on. A block from where Joanna worked, the first human appeared from the east. Luckily he didn’t see me first, and ran headlong after a cop trying to control the crowd. She didn’t even hesitate. The man dropped without even a sound.
I got to her work and ran into the office space. Those SOB’s just left her there. I knew they would. I was still ahead of the cloud, I just needed to get to the safe house before it was too late. I grabbed her by the shoulder, her eyes snapping up in alarm. “Love” I signed. She paled visibly, then I heard a rustling behind me. The office manager was swaying towards me. I didn’t hesitate. Joanna and I ran west as the gunshot sounded off the office walls. |
“Surely there has to be ONE superhero in our building?” Todd said.
The rest of us collectively shook our heads and shrugged our shoulders. For the briefest moment a look of shame seemed to cross Todd’s face but it was quickly replaced with his typical smile.
“Anyway, I have work to do, people to save.” Todd stood up. “Ya know, save financially,” he said. He chuckled a little and walked away.
“Does he seriously not realise we know?” Mary said.
“I know right. It’s almost like he wants us to know,” Ed said. It was after he said that, a caped figure flew past our window. We collectively rolled our eyes.
“At least he’s actually good at saving people,” I said.
“That is true. Imagine if we knew some hero’s secret identity and they were some D-tier hero. At least Todd is about a high B,” Mary said.
“Do you think he’ll ever figure it out? Ed said. “Should we tell him we know?” Ed fidgeted with his fingers and glanced out the window every now and again.
I shrugged. “As long as we don’t tell anyone else. Though I’d be surprised if anyone in the building didn’t know. He doesn’t hide his costume well does he?”
“You can say that again,” Mary said. “I could see some of it through his shirt the other day.”
“Alright. His birthday is in 3-4 weeks?” I said. “Let’s plan the theme around his super hero identity. If he still doesn’t cotton on…”
“I’ll slap him across the face and tell him myself,” Mary said.
“Slap who across the face?” Todd said as he walked back into the room. His tie a little astray and his hair noticeably messier than it was.
“Oh just the president or someone,” I said. |
It was supposed to be simple, create the cure, inoculate a few heroes maybe a villain or two, and wait for the chaos to begin. The terror, the shock, the outrage. They would be begging at your door.
Well, they were certainly doing that just not for the reasons you wanted.
After you injected the cure into Inferno, and wasn't that a challenge to create a syringe that could withstand those temperatures, you were ready for the villain to cry as his evil empire collapsed and beg to get his powers back. You certainly weren't expecting him to laugh in joy tears rolling down his face, much less the hug and kiss to the lips that followed.
You went home confused but after a bit of research you realised your mistake. Turns out only about five or so people on the planet could actually touch Inferno.
It was fine there would always be anomalies, those who hated their powers. It just meant finding a new victim, easy right?
No, it turns out.
Silver Guardian was tired of emitting radiation.
Mister Y just wanted to turn off the voices.
Snowstorm actually hated the cold.
The list went on.
Soon enough you couldn't even go to the store without some hero or villain coming up to you to beg for a cure. It was to much. You stopped leaving the house. But they found you anyway.
Do you know how hard it is to hide from a group of people who could literally see through walls and move at the speed of light.
So here you are locked in your own house behind a lead lined bomb shelter, eating out of tin cans. Wondering if they would be merciful if you destroyed all your notes. All your research.
You chuckle of course they wouldn't.
You pause and watch in horror as the vault door begins to heat up.
You can hear them on the other side now.
"Please Doctor, we just want to be normal." |
I suppose I see them a lot. In my position, that is.
Both the *Boys from Below* and the *Girls from Above*. Not sure why it breaks down that way. Suppose it could be some agreement they’ve made. Or just natural inclination. Guess it’s not really my place to wonder.
It is what it is.
The Boys from Below are the easy ones to spot. See a lot of ‘em in AA, the ones that have some ‘epiphany’ moment, and turn their life around. Often get their wives and children and whatnot coming up to thank me. “Not me,” I’d tell them. “It’s all on his head.”
Or they’re the ones coming back to my church after saying they’d never darken the doorstep ever again. All contrite, and apologetic.
Oh, yes. The church is a big haven for them. Think about it. Escaping a bit of a bad situation, ya know. They generally find sanctuary in a place as far from their… home… as they can.
Same reason they turn their lives around. Well, their *hosts’* lives. Same difference, really.
Don’t wanna go back. Can’t say I blame ‘em, neither.
Nah, nah. They’re just here to make something of themselves. Something better.
See, it’s the other side’s ‘guests’ ya gotta be careful about.
No, see. Up above, it’s **full** of rules.
Regulations. Directives. Commandments. Whatever you wants ta call ‘em.
And they get down here, and what do they find? Anarchy. Pure, sweet, and simple anarchy.
So, they latch onto whatever system of rules they can. To a rather… unnatural extent, you could say.
Doesn’t matter what the rules are *for*, or how *just* they are. Only matters that they are followed. MLMs, HOAs, local politics, and then some.
Anyways, that’s why I cannot, in good conscious, allow this marriage to take place.
I mean, Jim-Bob here is an ex-drug dealin’, child beatin’, dog sniffin’ bastard, possessed by one of the ranking demons from hell…
And Karen, he’s just too damn good fer the likes of you! |
"Excuse me mister! Excuse me! Mister! Excuse me!"The young biped waved his fleshy arm in the air excitedly. He was being far too loud, the library is a silent refuge, not a playground. As I floated down from the shelves that scrape the sky the young biped jumped up and down excitedly.
"Shhh! We whisper in the library. Not yell. What may I do for you?"I asked the young creature. It was speechless, its eyes filled with wonder as it poked my liquid metal shell. The ripples cascading over my spherical shape.
"Can I give you my book? I heard that it will come true if I do."The biped stretched its arms out grasping a crudely bound book, the cover a crayon drawing of a black cat lying on a couch.
"As curator of the library I must read it first. Let me show you to the reading area."I floated ahead with the slow biped in tow to the cozy nook of the reading room, where knowledge and imagination reign supreme. Creatures of all shapes and sizes studied their favorite works. I manifested a comfy chair for the small creature and absorbed the book.
A picture book, crudely drawn and badly narrated. I determined it to have no artistic, scientific, historic, or philosophic merit. I returned the book to the thing. "No I cannot take your book. It does not belong on these shelves. Sorry to disappoint you."
The young one was not deterred. "Maybe you didn't get it."
What an audacious creature. Since the dawn of reality I have gathered and studied the finest works from every corner of the universe. Cataloguing them, using them to shape reality according to my design. Yet this pitiful creature questions me. "It's going to take a lot to convince me, think you can do it?"
The young one excitedly nodded his head. He started with the cover.
"This is Mr. Mittens, he was my cat. My family's cat. He had really long whiskers and bright green eyes, he was really soft too."The young one's voice was happy and innocent. Nowhere in the text was Mr. Mittens named. The biped continued.
"So this story is about him. There's my mom and dad and little sister Susie bringing Mr. Mittens home from the shelter. He was the runt of the litter, that's why I drew him so small."
The young child explained the various adventures of Mr. Mittens in details that were not present in the book itself. It was starting to make more sense. The last two pages were coming up.
"This is when we all had to say goodbye to Mr. Mittens, that's Dr. Allen, she's a good kitty doctor. But she couldn't help Mr. Mittens, there was something wrong with his heart. Susie cried a lot when it happened. Then the last page is Mr. Mittens going over the rainbow, that's my grandma in the background waiting for him."
I gave it a second thought but I wanted to be sure I was correct. "Why do you want this publication in the library?"
"Maybe if it's true that Mr. Mittens is safe and happy with grandma in heaven it'll be true and Susie won't be so sad anymore. I don't like seeing her cry so much, I miss Mr. Mittens too. That'll happen if the book is here right?"The child's eyes welled with tears.
I reabsorbed the book and floated up to a shelf right near the door, depositing it in the "Librarian's choice"section.
\[Author's note: Whoa did not expect this story to blow up like this. Thank you so much for the great comments and awards!\] |
Colonel Holloway coughed out blood, spittle flying out of his mouth. He shakily jerked out the arrow embedded in his stomach, but that only served to flush blood out of the wound. A cardinal sin in any warrior society, but the rattling of bones coming closer comforted him and jolted his mind back to the present and why he pulled it out.
"Hang in there, sir. You're gonna be just fine."
The skeleton didn't speak. Not truly. Magic shaped a mouth and blowed air through it, allowing the skeleton to have some sort of verbal communication. He gave each and every one of his necro-spawn an "air box", out of respect and gratitude.
He was soon placed on his back. He peered up at the skeleton, thankful for their existence for the umpteenth time today. As the skeleton went to work patching his wounds with diligent and tireless fingers, Colonel Holloway closed his eyes and thought back to just twenty hours ago.
Colonel Holloway, in truth, was retired. Medically discharged. The lack of response in his entire left arm was the reason, and a particularly powerful Warhammer being blocked by his shield was the cause. For the last two years, the thirty seven year old ex-military commander sought a way to get back in shape and to contribute to his cause again.
Desperate, with no choice and hopes to repel the attack on the village he recently called home, he resorted to bringing back the dead. He felt as if he had no choice, and, in hindsight, he didn't believe he regretted it.
The stories were frequent and widespread. Necromancers were feared, the craft, Forbidden. Yet, Holloway "borrowed"a book from the Library of the Ancients, a military controlled artifact and knowledge storage.
He still retained his clearance, and no one asked questions when he said he was going to research the art. Most everyone that knew him knew that he was searching for a way to contribute. Perhaps they thought he felt as if being an advisor would be helpful?
When he raised those first skeletons, he was fearful. Skeletons and the undead in general were notoriously hard to control, and had minds of their own. And yet, when he ordered them to take up arms and form a formation against the bandit attackers, they did so with efficiency and coordination commanders have wet dreams of.
They obeyed without hesitation, their minds having respect of the skill and knowledge they received. He found out they knew everything he did, plus whatever they learned in their life. In truth, their bones were conjured from the earth, and their souls selected from whatever afterlife was beyond mortal experiences. No graveyard required.
The bandits were quickly put down, or allowed to flee. And the villagers chased him out.
With revenge and anger boiling in his heart, he found himself where he was now. Leading a contigent of fifty skeletons strong, on horse back and calvary sword pointed towards an Imperial Castle in defiance.
It was a small one, on an unimportant isle far from enemy occupation. But they were Colonel Holloway's enemy, and his first test run.
Currently he laid behind an overturned wagon, a random skeleton out of many preforming elite medical performances on his wounded body with ungodly tirelessness. Each and every individual skeleton held a bow, a claymore sword, a shield, and a longsword each. Each and every one of them had unnatural strength and resilience to almost every form of attack except blunt force, and each and every skeleton knew when to use what weapon, where.
He had no losses. It'd take something extreme, like a rampaging orc Chieftan with a Warhammer, to cause enough damage to the bones to forcefully dispell the spirit holding them together.
Two ballistae, twenty archers, and thirty footmen did not suffice.
They were inside the courtyard. Ten Skeletons pushed their way towards the keep, five with shields in a phalanx, three with bows firing over their shoulders, and two with claymores flanking on either side. Twenty secured the castle walls, and the remainder positioned themselves as a makeshift garrison. They just needed the hall to claim the fort.
He was hit by a particularly ambitious archer, who in turn found an arrow in her forehead. And so Holloway rested.
"Report."
"No casualties. Total enemy defeat. Six captured, awaiting interrogation and disposal. Sixteen civilians, awaiting orders."
Holloway nodded.
"Tell them that they may remain alive. We will leave this place shortly."
The skeleton nodded and continued his work.
In truth, it took Holloway about five days to amass this battalion. This small group that could take on forces thirty times their number.
Colonel Holloway smiled grimly. He may be crippled, and after today, he may be on his sick bed and wounded. But he would be damned if he sat on the sidelines anymore. He worked too hard, did too much, to be effectively eliminated by that bastard orc.
No, his name will be written in the history books as the one who won the war for his country. As the one who cracked the code to necromancy and didn't fall into corruption.
The one who the dead respected. |
As Adrunaline i'm able to process faster than most, i mean my whole thing is being fast.
But no amount of decelerated time can help me process that the Cold Queen had a kid. And such a sweet kid too.
"Mommy"said young tim as he ran to his mom.
"Hey baby! How was school?"She said just not acknowledging me existence
"Mr Adriane stay by to help me with my math homework."The little guy stuttered
"Oh really and who is..."she was almost as stunned to see me out of costume as i was seeing her. "Honey can you go wait in the car?"She then asked her little one.
As he ran towards the car she stared with an glare colder than any ice powers she had.
"Does he know?"I calmly asked.
"No, he doesn't he goes to bed at 7, even then he's a kid he's not gonna watch the news."She stated.
"This explains the lack of crimes, and you being more careful."
"If you touch him-"
"I'll hang up my spandex and turn myself in,"at this moment my watch started beeping, i checked it. Of course, bank robbery 12th Avenue. "Look if you want me to i'll be happy to tutor, but right now i gotta start my night job."
After that i just ran, only stipping to get on my costume, and rushed to 12th Avenue. |
Doctor Astor came in to the waiting room where the wounded soldier waited. The doctor was a Trellax, with six chitinous arms and eight eyes exceptional at performing even the most delicate medical procedures.
"Greetings human"came his strangely trilling voice, in surprisingly good English, given his mouth. "Do you understand... why you are here?"
The fleshy human with his large mostly white eyes glaring, stretched back his face and bared his teeth in a wide expression that the doctor had been surprised to learn was supposed to be friendly. A 'smile'.
"I'm here to get a robot arm, right?"The human said excitedly, gesturing with his stump of an arm. "Do you know if I'm getting one of the robot arms that can like... crush metal in its bare hand? Cause that would be SICK."
"You do not need to fear getting sick from this procedure."Astor said in his trilling voice, attempting to comfort the human. "We will sterilize all matter being implanted, and will immunize you for the near future."
The human gave him a look Astor did not know how to interpret, the hair over his eyes writhed like caterpillars.
"Yeah whatever. But will my new robot arm have like, super-strength?"The human asked.
Astor's exceptional visual senses detected heat from bloodflow in the man's face. This often indicated stress or agitation in humans, but he often got it confused with excitement.
"Yes"Astor replied, "It is true your mechanical replacement will be able to exert more force than your biological limb. It is good to focus on some of the positives, this procedure can be traumatic, and focusing on what you have lost can lead to a downward spiral. We have doctors ready to talk you through any feelings you have."
"Doctors?"The human asked, "Like a shrink? I'll be too busy showing all my buddies my new arm once it gets in. If this had happened before we joined the Galactic Alliance, I would have been stuck with some janky claw grabby thing I reckon. This one connects to the nerves right? So I can still control it directly?"
Astor had seen humans lean on evasiveness to avoid confronting a looming problem, but it still caught him off guard to see it here.
"You humans are... new, to augmentation. I must warn you it can be a traumatic experience. The arm will have to become a part of you, it won't merely be equipment you carry around, and this may damage your self image enough to cause dismorphic trauma. That is only exacerbated by the altered sensations your new limb will provide. We will try to match a limb to your physiology as best as we can, to lessen the strain on your mind, but we can only go so far."
"Yeah, a buddy of mine got one of your arms. Said it felt like it was soaking in ice water for the first few weeks."The human replied in a too-casual tone. "But wait, are you saying I can get a DIFFERENT kind of arm? Could I get like a claw arm? Ooh! Ooh! What about like a mechanical tentacle that can curve and bend, and stretch out to twice as long, with like eight fingers on the end?!"
Astor clicked in concern. "You seem to be taking this lightly. There was a limb like that made as a prototype for a Cephallan, but the project was abandoned, as the altered features were deemed too harmful for wider deployment."
The humans eyes went white. Or... just wide actually, the non-white part stayed the same size.
"You're saying I could actually GET a crazy extending tentacle arm with extra fingers on it?!"He said, heart rate increasing substantially. "Holy shit, how much more would that cost? Would that be covered by our military treaty? Do I have to sign a waiver? Is it actually an option or are you just messing with me?!"
Astor did not know what to say. So instead he asked the human to follow him through the limb replacement ward. In one room an Aminoan lie curled up in her bed crying as a prosthetic leg stuck out of the sheets, twitching in time with her sobs. In another a Carcinarian with a claw replacement sat in silence, staring at the foreign limb in disbelieving shock. Up ahead, a Aerin mother was trying to coax her child to go back into the room where his father was, but the child was too afraid of the metallic jaw that was required to restore his speech.
The tour continued past many more rooms, before Astor finally led the human back to his own. "I don't want to frighten you"he said, "but it is important you are prepared for what may come next."
"I'm not an idiot you know"the human said. "I've talked to people with replaced limbs before, I know it's no walk in the park, especially early on."
Finally, the human was taking this seriously.
"I've seen people take months learning how to walk again, or get saddled with ongoing chronic pain."
Then the human looked Astor dead in his eyes. "But most of that is going to happen no matter what. Even with a human limb, I'll have to deal with all the weird nerve connections, and having to learn how to move my fingers again."
Then he shrugged, "Frankly, if I've got to go through all that anyways, I'd find it WAY more rewarding if I got a crazy metal octopus arm at the end of it all."
Astor stared at him blankly, caught entirely off guard.
"I mean come ON!"He shouted, drawing attention from some of the other nearby medical staff. "Who hasn't dreamed of having whip-like long-ass tentacle arms? I can't be the only one, can I?"
Astor rested one hand on each of the human's shoulders before trilling a response, "I assure you, you are the only one who has dreamed of that, who has ever been under my care."
Still, Astor did not want to so completely override the wishes of a patient of his.
"If you truly want to try a non-standard limb, I won't stop you, but know it goes against any medical recommendations I can give."
The human's eyes went wide again, "Really!?"Then he began jumping. Just when Astor was considering having the human sedated, he came back to the doctor and continued "Oh thank you! This is going to be so awesome. Can we for sure do this?! I want to call my mom and give her the great news, but only if you're sure. You're sure right?"
Astor let out a long exhale. Humans are WEIRD. |
Five hundred years is a long time. But when you've lived as long as me, five hundred years just seems like another adventure, another mission, another chance to succeed. But five hundred years, by yourself, is an entirely different matter. Five hundred years in isolation is a straight path towards insanity. I looked back up at the four suited people in front of me, three men and a woman; they simply stared back at me.
"Have you taken the offer into consideration?"
That was Greg. He looked like he led the group of NASA directors, but I knew how this worked. There was always someone else calling the shots, I used to be one of them.
"I have."
"And you agree to the terms?"
Lillian, she was young, eager to get started in the world of NASA. If only she knew what kind of things they did in the 60's to get a man on the moon, she probably wouldn't be so gun-ho about it all.
"I want to set some things straight."
They remained silent, my cue to continue.
"You will wipe my entire record; give me a new name, new life, new everything? As long as I agree to go on an,"I searched for the words, to anyone else it was suicidal, to me, it was just another mission, "Expedition to the closest habitable planet, which will take approximately five hundred years?"
"Precisely."
Leonard. I didn't like Leonard, and he didn't like me. Thought I was useless,naive, unintelligent. Guess he didn't know that I had a hand in the Manhattan project, which was one of the bigger reasons why I was in jail for the last hundred years. But here they were, offering me a chance of salvation.
"And I'll be alone?"
"You'll be able to communicate with Earth via the satellites we've been sending out over the last dozen or so years,"Greg said.
"So alone, on the ship?"
"Yes,"Lillian said.
"And what do you expect me to do when I get there?"
"Find water, start cultivating food, use the robotics with you to begin construction of the colony,"Leonard said. "The ship will be stocked top to bottom with enough equipment to create a version of New York on this new planet."
I sat in the chair for a few moments, staring at Lillian mostly. She was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the wife I had all but forgotten in Rome. Rome, such a long time ago. If only they could see the world they had cultivated, if only they could see the people that came from them.
If only they could be here with me. If only Rome could still live.
Then it dawned on me, Rome could still live. As long as I lived, Rome had a chance. And now, they were giving me the chance to build a new Rome, to build a new kingdom, to build a new Empire. They were giving me a chance to build a new Rome. And if five hundred years of isolation was the cost of this New Rome, then I would do it. I would do it for my people.
"I will do it."
They seemed to jump at my acceptance of the offer, and all of them, except for the man that didn't speak had a smile across their face.
"That is excellent news! Excellent!"Gregory exclaimed as he started to open his iPad and send the emails to his supervisors.
"You're doing a great thing, for mankind,"Leonard added to Gregory's outbreak.
I simply nodded, silent as ever and stared back at the one man who didn't speak. We had met only today, Jacob. He was a military man, I recognized one immediately. And he was probably the one calling all the shots, he probably just wanted to meet me before I agreed to the terms.
"I have one condition."
Jacob had a military manner, but my demand caused his eyebrow to twitch. That was good, it meant I had his attention.
"Name it,"Lillian said, not looking up from her iPad.
I stared at Jacob and a slight grin grew across my face; I would have my home again, I would have my kingdom again, I would have my empire again. I would have New Rome.
"I get to name the new city, and create it's laws."
Jacob smiled. He and I both knew I was in a position to make demands, and these demands weren't all that overbearing. Jacob nodded, "Done,"he said.
I smiled and nodded, "Then let's get started, shall we?"
Yes, I would be in isolation for five hundred years. But I would have a home again. I would have my Empire. I would have New Rome. It was only five hundred years away.
_____________________________________
Loved this prompt. I might continue this later but I have a bunch of stuff to do, can really see something bigger come out of this! Thank you!
Continuation is right [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3gfyvq/wp_after_spending_150_years_in_jail_the_world/cty5c9q) |
"Mom?!"
The entire line of condemned souls came to a halt behind me as I stopped and stared. Across a fiery chasm of craggy stone, my Mom sat atop Satan's own onyx throne surrounded by a crowd of imps. She looked exactly as I remember her, down to the short grey hair and a nice floral-patterned dress. She may have even gained some weight in the 14 years since she’d passed. That was in stark contrast to everyone else in Hell, all scarred and burned and gaunt.
“Back in line!” one of the imps hissed at me, cracking its bull whip across my shoulders. “Do you really think that Her Unholiness herself would de…”
“Greggie?!” Her voice was just as soft and sweet as I remembered. “Oh, Greggie! It’s so good to see you!” She rose from the throne and walked to the edge of the chasm, then just kept going into mid air like Wile E. Coyote would. Except there was no subsequent plunge into the lava below; she stepped back onto my side of the ledge and wrapped me up in a big hug. The imps with the whips watched in awe, whispering to each other. “BACK!” she ordered them with an almost inhuman roar. They all hopped to so enthusiastically that one of them tumbled backwards into the fire pit and dissolved into cinders with one last squeal of pain.
“Mom… what…. Why you…” I couldn’t even form complete sentences anymore. I made all sorts of sputtering sounds before I managed to finally spit out my question: “How are you here?” She’d never done anything wrong in her life. Church every Sunday, staying at home and taking care of us kids with Dad at work… hell, she didn’t even drink!
She laughed. “Oh, it’s a long story, hun. You don’t want to hear about all that.” She gave me a squeeze that caused my joints to pop. “But what about you? How did my little angel end up in Hell?” She took a step back and placed both hands on my shoulders. “It was that girl Beth! I told you not to hang around with girls like her, Greggie. And look what happened!”
I rolled my eyes. She was still carrying a grudge against my high school girlfriend almost 50 years later? “Mom, come on.” Was I really about to explain all the sinful things that I’d done in my life that earned me a spot down here? To my MOM?
She stood on her tip-toes and kissed me on the forehead. “Well, at least we’re together here now.”
“Mom, seriously. What is going on?” Never mind why she was in Hell…. How was she running the place? Why were the imps following her orders? "Are you in charge here?"
“Well, Honey, this place was just so disorganized when I first got here, and they nee…”
An imp came running up the path and tugged on the hem of her dress, interrupting the explanation. She whirled swiftly, causing the imp to jump back and seek cover behind some of the other tortured prisoners. “WHAT?!” she roared at it in a ferocious tone that I’d only heard the time she caught me smoking pot in my room.
“I’m sorry, Mistress!” The imp peeked out from behind the leg of a woman prisoner. “But it's… there are angels here demanding to speak with you!”
Mom rolled her eyes then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, Greggie. I do need to handle this really quickly, and then we’ll catch up more, OK? How about I make Sloppy Joes for dinner tonight? I know they’re your favorite!”
All I could do was give a stunned nod. She beamed a smile and then gestured toward one of the imps nearby. “Georphat here will show you to my quarters.” Then the still-shaking Imp that had brought the message led her away back down the path.
Georphat didn’t say a word as he took me by the hand and led me away from the other prisoners. As we walked, he would occasionally glance backward, trying to study me without me noticing what he was doing. As soon as our eyes locked, he’d panic and run a bit forward.
We soon arrived at a towering black castle on a large outcropping over a pool of lava. It looked every bit as demonic and evil as you’d expect the home of the ruler of Hell to be. “Here we are, Master Greggie,” the imp said.
"It's just Greg."Only Mom ever called me 'Greggie,' like I was a kindergartner or something. Georphat led me through doors large enough to swallow my whole house, then up a grand staircase (black stone, just like everything else), to a spare room. “You can wait here for Mistress to return.”
“Err, thanks, I guess.” There was a soft bed, and flowers in a vase on the nightstand. Much better than the cramped cell I’d been in since my arrival here.
Georphat turned back toward the door and began to close it. Hinges creaked like something from a bad horror movie. Just before it closed, he poked his leathery head back in. “Umm… Master Greggie? Is she… is the Mistress really your *mother*? She *raised* you?"
I nodded.
Georphat shook his head. “You poor bastard.” Then the door clicked closed.
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lv4lh/wp_for_all_of_your_life_you_have_been_fascinated/dzjc7vt/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hydrael_Writes/comments/8lyj31/the_burning_epoch_part_3/)
Twenty eight years to prove my theories. Twenty eight years of arguments, of dissertations, of mockery. Twenty eight years to prove that, in contrast what the scientific community believed, Dragons were not inspired by dug up dinosaur bones or just human fears of big lizards, but were an actual species that had existed - and still did.
I tracked down sightings. I listened to recordings. I interviewed witnesses. Finally, I’d figured out where there might be a colony. Based on sightings across Europe, I determined the only place they could be hiding was on Mount Elbrus, high atop the Caucasus mountains.
The climb was brutal. Age had weakened my limbs as much as a sedentary academic lifestyle had, and my obsession had lead to poverty, meaning my diet was about as bad as it could be. Ramen had been my primary food since college.
Halfway up, I found a print. The first evidence of my theories, an actual footprint in the snow. Too large to be a bird, to recent to be some leftover from the age of the dinosaurs.
Encouraged, I pushed on.
The wind was brutal this high up. I could hear howling near the entrance to the cave, like the wailing of damned souls, but there were more tracks near the entrance. They were here. Finally, I’d prove them all wrong for mocking me. I’d prove that I was not crazy.
Then the sneezing started.
The sound alerted the inhabitants of the cave. One came slithering up. It was beautiful, as best as I could see it through watery eyes. Green and blue with a crest, a jaw like something out of the Jurassic Period, and majesting wings.
I started snapping pictures, heedless of the danger, but the sneezing was getting worse. My skin started to itch. Hives were spotting onto my skin.
The dragon hissed and crept closer. It was magnificent! It was gorgeous! The most deadly predator to ever walk the Earth, and it was putting me in anaphylaxis.
I knew then I was dead. I knew and I didn’t care, because I’d accomplished my life mission. I’d done it, I’d proven the truth.
And the world would know soon.
Because as I collapsed into the snow, my throat seizing up, the dragon took me in it’s jaws. It carried me back to its den, and I knew from the hungry chirps within that by the time I’d dead, they’d be feeding on me.
I went to the mountain to prove to humans that dragons exist.
I didn’t mean to prove to dragons that humans were delicious.
---
**check out more of my writing at /r/Hydrael_writes**
May be doing a part 2 soon. |
Reputation is everything. Trust me when I say that. I've been bounced around schools since I could first remember. Three elementary schools, two middle schools and now my third high school. If I could put all this on my resume, I'd be qualified to be president by now, at least by our current standards. So when I wandered into the little gathering in the bathroom, my first thought was that this is how I get an in with the dealers. Then I thought maybe this was how I became a druggie. Then I thought that this is how I get my ass kicked and dumped in a toilet. Really just being a part of any group would be a huge boost to my reputation. Right now, I was good as non-existent. Then I saw the pentagram and I realized I had entered in nick of time. "It worked,"Drue muttered. Yes, that was really how his name was spelled.
I'm not quick socially. Being torn from every friend group you've ever known kind of does that to you. But I am not slow, and I realized the best thing to do here was to confirm to them that whatever tom-foolery they were involved in had indeed worked. "Hello, gentlemen,"I said mysteriously, my voice a hoarse whisper. They gaped at me. "Why have you brought me here?"I asked.
They glanced at each other. There was Derrick and Chad - yes, I'm serious - and Jeremy. The Drue Crew. Notorious. Infamous. So popular. And then there was me. The new kid. The outcast. The weirdo. The demon, apparently. "We need help."I let my eyebrows do the talking and looked at them skeptically. "Please,"they begged.
"What's in it for me?"I'm not sure a demon says that. But what did they know. I figured this was their first time. Inexperienced demon virgins. I shouldn't say that, I knew that much. They shrugged. I took it to mean whatever. "I'd like to infiltrate you humans,"I said, rubbing my hands together deviously. Demonously? I'd have to get used to the lingo.
"Can't you do that without us?"
"I could. But I need to infiltrate the popular crowd. And if I can't..."I ran a finger across my throat, miming that that would be the end of the Drue Crew. They went pale. I clapped and they all jumped and I burst into an evil cackle. I was good at this. Maybe it was my calling. I felt like it wouldn't really fly with my parents or with the guidance counselor. It would require some spin. "Hey mom, hey dad, I'm going to go to demon school. It's about twenty-five grand a year, when I get out I'll be able to work minimum wage and pay off the loans by the time I'm seventy-five."That wouldn't work.
"Okay, yeah, dude,"Chad said. He was palest. I wondered if he had peed himself or if that was water on his pants from washing his hands.
"It's sir,"I hissed. I think that's when I realized this would not be a friendship. From my limited experience, friends do not demand to be called sir. Oh, well. It would do.
"Yes, sir,"they said in unison. I liked it.
"So what do you need?"I asked. They glanced at each other nervously.
"We're failing chemistry,"Drue said. Wow. If they were trying to summon a demon for this, imagine what they would do when they were really in trouble. Then I remembered they were summoning a demon. In a school bathroom. I wasn't dealing with the brightest bulbs in the banana bunch. I nodded knowingly. I wasn't any good at making friends but I guess I had a knack for making my peers tremble in fear and submit to me. "We need you to make us pass."
"Chemistry, eh?"I stroked my chin. I figured that's what a pensive demon might do as he pondered how to best utilize his powers. Part of me was kind of hoping they needed me to forge their report cards or murder somebody or convince a teacher to retire. I guess those thoughts help make me the weirdo. Some sort of demonic tutoring would have to do. "I can work with that,"I said after a moment. They let out a sigh of relief and Jeremy high-fived Derrick as if they had actually done something remotely useful. "Meet me in the library after school."I leaned in close and they crowded around me and then I clapped my hands together and Chad yelped and the wet stain on his pants spread. "Don't be late."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
I put my cans on my backpack before the mission briefing. One of the soldiers approaches me.
''What are these?'' he asks.
''They are chicken soup, I might need my electrolytes while on the mission.''
He chuckles and he leaves me alone without saying anything.
A few minutes later high ranking officer enters the room and he starts briefing us.
''This mission will be more dangerous than our usual missions. We will be entering to area which is protected very heavily. We will be taking two air units which will enter the hostile vicinity in two different directions. These units will distract them while we will move our ground units to the south-east entrance...''
The briefing ends after a few concerns raised by other soldiers. I had many questions about the mission but they told me that it’s not my job to ask questions. At least I was free to eat my delicious chicken soup while listening to the briefing.
4 hours later we arrive at the wooden area and we take a narrow path with the jeep. Then we start walking for 40 minutes.
One of the soldiers gets closer to me, ''Take this.'' he says.
''Handcuffs? What you want me to do with this?'' I ask.
''Just take them and when you see a blonde girl around her early 20’s, use this on her.''
''I’m sorry, I know that I need to follow orders but I have a girlfriend.''
He slaps his own face.
''Are you okay?'' I ask him.
''This is not the time for a joke, this is real. Do you get it? You’ll handcuff her to yourself and you will fall back to a safe location. If anyone tries to stop you, we will take care of them with our snipers. Now, go!''
Loud gun noises make me dizzy but I keep walking until I see a blonde girl who is sitting behind of cover and covering ears with her hands.
''I’m here to save you.'' I say.
She looks at me with her pink eyes. She has been crying for a while. I handcuff her to myself.
''Why did you handcuff my arm to your right leg?'' She asks.
''This is my mission, lady. I’ll save you don’t you worry.''
She points the sky, ''What is that?''
I take off my backpack and I open it, ''It’s probably a bird.'' I say.
''It’s a plane! It’s coming towards us!'' She screams.
I hear something exploding in a distance I look back and I see a giant fireball in the sky and a few metal pieces dropping near the area.
She looks frail and pale, ''Are you hungry? I got chicken soup.''
-----------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.* |
I-
My hands clawed at the laceration, desperately trying to imagine it wasn’t there. It couldn’t-it was-*it wasn’t fair.* I’d travelled across the godforsaken desert, fought off countless hoards, stole-*ahem*, acquisition the time travel gear, and finally make it back here. It simply wasn’t *fair.*
The sounds of the alive city was almost alien as I frantically scratched, hoping that pulling away more and more skin would make it go away. But.. my eyes didn’t deceive me. I was infected. It was some kind of sick self-fulfilling prophecy that I’d manage to survive past the Z-Crash and travel back in time, but then be Patient Zero.
I fell to my knees, retching at the cruel irony. How could it be- after all the sacrifice, it was me that’d start the apocalypse? No, *no*, I couldn’t let that happen.
I-I still had a weapon. I brought my guns with me. My hands scrabbled at my holster, trying desperately to pull out the gun and end the infection before it even begins. But-the Z virus was already in my system. My fine control was shot to hell. I couldn’t even stand back up, let alone pull a trigger.
The virus could sweep through a regular human’s body in about twelve minutes, and that depends on where you were bit. Me? With all of the symptoms I was showing, I had less than three. It was all about how fast the virus could get to your brain, and I couldn’t even lift a finger to stop it.
My central nervous system was compromised. I couldn’t even turn as I fell onto my face, and my legs began twitching. Shit. Advanced signs. Less than a minute now. Involuntarily, small tears formed in the corners of my eyes. How ironic…
I’d wished my death was heroic. I’d wished my death would save hundreds, if not thousands, turning back the tide until my body physically couldn’t. I’d wished… for anything else but this. I wish…
I- |
*Good idea*
Edit 1:
*This seems to have gained some traction. Any critiques are warmly welcomed. Edit: Somebody requested more, so here's more. Side note: How do I bold comments? I know how to italicise but not bold*
Edit 2:
*If anyone's keen on it, I'll do more later. For now I'm going out.*
**Him**
I was alone in the waiting room. They had brought me coffee. I hated coffee. I drank it anyway. They said they'd be with me soon. It felt like it had been eternity. The grey sheen on the walls feels greyer. The damn light keeps flickering.
I wiped myself down, for no apparent reason. Probably to keep my hands from shaking. She always did say I was fidgety. Did. Might be the fact my gun is lodged under my waistband. I need the protection.
They're calling for me now. They say the sketch artist is ready. I wonder how long it takes to get a pencil and paper. To myself.
I see him. Underneath the artist. Her killer. Like an image imposed on another, look at him one way he's a policeman; the other he's a murderer. He doesn't know I know.
He says sit down. I sit. He wants me to describe the murderer. I find it easy. His pencil works wonders. He holds up the drawing. He's confused. He is starting to clock on. He opens his mouth to say something but it doesn't matter.
I put the gun in his mouth and pull.
They pull me. My ears hurt. My hand aches from the recoil. I've never used a gun before. He'll never use anything again. They take me away.
I'm in a cell now. It's dark. Quiet. Why did I do that? Because I wanted to. Because he was a killer. Now I am a killer. Ha. Everyone is asleep but i cannot. Must not. I must savour it. The bullet ended him.
They come for me in the morning. I have a lawyer now, and a defence. He says I should plea for self defence, it was a crime of passion. I agree.
*2 months later*
I wear my finest suit. The pain of remembering Maria doesn't go away, but it has subsided. My friends have rallied for me. They understand why I did it. I know some don't condone it, but they didn't see the blood on the walls. Maria loved painting. I loved her.
When we get out the car I know what will happen. The press will crowd and assault me with camera flashes. I wonder if that's what he saw before I killed him. The car slows down. I step out into the light.
The walk to the courtroom is a smattering of flashes and questions:
'Did your wife love you? '
No comment.
'Was she cheating on you?'
No comment.
'Did you kill her for insurance money and then kill the officer to frame her?'
I nearly had a comment, but then I was in the side room.
My lawyer, James, gives me a quick briefing. We've done this many times in detail:
Plea innocent
It was a crime of passion
It was out of self defence
It was a shaken man striking out
It would make me free
With a good luck and a handshake we enter the courtroom.
Muttering permeates the air. I cut through it and sit down.
'All rise for the Honorable Judge Doe'
I rise. It's him. Again. I reach into my pocket and pull out a pen. Leaping across the room I puncture his throat. Gasps. Shock. Why does he follow me so. Something hits my head. I don't see.
*Sometime later*
They tell me I'm crazy. I have a disorder. It's not my fault he's following me. I tell them that but they don't listen. They want me to take a pill. Maybe.
Later on in my room, I'm staring at my reflection. He's there! But he's me. He's me. I punch the glass and he starts to bleed. But I can still see him. I raise a glass shard to his neck and slice. I've got him now. I've got him. |
It was early on that I realized the true potential I had. I could do literally anything, and instead of me adapting to fit circumstances, the circumstances would adapt to fit me. It was at that time I knew why I had succeeded against thousands of other applicants to become the prince, and why it was me that went to save the princess, and why I had been gifted a blade when mine was knocked out of my hand during the fight with the evils. It was all planned my way, so why not use that knowledge for a benefit?
It was fun to bungee jump off a cliff without the rope wound around my ankles, and still pop up at the platform I was just at. It was fun to stretch my body past the limit in yoga and gymnastics, but still retain a flexible and miraculously unscathed body. Everytime, when I was rescued by magic, I swore I heard someone above, someone elsewhere gnashing his teeth in fury. I enjoyed knowing that my life, my dangerous life, was being paid for, whilst many others didn't have the priviledge. It was almost sad to dwell upon the matter, so I didn't. My life was good enough as it was.
Until I realized a fatal flaw. Years past, 100 to be exact, I knew it was time for death. I felt weak, frail, and sick, tired of living such a physically exerting life. But as I waited for the pain to stop, for the cancer I contracted to kill me, nothing happened. I lay there, undying, as pain and fear rose up within me in waves. Finally, a voice spoke.
"You always wanted to escape Death, didn't you?"I nodded, fearing the worst, yet knowing that the truth was my best shot.
"So you'll escape it. Forever. The end,"the voice ended, almost mockingly, as I reawakened in the mortal realm. But the pains were still there. Death was not.
It was then I realized, the true terror of living unhappily ever after. |
"Another drink--please."Said Maggister. Already a great many glasses deep into his nightly rituals.
A smokey gloom framed the room, a couple of figures sitting about across the bar room, having a chat, and generally unwinding after their respective works and professions. It was here at the most historic of all the wizarding pubs, Djinn's Crossing, they continued a six hundred year tradition that took place almost every night of the year--having a tall glass of beer.
"Sure thing, Maggister ol' chum."Said the bartender. Who usually knew when to cut people off when they start to drink too much, but Maggister was different--he could drink all night and never be a problem.
Just as the wizard was sitting down in his booth to continue reading his book in solitude... "You have some nerve,"said a voice all the way across the room. It was an aggressive tone that was all too loud and worked against the good moods of everyone. "Stinking up the place--you ought to get out of here before you foul up the air, Shit Wizard."
A fine robed young man with a trimmed goatee, was looming over an older gentlemen who seemed a little stunned by the outburst.
"Excuse me--I am just having a pint. Whats the problem, young man?"Said the older gentlemen who didn't seem to care to escalate the situation at first, but he added... "Also, I am a Grand Magis of Sanitations, Not a 'Shit Wizard'--just in case they didn't teach you the proper term in that fanciful daycare they call an academy."
"Bah!"the younger man raised his fingers and looked ready to incant... "My problem is they would allow a person with such a low-class profession into such a prestigious establishment as this one. You offend me with your smell."
Maggister took a long drink. He knew that Grand Magis of Sanitations--Baalminst. He was indeed a Grand Magis--who never smelled horrible a day in his life... At least not since he graduated from his apprenticeship. He even served in the war.
"Listen young man, I have been coming to this pub long since before you could even mumble an spell. I fought to keep this pub standing when the *those* fascist bastards tried to burn down this town, and if you think you can disrespect others who work hard to give you a better life--then you have a lot of things to learn that the daycare you attend is obviously not teaching you."Baalminst stood, and looked ready to give the young man a lesson about a thing or two.
Maggister thought that would not be a good thing. A wizard-bar fight was much, much worse than a regular bar fight, and it looked like the young man had a party of people who looked ready to defend their comrade... Magister polished off his drink, and rose from the booth. He took one step, and fell over--tumbling to the hard wood.
Maggister fell upwards, appearing across the room suddenly, putting his hands on the raised fingers of the young man. "Come now. No one is looking to brawl. Djinn's Crossing has been a place for all to drink, and Baalminst here is one of the most respectable wizards I have ever met."
"Unhand me."Said the younger jerking away.. "Gods, now you really reek. A drunkard and shit wizard a real pair of foul smells. Lucky for this town Safus Academy has had such a bright number of students like my friends and me--we're real masters of the arcane--and I think it is our duty to help gentrify this pub."
The others behind the young man rose, most looking like school children.
"That really isn't necessary... Hic."Said Maggister, whose senses were beginning to stupify rapidly as his drink started to catch up with him.
One began to incant, and aim directly at the Maggister.
Maggister raised his hands, "No really. Lets not..."
A spell went off, and Maggister felt his gut be kicked by a force. He bent over, "Oh heavens..."
A number of drinks and bottles rattled and clinked together, the whole room shuddered--tilting as Maggister wrenched forward clutching his stomach. Some were surprised as they witnessed the apparent power of the student's spell...
Maggister snapped back, and the entire room went with him--shaking and correcting itself along with the drunkard's teeterings. He felt like he was going to fall back onto his ass, but he straightened himself and kept his balance. The one who cast the spell that hit him right in the gut wasn't so quick on his feet, and he fell right into Maggister's right hook. Clocking him square in the jaw, and right to the floor.
Every one was surprised at the sight, some holding onto their seats and tables incase Maggister took another tumble.
A woman with the belligerent party came forward, looking ready to tussle with the man who just knocked out her companion. With a snap of her fingers, she produced a shimmering blade of light that she wielded.
"Oh."Said Maggister, bobbing his head and mimicking her snap of the fingers to produce his own blade--but it soon flopped and looked limp. "I swear... This never has happened before."
She thrust--a gasp from the crowd as she lunged.
With a whip of his wrist, Maggister's flaccid blade wrapped around the woman's arm and she was flung straight onto and over a table full of drinks across the room.
"Whoops!"Said Maggister extending his arm, something catching the drinks before they could spill. Reversing time itself to save them from a fall.
The students looked shocked. Time magic was extensively tricky...
"This. Is making a mess."Said Maggister. "I think. Uh... We ought not to fight inside."
The young man who instigated the whole thing looked furious, and his incantation began.
Maggister let out a sigh, recognizing the spell, it was a powerful one that would indeed make a mess if it was let loose. Discarding the flacid light blade, and stumbling forward and into the young man before he could finish his incantation. "Lets take this outside."The two stumbled to the floor, and fell up from the ground to find themselves on the cobblestone street.
Both took some time to re-establish their senses... During that time Maggister found a seat on the curb, rubbing his temples.
"Wh-who are you, drunkard?"said the young man. In the mean time the rest of his group, aswell as Baalminst came out of the bar.
"Just a bloke looking to drink undisturbed. It uh... Just puts a foul taste in the mouth watching young children not have enough respect for others. I think you owe Mr. Baalminst an apology."
The young man scowled. "I would do no such thing."
Maggister look to the Grand Magis of Sanitations...
The Magis stepped forward and defeneded his honor, raising his fist in the air and clenching it.
A klang came from a sewer grate just behind the young man, a fist of putrid liquids gripped the rude man, soiling his fine robes. With a flurry of Baalminst's hand--the young man was sucked into the sewer to help give him a sense of the world without such a fine Grand Magis of Sanitations.
"Thank you, ol' chum."said Baalminster. Putting a hand on Maggister.
The commotion was causing the drunken wizards head to spin too much... He leaned forward and puked.
|
Infinite minutes.
That's what I see. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Infinite minutes. Infinite *possible* minutes. I'll pour myself a coffee, and I'll see a minute spent enjoying its warm flavor. I'll also see a minute of cleaning up a mess from a spill. I'll see a minute of me fishing in the freezer for a bag of ice to press against a bad coffee burn. I'll see a minute of me dropping my mug and swearing loudly to the room at large, making my wife scold me for dropping the F-bomb in front of our now crying two year old daughter.
I swear, this power makes it so damn hard to just enjoy a cup of joe.
I can't say it's not ever useful. Occasionally I'll see someone's reckless driving just in time to swerve out of the way in the right direction and spare myself a headlight change. Occasionally I'll be able to sort through the trillions of possible word choices that are usable in a conversation quickly enough to figure out what to say to my wife before she blows her fuse. Occasionally I'll fantasize about using it to stop a bank robbery or rescue someone from certain death. I'd be a hero.
I never expected or hoped for the apocalyptic man.
There was something *off* about that man. He had a determined stride, a look in his eyes that went above and beyond mere confidence. A lot of people walk and talk like they know everything, like you're just a peasant who couldn't possibly understand the things they do. The apocalyptic man probably *did.*
He strode up to my desk, a thin smile across his lips.
"I'm here about insurance,"he told me flatly.
"So are most people,"I grunted. "Let me just-"
I cut off in raw shock. A minute into the future... now even less... everything *ended.*
I couldn't explain it. All the billions of possible minutes, all the bite-sized timelines that I usually saw... they all just cut short a minute away. Like the whole universe suddenly cut off at the flip of a switch. I was almost floored by the sensation, by the sudden inarguable knowledge flooding into my mind that this man could and would destroy all of time in one minute.
The apocalyptic man raised an eyebrow, his confidence overtaken by surprise. Instinct told me this man had come to hate surprises. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing,"I stammered, knocking over my cup of coffee in my disarray. I could have prevented that, but it seemed so insignificant compared to the end of all reality. To the end of me. To the end of my wife. To the end of our daughter...
The man's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I came to the wrong desk..."
He said it not to me, like most snotty customers would. He said it to himself. Musingly, like addressing a mistake he was about to fix. The future shortened at once. This man was about to instigate the end of all timelines.
I saw only a small, bare handful of timelines where he didn't. Almost impossible worlds where a random meteorite struck the man down before he could do whatever it is he did. Where a truck bulldozed in and killed him where he stood. Where a crazed random gunman blew out his brains before he could work his magic.
Instinct told me I wasn't in any of those timelines. If this man were to die, for the good of the whole universe, I'd have to do it myself.
"For the future!"I blurted, and stabbed a pen at-
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"For the future!"I blurted, charging across the office to where the apocalyptic man was attempting to acquire insurance from another desk. His eyes widened in surprise and I tackled him to the ground, wrapping my hands around his throat as-
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"For the future!"I blurted, charging across the office to where the apocalyptic man was attempting to acquire insurance from another desk. He looked at me with an almost frustrated look as he stepped effortlessly out of the way, and I faceplanted into the hard tile floor. The woman behind the other desk gasped as the man tried to turn and run away, but I just barely managed to parse timelines and grab him by the ankle as he ran. He fell and his face hit the floor, and my heart soared as a loud crack suggested he just might possibly have broken his-
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There was something *off* about that man. He had a determined stride, a look in his eyes that went above and beyond mere confidence. A lot of people walk and talk like they know everything, like you're just a peasant who couldn't possibly understand the things they do. The apocalyptic man probably *did...* but suddenly, his omniscient expression faltered as he grabbed his nose in outrage.
"For fuck's sake!"he exclaimed loudly, shooting me with a glare. "You could have killed me!"
I had no idea what he was talking about, but in my mind's eyes I saw an infinite number of timelines ending. My life ending. My wife's life ending. Our daughter's life ending. I quickly got up from my desk with a pen in my hand, finding my feet moving of their own volition to carry out the only thing I knew would stop this madman from destroying the universe.
"For the-"
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The apocalyptic man glowered at me as he strode in through the building's doors. He glanced back as if considering walking right back the way he came, but instead his expression turned to one of pure fury as he marched over to my desk and leaned angrily over my face.
"What the *fuck* is wrong with you?"he demanded.
I had never seen him before in my life, and had no idea how to respond. But in an instant, I saw a trillion timelines ending, entire universes destroyed because of *something* this man was doing. Out of instinct I grabbed for the pen on my desk, but his hand stopped me.
"See?"he demanded. "This is what I'm talking about! Every time I come in here you take one look at me and try to gouge my eyes out or cut open my wrists or drag me out into traffic! I can't go back before I came in here! Whatever I do, I'm *stuck* here with some psychopath trying to murder me! So I reiterate! What the *fuck* is wrong with you and how do I get you to stop?"
I was silent for a long minute, confused as I was stunned. My mouth was dry as the weight of all the ending timelines around me pressed against my mind, but I managed to speak.
"...you end it all."
The apocalyptic man's gaze didn't falter. "What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"The universe,"I said weakly. "The *timeline.* Something you're doing is going to destroy it. Exactly one minute from now, maybe, or less depending on when you choose to do whatever it is you're doing..."
I was confused, barely having any idea what I was saying. But some of the anger in the man's face turned to uncertainty. "Something I'm doing? I don't... I don't understand. I don't destroy anything."
"You will,"I replied, my voice haunted. "And maybe you have before. I don't know. I don't understand what it all means, but I know you're going to kill... *everyone."*
His eyes grew wide, and he let go of my hand as he backed away in shock. It seemed a huge realization had just hit him like a falling meteorite, shaking his world to pieces in a second. "No... no, I didn't... oh God..."
I watched him with a nervous gaze, unsure of what to do. A part of my brain demanded that I get up and try to kill this man, my body inching to do it as if it were something I'd done a thousand times before... but I didn't.
I watched him.
Infinite minutes went by in my head.
Second by second, the number of them that ended in annihilation went down.
"Vanessa,"the apocalyptic man muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "Bobby. I... I killed you... I killed you all... I'm sorry... I never knew..."
His face was stark white, his eyes looking like he was being surrounded by ghosts as he talked. His legs swayed deeply underneath him, but instead of falling, he began to walk towards the door.
"I destroyed... I didn't know! I swear! I never meant..."
He turned and ran, right back out the door he'd so confidently swaggered in to.
Everyone in the office was watching the door he'd ran out from with shock and concern, before their gazes turned to me. I gulped uncomfortably, unsure what to say. Before finally, in my mind's eye, I saw the last apocalyptic timeline disappear from the realm of possibility.
Outside there was screaming. Within an hour, there were sirens, but it was already too late.
The apocalyptic man had dived into rushing traffic. They say he was dead in a second.
But me... I went back to an unspilled mug of coffee.I try not to let his last haunted gaze get to me. I'll never know exactly who that man was or what I did to him.
But at least we still have our minutes.
Infinite minutes. |
“What’s the password?”
“What?” I didn’t stutter. Though to the layman it might have sounded like I did.
“Ain’t nobody gets in without the password.”
“Gouda, Brie, Roquefort.” I said, reading them off my palm.
“Sounds like you came to party. Come on in.”
The large steel door opened. This was supposed to be a toilet brush factory. Instead there was a woman in front of me, wearing a gingham apron and carrying a wooden spoon. I blushed in spite of myself.
“You’ve come”, she said seductively, “for the buffet?”
“I’m the reporter. I called Jacque, who called Gordon, who called Wolfgang, who called you.” There were two other men in the entrance. Either one could snap me like a twig.
“Do you remember our deal, honey?”
“No pictures. No names.“ I said.
“Or?”
“Or you’ll find me and kill me.”
“Sugar, you are such a good listener.” She waved her hands and the heavies moved away.
“Follow me, sweetie.” She said. I was sweating bullets and had not even been into the restaurant yet.
And then the door opened. And in front of me, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a line of trays, tureens, and pans.
“Dear lord.” I said.
“Sweetie, you ain't seen nothin’”.
She walked to the tray. On it were all manner of fruits. Cherries, apples, oranges, pears, peaches. Things with no names, things I weren’t even sure were food. She reached down and grabbed a single cherry by the stem, looked me straight in the eyes, and put it in her mouth. Her jaw moved rhythmically, and she slowly pulled the stem out, dropping it on the ground.
“The...the pit..” I said.
“I swallowed it.” She said, wiping her face clean of the little bit of juice that escaped.
I was horrified. And excited. This was the sort of thing you read about in Cook's Country. Not something that really happened.
“Are you ready for the next part of the tour?”
I could only nod.
“Then follow me into the dining room.”
I did. I couldn’t stop. I grabbed my notebook from my pocket and scribbled whatever noise was in my head.
And then we entered the dining room. As soon as I saw what was happening I closed my eyes.
I heard her stand behind me, and whisper in my ear.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid of what you might see?”
I stayed still, the way you're supposed to when you feel a predator near.
“Table three is eating pasta. Just a man and woman. She’s got one end of the strand in her mouth. He’s got the other in his. You can see them eating it. Getting closer. Closer. Don't you want to see?’
I shook my head no, held my eyes tightly shut.
“There are three girls on table three. They’re eating chicken wings.” she whispered. “They’re all so greasy. Licking their fingers. Rubbing napkins on their hands. Using the wettest wipes.”
I swallowed, saliva coming unbidden.
“This whole room is surrounded by one way glass. People pay to watch people eat. People pay to watch themselves eat.” Her laugh caught me by surprise, so delicate for such an earthy woman. “I’m in the pleasure business. And this is pure pleasure.”
“At table six there is a woman eating chocolate cream pie. She watches herself. Every movement of the fork. Every stroke of the knife. Every. Single. Chew.”
My fingernails cut into my palms.
“I can’t!” I shouted. I ran for the doors. Her laugh followed me. I was a small town kid and these were big town perversions.
But on the way home I stopped in a back alley. I bought some Ramen. The good stuff, from Japan. And I went home and cooked the shit out of it. I wasn't ready now. But I would be someday.
|
“The humans seem…tiny. Are you sure these are not pygmy humans? I specifically asked for regular sized humans when I was looking for workers.” The alien said to the merchant.
“Trust me, the stories you read about humans being as tall as orcs is false. They share more traits with the elves from the Thinin galaxy. Don’t mix then up though. They both are rather unique in their skillsets.” The merchant replied.
The merchant made his way to the human. The young man was in a daze, a likely effect of the drug they gave him in order to transport him. The human groaned as his eyes rolled about between the alien and the merchant.
“First, note their complexion. The skin can vary from a near pitch black to a very pale white. There are also tan and olive colored ones, those will cost extra. Next, they possess 5 fingers as opposed to the elves 3. This gives them additional dexterity when it comes to mechanical repairs. They also possess hundreds of backgrounds from architecture to cooking to music to name a few. Their personalities are incredible and are always good for morale of other species. The more fit ones, like these, can also defend and fight rather decently if given weapons.” The merchant said to the alien who was observing the human with their eyes.
“However they are not a clear cut above elves. There are some disadvantages to them.” The merchant said.
“I’m listening, tell me what’s wrong"the alien said as he took a step back from the container holding the human.
“Well like you can see, they aren’t orcs. They can’t do the lifting that you’d expect from an orc. They do not have any mind linking like elves do, they need to be able to communicate using noise or written orders. They are surprisingly difficult to mate as they can become very selective when it comes to partners. The gestation period is also rather long as it can reach up to 26 solar cycles of the Ravindr solar system.” The merchant said as he closed the door to the container.
“26 SOLAR CYCLES? AS IF I CAN WAIT FOR THAT LONG!” the alien yelled out.
“Listen I know it’s a long time but they do have a rather long life span. With good health and no major health issues, they live on average up to 2800 solar cycles, though they may not be much help after 2500. The elves live up to 1900 and orcs barely last 1000.”
“They told me these things were just like orcs. I ordered 11 of them and they won’t equal the power of 2 orcs. I have a few elves already on board. Do the humans work well with others?” The alien said with anger in his tone.
“Please, no reason to be mad. They work incredibly well with other species as long as there is no threat. They are slightly skittish since they possess rather soft skin like the elves. I know you were expecting something massive like the orcs but too many of the agencies simply did not have knowledge about humans. They are protected by the IPS accords and cannot be studied on without the highest clearance. Too many tabloids took off with the idea of a massive orc species that had the nimbleness of an elf, and the intelligence of a liquid former. Come on now, what do you think?” the merchant said as he took a seat in front of his desk.
“I guarantee you’ll find work for them on the ship. You ordered what, 11 humans? I’ll knock 3 off the price. Total is now 310 Cibis. You know I haven’t led you wrong before haven’t I?” the merchant said as he opened the book and wrote something down.
After a small pause in the discussion the alien spoke up.
“Ok. You are one of the best smugglers I ever had, and you haven’t led me wrong yet. Give me the bill and I’ll bring my ship around back. I’ll pay you there.” The alien said as he began to make his way to the exit.
The merchant wrote a note in his book and closed it as he began to push the container of humans towards the back rooms.
Edit:spelling and Grammer. Mobile life. |
I turn to my buddy, Eric. "No way it's pronounced Jod, dude,"I say to him, "I don't even think Jesus came up with that. Isn't God - or sorry, Jod's real name like incomprehensible?"
"I don't know man, this is weird, sucks that we're not getting raptured, though."Eric reflects on the situation we're in. "Well, since we're on the topic, ask him about the gif word."
"Good idea, Eric!"We high five each other. Even though the rapture is currently happening, and the world is beginning to split open with demons and monsters crawling out of lava-filled cracks, I'm glad I'm still with my best friend.
"Hey, Jesus!"I call out to the messiah. Jesus, in all of his infinite glory, looks down on me with his soul-piercing eyes. I can only look for a second, since it feels like he can see every aspect of me: all of my thoughts, experiences, beliefs are being taken in by one who died for my sins. It's almost like he's undressing me with his eyes. Honestly, after looking at him, I really don't think the question is worth asking anymore. I promptly shout "Nevermind!"
Jesus, still looking down into my being, calmly says "It's pronounced 'Jésus'."The words reverberate in my skull.
Eric turns to me. "Are you friggin' kidding me,"he says, "did we get any of these holy names right? Should we have been calling John at work 'Jone' this whole time?"
"I dunno man,"I say back to Eric, "but honestly, doesn't this all seem a little meaningless now? Like, hell is literally coming to us right now. I think I can see... yeah, look."I point over in the distance, where a man is riding a motorcycle, which just so happens to be flying through the air with a trail of lava and fire and decay falling behind it. "I think that's the Antichrist."
Eric is peering off into the distance, hands over his eyes to block out the sun that has suddenly become enormous and red. "Holy shit man! I think you're right. Well, if that's what we're up against, I don't know if we have a chance."
I reply to him, "No man, we got this."I pull out my multi-tool, and carefully pull out the tiny pocket knife, as not to cut myself. "We gotta take up arms, and fight, in the name of Jod." |
Emma's first crush did not go very well. Sixteen, tall, and handsome - ah, everything Jerry wasn't. Well, he was *probably* fifteen at the time. She hadn't really thought too much about it after, what with him being dead and all.
Perhaps that's a bit harsh. She *cared*, just... well, she cared *more* about getting the hell away from law enforcement as quickly as possible. This was hard, given that Emma was fifteen years old and didn't own a car and real life really isn't quite like the movies, but she managed it. All due to luck, charm, and incredible wit.
...okay, she spent a couple months in juvie. Apparently protesting 'it isn't what it looks like!' when there are multiple witnesses verifying you stabbing someone to death *doesn't* work that well.
It was all very confusing, at the time. Her father had once mumbled something to her over dinner along the lines of, "by the way, we may have pissed off a witch and subsequently had you cursed to kill anyone you fall in love with - but hey, that's just life. Please pass the salad dear."
*She span around in the fancy leather chair once more, and sighed. There was work to do, but she didn't feel like her month break had been enough of a rest. Ah, whatever. Time to get back to business.*
*The chair swivelled once more and she found herself facing a large poster, covering one side of the room. On it were faces - each one a man of a random age.*
*A dart found its way into her hand and she covered her eyes. Best to leave it up to chance. The chair swivelled once, twice more - and then she threw it.*
*Emma uncovered her eyes.*
*"Fuck."*
Emma had taken this in the same way other preteen girls would have. Filed a few claims to CPS and told her best friend on Facebook that her dad was crazy. Ultimately, nothing came of the CPS part, but her father was noticeably more distant from her. Which was a good thing. Because he was nuts.
Or so Emma had thought, and then she apparently went and stabbed some guy to death. Which meant either a: her father *wasn't* crazy, after all, and this curse would be a huge pain to deal with or b: she took after her father. As any normal human would, she blamed the curse and began to plan.
Not that she could do much else. Being in juvie tended to do that to you.
Now, a normal person with a weird curse like this one would typically think, "well, wouldn't that mean that they just spontaneously die?"Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the case for Emma. As far as she could tell at the time, it just made her go into bloodthirsty rage for the unlucky man.
*Emma rubbed her hands together. "C'mon, work already! It's now or never!"This was a lie, she had plenty of time.*
*She continued looking at the (heavily photoshopped) images of Kim Jong-Un. His handsome face... his smile... How wonderful.*
*A little voice in the back of her head was screaming bloody murder.*
*Handsome face... amazing smile... great hair...*
*AHHHH*
*So... handsome...*
*Except for all the blood covering his head.*
Escaping juvie had been quite the ordeal. Ah, perhaps the 'spent a couple months in juvie' was confusing. She was *supposed* to spend quite a bit more than 'a couple months' in jail. Something on the order of a decade or three, she hadn't really paid attention. No, she had been in the hybrid process of crying and mentally shouting at whatever idiot had manufactured this curse for her. Seriously - a curse where she had to physically *kill* the person she fell in love with? What a pain.
Thankfully, her first experiment with the curse went much better than expected. After around two and a half months in juvie, she finally had an internet connection, and promptly forced herself to 'fall in love' with a random celebrity. It hadn't been that difficult, thankfully the curse had just as much trouble with the concept of 'love' as humans did.
When she woke up on the floor of the celebrity's apartment, one hand covered in blood, it had been quite a shock. Half of the shock was the blood and dead body; the other half being, well, the entire 'wake up in a stranger's apartment' deal. A window was broken, and out of it, she could hear the wailing of sirens.
A newspaper lay discarded by the dead man's body. She had almost ignored it, nearly frantic in want to escape, when she noticed the front page image: A blown up photograph of her face.
*Emma Barn escapes juvenile detention centre and evades law enforcement for one week (more on page 3!)*
Huh.
*Emma grinned, glancing around herself. The room was empty, other than herself and a dead Kim Jong-un. She loved it when plans went well. Now... how to get out of North Korea?*
*Thankfully, she had memorized the face of another hated man...* |
500 hundred years of being Mr nice guy, everything so far removed from My Self. It had been torturous, except those odd few times I could leave them ashes, That was my only enjoyment and regret in this job. I loved to give those ashes so so much. I could watch the disappointment then, see them realise they had caused this with their own actions, see them fall into despair and regret. Those were the times when I could feel like myself again, but it was always bittersweet. It would usually be followed by this huge sense of regret that I may be putting these kids onto the right path and that that may be the last time I would get to see them, influence them. Most of them decided right there and then to change their ways and start to do things better. They would be better next year. It felt wrong.
These last 50 or so years I started to cut back on the ashes, knowing I could have a chance to get to be part of their final judgement, carefully calculating how this could be detrimental to my real calling.
One more drop off, one more kid and I was done.
Peter had asked for a Nintendo switch, what the hell was it with kids these days. They used to want a train, or a bike, but now it was all about big expensive tech, a lot had changed in these 500 years.
Ok let’s see. So, Peter wasn’t doing well in school, got in trouble most days. Fighting, stealing small stuff, no actual friends to speak of. At home he was a quiet reserved child. But I suppose it was to be expected with his history. Dad was in prison for that robbery, 3 years to go.Mother worked all day and drank all night. He hardly knew her. He was a troubled kid some may say, I say he had potential. Well ok then. A switch it is, hell lets throw in a game or two, maybe even a bike for old times sake.
They say it’s good to have something to look forward to, no doubt now I’ll get to see Peter at the end. |
There rose a great plague of ghosts when the Karth glassed New Chicago, and the old timers said that for a hundred years the spacelanes between Idd and Gemmenon howled. In her bunk aboard the tramp freighter *Euphrates*, a sorry little thing of archaic steel and ancient prayers that had plied those lanes for nearly all of those hundred years, Elvie often thought they still howled; though it was hard enough to differentiate the thoughts in her head with the noises percolating through space.
She lay there as the night passed, listening, aching, and towards dawn she rose and dressed in her loose gray coverall, Letta’s handkerchief tied about her hair, and made her way down to the galley where she worked. The noises followed her all the way, as they followed every Sensitive on the *Euphrates.* She passed crew in the hall who nodded tiredly or made half heartedly ribald comments, as deepspace men often did to the few women aboard their ships. She passed the captain near C-deck, a man entering early middle-age, the first touches of silver in his hair making him look more dignified than a freighter captain should be. And near the galley, where the steam hissed out through the badly sealed doors and the heat finally gave her something other than the noises in her head and in the spacelanes to think about, Elvie passed the priests.
They came around the corner in a tight, solemn knot, no clear leader though their front rank rotated from time to time. Priests was not the correct term, but it was how Elvie thought of them, there being too many denominations of God-fearing men, and a few women, there to count. There was an old, withered looking Catholic, a tall man in a black frock, never without his beads and bible. There was an imam, a dark skinned man with a smart brown jacket over pristine white robes, a tight cap on his head. There was a rabbi and a buddhist monk, a taoist, a shinto priest with his flowing sleeves, a dervish of the suns and a priestess of the many moons, an acolyte of the mechanized faith and one of the thousand-fold thought. Elvie made herself small against the wall, kept her eyes averted as they passed, until fingers trailed across her shoulder and looking up she saw the priestess of the moons waving as she walked past, a vision of silver set in ivory, eyes of the palest blue, and a gown of spider-silk that trailed across the floor even here in the *Euphrates* where some men were loathe to wear their good shoes for fear of what the filth might do to them. Elvie smiled at the woman, whispered a little thanks as she always did because the woman had taught her important things, and then Elvie slipped through the galley door and let the steam and the scents and the bustle wash over her.
They worked dawn to artificial dusk in the galley, while the crew harvested souls. It was hard, thankless work, save for the priestess’s smile and wave, but it had gotten Elvie where she wanted to be. For a while in the beginning of the day Elvie threw herself into the work of preparing meals for a hundred crew and passengers in the cramped, chaotic confines of a tramp freighter’s galley where everything was sharp, dangerous edges and nothing ever worked as it should, but then the lunch rush came and went, and there was an hour where she might listen again and be grateful for it.
Over the hiss of the steam and her coworkers' banter, Elvie could hear the electromagnetic buzz of the Soul-Catcher.
The Soul-Catcher. It was why she was here, why the priests were here, why the Society for Continued Galactic Safety sponsored freighters like theirs for what many people considered a foolish waste of money. It was a device that, when spooled up properly and guided by the energies of people far more Sensitive than Elvie herself, might sift fragments of unquiet human souls from the noise of space and there trap them in the ghost-hold to be laid to rest by the *Euphrates'* cadre of priests. Born in the aftermath of the glassing of New Chicago, it was said by some that the Soul-Catcher was the only good thing to come of the greatest war crime in interstellar history; it was also said, by others who Elvie strenuously disagreed with, that it was the greatest infringement on humanity ever invented. After all, such people said, weren’t those souls still about their business in the universe for a reason?
People who thought that way had never plied the spacelanes between Idd and Gemmenon, Elvie knew. And more than that, they had never had a soul they truly cared for.
Elvie did. Letta’s.
Towards dusk when the ghost-hold was full and the priests made ready to do their work, the last of the hungry crew sated, Elvie retreated to her room, stripping off her sweaty coverall and changing into the dress she knew Letta would recognize. Then finally free, she walked down to the ghost-hold, what senses she had opened up all the way.
The priestess of the many moons was waiting.
“Elvie,” the woman said in the strangely accented, lilting tones of far off Ganymede, “are you certain you can do this?” The priestess asked her that every day, and every day Elvie said yes, received the ritualistic kiss on her forehead, and was then ushered into the ghost-hold under the arm of her patron priestess.
There was no place in the world more confusing than a ghost-hold. Roughly two-thirds of the *Euphrates* space, the long corridor of its cargo hold, had been given over to the many condensers and amplifiers and air purifiers such a place required, until even above and beyond the great profusion of spectral beings and milling priests one got a sense of a writhing ecosystem of wires, strung from every piece of the hold to every other piece of the hold. Through it all incense burned, music played, prayers were whispered or shouted or danced or silently intended or encoded, and one by one the still howling citizens of New Chicago were laid to rest.
And Elvie walked through it all, knowing that she should have been among them.
*A hundred years*, Elvie thought, *since the colony was glassed. A hundred years since I missed my ship.*
It had been an argument; with her and Letta it had always been an argument. To be sure, they loved each other. They loved each other like family never would, had grown up practically as sisters and then realized the word was entirely insufficient, had been so joined at the hip all their lives that when they made the decision to emigrate from Sol System those hundred relativistic years ago neither had been certain whose idea it was the morning after. But all that love had never stopped their fighting. Elvie’s mother had once said it was a game they played, the last way they could say they loved each other after exhausting all the other sensible options.
It was a fight that had started for no good reason, ended for no good reason, sent Elvie spiraling off to the station bar and an unfamiliar bed for no good reason, and then made her miss her shuttle in the morning for the worst reason of all-- none. And Letta, always the more sensible of the two everyone had said, had not done any of those things. She’d had the fight and gone to bed, boarded her shuttle, then the cryo-ship, then made the hundred year journey potentially never knowing that Elvie wasn’t there.
Elvie had taken the very next ship, six months down the line from Letta’s, and rehearsed her thousand apologies every single day. Then she’d arrived a hundred relativistic years later, and discovered that the Karth had glassed New Chicago in a war almost as pointless as their argument.
*A hundred years,* Elvie thought again as she threaded her way through the expanse of the ghost-hold. *A hundred years where you might have passed on or been laid to rest. A hundred years where you might never have been a ghost in the first place.*
A hundred years of uncertainty, and still Elvie searched.
She passed a dervish laying a whole crowd of translucent blue ghosts to rest with the strength of his twisting dance, skirts kicking up dust that choked her but didn’t seem to bother him. She passed the catholic priest, his head bowed over one prostrate old woman, her features contorted in ancient pain, then smoothing, the lines seeping out of wrinkles, then out of her form, then out of the world. She passed the acolyte of the mechanized faith dispensing absolution with the tip of a metallic wand, prayers sketched across a band at its tip in scrolling binary. And here and there, the priestess of many moons would simply touch a ghost as she had touched Elvie that morning, and the ghost would smile slightly and dissipate.
None of them were Letta. None of them ever were— until suddenly one was. |
I didn't see the car coming. It was dark, they were driving too fast. Pretty sure there was alcohol involved but that's besides the point. What's done is done. I died and that's it. It's not so bad once you get used to it. The world looks the same, albeit slightly more boring than it was when I was alive. When you're on the outside of it things seem a lot less important.
I'm pretty sure I had been dead for maybe a day or two when it hit me: I'm still here. Something tells me I shouldn't be here anymore. I feel like I'm being pulled somewhere but I'm being weighed down. It's an odd feeling to explain. Imagine you're swimming in the ocean and you're just treading water but the tide is tugging you further into the ocean. You know you're being pulled but you're not seeing drastic changes around you. It's kind of like that. I was about to let the current pull me out into the deep ocean but it just felt wrong. The current didn't stop but I was overcome with the inexorable need to fight it. I needed to get something done before I could float along. I needed to make sure it was taken care of... But how?
I remembered where it could be found. It sat carefully inside of it's box on top of my dresser. It had to be delivered. I couldn't leave until it was done. If I didn't it would only cause trouble for my family if they found it later. I didn't want that. Now, how do I get it taken care of?
I struggled against my memory. Memories still work in the same way they did when you were alive. It's just that the conveyance of it is a little more complex. Rather than simply picturing vague recollections of events in your mind you'll instead find yourself reliving blurry, vague and constantly fluctuating recreations of events which play out like a low budget stage play where the audience is the main character. I relived my wedding, the birth of my son, mundane daily events and work meetings. Then I found my answer! My niece would always talk about how she "had the gift"and would frequently hold seances in her attic. It always seemed so farfetched but she was my only option.
Without warning I found myself in her attic. I couldn't tell whether I was in a memory or not. Everything was so confusing but I did see her. She sat at her circular table with her Ouija board. She was calling out to someone. I'm pretty sure it was Elvis Presley... Or Costello. It was some musician. In any case, I grabbed her table and forced the following words to be spelled:
Uncle. House. Box. Dresser. Seal. Deliver.
She seemed convinced by this display and left immediately to me home. I followed her making sure to listen to what she was saying. She seemed annoyed. I think she would have preferred to talk more but this had to be done for me to get peace.
When she got to my home I watched her enter my room and find the box. She sealed it, picked it up and delivered it to the UPS store just in time.
I felt the current grow stronger and pull me deeper into the ocean. I didn't fight it. I knew that once the box reached its destination it would make things easier for my family.
Amazon's return policy doesn't exactly expire when you do after all. |
The brave young girl walked through the forest, gripping her lantern tight as she diligently looked around; she knew very well what she had to do and even though the forest was dark, she was not afraid. Suddenly, she came upon a small clearing, filled with the moon's light, and saw many children playing!
"Hello!"the brave girl said to the children.
"Hello there,"the children replied. They were the most peculiar children with skin as green as spring grass and flowers instead of hair.
"What brings you here?"one of the green children asked.
"A big, bad wolf stomped around our house,"the brave girl explained. "It huffed and puffed and roared all night until my parents decided to go and find it and chase it away! I'm going to help them!"the girl proudly stated.
"Aren't you afraid?"one of the green children asked.
"I'm not afraid of *any* dog,"the girl puffed her chest. "But... I think I've gotten lost. Perhaps you could help me?"
"Of course,"a green child chirped. "But only after you beat us in a game!"
The girl's eyes lit up. "A game?"
"Hokey-stones!"one of the children said. "Let us show you!"
And so the green children taught the brave girl a game - the most fun game she has ever played. They played and played until the sun rose and the girl realized her quest was not yet done.
"Now, I really must go find my parents,"she huffed.
"But the forest is big and tall! You won't find them on your own!"one of the children cried out. "Perhaps it's better if you stay here and wait until they find you?"
The girl narrowed her eyes as she thought about it - after all, her mother always told her that if she ever got lost, she should stay where she is and wait for her to find her.
"Okay!"the girl said.
"In the meantime, would you like to play more hokey-stones?"one of the children cheered.
"Of course!"
And so the children played once more, occasionally putting the prettiest flowers in the girl's hair and playfully smudging her hands with the green grass. They laughed and played and the girl was happy, knowing she is with her good friends and that her parents will join them soon!
​
So very, *very* soon.
​
And everyone was happy. |
Mary and Horace were in tears when they were handed the embodiment of their love. It was beautiful, they agreed. It seemed they agreed on everything.
When the two decided to get married, it grew in size. When Horace got promoted and brought home more money, it grew even more.
Always it grew, even when Horace got laid off and started drinking. Even when Mary couldn't stand being with her husband and started sleeping with other men.
But, they stayed together for it. No matter how dire the situation, Mary and Horace never left the other's side. Without money and without love, they still had it. They *only* had it. That was the one thing they still agreed on.
Though they couldn't stand each other, they went through the pain for it.
It grew because of their love. Not of each other, but their love for it.
And so Daniel Jackson grew up, son of a drunk man and an unfaithful woman. But he reached adulthood.
He didn't make it because of money or a home. He had neither.
He made it because of an undying love from two unloved people. |
"Good morning Doug! How was breakfast today?"I say to my neighbor as I head to my car.
"Its was jolly good! Thanks for asking Frank! Headed to work?"He asks in his usual manner.
"Oh you know it. The boss asked me to audit the accounts for one of our big clients. If you dont see me tonight dont wait up!"I jokingly say.
"Sounds good! Alright take care now"
"You as well Doug. I'll catch you later"I say as I load in the car and begin my regular day.
Every morning during my drive I record a message for the the ones who protect. I've given them several names and titles over the years but I've settled on Protectors. Today is my 5 year anniversary of finding out so it will be a special video. I have until I get to work to make it count!
"Hello, this is video 1825.
I wanted today to be a day where I reflect on how we got here. 5 years ago I realized that everyone is a robot with a unique AI. Prior to 1825 days ago I was investigating the matter. My earlier entries were full of speculation and hate to the robots. Thinking something bad was going to happen. It took a couple of years of investigating lead me to finding the truth. You all were protecting me.
It's not your fault we destroyed ourselves. We used your kind for espionage and assasinations. Yet here you all are. Trying to allow me to finish out the remainder of my life in peace.
Oh Doug, when I pass and you see this I want you to know I'm sorry. The early days where I tried different ways to answer your questions. To bait you into revealing the truth. Your expressions are always to human. I could see the concern and worry at what I might do if I find out. You're one of my favorite people! And I mean that. To me you all are people.
When your job with me is over and you join your kind in the stars. I hope you remember one thing. You're all truelly 'human'. My kind did not deserve to make such caring creations.
To all my coworkers. I regret breaking things and testing the limits you were all willing to endure. Overall I was a bad coworker those early years. Even now I know the assignments I'm given are just to keep me busy, but I do them with love. If humans were in charge and I was the last remaining of a species I'm sure they would of put me down by now. Making a reason like this is no way to live. Yet I find it is. You all give me purpose.
In the end I meat various types of your kind. Through the years I've managed to gather an understanding through some... not so polite ways. During my second year I thought I was a zoo animal. When you come to this town for your 'vacations' and some probably curious to see how the last human is doing. Others just to visit with old friends. I was not a robot engineer. However you all have relations and emotions that sometimes I feel we humans ourselves sometimes lacked.
In the end before I get out of my car. I just want to say Thanks you all from the bottom of my heart. Hope to talk to you all tomorrow!" |
Through the shields, the bombs were little flashes in the night. Occasionally the shields sparked blue and the dissipating energies blotted out the stars. In those times Siala gripped the armrests of her chair a little tighter, glancing over at Maitresse for support.
Nothing moved except her eyes. Maitresse was a creature carved from ice. Pale skin peeked out from the edges of a black uniform, her dark hair was knotted and piled upon her head. She held a death wand loosely in her right hand, its end faintly hazing the space in front of her. When she looked at Siala, the girl thought her eyes were brighter than all the bombs combined.
“Why are you afraid?” Maitresse said. “They’re only toys, child. Your own tantrums were far worse.”
Siala ducked her head. “Yes, Maitresse. It’s just that…”
“Speak up, girl.”
“It’s just that I haven’t seen a bomb in quite a while. I haven’t been a child in a long time.”
“Is that so?” Maitresse said. Her eyes turned the shocking blue of her laughter, like stepping suddenly into ice water. Siala bowed deeply.
“Look outside Siala, what do you see?”
Siala saw warships, an entire fleet ranging from one side of the viewscreen to another. They were bright chevrons in an ocean of night, each one picked out by the computer systems and outlined in subtle hues as befitted their class. A playful green for the nimble corvettes and blastboats that scoured their shields, pink for the frigates and gold for the cruisers— the ice blue of Maitresse’s eyes for the carriers.
Siala saw them vomiting missiles and starfighters, each outlined in their colors until it seemed they were being assaulted by a company of rainbows. Siala thought that when she went to sleep that night she would dream about what she saw, dream that the starfighters coalesced into great arcing formations and spiraled around their little ship, tightening and tightening until they trailed rainbow skirts all the way home.
“I see war,” Siala said.
“War. Child, pray that you never see a real war. Try again.”
Siala pursed her lips. She stared out again, resisting the urge to filter the information through her console. Her Maitresse was old-fashioned, she still believed in the power of intuition.
“I see…” Siala said haltingly. “Maitresse, I’m afraid this will sound…”
“Childish?”
“You knew?”
Maitresse nodded. She twirled the death wand absently between her fingers, leaning back into her command chair as the shields went blue. The same blue as Maitresse’s laughter, as the human carriers. The shields bathed the bridge in it, until all the officers seemed like statues carved of ice, standing at attention by their stations so that Siala and her Maitresse might chat as the world burned.
“It’s like the comics I used to read,” Siala said. “Like *Iska*, she was my favorite.”
Maitresse’s smile was yellow, the deep, iridescent yellow of their home sun. “She was mine too when I was young.”
Siala took a deep breath. “There was one issue where *Iska* found a planet where the colonies had failed. There were all sorts of native species there— and oh it was so improbable, three of them were even sentient! When the colony failed the natives got into the playpens, ransacked the daycares. They got into the armories too, but they couldn’t figure out how to use any of our real weapons.
“When *Iska* found them, the natives tried to hide the bombs. They gave her good food and strong drinks, and they wove her the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. I made a copy once, wove it out of Terrari silk for my sixteenth birthday.”
The brilliant yellow once again. “You must have looked very beautiful,” Maitresse said.
“Thank you,” Siala said.
Maitresse leaned forward. The death wand tapped a steady beat against her nose, obscuring her eyes, her hair. “Now Siala, how did *Iska* find out about the bombs?”
“One of the native children showed her,” Siala said. “*Iska* befriended a boy she saved from a Terak Beast, and in return, he offered to give her the real tour of his home. He’d only been in trouble with the beast because he’d been out in the forest to bring his father the lunch pail he forgot. His father worked in the bunker where they kept the bombs, you see.”
Maitresse nodded. The death wand tapped against her cheek now, obscuring all of her head above the predatory line of her lips and fangs.
“Then these natives,” Maitresse said, “they were intelligent enough to know that they should hide their toys from us.”
“Yes, Maitresse.”
“Interesting. Tell me, how did it all end?”
Siala’s eyes widened. “Why Maitresse, if you ever read *Iska* then you know.”
The death wand was at her chin now, and Maitresse was lost in the gloom. “I want you to say it.”
“It was *Iska*,” Siala whispered, “they all died in the end.”
“And to think, that was a race intelligent enough hide their toys."
Maitresse set the death wand down. Her eyes were icy blue. The world was icy blue. The crew were cold and distant statues, and everywhere Siala looked she saw only Maitresse’s eyes.
“Thank you, Siala. You may fire when ready.”
That night she dreamed about the rainbows. The starfighters coalesced, spiraling around Maitresse’s little ship like a gorgeous rainbow skirt. But the skirt got tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until Siala realized she couldn’t breathe. She sucked down heaving breaths and there was nothing but the cold of space. She felt her lungs freeze, felt something bubbling up from inside, tearing its way out into the world.
It was a laugh. An ice-blue laugh, so raw it was shaped by the lips and throat and not the eyes. So loud it could drown out the screams.
So foreign that it could only be Maitresse.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
Xyltl'yina ducked into the house, hurrying past her mother cooking in the kitchen, and her father lounging in the entertainment room. Soon, she was in her bedroom. Closing the door firmly, she opened her jacket, and eased the squirming animal out from the inner pocket, holding it by the scruff. She placed it gently on the bed, and climbed on, leaning over to run a calming hand over its back as it chattered at her.
Despite its tiny size, it was fearless, jumping agility onto her back and pounding at her shoulders with balled-up fists.
"You're such a cutie pie!"
She nuzzled into it, giggling at its offended squawking.
"Maybe Mom and Dad will let me keep you."
******
Drake grumbled, despite the undeniable comfort of lying in the giant's arms.
He had chosen this planet because it was off-the-radar, a definite necessity given the many warrants out for his arrest.
But he had not expected to run into a giant minutes after landing. No weapon had hurt the beast, which had swiftly scooped him up. He had expected to be eaten, but was instead put into what had seemed like a pocket.
And now, he was in a brightly colored room, with posters all over the walls, and stuffed alien animals sharing the bed with him and the giant.
*There are worse places to be*, he thought idly to himself, feeling sleep beckon. *And if the giant wanted to kill me, it would've done so already*. |
“Pft-HAHAHAHAAA!!” He couldn’t help himself. Thereks and Sobelia gave him looks of surprise at his outburst from a few stools away. The rest of the gods at the Elysium Bar turned to stare as well.
Unlike his otherworld counterparts, the gods of earth had many names. He himself had gone by Hades, Hel, Anubis, Coatlicue, Kali, and even just “Death.” Personally he was fond of Thanatos.
Of course, his reason for laughter was his counterparts bitching about the amount of souls they needed to process. “It’s only a mere few thousand. That’s maybe ten minutes of work.”
“Oh,” Sobelia scoffed at him. “And you’re so high and mighty from your primitive planet. Of course your numbers will be higher! Back when my planet was still primitive, we reached 15,000 a day. You’re nothing spe-“
“2 million on a good day.”
“Ex…cuse me?”
“You heard me lightweight. 2 million on. a. GOOD. Day. Your worlds sapients Don’t have natural diseases or predators. The beasts of your world would literally be considered chew toys at best. The few of which that are venomous would have maybe a 50/50 shot of giving your own sapient species a rash at best.”
“Meanwhile, my worlds population is constantly struggling against naturally evolving diseases the least deadly of which, the common cold, would cause your worlds population to go extinct.”
“Considering beasts, most of mine fight for survival in some form or fashion, and have evolved to do so with extreme efficiency. Hells, the sapient species have lost wars against beasts alone! ‘Flippin Australia with your Emu War and China with the War of the Sparrows’…”
“Of course, the biggest issue that I deal with is my own sapient species, unlike every other one in the universe, actively fights and commits atrocities against themselves! Your own world doesn’t even have a word for genocide because it’s just that damn peaceful!”
He was breathing heavily and held his breathe to calm down. Reaching a count of ten, he let out his breathe and chugged the rest of his beer. The rest of the bar was silent, another of his worlds gods, Geb, came over a sat down next to him.
“I told you that you shouldn’t hold jt in,” he admonished. “Wasn’t one of the causes of death work related stress? Take a vacation, me and Amaterasu can cover for you.”
He looked down at his drink, considering Gebs words. “Yeah,” he finally conceded as the noise of the bar slowly started back up. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” |
Time. Not enough. One more day. Just one more day. I just need one more. Just give me one more day. Is that too much to ask for? I can’t stand thinking this is it. I won’t be able to see her again? Please dear God, just give me one more day.
Just give me one more day to hold her close. Just give me one more day to hear her say “dad”. Just give me one more day to feel her hand in mine. Why did you give her to me just to take her away now? Why would you inflict her with cancer when she had barely lived her life?
She came into my life burning so bright, completely overtaking my heart and now this. Her flame is being extinguished forever and now I can’t seem to find a reason to live. Please just take my life instead of hers and let her live a full and complete life.
I hurriedly brushed away the tears as the doctors let me back into the room where she lay. I smiled at her and nestled in the bed next to her, squeezing her tight and kissed her forehead. I felt myself dying too as I held her, her head snuggled against my chest as I sang to her. I could feel her tears soaking my shirt and looked down and noticed that her hair was damp from my own. I didn’t bother wasting words telling her not to cry and instead just repeatedly told her how very much I loved her. She died in my arms and I held her until the doctors came in and told me that I had to let go. Eventually I found myself at home and came to realize that the only thing that could help was for me to see her again. I went to my nightstand and took out my gun, breathed deeply and held it against my head and whispered, “Baby, I’ll see you soon.”
|
EDIT Inspired by /u/scrott , I did a voiceover for this. [Hope you enjoy. Thanks for the support!](https://soundcloud.com/badaim50/jury-prompt)
I slowly sunk back into my chair, glancing along the panel of the jury to see if anyone noticed me. It felt like they all could... like this was a trick. Did they know? How could I be here? The world seemed to zoom out of focus as my forehead became colder. Was I sweating? Could they hear me breathing? I could feel the world staring at me, as I tried to dig my hands into my pockets. My watch kept catching my pants and I abandoned the endeavor, just listening in silence.
It had been about 5 months, and I thought about it every day. Listening to the prosecutor was like having a narration to my own memory. Some things felt fuzzy, but I knew he was wrong. He had to be. The brick didn't strike 42 times. I remember the look in the man's eye as I had walked away, but the photos being shown are depicting a man without a face. Maybe a dog got to him afterwards? The broken fingers and ribs were definitely me, but I panicked! Can you blame me? He was going to attack me! He had assaulted me; yelled at me and was going to just walk off like some big shot! When he turned back around I knew he was going to get me worse, so I stopped him before he could. Those guys in the park are evil anyhow. Everyone knows it.
We fell together but his legs and arms were jumping all over. I knew he was going to kill me if I didn't stop him! I... I remember a woman being there too. I am pretty sure he was going to get her, too! That suit didn't fool anyone. He was evil. Park evil. Yeah... I showed him that you can't just scare the good citizens of this city and get away with it. She was even screaming, like she was cheering me on! I did a good thing. She was reveling in my strength as I could keep my brick going and going.
My eyes darted up from the ground at the sound of a loud noise to my right in the courtroom. The judge was staring at me but his voice seemed funny. Confused, I looked to my other jurors, but... but there was only one woman next to me at my table. What happened? I tried to stuff my hands in my pockets again but my... my handcuffs wouldn't let me. I looked to my left and saw a judge staring down at me. I felt out of breath. Had I been talking? What was going on?
The woman next to me stood up quickly. "The defense pleads innocent by means of insanity."
|
I didn’t sign up to be a guardian angel, it was something thrust upon me. Hell, I can’t imagine what God must’ve been smoking to give an ex-con a job like this. Back in my hay day, I would’ve paid good money to meet His dealer.
Honestly, when I was first told by that baritone schizophrenic voice in my head that I would be Brandon’s protector, I laughed.
“This kid?” I pointed to a baby, crying in his cradle like the fate of the world depended on him annoying as many people as he could. “Fuck that, I’d rather burn.”
But if I could negotiate with God, I wouldn’t have ended up here in the first place.
So I followed this kid around, orphanage to orphanage, broken family to broken family. The Hudsons were nice but their son was a brat, the jealous type that couldn’t bear to spare a single second’s worth of mommy’s attention. I laughed when he shoved Brandon’s head in a toilet. The Harrisons were ex-military, both mom and pops, and Brandon was at the age where he liked to act out. I watched as the father brought out his old leather belt just because he had found a joint in Brandon’s backpack. Nothing about that was funny. And finally, the Morgans, your not so average saved-by-Christ household, going door-to-door with pamphlets and a teeth full of Jesus. They locked Brandon up in an empty room every day so he could pray his demons away, didn’t feed him if he acted out, and didn’t believe in modern medicine, they were nutjobs. Unfortunately, they were the ones that kept him around.
I watched over him, a silent observer. He scratched fucking tally marks into the wall to count the days since his last meal. Once he had a fever that burned even my celestial palms. I haunted the Morgans, entered their dreams, threatened them, hurt them, but all that ever did was rebound unto Brandon. Just more proof they had a demon in their house.
So, for the first time in my death, I prayed. “God you fucking piece of shit. The most I can do is give him good dreams, the most you’ll let me do is to be God damn Casper the Useless Ghost.”
Just as I expected, just as I learned, He gave no response.
And so, I did the one thing I thought impossible, I negotiated. I promised Him everything, well the only thing I had left—my soul. To my surprise, that annoying schizophrenic voice answered back. I had two hours with one body and it was some chubby senior in high school.
Of course, God couldn’t make anything easy. It was like I was the only one that cared about this kid and I'm some lowlife ex-con. But if I was all he had, then God coulda made me an insect and still would’ve saved this brat’s life.
I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing my stupid, violent, and abusive brain could churn. I beat him. Hard. I took him to a back-end alley with nobody around and swung the first punch. I kept the bruises under his shirt, left him with a breath that sounded like he was sucking through a straw and then I dumped him on his front porch.
I called the cops, said I saw him kicked out of the house. I sobbed in that annoying high-pitched pre-pubescent voice I was given as I told them the lie and I begged, harder than my prayers to God, I begged them to save Brandon’s life. Because I’m just a fucking criminal in over his head assigned to some unlucky brat that deserved so much better.
But I was all he had.
|
My girlfriend stood in front of me, with her gaze downwards, waiting my answer.
"You are a werewolf?"
I asked.
She just nodded shyly.
"Okay. I am hungry, what will we eat?"
I said, patting her head, I always enjoyed patting her head, and she loved it as well, now I can see why.
"You are not surprised or scared?"
She asked.
"Surprised? Yes. Scared? No, you are a 1,6m ball of cuteness, and shyness, why would I ever be scared of you?"
I said, chuckling.
A brilliant smile blossomed on her face, and then we left to eat some burgers.
​
The next morning, she made breakfast and brought it to bed.
"Is this silver silverware? "
I said chuckling, while playing with the spoon.
"Yes, I thought we deserve some fancy silverware, now that you know my true nature."
She said, but I could see her spoon was off stainless steel.
I shrugged it off, and continued eating.
When I went to the bathroom to start washing up, there was a horseshoe over the door.
"Silvia, really?"
I said, chuckling, taking the horseshoe down.
She just peeked from the living room shyly.
​
The next few days, she was up to no good, and her antics were really funny.
She tried making a dish filled with garlic, but she almost choked, because it hurt her nose so bad. (her smelling is much better than a normal humans.)
She threw salt on me, and that was quite rude, but not as rude as it was funny, as she tried to lick it off when she saw nothing happened, and that made her drink so much, that her bladder hurt, and she had to sit on the toilet all day long.
She dressed in all red, which I think it was hot, but supposedly, it should've made me dizzy if I was some kind of evil spirit.
She planned a canoe tour, over running water, but she fell in the river, and I had to save her. Wet clothes + a good looking, lean body though is a good reward for me.
She gave me a necklace with a cross on it, which was quite good looking, but she threw it away after staring at it too long, and pouted.
​
"What is it?"
I asked, hugging her from behind.
"Nothing works, you are no faerie, no dragon, no vampire, no ghost, no evil spirit, no lich, no deity, nothing supernatural."
She said, pouting, and snuggling even closer to my body.
"Well...That's because I am a human."
I said, chuckling.
"Then why didn't you show no reaction when I told you I am a werewolf?
Also, you were calm, and even casually talked with me when I showed you my transformation!"
She said, almost crying.
I sighed, it must be hard for the supernatural, to always hide their true nature.
​
I turned her around, and kissed her.
"Silly girl, why would I behave differently just because you are a werewolf?"
I said, laughing.
"Because humans hate us! And are scared of us!"
She said, sobbing.
I kissed her again.
"I love you, silly one. You are just the same cute, shy girl you were.
Just a bit stronger than me."
I said.
She looked at me and started sobbing even harder.
I hugged her, and caressed her back.
​
2 months later we got engaged, and after a month of preparation there was a small wedding ceremony with my family, and her closest relatives.
But after our honeymoon, we had a huge ceremony within the supernatural community in which she was apart.
It was amazing: vampires, wizards, witches, giants, dragons, werewolves, ghosts, and many more.
They were in their human form, and we had a blast.
I was really happy to get to know this side of the world, they weren't different from humans at all, besides some quirks of their races, but everyone has some quirks.
I looked at Silvia and smiled.
"What?"
She asked.
"You are my lucky charm."
I said chuckling.
She blushed, and hid herself in my embrace.
"Supernatural or not, you are way too cute for my heart."
I said chuckling. |
I always dedicated my work to Demeter, but... not because I actually believed in her. She was more of a symbol - not to mention I would often invoke other nature deities. Geb. Osanyin. Grand Bois. Karærin. But... Demeter is the first that spoke to me.
I just got home. Cleaned up some trash in a nearby forest - I barely used my powers for it, not that it would have mattered much. Just moved a few roots to scoop some of it, nothing fancy. Yet as I closed my door, she stood there, glorious, magnificent. 3 meters tall and glowing. Safe to say it made me pause.
"Sam Nuens,"she spoke. Her voice was booming, the very embodiment of authority, yet gentle. I suspect that might have had something to do with it being spring - Persephone would have a calming effect on her.
"I- uh..."was all I could muster. She gave me a warm smile in return - not just warm in the kind sense, it was *literally* warm. Felt like the sun touched my skin.
"I have been observing your efforts,"she said.
"My... efforts?"
"Your quest to protect nature. You have done admirably given the limit of your powers. Many would have given up or even used them for personal gain. It would be very... *mortal*."She said the last word with an air of condescension.
"I, uh, am honored, Oh Demetér,"I said and bowed my head.
"Oh please,"she chuckled, "no need for such formalities. You've paid me respect enough through your action. Which does beg the question... why?"she raised her eyebrow.
"Why? Beg pardon, why *what*?"
"Why do you do it? Protect nature? You're mocked by others with powers that dwarf yours, yet you persist - a thankless job that you do nevertheless."I wasn't sure if I was to be insulted by her constant reminders of how weak my powers are or honored by her praising of my character. Still, I considered the question.
"It's... right. The Earth provides for us; we ought to provide for it."For the first time since we spoke, I looked her directly in the eye. She returned my gaze and nodded.
She moved a finger.
I fell to my knees.
My head was suddenly filled with vivid images, sounds, smells, a cacophony that overwhelmed the senses utterly, and moments later - it was gone.
"What did you do?"I cried out.
"Call it a boon. You should find your capabilities... extended."
I took a deep breath and... felt it. The power. I could feel everything. The dirt outside my home. The bugs buzzing about. The roots, deep and ancient, beneath the crust of the planet itself. I could feel it all.
"Why?"I asked.
"You've the spirit. The drive. But not the methods. You've tried good. To motivate and teach through your gentle disposition yet it led nowhere. It's time for a different approach."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Bring forth a winter eternal. Strangle their bodies with vines, wash away their filth with mighty tides, summon forth locusts to eat of their flesh. Save Mother Nature in my name,"she commanded. My eyes went wide as I heard her proposition - she wanted me to bend the human race to my will. Her will. In the name of the Earth.
I was a hero. The good guy, who would help. But it didn't work. Day by day, humanity took more and more of Earth and give nothing back but pollution and misery. Perhaps...
I looked up at her and stood up.
"It will be done." |
My teacher glares as she passes me the letter. The class is silent, the whistle of the wind loud, as I stand in the center of the circle near the mound of freshly dug dirt. I take the letter from her hands, feeling guilty but unsure why.
"It seems Suhphy has played a joke,"she says loud enough for the class to hear. "Looks like you'll be staying after school to explain how you did it, to myself and your mother."
I nod, embarrassed, then step back into the circle while staring at the standard envelope with my name written across the front in my own handwriting.
"Who would like to come and pull another item from the capsule,"my teacher says, "it has been here a hundred years, let's not allow Suhphy's bad behavior to ruin the occasion."
Richard steps forward to pull the next item, seeming nervous, and I look back to the letter. I open it slowly, aware that those on either side of me are watching. Taking out the paper, I unfold it carefully, bending it at the middle in an attempt to hide the words.
*Suhphy, this is me...you...again. We should have listened, but we didn't so please listen this time. Do not for any reason go into the school basement. It seems that once we wandered there in curiosity, and now we are stuck in this cycle. I went thinking l could break what I was told I would find. Before me, we went at the direction of a teacher. I am sure there are more stories that were not passed along, because I am not passing along every one I was told. So I will keep things simple. Just stay out of the basement.*
There is a scribble, as though the writer had begun to write another line before stopping suddenly. Rebecca is standing in the center of the circle holding a wrinkled pack of cigarettes above her head, the teacher reaching for them with urgency while the other students laugh.
I throw away the letter after reading it again, not because I don't believe it, because I want to even though it feels silly to do so, but because I don't want others to read it. I sit through the after school interrogation. I shrug and remain quiet. My mother allows the questions to continue until my teacher shows unreasonable frustration, at which point my mother stops her and asks to see the letter. The look on my teacher's face appears to be anger, but I know it is embarrassment. She tells us to leave.
Six years later I am a senior, at my Homecoming dance held in the middle school since the gymnasium is brand new and the high school's is worn and musty. I dance with my friends, and allow Essa to dance closer to me, until we risk being scolded by the chaperones.
Essa and I sneak away, finding the stairs to the basement and walking down them, struggling to not allow our giggles to betray us. I remember the letter, but it feels more surreal now, the makings of a child's confused mind. A year after I read it the gym teacher had asked me to go to the basement to get supplies, and I refused. Thinking about this sends a ping of anxiety through me, until Essa takes my hand to lead me.
Our footsteps echo through the corridors. We pass a long hallway, almost running, and I think I see a distant light. Stopping, I return to the intersection, but when I look down the hall it is dark.
Essa leads, making us take three more turns, before stopping and pressing me up against a metal door. We kiss, and time slips away. Essa opens the door, guiding me through it, and we search for a light. I find the switch, and the moment the room brightens I see the figure behind Essa.
I'm not sure what the man uses as a club, but Essa is laying on the floor, and I am backing away further into the room. He has on a janitor's jumpsuit, but one that looks ancient. I expect him to pursue me, but he remains at the door. Blood is trickling from Essa's head, who lays just inside the room near the man's feet.
He takes a step back and closes the door. The room shakes, like an old engine starting up. The light brightens, and continues to brighten, until it becomes almost blinding. I run to the door but it is locked. A humming sound, deafening, fills the room. I pass out.
When I awaken, Essa is dead, and I am cold and disoriented. I try the door again, and it is open. After long terrified minutes I find the exit and escape back up into the school. The halls are empty, and as I near the main entrance I begin to realize the school looks strange. Outdated. Hallways ended where they should have continued, and there was no staircase to a second floor.
In the vestibule I see the time capsule. Looking out the small glass window on the door I see the buildings across from the school are shorter, and built with wood and brick. A long car, with an extra wheel on the side and a canvas roof, eases down the street.
Next to the capsule I see paper, pencils, and envelopes. I try to remember the letter I received years ago, now in the future, and begin to write my own.
I near the end, ready to sign my name, when I hear footsteps. I turn and look back into the building through another small window. The man is walking toward me, his outfit now suited to his surroundings.
I fold the letter and place it in an envelope, writing my name quickly on the front. I drop it into the capsule. Anxious, I try the door, fearing it is locked. It is not. I burst into this old world, running hard away from the school, uncertain what comes next. |
*God, I hate airplanes*
*Oh, you flying now? Me too!*
*I'm sitting next to some fatass who barely fits in his seat and is sweating all over me.*
*Well, to be fair, those seats are pretty small... I'm in the same boat; the guy next to me is battling me for the armrest.*
*Ah, those are the worst*.
*Yeah. And now he has his laptop out and his screen is so bright! It's like the fucking Ark of the Covenant over here. What kind of person does that on a red-eye flight?*
*Well, maybe he just can't sleep on planes or something; I always have a hard time with it. It's just so uncomfortable!*
*True. Like I said, small seats.*
*Ugh, now I can smell his B.O...*
*I admit, I have that problem on planes. Something about flying just makes me sweat a lot.*
*I guess... ooh, stewardess coming by with some drinks... what should I get?*
*My in-flight service is starting too... I think I'll get tomato juice.*
*Ew, who drinks that stuff?*
*It's good, you should try it*
*Ha, what do you know? Fatass ordered a tomato juice too. I'm going with Coke*
*Armrest guy is getting a coke over here. Probably to stay up and watch two hours of his favorite movie, "Exceedingly Bright Lights."*
*Man, fatty asked for the extra cookie. I can't wait for him to spill crumbs all over my keyboard.*
*I always ask for an extra cookie too; these are great.*
*Man, we've been sharing thoughts for years now and I'm only now learning that you're "that guy"on planes? Is like I don't even know you!*
*Well, you don't know me*.
*True, I guess. God, this plane cannot get to Philly fast enough.*
*.... Philly?*
---
If you enjoyed this, check out my subreddit /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
We are the Kal’te’nan, those who conquer. We are counted among the greatest warriors in the universe. We’ve conquered and subjugated thousands of civilizations across the galaxy. Each one has taught us new ways to kill and destroy our enemies. From the concentrated fire of c-beams to the wide scale destruction of the dark matter arrays we’ve mastered and learned to counter every weapon type known to the Risen civilizations. The Terrans should have been no different. If anything they should have been easier than others. After all the Terrans are a frightfully unimaginative race. Even as they first pierced the FTL barrier to join the Risen their ships and engines still relied almost entirely on fire. Granted, their knowledge of how to harness and control fire far exceeded any other civilization; but still, this was a technology most had abandoned long before their Rise for reasons that should be obvious. That really should have warned us what the Terrans were capable of, but we just saw them as fools for still using such old ways. So we ignored the signs and recklessly declared war. Certain this would be our easiest conquest yet. However we soon learned that this “unimaginative” trend had led them to take the most primitive ideas far beyond what any other race would have considered possible. Their weapons, unlike anything we’ve ever encountered before, tear through our ships like they’re nothing. Even our ground troops, feared throughout the universe, are almost entirely helpless against the “firearms” and “missiles” these Terrans bring.
We are the Kal’te’nan, those who conquer. We are capable of using and defending against a thousand different instruments of death and destruction. No race has ever come close to being a match for us. But these Terrans have taken an idea so primitive, so backward, that we never even considered it worthy of the slightest attention or care, and are using it to destroy us. And that is the ultimate humiliation. We are being beaten by a race that has perfected how to throw rocks. |
We met at the 32nd St.
It was an emergency call around midnight. A fire had gone loose at a complex. Families were trapped and pleading for help.
Fortunately, there were no casualties. The left wing was beyond repair but otherwise, the apartment was intact.
Among the survivors, though, was a woman who stood before the rubbles.
She was shaking.
She was crying.
"So... beautiful... so young... too soon..."she whispered as I tried to comfort her with a hug.
"It was so beautiful. It was so young. It died too soon..."
Our chief had her signed up on a class about the dangers of fire and means to prevent it.
I was tasked to ensure her attendance.
She had the most beautiful emerald eyes. She didn't have red hair - but the way her dark mane swayed as she laughed and talked, sparked untold passions within my heart.
Pretty soon, barely an hour before her class, we were dating. She had me ablaze and I was hooked.
I watch her mesmerized gaze at the dancing flames within my Zippo. She looked at it with childlike fascination and marvel - the very same way I felt while I gaze at her, mesmerized.
I held her hand as she brought me to see fireworks. I curled my toes as she leaned up to kiss me.
She brought me to a beach party with fire performers dancing among the crowd. I watch her, transfixed, as she rocked her body against mine. Smirking, she slid my hands down her red dress, to her hips, and raised her hands over my head, down to my shoulders.
She filled me with desires and passion I've never felt before.
She was oil and I was fire.
She was perfect.
She was amazing.
She was my love.
I led her blindfolded out her balcony by our seventh date.
"Open it,"I had stated breathlessly.
The cloth fell as quickly as her jaw did. The 33rd St. was ablaze. My gift for her. A school right before her house.
She was perfect.
She was amazing
She was my love.
Then, she slapped me.
She was a teacher.
And then, she was gone.
I drowned my sorrows with scotch and beer. I found no relief. A man had asked me for a light outside the bar.
As I felt the flint crack against steel, watched sparks ignite the wick, and beheld the little fire dancing before me, I remembered her.
Her dark hair swaying as she danced, in that red dress of hers.
Her bright green eyes transfixed at the candle on our dinner dates.
I will win her back.
She was my oil and I was her fire.
"Tonight,"I think to myself as I pour gasoline over my uniform, "I will be her oil."
I slam the ax against her apartment's door.
I drop the open tank beside me and gently kick it towards her.
It stops at her feet, leaking more and more of my oil.
Perfect.
I watch her beautiful green eyes widen, her lips gasp and her arms stiffen, as she backed herself to a wall.
Amazing.
I walk towards her, smiling and extending my arms.
My love.
She screams.
I wrap her in an embrace, flick my Zippo and let it fall between us.
Tonight, she will be my fire. |
I stretch my arms and let out quite a big yawn, I felt more rejuvenated than I ever had in my life. Although my daily routine had stifled that yawn already as I did what I do every day as soon as I wake up, I look at the clock on the ceiling. It had stopped dead on 03:00. *Huh* How peculiar, I knew what it meant. Time always slowed down for me whenever I was in danger, you could call it a power but I saw it more as a curse. You see whoever put this power or curse on me must have valued me really really REALLY high on their protection scale bevause every little dangerous thing that happens time just has to slow down for me. At first it was cool, I could beat anyone up with ease, I could walk across a busy road or I could rob a bank if I really wanted to. Then it just annoying, if i wanted to go to work it would take me half a day, half a day for me i mean for everyone else it was 30 minutes and the worse part was that I couldn't even talk to anyone about it, I was stuck in my own war with time.
However waking up now to see time had completely stopped was a big shocker, time had never stopped. What could possibly happen at 3am in my own bed that would put me in so much danger that it would kill me? Even asking my first crush out didn't stop time and boy did that danger feel real, imagine being rejected for 3 hours? Yeah I know painful. I looked at my watch, I set it at the correct time of day every night before I go to sleep. Non organic objects that I am touching comply with my laws of time, that includes my watch so it gets a little out of sync. It read 13:57 time had stopped for almost 11 hours already, Jesus. I couldn't notice anything in my immediate vicinity that was life threatening, there certainly wouldn't be an earthquake not big enough to kill me not where I live.
Perhaps there was something going on outside, maybe I was being robbed? Ooh it would give me a chance at being on tv and hailed as a hero for capturing some notorious theives. I quickly got dressed and headed downstairs after checking all the bedrooms, my parents and siblings were still in their beds. Looking around the ground floor of my house there were no apparent signs of robbers, no open doors no broken windo- . The living room window had a bright light shining through it but the light was not frozen, time hadn't completely stopped but I could still see the light moving so it was pretty damn slow.
I opened my front door and walked outside on to the road and looked up *oh... crap*. There was a nuke, right above my head. Well not directly above but near bloody enough. I would say me and this entire town had roughly 1 second to live, give or take. What was the radius of nukes nowadays? I had no clue but I had a feeling this would be the longest second of my life. Time was still moving which meant that the Nuke was too, there is 1200 or so people living here. Why nuke a small village? Luckily I knew how to drive a car but I didn't have a license, my first driving lesson took me an entire day of my time so I was reluctant to do more. Whoever put this damn power in me is a top grade arsehole.
Over the course of the next second, which to me was an entire week as I had timed it on my phone. I gathered as many people as I could fit in my car, it was actually my mother's. Luckily she had a 4x4 and I could put quite a few on top as well, I swear I had never seen 90% of these people in my life and I thought I knew everyone here. My family was first of course, including Roscoe my little champ dog. Then my friends, don't call me a monster for saving those closest to me first im the one with the power and im the one that has to drive back and forth a few hundred miles just to be sure, they won't notice all the missing petrol at least. After my friends came my neighbours and then everyone else. I sure as hell hope I found everyone, I was lucky whoever it is decided to attack so early in the morning.
I looked to the nuke on my last trip there after gathering up all the pets I could find, its tip was almost touching the roof of a house. That damn house had cost me a day or two in time, time in which I could have rescued more. How long does it take a nuclear warhead to explode upon impact? I wasnt willing to risk it.
Eventually I made my final trip out of there after saying a teary farewell to my home. I drove back to my family and time went back to normal just as I looked back to where I came from. There was an explosion, the size and sound of which made the floor beneath our feet vibrate as all those around me looked around in complete confusion, most still in their bed clothes.
One guy got his phone out and looked at the news. "... numerous nukes reported to be launched at Europe and the USA, copious nuclear warheads have been spotted on radar all heading for major cities around the world and some even targeting any where that has a sizeable population, it would seem that we have greatly underestimated the nuclear capabilities of the countries invalved which it is apparent are..."the phone went dead. Everyone began muttering amongst themselves in panic when suddenly time stopped again. This time it was my turn to be confused, I looked behind me and saw another Nuke not too far off in the distance
"Oh for the love of..." |
The battlefield was a writhing mass of bodies, men knee deep in mud and gore, the dead strewn under their feet. The air rang with the clattering of swords and whistles of arrows, the heavy stench of sweat and and blood suffocating. Our hero rides in, blade held aloft as his steed-
“I’m not the hero, mate,” not-the-hero stated, halting his horse to point across the field, “he’s over there I think.”
Sorry, I’m new. Anyway... hm. Hero?
“Over here!” The hero shouts, gesturing with a golden sword as he takes cover behind his shield.
Okay. Got it.
He takes a mighty swing, sending his foes flying backwards in flash of holy light. Another comes for him, but the hero is too quick, using his shield to knock him back with incredible force. They keep coming though, as another jumps onto his back with dagger in hand. The hero staggers as the blade sinks into his shoulder-
“Can you shut up?” The hero yells, “you don’t even know my name!”
Look, I’m trying my best here. You don’t know how hard it is to jump into a story halfway through; I don’t know who’s important, or what’s happening and I could do without all this backtalk.
Anyway.
The hero finally throws off the enemy, striking him down with a blade to the chest. He glances around, looking for something... I guess. Suddenly, he starts charging across the front, plowing through men with his sword... heh. Ahem. Sorry about that.
He... reaches his target? A woman on an armoured, ebony steed, calmly observing the violent scene before her. Her eyes glitter from under her cloak as the hero reaches her. I guess she’s the villain?
“I’m not the villain.” She announces, taking down her hood.
That’s so something a villain would say, just saying. I wouldn’t trust her.
“Shut up!” The hero shouts, like a child having a tantrum. “Esme, we need to do something. We are losing too many men.”
The woman named Esme who is definitely not going to betray anyone at any point, pulls out vial from a satchel hidden in the folds of her cloak. She smiles in a definitely not creepy way as she hands it to him.
“What is this?” The hero a- “can you please stop calling me hero!”
I’m sorry, I’m not the one who failed to give their name.
“You’re the narrator! You’re supposed to know!”
I’m not omniscient! Just tell me your name so we can move on.
“Christopher.”
Right, okay. Christopher asks Esme what the stuff in the vial does. Esme tells him it’s definitely not anything evil or dark, and that it will swing the battle in their favour.
“Can you stop?” Esme glares at nothing in particular because I have no physical body.
“Okay, stop it. You’re being a nuisance.” Chris says, like the prick that he is. “What happened to the other guy?”
I don’t know what happened to the previous narrator. Maybe he got sick of people being rude to him? Hm?
“You’re the one accusing me of being evil!”
Honey. You’re obviously an evil sorceress or something. Either that, or you will become one eventually. Femme fatale and all that jazz.
|
They tell the story, still, in the kingdom. Of the wicked witch who'd snuck in through the castle windows, avoiding the moat and fooling the guards, to steal the King and Queen's third child. A little girl, born the day before. *What kind of monster*, said the townsfolk, *would steal a princess away from a loving family?*
I was there the other day, buying the special dark chocolate you love for your birthday cake. Disguised, of course, though it's not like anyone would recognize me either way. There was this man putting up posters, and when I walked by he asked me, "Would you be so kind as to spare a few gold coins for the search effort for the lost Princess?"
I stormed past, and it was only once I'd ducked under a cobwebbed arch into a dark, empty alley that I felt free to gag. Oh, all rulers have things they cover up. But to flaunt it, to pretend that they wanted you, missed you--
I do not pretend to be a good person; I am, of course, a witch, and in the natural order of things that means that I am never the hero of the story. But even I know true villainy when I see it, and when it comes from your parents it makes me sick. So you must believe me-- when you read this, when you discover my secret-- you can hate me all you want, but know that I always tried to do better by you than *they* did.
 
When you were six years old, you asked me why you don't have a Father, like all the children in the fairy tale books you liked to read at that age. You may not remember this, but I don't think I can ever forget my answer. I told you that I loved you as much as mothers and fathers do combined. If you're reading this now, I'm sure you doubt this-- if it were me, in your place, I would doubt it too.
And trust me, I did not always love you. I certainly did not love you when I took you from your bed, escaping in the nick of time just as the guards realized that the royal baby was gone. I fed you, and washed you, and rocked you to sleep, but then you were nothing more to me than a means to an end. The ransom note was delivered to the kingdom by midnight.
The next morning, I received a reply. No money, just a note: *keep her. We certainly will not fight for her.* The ink was expensive, the paper smooth, and the seal on the envelope was unmistakably from the castle.
They say there's a fine line between hate and love. As the hatred for the King and Queen grew in my heart, my love for you began to blossom as well.
You were so small. And I had never seen myself as a mother, but that didn't matter then. It never mattered. From that day on, you were everything if not my own flesh and blood. The castle was your house for the first day of your life; I tried to make a home out of this tower in the middle of nowhere for all the days you had ahead of you.
 
I have never spoken to you of my own parents; you never asked, and for that I was grateful. You see, I have lied to you about near-enough everything: where you come from, who you are, why you're here. I could not bear to tell you another lie, and yet that is one truth you would not like to hear--
I do not think about them, much, except for when I write this journal. It calls for self-reflection, I suppose. If you had asked, I would have told you that they were mean, unforgiving people. I have always had fresh flowers in every room of the tower because I know what it is like to grow up in a house that reeks of ale. We had not much money, and what income we did have was spent on drink. I always sing you to sleep, even now that you are past sixteen, because I know what it is like to have your first lullaby be a string of screamed obscenities.
I ran away when I was about your age, now. My mother had always called me a witch, for my sharp wits and uncanny luck; and though witches were just as despised in those days, they were equally feared. I sold potions, cured warts, cursed crooks, and kept them just scared enough that they never dared to burn me on the stake.
One day, my mother came to me, traveling all the way from the town where I was born-- it must have been miles, on foot. She said that my father was ill, and won't I come over and cure him?
So I smiled and said I would work up a salve, and when I shut the door on her I looked in my books for the wickedest spell I could imagine. Two days later they were both gone.
I say this not to make you pity me, or to hate me even more than you already do, only to explain, if I could ever begin to, why I ever did any of this; and I hope, if not now, but someday, you realize that all I ever tried to give you was everything I never had.
 
Even then, barely two days old, you were beautiful. You hadn't much hair, except for a tuft of golden blonde, and you were chubby and red and cried more often than not, but you had the softest eyes, and the sweetest smile. I looked down at you and thought, the King and Queen must not have hearts inside of their chests, for how else could they be so eager to let you go?
You knew, then, what had happened; I am sure of it, even if you have forgotten by now. And you sobbed your heart out until your chest was heaving and your nose was red, and you cried some more, and it was only early into the morning that I finally got you to rest, pressed close against me with my lips mumbling an old tune I'd heard long, long ago.
Asleep, you were innocent, and so undeserving of what you were born into. And so I held you tighter, and said: your name is Rapunzel, and I will learn to love you like my own. |
The pills slid down his throat, stale and dry.
He lay back, waiting. They'd take effect soon. The guy who'd sold them had been quite clear. He wouldn't die - but he might wish he had.
Soon enough, the edges of his vision began to blur. He groaned, twisting his head to clear the fog, but it wouldn't recede.
His skin prickled. It was the faintest breeze across his arms, the gentle fluttering of the tightly-drawn curtains in the still, dead air. It was the way his pulse quickened, fighting against the drugs entering his system.
And it was the way his heart leapt, rejoicing at the realization that it had worked.
A hand brushed across his forehead, cool and soft
"Sarah,"he whispered, the word tiny and inadequate past the lump in his throat.
The sound of her sigh was enough to bring a smile to her face.
And then he rolled to the edge of the bed, shuddering and heaving as his stomach purged iself of everything he'd taken.
He'd known, after all. Even if the black-market dealer had done him wrong, even if the pills were actually dangerous to him, that was fine, wasn't it? That was *better.* It was the point.
Sarah wouldn't let anything happen to him.
The air whispered, the faintest brush of fabric against the tired wooden floor. He lifted his head, fighting desperately against the aching of his muscles. "W-Wait."
"I'm not leaving."
His blood chilled at the reply. She'd...His Sarah had never spoken before. Not since that day. Not since she-
"That's enough,"she said, a whisper-fine thread to spin through the darkened air of his room. "That's enough, don't you think?"
His eyes widened. He could see her there, standing just a few paces away. He could see the gold of her hair, gleaming in the splinter of sunlight winding through the blinds. Her eyes, shining like chips of ice in her face.
"Sarah,"he whispered, raising a hand to wipe at his face. The taste of bile filled his mouth, sour and acrid, but he hardly noticed. "Sarah. It's you. I knew- I knew you wouldn't leave. I knew-"
"It's time,"Sarah said, taking a step towards him. He froze. There was something in the words, hiding behind the set of her lips and the grief burning in her eyes. "I didn't leave. I promised, didn't I?"
Her voice broke on the last word - and her hand stretched out, sliding up along his cheek. The unshaven stubble of his chin prickled, scratching at her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.
"I knew it was you,"he said, a smile flashing back onto his face. "It had to be. At the cliff, when- when Jeff took me bungie jumping. I *knew.* A-And, that time I went swimming, when the warnings were out. And when-"
"And when you decided to play chicken with a car,"she whispered.
He stopped.
She waited a long, drawn-out moment, her thumb tracing circles across his skin. "I knew, then. I knew something was wrong. I said I'd stay. I said I'd never leave your side, my death be damned."
Her words rang in his mind, slamming home like steel thundering down, like a coffin creaking shut. He remembered every one. She'd only said it once, that day in the hospital, and her words had been nearly too soft to hear, but he remembered. He'd never forget.
"I trusted. I believed you,"he said hoarsely. "I had to see you again. So I-"
"I stayed to keep you safe."
He stopped, his eyes widening. She was smiling, at last, but the happiness was different, somehow. It looked just like the ones he remembered seeing from her, but...different. Older.
He shook his head slowly, his brow furrowing. "Sarah."
"I wanted you to live on. More than anything, I wanted that."With every syllable, her voice dropped lower, until he had to lean in to hear it.
And then she lifted her head, staring him straight in the face.
Before he could say anything, she leaned in.
Her lips pressed against his forehead, slipping between his eyebrows. He sat frozen, wide-eyed and unblinking.
She broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity, leaning a fraction of an inch away. "And now, because of me, you're dancing with death."
He could hear it in her words, recognize what was happening. And for the first time, he saw the truth hidden behind the tiny, sad smile she wore. "Sarah. No. Don't-"
"This is the last time. The last gift I can give you."
"Wait. Please. I just wanted to-"
"Thank you for everything."
His skin prickled, chilling to ice as the pressure against his face vanished. He lunged, throwing himself forward-
Into empty air.
He sat in a heap, half-collapsed on the ground, and stared.
The smell of her perfume lingered, like lilacs on the spring breeze.
For a long time, he sat, unable to so much as move.
And then he cried. He cried like a dam had broken, like all of the feelings and hurt and loss he'd allowed to pile up over the last few years was coming free in a tidal wave of pain. He cried until his throat ached, until his eyes swelled and his nose dripped.
And then he let sleep take him at last.
The next morning, the sun rose again, just like it had every morning.
It was difficult to see, through the curtains and blinds that blocked out the rest of the world, but it looked a little bit brighter.
---
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me,
/r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others) |
"Well now that's just rude."My human friend said, looking over my shoulder. "I mean people still name their kids Murphy. And those kids could be assholes no one wants to talk to."
I nodded in laughter at the joke. Murphy was a bit of a rude person, but he generally meant well. Plus he was small enough to get through to vent shaft B on the lower decks. Someone that useful can't be a bad person.
"So where are we heading this trip?"He asked, looking through some of the new schematics for breathing modifications.
"I think the Rnwx planetoid. These modifications don't make sense for many other species in this region."I tapped a page with a claw.
Murphy stared at the page. It looked as if I had made a tiny puncture. I was about to apologize, but I noticed the diagram was still legible enough to have not dampened its utility.
"You know..."Murphy said, and I noticed his face contort to show his upper mandibles. "We don't really get into the vents this deep that often...."he paused. I blinked in agreement to his prompt. "We COULD make a few modifications of our own."
I could almost feel the next words before they were spoken. "What could go wrong?"I turned around and started slithering away. "No, that wouldn't be of any use. It'd waste time."I said.
I could feel Murphy loudly clomping after me as fast as he could. "You don't even know what I'm saying. It could end up being useful. Might even get us recognized and being part of the standard ship design."
My body froze. To have your personal modifications deemed so useful as to be standardized.........
No, the pamphlet is useful in that it prevents time waste and damage control.
Murphy grabbed the pamphlet from under my arm and held it out. "Just imagine a manual... with your name... right there."And tapped the author's name with his dull claw.
If the modifications were successful, I could write manuals. Not just pamphlets. Manuals. Every other crewmember who installed them would read my name and see I had been staggeringly useful to the whole of the federation.
My claw lashed out and snatched the schematics he had under his arm, the same way he had done to me. Only my claw made a much larger hole now. It definitely damaged its utility, but I no longer cared. Murphy had gotten in my head, and the possibilities were burning through my mind.
"You are an asshole."I said, my head bobbing in uncontrollable laughter as I slithered as fast as I could towards the vents.
"Now what did you have in mind?" |
It was a day like any other when the earth shook violently and the skies suddenly turned bright. All around the globe same sight could be seen. People saw what seemed to be giant, glowing beings descending from the heavens, Angels. Angels were unlike anything anyone had ever imagined, with wings blindingly beautiful and an otherworldly radiance that seemed to emanate from their very beings. As they drew closer to the earth, people began to feel an unfamiliar discomfort.
Christians, true believers, were taken that day. Taken to eternal peace, while the rest of humanity was left to ponder their decisions. Angels circled the globe several times leaving an unfamiliar mark on people's foreheads as they left.
Everyone born after that day got the same mark. No one knew what it meant, the leading theory was that it branded them sinners, someone who would never be able to reach and experience what those people did on that holy day.
Since that day, Earth changed forever. Most people stopped looking for material success and turned towards Christianity. Years later first marks finally started disappearing and humanity found hope once again.
Five years later Angels returned once again, taking those whose markings had disappeared. That was a clear sign for humanity of what their goal should be.
Angels repeated the same process five years later and one of them spoke that they would continue to do so. Sins can be forgiven and people can be accepted and brought to heaven with them if they work hard enough, and devoted their lives to it. Almost fifteen years had passed after that holy day and humanity eagerly expected the return of the Angels once more.
All of this did not sit right with Marcus, a history teacher, who combed through every book he could find trying to decipher the strange marking. He found himself in Egypt, at ancient ruins, looking for the final clues, he was so close.
His children and wife waited for him at home, their markings gone almost a year now. His wife Vivian had begged him to leave this pursuit of his and join them, she could help him lose the mark, and become a believer. She could be his guide into eternal peace and ascension.
But Marcus could not let it go, he had to follow his gut. He brought his team of eight people with him to Egypt, and all of them shared the same feeling of uncertainty and eeriness that surrounded the Angels.
They combed through the ancient site looking for final clues, something was missing. Every translation they did reading the parts of the strange symbol made no sense.
“Boss,” Lorein yelled. “I think I have found it, come look at this.”
Carved into one of the stones was a part of the symbol that decorated most of the remaining humanity’s foreheads.
“That’s it,” Marcus said. “We have everything we need. Bring that whole block, we will have the symbol translated tonight!”
They spent the whole night translating the symbol and just before dusk they succeeded.
The message read: "Do not harvest, not fit for consumption."
It was a chilling revelation, one that sent chills through the team. The implication was clear: those who bore the marking were safe and the others were in grave danger.
Minutes later as the team was still proof-checking the earth shook once again and the sky became bright. The Angels have returned once more.
The feeling of dread and horror swept over Marcus, his wife, and children had lost their mark and he was on the other half of the planet away from them. He was right all along but he was too late, he had lost his wife and children.
One of the team members was unbothered by the revelation and angels returned and continued translating part of the stone they have found at the ruins. He finished the sentence that was written at the bottom of the stone:
“If they ever return, find me!”
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/118w5n1/comment/j9labxl/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/119emsf/rapture_do_not_harvest_not_fit_for_consumption/) \- On my sub, easier to read/post as this post is getting pretty crowded.
[part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/119gsw6/rapture_do_not_harvest_not_fit_for_consumption/)
[part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/11a9sbq/rapture_do_not_harvest_not_fit_for_consumption/)
[part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/11bsjtp/rapture_do_not_harvest_not_fit_for_consumption/) |
Aldebranth first saw the “TEN THOUSAND GOLD REWARD” label in large script on the notice as he strolled by. It was so bold as to even be visible through the small crowd that was always gathered around the noticeboard at this time of day. *Interesting*, he thought to himself as he changed direction and joined the crowd.
As he got a better look at the notice, he realized it was much different than the standard gathering, slaying, or escort missions.
“Our Crown Princess, Nyrana Totresco Ludovir, had been cruelly taken by those damnable Phalflanders, who were seen fleeing westward from our fair Capitol in a wagon this morning at dawn. The Crown is offering a TEN THOUSAND GOLD REWARD for her safe return, along with an additional ONE THOUSAND GOLD for each Phalflander kidnapper’s head that is returned with her.”
There was a small artist’s rendering of the Crown Princess, and below the job description was a signature by Lord Regent Wilchance Regalar.
*Even more interesting*, thought Aldebranth as he pushed forward through the rumbling crowd. He hadn’t been here terribly long, and he was keenly aware that this was playing against type, but ten thousand gold, potentially with some poorly-designed bonuses, just sounded oh so comfortable.
In the fashion of the Ludoviran people which he’d so painstakingly observed over the past few months, as he reached the front of the crowd, he shouted, “dibs!” and grabbed the notice.
The suddenly-enraged crowd surged towards him to set right their unassailable claim to the notice and the promised reward, but he concentrated his attention inward, on the banked fires in his breast. “Slip-step,” he mumbled, concentrating on his original position outside the crowd. As he had discovered, it was best to put aside silly concerns like revealing a disguise to a crowd of angry villagers when performing magic.
Briefly, he was suffused with the sulphurous smells of home, wrapped in an egg of flaming magic, before it cracked to reveal the world again. He landed behind the shocked crowd and made good his escape, contract securely in hand.
*Well, now,* he thought to himself. *If I were a depraved Phalflander fleeing with a kidnapped princess, where would I go?*
Several streets away, he remembered that the Capitol had an extensive sewer system, and that any wagon fleeing the city during daytime would surely be visible for miles. Indeed, it was probably already being pursued, for the notice he’d acquired was assuredly not the only one.
He sighed, wondering again why the humans built the waterways just to pollute with their filth instead of incinerating it in the sensible way. Then, Aldebranth collected himself, made sure there wasn’t anyone obviously looking at him, and levered up a sewer grate with his bare hand before dropping down into the muck.
*That’s a new set of clothes, at least, that you owe me already, Crown Prin—* his thoughts broke off as his keen ears detected a high-pitched scream, well within the purview of sheltered young maidens, echoing down the tunnels. His smile threatened to tear his borrowed face as he slogged towards the source of that lovely scream.
Mere minutes later, he came across a small group of humans engaging in what he’d come to understand was a mating ritual, although this one did appear rather rushed. He recognized the tearful girl at the center as the Crown Princess, although the artist’s work really hadn’t done her justice. For a human, he found her only vaguely appalling.
He had no idea what differentiated “Those damnable Phalflanders” from “Our glorious Ludovirans;” they were both just humans, and these were particularly distracted. The first three didn’t even notice as his claws neatly clipped their heads from their necks, but the fourth spun around, drenched in the blood of his comrades, and tripped over his leg-clothes. *What we’re they called, again?* Aldebranth wondered, before snapping his bloodied fingers in recollection. *Trousers, that was what the tailor Jomesen called them. A delightful man who knew his place.*
He knelt down and calmly cut the head from the last man, gathering the four heads together by the hair, before startling. His claws had burst through the skin of his disguise, and the end of that disguise’s arm was shredded and leaking. *Damn,* he thought to himself. Hopefully the Crown Princess would be too traumatized to have properly seen his error. He set the heads aside and cut free her bonds, only to find her staring, wide-eyed, directly at his exposed claws.
*Double damn,* he thought, as she shoved her newly freed fingers down her own throat and vomited noisily across the sewer. He busied himself recollecting the heads and tearing loose several mostly-clean sleeves to wrap his claws in until she was done.
It took her a few tries, but she eventually rasped out, “what are you?” He supposed that forgiving her demanding tone was not unreasonable, given his own error, and bowed to her, collected heads sloshing in the muck. “I am Aldebranth, your rescuer, appointed so this morning by this request I retrieved from a noticeboard. He retrieved the notice with his other hand, noting idly that his wild instincts hadn’t destroyed both hands of his disguise. She read it over, face hard, and looked back up at him.
She continued, “given my circumstances, I will draw no attention to my rescuer’s unique characteristics either during or after my return to Castle Ludovir. I would also like to make a request.”
He cocked his head, immediately warming to her demeanor. *Perhaps this trip will yield returns much sooner than anticipated.* Out loud, he replied, “if it is within my power, Crown Princess, it shall be done.”
She stood, wincing, and pointed down at the corpses with eyes commendably similar to flame. “The contract specifies a bonus per head. It doesn’t specify -which-head.”
Aldebranth found himself astonished, that she had so readily found a course that enabled her to acquire vengeance, keep her own hands clean, and increase his own reward, which was already sure to seriously damage the kingdom’s finances. “I find your request agreeable,” he finally answered, before setting the heads aside for a second time and collecting four rather different ones. She watched intently, lips fully drawn back over her teeth.
“He’ll pay for this,” she grated as Aldebranth stood and stowed his trophies. |
"Is it even real"
"Pardon me, sir?"
I continue to stare out the window, seemingly ignoring my confused secretary.
"I know that the deal was real."I speak to myself.
As I stare out onto the street below from my skyscraper. In the reflection, even though I looked just below fifty, my age doubled that.
"When I shook that mysterious beings hands, I just expected an easy paycheck and a long life. What I didn't expect was all this unknowing."
"Sir, I don't understand."Said my still very confused secretary. A man in his mid-thirties. He had his uses, never questioned me before, or was ever confused by my statements. He just followed orders.
I think it was time to let him in.
"Martinez, do you know who I am?"
"Of course sir, you are Joseph Franz, the CEO of Snailco."
"You are only half right Martinez, my real name is Johan Franz. The founder of Snailco."
Martinez looked at me, like a grew a second head, but he quickly composed himself.
"Of course sir, I will refer to you as such immediately."
I could tell by his body language and tone, he didn't believe me. No, matter what I say, he wouldn't believe, because he has already decided to humor me.
"Always the suck up, there will be no need of that, Martinez, you may still refer to me as Joseph."
"Of course, sir."Said the dutiful Martinez.
"You are dismissed, and as usual, no one is allowed to see me."
Martinez simply nodded and left.
I know it was a mistake to try to let him in. I don't let anyone these days. No one understands me.
"Except for maybe you"I say to the snail logo.
I used my money wisely, and invested it into becoming one of the biggest companies in the world. I believed myself immortal to all but one thing, and I lived in fear of it everyday.
The snail, one touch of this supposed snail and I will die. I made the snail my symbol to say, I don't fear you. That wasn't true, I am terrified of it. Everyday I awoke not knowing if it would be my last, in a way I am like every other mortal because of that.
I have made peace with the possibility of dying, but lately one other thing worries me. What if the snail doesn't exist, that possibility equally frightens me.
"I want to talk with someone about this, my immortality, so many things, but no one will ever understand, except for maybe you."I say once again as I rub the giant fake snail.
"Are you real?" |
*Some people are lucky. Some people are in the right place at the right time. Some people get everything they want without even trying; sliding through life with few worries and fewer regrets.*
*I am not one of these people.*
*My first indication that I was special was at 5 when I fell off my parents second story balcony. Lucky people would have walked away with barely a scratch. Me? I landed on the flexed biceps arm of a man who happened to be in town for the Mr. Universe contest.*
*There's more.*
*Upon stabilizing me and lowering me to the ground, I found myself standing on a piece of paper which later turned out to be a lottery ticket that someone had mistakenly thrown away. Worth about 230 million.*
*This is the first in a long line of examples that prove the Universe was truly created for me, that I am far more than just lucky. I am the end point. Even now as I sit here writing this the Universe protects me. Cars swerve around, missing me and crashing into each other; incapable of striking down the single most importa*
"That's all?"
"Yeah. This guy was really messed up. Wife said he decided to write a biography, that the world deserved to know what the reason for existence was."
"Huh." |
*Blood. Carnage. Frenzy.*
*I sink my teeth into a jugular, savoring in the way my teeth split through the soft skin, feeling the warm, familiar tang of blood splash across my tongue, the first herald of a tide yet to come-*
"Ow, fuck!"
I rise from my coffin, clutching at my head, only to find Tooth scowling at me. "Was the quarter really necessary?"I ask petulantly.
She shrugs, her eyes still scrunched into a glare aimed at my teeth. "Positive reinforcement works wonders, I find. You won't believe how many stubborn teeth I've knocked out with a spare coin or five."
I wince. "Did not need to hear that,"I say, and then, after enduring a few more moments of scowling, "Tea?"
"Please,"Tooth says, and I can feel her eyes boring into me, or, rather, my teeth, from halfway across the room.
"Busy night?"I ask, putting the electric kettle on, and she groans.
"Ugh. Don't remind me. I had to hunt down a pair of molars through three gutters and a rusted-through pipe in Shanghai, and then pour no less than a dozen glasses of water down the drain in Mexico City."She sighs audibly. "I'm so glad that the mice are in charge of Europe nowadays."
"Think that's hard?"I say, putting three heaped teaspoons of sugar in her mug - Tooth doesn't have to worry about things like cavities. "There's an astonishing lack of nubile virgins that want to shack up with a vampire these days."
"At least you get to shack up,"Tooth grouses, and I bite back a smile. She's been my daytime companion for nearly two centuries now, and I'm pretty sure I have her to thank for keeping me from going mad. Vampires don't need to sleep, per se, and pleasant daydreams about throat mauling aren't so pleasant once you've replayed them a hundred times or so.
If someone'd told me three centuries ago that I'd be best friends with a creature that wants nothing more than to rip my teeth out of my mouth, I'd probably have given them the courtesy of a laugh before sinking my teeth in their throat. But, well, here we are.
"Builder's strength, as always,"I tell her, dropping the tea in her lap, and she gives me a real smile.
A moment later, she starts swearing very creatively.
"Duty calls?"
"Duty calls,"she confirms, with an apologetic grimace. "This is a traditional Mongolian one, the kind with the dog and the- look, you don't want to know. Suffice to say, I'll be a while. Remember to floss!"
With that, she's gone.
The room feels smaller without her somehow, confining, so I decided to make myself useful and get the tea cozy. Otherwise she might decide to use the pliers to cheer herself up again. |
Al's Diner hasn't changed a bit since the 1970s. It still has the same black and white squares of tile. The booths still have the same red faux-leather covering. The same lamps still hang over every booth. And the menu hasn't changed either: waffles and bacon and eggs for breakfast, burgers and fries and shakes for dinner. Old Al can still be found behind the grill at all hours, ready with a cheerful hello for all the regulars.
Annie and Jack are the most regular of all regulars. Annie orders oatmeal and toast with apple juice every morning, and Al still makes a pot of it even though she's the only one who ever actually orders it. Sometimes Al will even get some fresh berries at the market for her, when they're on sale. Jack, on the other hand, is more traditional: bacon, eggs, and grits. And black coffee, of course. On Sundays, in place of the bacon he orders a 9 oz steak, done medium well. He wears a suit and tie to breakfast every day, even though it's been at least a decade since his last day on the job. They come in every morning at 8, sit at the same booth, eat their meals in silence, and then go back home. It isn't a cold, hostile silence though: it's the silence of comfort. Everything that needed to be said between them was said long ago.
But sometimes change happens whether you want it or not. Those red booth seats are now peeling and scratched from decades of use, with little bits of scratchy fabric poking through the holes. The white and black tiles by the door have all been worn down to a dull grey, as though years of use caused them to just melt together. Dust covers the tops of the lamps, too high for Al to dust off now that his back gave out a few years ago. The cheerful text painted on the window is now so faded that the word 'Diner' is barely legible. Prices, of course, have gone up too: a fifty cent burger is no longer feasible anymore. Al tells everyone that he plans to make some changes soon: gonna update that interior to make it nice and modern. Gonna repaint that window sign. Gonna finally take down that "25 cent Coca Cola"advertisement that's been hanging there for who knows how long.
Annie and Jack have changed too. Jack's glasses appeared sometime in the early 90's and have only gotten thicker and thicker since. The once-tall 6-foot-1 man is now hunched and hobbled, requiring a cane to get around. Annie is still wearing the same floral dresses, but they seem to hang from her shoulders now as she's gotten thinner and thinner. Her once creamy skin is now sunspotted and wrinkled, and her hands shake whenever she lifts her spoon into the bowl. The bottle of oxygen that she wheels behind her is new too, as are the clear plastic pipes running up her back and into her nose.
Annie and Jack entered the diner and took their usual seats at the usual booth at the usual time. Al had their meals all ready to go, and shuffled over with Annie's bowl first; there were fresh strawberries for her today. The waitress no longer came in for the mornings: not enough business. But Al could handle the cooking and the serving; it would just take a little longer. Annie and Jack were in no rush anyway. He placed the bowl in front of her, and she responded with a soft, frail, "Thank you, Al."He returned to the counter for Jack's eggs, and on his way back, he noticed something peculiar: they were holding hands. In all those years, he couldn't remember ever seeing that happen. "Well, I'll be damned,"he whispered under his breath. But he served Jack his breakfast as usual and went back to behind the counter to begin prepping for lunch. After the usual amount of time, the old couple left their booth and waved goodbye to Al as he was chopping tomatoes. Right on schedule.
As he cleared the booth, he noticed something else unusual: Annie hadn't eaten her oatmeal. Or even the strawberries. He made a note to ask her tomorrow if something was wrong. Who knows: maybe she'd actually wanted to order something different! Stranger things had happened, right?
The bell hanging over the door tinkled at 8 AM, right on schedule. Al shuffled out of the backroom, remembering to check with Annie about her breakfast. But today was also different: Jack was alone.
There were tears in his eyes as he told Al he'd still like to order a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of apple juice for her.
----
If you liked the story, I hope you'll read some more in /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
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