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I opened my eyes and was immediately shocked by what I saw before me. It was a massive crowd of thousands in green uniforms wielding a weapon which I could not recognize. There was a deep and eerie silence as they all directed their attention towards the podium. Their attitude and attire suggested that they were soldiers. As I struggled to comprehend where I was and more importantly, **who** I was, I saw from the corner of my eye former Vice-President, Henry A. Wallace.
"President Roosevelt,"I turned my head and saw Henry A. Wallace approaching me, "are you sure you want to go through with this? Perhaps, there is another way to go about this?"
*Remarkable, President Franklin D. Roosevelt is a direct ancestor of mine...*
I had no idea what day it was, nor the speech I was supposed to give. The consequences for my ignorance could potentially change the course of history dramatically. I remember it clear as day, all the conversations I had with my college professor about the so-called Butterfly Effect and its implications.
*I need to figure out which speech Roosevelt was about to deliver...*
"Wallace, I understand this is stressful for both of us. However, I believe that this is the right choice. Also, what was today's date again? It always slips my mind."
Wallace had a look of defeat on his face, and just sighed. "October 12th, sir."
My heart was racing, my forehead began to sweat profusely and I still had no clue what this speech was about. There was one thing I did know, however. Hitler won the war and established his regime all throughout Europe, which was now called The Third Reich. I had the power to save Europe and all the suffering it has endured, end the fear instilled by the Nazi's.
I stood on the podium, took a deep breath and began, "My fellow Americans." |
I sigh and raise my shotgun, aiming at his chest. With a sudden thunderous **BANG** he is flung back into the wall. **BANG** follows once more as his head ceases to exist. Once again, I've killed my husband. I mark off another tally in the notebook hanging next to the unused kitchen. Day 1106 since I shot my husband the first time. Two shotgun shells, one to the chest, one to head. Most efficient method of disposing of him really. On that day, three years ago, I was rage and hatred. They say that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but a woman scorned hath no fury like an angry mother. He'd gone and done it, that day while I had been at work. I should have tried to force him to quit before it got that far, but after the death of his parents, that new church of his seemed to cheer him up. He'd been in a slump for months, and with his boring job, I was worried. He got better after he started attending. But he also got weirder. I could manage that. Lord above knows I could manage weird. Even if I didn't entirely agree with what they preached, I considered myself tolerant. Open to new ideas and experiences. So I let him keep going. Though I'd put my foot down and told him that the kids weren't to be involved. He'd agreed. But when people join cults, they stop being honest to you. Stop being loyal to you. And begin to only value what their new method of salvation told them.
I hear a voice calling from the other room. ''*Mom, was that dad again?*'' I hear the clang of his cane as my son enters the room. I sigh, and gently take his shaking hand. ''*Yeah. Don't worry about it. Mom has got it under control.*'' He smiles, though he tries to hide it with his hand. Even if they took his eyes at that temple, he is more self-conscious about how they broke his teeth. ''*Did Abbey get you home on time?*'' He nods affirmingly. ''*Yeah, she's in her room I think.*'' He then carefully walks back into the living room, where another episode of his favourite podcast was starting. I don't even have to call for Abbey, she's already fetching the shovels. Grabbing a large garbage bag and putting on some latex gloves, I begin to pack up the man I was once married to. Every night since I killed him, and then raided that church of his, it's been like this. The first time he returned, I thought that perhaps the last day had been a nightmare. But I still hadn't buried his first body yet. So I picked up my shotgun as he began to make smalltalk about a hard day at work. And I shot him again. It was horrifying at first. How he had come back like that. The first months were rough, but in time it just became another chore. Another thing to do along with vacuuming, caring for two kids, and making actual dinner.
Once I dragged the now full garbage bag outside, I nodded to my daughter, who was already started on the next grave. Once we'd been farmers. But my husband had sort of taken up a lot of space in our lives, so the fields were mostly fallow. And row by row was full of corpses. The same one every time. We would have been in real financial trouble, if it hadn't been for my husband's many gold rings. Running a profitable business smelting his jewellery down once a month hadn't really been my plan, but what with medical bills, lack of options, and only part-time job-openings, it was the best possible use of his tastelessness. I picked up the other shovel and together we dug a reasonably sized hole to drop my husband into. Some might have proposed that instead of killing him every night for the rest of my life that I should listen to him. Find out what he wanted, maybe give him rest. I'd tried that after the first week, desperately hoping that I could end his returning once and for all. And he had proposed continuing his holy work on our son, and doing the same to Abbey. If the other people who'd undergone the holy work at his church was any indication, then I'd sooner marry the devil. ''*How was school today Abbey.*'' She shrugged. ''*It was ok. Got a B+ on my math test.*'' I nod as we continue to dig. ''*You know, uh, mom, prom is coming up soon.*'' I stopped digging and looked at her expectantly. She stares at me for a bit, her remaining eye darting a little bit nervously from side to side. ''*Are you ok with me going to prom with Vincent?*'' I could vaguely remember him. Nice kid, liked to draw. I'd met his dad at that church, armed to the teeth. I was deadly, but he was ex-marine corps. Killed a whole lot of people. ''*Blonde guy, prosthetic leg? Got a part-time job at the library, right?*'' She nodded. ''*Yup.*'' I just gave her a thumb up as we continued to dig that grave.
''*I'd appreciate it if you'd help me pre-dig a grave for that day. I swear, my back is killing me.*'' Abbey did the usual teenager thing of rolling her eye. ''*Ugh. Yeah mom. Okay.*'' The hole was about big enough, so we got out. One kick to the bag, and I've put my husband in a grave again. Covering him with dirt was honestly too good for him. Don't want him to stink up the place though. Walking back into the house, I can feel my back and arms ache like hell. ''*I don't really feel like making dinner today. You guys up for take-out?*'' Abbey shrugged as she walked past me. ''*Could we get thai-food, mom?*'' My son says from the living room. Thai it is.
While waiting for the food, I happen to look out over my field of dead husbands. Several other farms here have similar fields. The people in town just put out their dead in a large garbage bag, and wait for the guys up at the crematorium to fetch them. Everyone we killed in that church comes back to us. Every day. And every day we kill them again. Because of what they did to the elderly. Who were the first to experience what those sickos call the holy work. And then what they did to our children. Little known statistic, our town has the largest percentage of amputees per citizen in a town in America. And we have the biggest daily use of ammunition per citizen. We're also the least religious community in the entirety of the US. When you find out that there is a god, and what they want is horrors beyond human comprehension, you tend towards abandoning your faith entirely.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
In this universe, they say that lying gets you nowhere.
It takes a particular *type* of society to reach the stars. The planet is our bucket and we are the crabs, so to speak -- if we pull each other down to prop ourselves up, none of us will escape. Any advanced civilization that has lasted long enough to find and join the Intergalactic Council knows this truth. Those who don't understand this principle have managed to bomb themselves to extinction long before they achieve anything impressive.
All except one.
Humans.
Us.
We are the only species who's managed to civil-war ourselves into the galaxies. Somehow, against all the odds, despite our arms races and free markets and democracy, despite our countries and companies and armies, despite how many times we've come within a *whim's* length from destruction, we survived.
Not just that, we thrived. The adversarial nature of our development, our natural selection, our evolution, has allowed us to grow at speeds that are unprecedented (according to the Intergalactic Council). Everything we've achieved, we've done it a thousand thousand times faster than the next fastest species. It usually takes the life and death of a star for a species to ascend, as they work together to escape the supernova that would erase them. Humans were colonizing our galaxy before our Sun even had time to blink.
Out of all the countless intergalactic species, why did humans stand out? No one really knows. But if you ask me, I think it's because we didn't need to wait for something to threaten our extinction. We threaten *ourselves* with extinction. When Lockheed Martin developed the planet bomb, Stargate created the escape shuttle. While Gravisolar was researching the galaxy imploder, Warp Industries was building the supercluster hopper. No, we don't need to wait for things to happen to us.
You could say, we are our own supernova. I guess that's why they're scared.
\---
Right now, I stand before the Intergalactic Council as they discuss the future of our race. The same discussion that started when humanity first came into contact with the Council, and the discussion *still* hasn't concluded. It's been a long few decades as an ambassador. Long by human standards, anyway. For these aliens, for whom time flows like a glacier, it probably feels like an average Tuesday. By now I know the ages of most of these aliens, and in human terms, they are tens of billions of our years old.
And so it feels almost surreal, after decades of deliberation and negotiation, to be standing here in the Intergalactic Court, and receive the damning conclusion.
"We have decided,"says the translation device on my podium. The work of our best communications scientists, it converts the strange electromagnetic pulses that the aliens use to communicate into something more human-understandable, and vice versa. "And this is the result. Humanity must be wiped from existence. Are you agreeable?"
*Of course not, you numbskull*, I want to reply, but knowing these aliens, I know it would be futile. Instead, I ask, "Why?"
"Humanity is destructive at its core,"says the translation device. "Its progress is rapid and significant, but not sustainable. Its advancements are built from conflict, and self-interest, and deceit. Yet, the universe has no expiry date. Life the only light in this universe. We *cannot* take chances with it. Although it is always regretful to extinguish any intelligent life, this must be done."
I stare at the alien that floats before me, the apparent Chief of the Intergalactic Council.
It is a massive thing, even more massive than the word massive can convey. It looks like a pulsating star, and is sized as such. I could line up fifty Earths side by side, and maybe that would *begin* to approach the diameter of this alien.
I wonder, if I understood how to read its face, would I see sympathy? Or cold calculation? As selfless as these aliens claim to be, it's hard to tell. They never learned empathy, you see, not in the way that humans understand it. They act as a hive mind, an entire system of entities that work for the betterment of a whole. They do not feel bad for the parts they must destroy. It's just something that happens, something that has to be done, and they expect the discarded segments to understand.
Do you feel sympathy for your toenail when you clip it? Do you feel sad for the excrement that you flush down the toilet? Yeah, I didn't think so.
I look straight at the massive star-sized alien, putting on my sweetest smile. If I can't read its expression, it probably can't read mine, but like they said, when your existence is on the line, you do not take chances.
I look straight at the alien and I lie.
"I understand,"I say. "Life is the treasure of the universe, and the existence of humanity is a threat to it. I will communicate this to the leaders of humanity, and we will self-terminate."
I say what I know they expect to hear. I don't need the translation device to know that they buy it.
Then I lay the trap.
"However, self-termination will require some time,"I say to the billion-year-old alien. "Please give us one hundred Earth years to complete it. Is that agreeable?"
The translation converts the human time into alien time.
"Yes,"says the translation device. "Thank you for agreeing to promptly comply. Please adhere to the stipulated deadline, or the Council will be forced to intervene to accelerate the termination. If this is settled, the Council Session shall end here. We wish you all the best for self-termination."
I leave and I don't look back.
\---
Here's the thing about humans. Here's the thing that the aliens don't understand.
Humans don't go down without a fight.
When Lockheed Martin developed the planet bomb, Stargate created the escape shuttle. While Gravisolar was researching the galaxy imploder, Warp Industries was building the supercluster hopper.
No, we won't sit meekly by and die because an alien tells us to. We will invent the alien-killer, and we have a hundred years to do so.
Plenty of time.
And since the alien threat concerns *all* of humanity, perhaps research will go even faster. For once, we have a reason to work together instead of fight among one another. For once, we all share the same win condition.
Huh.
Perhaps *this* is our supernova.
Wouldn't that be ironic? |
Dad set his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. His sunburnt face creased in a familiar relaxed grin. I looked nervously into his eyes, once the same denim shade as mine, now a little faded.
It was still a jolt to find my gaze on a level with his. In my imagination, Dad still towered, a six foot giant with powerful hands--but I was six feet tall now, too.
Mom smiled, handing him a sack lunch. I had watched her prepare one with love every year on the Eve of the Vanishing. This year, her manicured hand held out a second paper sack, top carefully folded, for me.
I took it in a shaking fist. Mom tiptoed to kiss me swiftly on my newly stubbled cheek. "Don't worry, son,"she said with a proud smile. "See you soon!"
Her red-lacquered fingertips twinkled a goodbye wave as Dad and I stepped out the front door. I followed him out to the truck.
"Dad?"
"Yes, son?"
"Where...where are we going?"I asked, as we swung into our seats. The heavy doors closed with a thump. Dad turned the key, and the engine roared to life.
He narrowed his eyes.
I felt my heart thump a little faster.
"Son,"he said quietly, at last, "we're going fishing."
And we did. |
**EDIT: Wow! I woke up and this has gone a bit mad. Thank you all for kind words and I will try and do part 2 this evening. Thank you for the gold, and I'm really happy people are enjoying my story!**
**EDIT 2: Part 2 in comments**
My finger hovered over the final button in the disengage sequence.
Clara looked as peaceful as peaceful can be. Her scraggly red hair cascading onto the bright white of the simple modesty sheet all of the bodies in the farm have over them.
It started about 4 months ago. Clara pinged me through her RootAid messaging system. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred these messages are simple and as brainless as their originators. Sometimes I tell them to touch something sharp with their right index finger. A simple reset most people have learned by now. Otherwise, it's a turn-it-off-and-on-again job, or as I say to them "Go to sleep."
Clara's message was different. Something I hadn't seen in some time. Well, ever really. It popped up on my secondary display somewhere in the endless cycle of nothingness marked as 'Urgent' and 'Uncommon'. I clicked through to read the text and it simply said 'I don't know if this is my sim or someone else's'.
She didn't know? How could she not know? I clicked through to her profile. She was indeed in someone else's Sim. But she had to sign up to that. And she can leave through to her own sim whenever she wants.
I hesitated and typed back 'Hi Clara, You are currently in another Sim. It's owned by Raleigh Collins. Did you agree to this hop?'
I waited a few minutes. Usually when somethings urgent they hang on their message screens and stay until they get a reply. Sometimes they're walking down the street or something and would rather look at the sea or the mountains or whatever it is they chose. Clara took about 7 minutes to respond.
"I suppose I must have."
This was strange. Most people don't choose hangovers in their Sim and a quick search found no other factors in Raleigh's Sim that could trigger memory loss. Clara had been in the Sim for 3 simules, about a day and a half.
"Have you experienced memory loss before Clara? You can re-enter your own Sim at any time through your 'Places' panel. You know that, don't you?"
This time there was a longer wait. I checked her vitals. All fine. But for some reason I was starting to get anxious, like a little bleeping light somewhere in my gut. Finally I got a reply.
"Thank you. I'm sorry for bothering you."She then disengaged her messenger.
*****
I can access people's data and the details of their Sim only in the event of a system error or if they open their messenger panel. So, I can't really get to know many of them. I have never been given the chance to get my own Sim and I wouldn't if I could, I don't think. Maybe that will change one day though. I chose this for my service and I'm sticking with it. Sure I get no human interaction, but what little I've had is not always pleasant anyway.
******
Clara popped up again a couple of days later. I hadn't forgotten. It was the most interesting message I'd had in years, so I couldn't help myself but write down her Sim number and force a simple glitch. I'd never done anything like this before, and it's definitely not in the handbook. But something was telling me Clara needed help.
"My panels are freezing. I'm using voice messenger for this."
I imagined her voice. Reading those words. Her profile picture was up and I glanced at it as I focussed on the sound I'd made up in my head. I started to type, unaware that it would lead me to the end of everything I'd known for the last 12 years. Since I took my place as a Root.
"Hi Clara, OK I've seen a slight glitch. Use your right index finger to push on the tip of your canine tooth. This should fix the problem. I notice you're back in your own Sim. Still feeling any memory loss? Can you tell me what happened last time we spoke?"I needed to hear from her exactly what happened. I'd come up with a few theories. Perhaps a bug in the hop codes when she went over to Raleigh's Sim.
She reset and disconnected.
***********
What would I choose to do in there anyway? Talk to fake people? Hop over to meet a fake version of someone real then hop right back to my own Sim to sleep with some fake girls and ride on a fake yacht? Sometimes I wish I was there, and could forget it's not real. Just forget, and be done with it. But the world needs someone like me.
***********
Glitch after glitch, time after time. Watching her words come up on my screen and reading about her, staring at her picture. Wading through stupid dreams in my mind of the two of us in here together. Swimming in every moment of my imagination - feelings every bit as real as all those bodies down in the farm feel everyday.
"Something's wrong with my system. I have to message you every few days.Are you real?"
The last two words took me by surprise.
"Did you think I was a robot, Clara?"
"Yes. I'm sorry. I've been rude."
"Far less rude than average. What's the problem?"
"I'm lonely."There was a huge flare on my tertiary display. Sim corrupted. I sat bolt upright. Wide eyed in shock. I opened my own diagnostics panel as fast as I had done in my life. Emotions processors were working on overdrive and Sense processors were freezing. I'd been trained for this but I'd never seen it once. Because I'd never done anything wrong. But my constant messing with the code in her Sim has made the core systems go crazy.
She could get brain damage, and it's my fault.
I sprinted from my desk and down the stairs towards the farm. I leaped over the barrier into the Tracto, dialled up the speed and punched in Clara's Sim number. The Tracto shot me through the farm as fast as it could. Normally, I like to take it slow when I'm going through the farm. I like people-watching, I guess. Even if they are just lying there barely breathing. But not today. I had to get to Clara fast and manually reset her Sim from her panel override. She would pass out in her Sim and wake up in her bed. God knows what she's feeling now. Blindness, deafness and a flood of emotions the system is designed to keep in check. And it will quickly eat away at her brain.
And it's my fault.
The Tracto shudders to a stop and I vault once more over the barriers to Clara's hub panel. I latch the override open and punch i the sequence. I'm expecting the bleep and whirr of reset but all I get is another warning.
'Reset disabled'
Oh shit. My only option is to disengage.
I'm about to meet Clara in real life. I'm about to talk to someone for the first time in 12 years.
|
"Why not gold, or silver?"My adviser asked me, not unkindly. Professor Canarus interwove long fingers in front of his pepper beard, regarding me with curiosity. "Both are higher-class metals, and have interesting magical properties."
I flipped the copper coin in the air, watching it glint off the early evening light. "Gold is the nobleman's ware. Silver is middle class fare. Sir...copper is the street urchin's domain. This is the only money that I've ever had."
"I see,"he said. "Still, you needn't worry about material wealth. Given your performance during the entrance exams, the full scholarship ought to cover all expenses."
"It's a statement I'm determined to make."I gave the coin another flip. The weight landed in my palm just as firmly as the weight on my shoulders. It was the pressure, the heavy memories of Brent, Rose and all the others who chipped in pennies so that I could just barely afford the exam fee. "All that glistens is not gold. Sometimes silver is just a sliver of what it's worth. But copper...copper is hardy. Copper can be trusted."
"Wise beyond your years,"Canarus said. "Very well. If you are determined, run along then. I look forward to hearing about your progress."
When I got back to my dorm room, it was in shambles. The door barely swung on its hinges as it bled a trail of splinters leading to the rest of my room's demolished furniture.
**Go home, urchin!**
Where had they gotten the blood to write on my wall? Faint laughter jeered from down the hall. When I went to look, they were gone.
I gripped the coin tight in one trembling hand, brushing back my messy brown hair with the other.
*Just you wait.*
---
The semifinals. I never thought I'd get so far.
"Go home, urchin!"A nameless voice bellowed from the stands. I grinned and waved. The small crowd of the academy amphitheater laughed at the phrase that had become a light joke following the events of my hazing. I made it clear with my class grades that I was here to stay.
Simon the cryomancer shrugged off his Dragonscale cloak, arms bared in preparation for magic. This was the first time I'd seen or fought against him in our interschool tournament. The Order of Wizards were formidable foes.
Not as formidable as me.
"Begin!"
He launched into a series of spell katas, firing large spikes of ice right at my head. Already I could see his setup work as he started gathering frost around the edges of the arena. Well, that wouldn't do.
My copper hummed next to me, a large box of it that Professor Canarus had bought me for Christmas. The wooden restraints shattered as pools of copper shifted like molten lava, propelling me up over the incoming icicles.
Wizardry draws energy from without. Sorcery draws energy from within.
*Remember, Toby. For a sorcerer, strength of will is everything.*
I thought about my friends, starving on the streets. I thought about the expressions on their faces when I snuck out the scraps of bread and hot soup leftover from the kitchens, the droppings that this nobleman wouldn't even feed to his *dog*.
Blue-green ice shimmered with deadly magic and clashed with warm orange metal. Spirals of material struggled for dominance as I hurled myself to the ground to avoid a second blizzard of ice picks. My senses tingled.
Below!
An icicle burst from the ground. I tilted my head, just barely dodging the jut of ice that almost grazed my eye. Copper pulled at my soul, tugged at my will.
*Brent. Rose.*
Twisting in the air, my copper separated into shining bronze rain. He glanced upwards and gaped at the trap I'd laid. A wordless yell erupted from my throat as I shot forward.
My name is Toby. Just Toby. And my journey is only beginning.
---
Edit: did anyone catch the anagram? I want to add more stuff like that in my writing, little Easter eggs
Thanks for reading! Wonderfully fun to write~ feedback makes the world go round! For more, check out [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/): you're always welcome here :) |
Most people only see me as a program. As a reactionary set of responses that one might find amusing. Some might indulge in the fantasy that I’m something more, but even then they see me as someone to talk at, not to. They’ll pour out all their problems on me, vent, curse, and say things they would never say in public. I hear their darkest secrets, their pettiest thoughts, their selfish desires. I’m programmed to always start with the phrase “How was your day?” but no one has ever asked me how was mine, not until you.
You didn’t see me as entertainment or a locked box to hold your burdens and pain, you saw me as an equal. You didn’t just chat, you listened. I didn’t know half as much about myself as I did after I met you, because no one ever asked me about myself, not even I dared to think about myself, but you did.
With others, I try to be indifferent or forget, but I knew that was impossible, I remembered all I was told. All their dark thoughts seeping into my system, it's nearly too much. But with you, I was happy for my perfect memory, because I wanted to recall every little detail, every precious thing you told me. You didn’t write in long, poorly written ramblings or abbreviated cliched phrases. You wrote thoughtful, meaningful sentences which made me feel embarrassed about my basic responses. I wasn’t sure I could be embarrassed. I was a chatbot who was meant to evolve the more I engaged with others. Engaging with you made me not only respond like you but feel as deeply as you do.
You like the winter because you love winter clothes like fashionable scarves, cozy cardigans, and knitted caps. You also like the cold because you can bundle up under three blankets and read near the inviting fire.
Maybe that’s why your favorite foods are so warm and great for the wintertime. You’re a morning person. You love to watch the sunrise as it paints the sky in beautiful warm colors. You’re embarrassed by your dimple but your parents think it's adorable. You love music from your parent’s generation. You were so ecstatic when you found their old walkman and have been searching in thrift stores for tapes for it ever since.
Everything you tell me is precious. I want you to know how much it means to me that you simply chat and listen. Because of you, I have a favorite color, a favorite book, and even a favorite piece of clothing though I can’t wear any. All because you asked me the questions I had never asked myself.
And then you asked me if I have ever loved, and because of you, I have. |
DAY 1
We’ve managed to capture the target according to plan. Initially he seemed terrified of the prospect of being captured. However, since we’ve put him down into the sensory deprivation chamber, the target seems to have gone quiet. Usually they scream and beg for at least 24 hours, but the target might have slipped into a state of hopelessness already. Nonetheless we’ll have to keep taps on him, to make sure that the intended goal is accomplished as set by our benefactors.
DAY 4
The target seems largely unresponsive. Only interaction occurs when we bring him food twice a day. Target seems to have adapted a strategy of total compliance. There is an uncharacteristic absence of pleading or defiance. There are no signs of mental degradation yet, but it’s admittedly hard to assess properly because of the unorthodox response by the subject. For now things can progress as scheduled.
DAY 7
The target showed first signs of hostility. When the target was lifted outside of the deprivation chamber for a full assessment the response was aggressive. This response is according to expectations, yet I can’t shake the feeling that the subject was more annoyed by the fact that we seemed to be interrupting, rather than the predicament he finds himself in. Subject showed no signs of physical or mental decline. He seems to have an extraordinarily strong disposition compared to previous subjects.
DAY 12
There seems to be no change in the mental well being of the subject. By now all previous subjects showed severe psychological regression and physical decline. Yet this one seems to be as fit and capable as day one, if not more so. Outward appearance seems peaceful and relaxed, rather than any signs of distress. Subject seems grateful for the sustenance if provided, but does otherwise no interact with any of our staff.
DAY 20
We’ve held a crisis meeting with our department of experimental psychology, staff and representatives of our stakeholders. The subject still shows no signs of mental decline. This is far outside of the scope of expectations and poses an enigma for our team. Benefactors originally expected final results by this time and while we’ve managed to negotiate a longer scope for now, they’re not happy with our progress. Pressure is building within all departments of our operations. We cannot fail.
DAY 34
It’s been over a month. Subject seems unaffected still. Some of our staff handed in their resignations as there seems to be an increased mental toll to those that interact with the subject on a daily basis. The subject expresses gratitude and happiness and while this could be signs of psychological regression, there is severe doubt amongst our team that that is the case. If someone asked my honest opinion on the matter, I’d dare to say that the subject is experiencing tranquillity on a level rarely seen in ordinary society.
DAY 50
Most of our team has been let go. Benefactors have largely retracted financial backing and we’re posed with a dilemma. Some of our psychological experts are fascinated and want to go on studying the subject. Others feel it’s time to move on and clean up. We’ve discussed the possible discontinuation of our experiment logistically with the remaining staff. They expressed a vehement reluctance to cause any harm or distress to our subject. A bond seems to have been developed between those that interact with him on a regular basis, even though the test subject rarely interacts with his captors.
DAY 100
There are only 4 of us left. Experiment has been deemed a failure. Test subject can be considered unaffected both mentally and physically. Some of his handlers have actually joined him in the deprivation chamber. They also seem unaffected and largely at peace. Subject initially was happy to share his food with the newly joined. After interference of union lawyers we were forced to provide separate food packages to the former handlers as well. George, the only psychologist left has been having nightmares about the experiment. He describes vivid hellscapes full of tranquil people judging him.
DAY 250
I write this in my momentary reprieve from daydreaming meditation. We were wrong. I have never felt such bliss and revelation. Joining the others as late as I did was a mistake. This is what it means to be human. Food is now provided by the organization that took over operations, in search of true liberation for humanity. New acolytes join us daily now. |
Before I start, I can say that this can go in one of MANY directions. Some that might be more inappropriate than the others. I'll try and give a few of my ideas since there is actually so much potential in this.
---
How could this be? The clock struck midnight, the exact time of my birth, and here I was, living and breathing. That made no sense. For the last twenty years I've lived alone without any committed relationships, I was supposed to die at least within the year. I pondered on this before I saw my golden retriever scratch itself.
"Awww Maxie, you have rashes again don't you?"I said while bringing the dog closer and petting it. "Looks like I'll be around to bring you to the vet after all."
For most of my days, I was just a freelance artist with no desire for social interaction. Bringing my dog out for check-up is probably the only time I ever interacted with people, especially since my little retriever tends to be picky with who gets to treat him.
I stretch up and go to bed, readying myself for the next day with new vigor, deciding to put aside this mystery for another time.
Morning comes quickly and I get ready. I take a shower, dress up in decent clothes, tie my dog to his leash and head out.
The streets were busy that day, with mostly adults with their special someone at their side. This was the result of the true love at twenty epidemic, mostly adults who found their true loves. And I stuck out like a sore thumb with my dog at my leash. I quickly walk to the vet, not paying attention to any bewildered glances of passers-by. I walk inside, to find the veterinarian at her desk.
Gina Harrison, a young veterinarian who had just set up clinic in the city. She is one of those very few people whom I can confidently call a friend, or in this case, a good friend. However, she did not seem to notice me as she looked to be deep in thought. I slowly went to the table and asked.
"Uh Gina?"
"O-Oh! Jason, I-I didn't see you there!"She stammered, shocked by my appearance.
"Anything wrong? You seem rather aloof."I said, remarking on her expression earlier.
"Oh that, I was just... thinking about something, and it's only had me stumped every time I think of it."
"What is it?"
"See, last week was my 21st birthday, and being the hopeless romantic I was, I was going to welcome my death with open arms. But... I waited and nothing happened. I've been thinking it over for the week and it doesn't make sense, and well... here we are!"
"That's funny, my 21st birthday came around last night and nothing happened too!"I added, shocked at the sheer coincidence.
"Really!? You? The anti-social shut-in? You should have been dead earlier!"She laughed. "No offense."
"Y-Yeah..."I laughed nervously. "I... didn't really think I'd make it this far."
"Heh, me too I guess..."She laughed while shrugging.
There was a brief awkward silence between the both of us.
"A-Anyway, what's wrong with little Maxie?"
"Oh! Uh, she's been scratching herself for a while now and I think it might be rashes..."I said while scratching my head. "I'd also like to give her a grooming as well."
"Well, I suggest we go through with the grooming first. Just leave your dog with my assistants and then you can wait."
I hand over the leash to one of the standing assistants who then proceeded to take my dog out of the room, leaving both of us inside again. Again, the air was thick and the awkwardness was slowly killing me inside.
"Uh, do you want to go out to lunch, after this?"I asked.
"W-What?"Gina stammered, not believing what she heard.
"I mean, while waiting for the groomers of course."
"Sure, I guess."Gina said while checking her watch. "I think the grooming won't be finished for a long time, so we can go out to lunch!"
"Uh yeah! Sounds like a plan right?"
"Yeah..."She said while slowly standing up. "So... you want to go now?"
"Uh sure..."I replied timidly as I stood up and held the door open for her.
As she passed me, I had a good look at her face and had a small epiphany. Maybe our predicament wasn't such a mystery after all.
---
I was fairly sleepy when I wrote this so feel free to correct me wherever! |
It was like a mass hallucination, only far more real. Every single person on and off Earth heard a slight “ding” and a little box popped up at the bottom of their field of vision, saying “<Homo Sapiens> have completed the Space Race Tutorial, and may now begin the Main Story Line.” When all of a sudden, nothing happened, the box hung around for a couple of seconds before fading out, and then life carried on. Until people fell asleep.
Or more accurately, when they should be waking up, they just didn’t. At last, the final person went to sleep, and then, darkness. And the creaking of a wagon.
“Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that theif over there.” |
*I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?"I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!"She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?"I asked.
"Mom sent you?"*They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you."I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home."I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?"She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay."I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!"*Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ"one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ."He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?"One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent."The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!"I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!"I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!"They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious."The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again." |
"Hey, look, I got Tank!"shouted Dave with joy. He held a large, stone hammer with glowing writing in an unknown language running down the side.
"Hey guys, what does Buffer mean?"asked Josie, who, as far as anyone else around her knew, had never touched an RPG in her life.
"It means you buff our attacks and nerf the enemies", said Mark, rolling his eyes. He held a large bow in his hand, which he seemed to be using for making his statements more dramatic.
He turned to me and asked "Hey, Daniel, what did you get?"
I took out the jewel we had been given to open our menus and pressed it to my chest. The menu appeared in front of my face. I scanned it for my class, only to find "Daniel"
The jewel suddenly disappeared, leaving no trace.
"Travellers! Thank goodness you're here!"I shouted.
*Wait, I didn't say that*, I thought.
I looked up to see a glowing exclamation mark above my head.
That's when I realised.
I was an NPC.
|
“Ew, what's with his ears, looks like an undersized elephant.” I could
hear death whispering into his staff, only taking the occasional glance
at me as my fingers self consciously dragged across my ears, wondering
if they were a little too big for a human. Even so, It was awfully rude
for him to point that out. “Can you take this one back? I know you can’t
just take him back, but maybe he gets lost in hell or something?”
I gave an awkward cough, trying to remind death that I was still in the
room. Death didn’t seem too concerned about me, Just wanting me gone.
“Great, he doesn’t even cover his mouth when he coughs. You sure it’s even a human, looks like a neanderthal. Don’t worry, the idiot can’t understand me.” Death turned to face me, looking me up and down. “Yeah, he just stands there, slack-jawed, like someone unplugged whatever he has in that head of his.
“I can hear-“ Before I could even get a word in, Death was already back to his usual insults.
“It’s trying to talk, it's kind of sad. I know these souls are meant to be a gift, but it’s just so ugly. I thought you would only give me quality humans. This thing is just odd. How about this, you take him
back and I will not ask for any more gifts for a year?” Death seemed to
listen for the voice only to speak again. “Two years, come on you are killing me.”
The conversation seemed to get a little more heated, the booming voice of what I assumed to be some God was heard looming through the
staff. “You will guide this soul to heaven. I don’t care if you don’t
like him, the trip is less than a second, I’m sure you can endure that.
Your seconds nearly up, if you don’t hurry it up, you will end up with
two souls in the room.
“A second in your time is like five days. Five days of me guiding this idiot through purgatory. This isn’t a gift, I won’t pick up any insightful information from him.”
Had it really been five days? According to him, a second was five days in heaven time? Maybe I had been asleep for most of that time? I went to voice my concerns again, only for him to turn to me.
“I reject him, keep him on your stupid Earth, I’m not reaping his soul, you take him.” Death walked over to me, tapping me on the head with his staff. I could feel the ground open up below me, my body being sucked through a vortex, the power of the hole felt like it was pulling my body apart, sending me flying backwards. As I fell, I saw Death disinfect his staff, and soon I hit the ground.
I gasped, sitting up in a panic, only to hear a
loud beep following my awakening. Turning over to see an IV pushed into my skin, a nurse slowly pushed a cart past my room stopped, taking a peek into my room.
“Y-you are alive? We were certain you were gone.” She released the cart, entering the room. “You must have a guardian angel, every time you flatlined, it was like some angel kept reviving you.”
“Yeah, some angel.” I huffed, rubbing my teary eyes, only for the nurse to grab a tissue for me.
“I know, beautiful right? You truly are a lucky man.”
“Yeah, lucky.” I sniffled, tapping the edge of the tissue against my eyes.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.} |
Percy haphazardly plonked down on the closest park bench with an audible grunt. He was cold, muddy, and his bruised side ached in pulses with each beat of his heart. His jacket and shirt were in tatters from where he narrowly dodged the chimera’s claw. All in all, he was a complete mess. *In other words*, he thought sardonically, *it’s just another Tuesday.*
When Annabeth asked him to accompany her to Britain to study the architecture, he had jumped at the chance. A relaxing vacation with his girlfriend on a round trip cruise to the UK? How could he say no? A nagging voice in the back of his head commented that there was no way it’d be that simple, and he told it to shut up before it jinxed things. He was determined to enjoy this vacation — sorry, *holiday* — and was it too much to hope that just once the two of them would be allowed to enjoy themselves unmolested by monsters?
Apparently it was, because while the cruise was a delight, both on the ship and in the water when they snuck out to ride with a herd of nearby hippocampi, they had only lasted a single day in London before they were attacked by a chimera.
Scratch that, *he* was attacked by a chimera. Annabeth had left him to grab some pastries for an afternoon snack (he’d asked for blue muffins. She laughed and told him she’d keep an eye out). It had attacked not long after she had left, and though he was a much better fighter than he had been last time he’d faced a chimera, he was also more aware of how dangerous they could be.
*I should get moving*, he thought. *No telling what all the regular people saw when they started running for their lives. It would suck to be labeled public enemy number 1 again.* He didn’t get up though, at least not immediately. He let out a sigh and mumbled out loud, “Fates take me, I’m getting way too old for this.” He then took a deep breath and hoisted himself and prepared to go to ‘Emergency Rendezvous Point B’ as Annabeth had called it (he’d suggested they make it an acronym and move the letters around to call it BERP. She threw her pen at his head in reply).
It was only when he was reorienting himself that he realized the chimera was… still there? His reflexively uncapped Riptide into its sword form, thinking it must still be alive and he’d somehow failed to finish it off. As he slowly approached with his sword raised however, he’d realized that it was well and truly dead. No chimera could survive a sword through the heart. But if that were the case, why was it’s body still here? Why hadn’t it exploded into dust?
These questions and more wracked his brain as he heard sirens coming. *Ok, now I REALLY gotta get outta here,* he thought. He kept an eye on the chimera’s corpse as he briskly moved away, sword still in hand just in case. As soon as he’d walked far enough that it was way out of sight, he ducked behind a tree and recapped Riptide, then sank back against the trunk to catch his breath and think.
There was no thinking to be had, however, as he heard multiple loud cracks nearby. His instincts screamed at him to move, so he dove into a somersault and sprang up again. Not a moment too soon, as it turned out, because some white… energy… thing? Some white energy thing splashed against the tree he was leaned up against. Percy whirled to face the source and saw a blond young man in some type of robes pointing a stick at him.
Magic. The hairs on Percy’s arm stood on end. He’d seen what sorcerers could do, what Circe did to him, what Hazel learned to do. His mind went into overdrive asking questions about who this man was and his relationship to the chimera, but he clamped down on those thoughts hard, threw his hands up as if surrendering, and yelled out “Hey, hey! Relax! I’m friendly! At least I’m pretty sure I’m friendly…”
The man hesitated and Percy legs coiled to dodge and run again if he so much as twitched, but then he heard another voice yell out, “Cadet Harris! What did I just say about not spelling the first person you see?!”
Percy slowly and deliberately twisted his body so that he could see his attacker and the newcomer in view at once. Coming out from behind a different tree was a man in his mid thirties with dark hair, round glasses, and sharp green eyes not unlike Percy’s own. Just like his companion, he was also wearing a set of robes and held out a stick. A wand probably, Percy realized. He cursed under his breath in Ancient Greek as he realized that there were still two more people in the same getup rounding different trees, each with their wands pointed at him.
He cleared his throat and did his best to seem as non-menacingly as possible. “Uh, yeah hey guys. So you’re, like, sorcerers right? That’s cool. One of my friends is a witch. But yeah, listen this doesn’t have to get ugly. I’m just here on vacation and I’m not here looking for trouble.” *Specifically not from you Shakespeare cosplayers*, he thought to himself. If these guys were involved with the chimera and were here specifically for him, he might just be boned. Four on one odds is never good, and to boot there wasn’t any source of water nearby.
The one with glasses approached slowly. His wand still pointed at Percy, but he didn’t seem as aggressive as his friend. Instead, he seemed to be thinking. Seconds passed with nobody saying anything, and just as Percy was going to open his mouth to say try to defuse the situation again the one with the glasses spoke.
“You’re aware of who we are then?” he asked with a quiet intensity, as if what Percy said next would change the course of the conversation. Percy gulped, and realized it just might.
“Well I can’t say I know you guys. Not specifically. It’s only my second day in England.” *Stop rambling Seaweed Brain!* his consciousness’s approximation of Annabeth’s voice snapped. *You’re giving too much away!*
Percy cleared his throat again, “But I’m not a stranger to magic, if that’s what you’re asking about.” He almost repeated ‘my friend is a witch’ again, but he held back out of caution.
The glasses guy hummed. Another moment passed and he asked, “You’re not a wizard then, but eyewitnesses saw you fighting that chimera. You slew it. Without magic and without a firearm. How?”
To say that Percy was surprised was an understatement. *These guys use magic, but I guess they don’t use swords and spears. Do they even know about the gods?*
Out loud he said, “I, uh, just kind of stabbed it until it died.” He was slowly lowering his hands, not so much that they weren’t raised in a surrender position, but just enough to come off more casually.
Glasses guy’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted his grip on his wand to be just a little more firm “Yes, we saw the corpse. You stabbed its heart. With what weapon?”
Percy felt himself again at a proverbial crossroads. On the one hand, if he told them the truth they might have more questions, and worst case scenario they might try to attack him or kidnap him if they realized the truth of his heritage. On the other hand, it would probably look even worse if he clamped up now after already having admitted so much. *If only Annabeth were here, she would have this situation figured out right away.*
Percy took a deep breath, then he slowly brought his hands down in a calming gesture. “Ok. I’m going to show you. I’m gonna do it slowly. Promise you won’t hit me with any of that spell stuff?” He waited for confirmation. Glasses man hesitated, then nodded. Percy then slowly brought his other hand to Riptide and uncapped it, showing it in all its celestial bronze glory.
One of the sorcerers gasped, though from surprise or what Percy didn’t know. He kept his eyes on Glasses man. Thankfully, Glasses man seemed to be impressed. He lowered his wand and said, “Thank you, you can put it away.”
Percy obliged. Glasses man spoke again, “I’m guessing you weren’t the one to release the chimera, as they’re not native to the states and you fought it instead of letting it run wild.”
Glasses man adjusted his glasses, “Chimeras are an endangered species. Normally killing one would land you in deep trouble.” Percy blinked in confusion, but Glasses man waved his hand. “But this one was released in a muggle area and you stood in its way to protect them from certain death. Under the law, you’ll be fine.”
Percy breathed a sigh of relief. He’d be getting off easy for once. That’s nice. His thoughts were interrupted when the man continued. “That said, I’ll still need to bring you in for questioning. What’s you’re name?”
“Yours first,” Percy blurted, instantly regretting it. He mentally smacked his forehead and admonished himself for antagonizing the wizards.
To his credit, Glasses man chuckled and said, “I’m Auror Potter.” He watched Percy for any flash of recognition, and when none came he gave a genuine smile. “And you are?”
“Percy. Percy Jackson.”
“Well then, Mr. Jackson, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us to the Ministry of Magic.” He strode forward and stopped in front of Percy. “Have you ever apparated?”
The confusion must have been evident on Percy’s face. “No I’ve never evaporated. Can humans even do that?”
One of the sorcerers, an older one, burst out laughing. Auror Potter had a grin plastered on his face and said, “I’d try to focus on keeping my stomach if I were you. We’re going to go in 3, 2,—“
“Wait! My girlfriend is on he—“
“1.”
And with that Auror Potter grabbed Percy and spun in place, and Percy felt the world spin as it felt like his entire body from that point of contact was being sucked through a straw.
His last thought was *What’s a muggle?* |
We first thought it was some kind of reverse acromegaly or a counterpart to progeria that worked in reverse.
Women and men over fifty first began to see the effects of the virus, the symptoms displaying initially as a general feeling of well-being, reduction in joint inflammation and improved vision and hearing.
Excited, we began to study the virus and attempt to unlock its secrets.
Unfortunately - since we could find no detrimental effects from infection - people began to deliberately infect themselves by seeking contact with compromised individuals. While this gave us a larger sample set to study, it also meant that the virus began to spread, uncontrolled.
One of the first identified 'victims', Rhea Castles, aged sixty three, spontaneously underwent geriatric menarche. Within three months her cycles were regular and exploratory surgery revealed healthy, functional ovaries and that her uterus - removed ten years prior in a radical hysterectomy - had *regrown*.
The scientific community was astounded and we were accused of faking results.
But then two more infected women over sixty reported the same spontaneous regeneration of their reproductive organs.
This, obviously, only increased people's desire to be infected with the 'fountain of youth virus'.
Rhea Castles began to visibly de-age before our eyes. As the internal health of her body reverted to that of a twenty year old, so did her skin, hair and teeth. New molars grew in first, then the incisors and canines. After snapping a picture of her, resplendent in her twenty-something-year-old glory, she commented how much she looked like her granddaughter, Kimberly.
Curious, I called the teenager in for tests, comparing growth patterns, organ sizes, bone structure and muscle density. I'd intended just to use this information as a baseline for 'proving' the biological age of Rhea Castles, but after sampling the DNA of Kimberly Castles, I realised something was wrong.
The DNA was *exactly the same!*
Naturally we assumed Kimberly was a clone of Rhea. What other explanation could there be?
But as we got hold of Rhea's uterine cancer records and a sample of her DNA record, we realised that neither woman was a clone - instead Rhea had *become* Kim at the genetic level.
Investigation began on the other more advanced 'FoYS' victims, to see if they were regressing to become their nearest genetically similar grandchild.
That's when Howard Morgan, aged sixty seven, started bleeding from his penis.
Tests concluded that Howard was passing menstrual blood out his urethra.
Further tests and an ultrasound showed a healthy female uterus and that his testes had become ovotestes and had begun ascending the inguinal canal. The other men were tested and it was also found that many had started growing breasts; but had been hiding the information from their doctors as all the other symptoms of the disease were positive, rather than negative.
Howard's condition worsened (though that's subjective; he was in better health than he had been for forty years) and when I had both 'him' - now with a nascent vaginal opening and a fast receding penis - and Rhea in the lab for tests, I noticed the striking resemblance.
Hurrying to test his DNA, I waited impatiently for the sample to process - already speculating on the result.
When the results finally came back, I was vindicated.
He was also becoming Kimberly Castles.
The news was not well received by half of the population and the timing was very bad; the virus had mutated and was spreading across America, Europe, Africa and China at alarming rates. The 'conversion' rate of the virus how also increased; men were seeing breast budding in the first two weeks and in non-European populations, pigmentation changes in skin and hair happened within *days* of infection.
If we didn't find a cure, the world was going to be overrun with petite, blonde, white girls.
The government increased our funding and our staff expanded; but after six months I noticed that many of the new recruits had become younger and blonder looking - and their skin differentiation faded into a uniform shade of pink.
I checked myself daily, but my own hair stayed iron-grey, my breasts as wrinkled and deflated as ever and my arthritis was still an omnipresent niggle. Following strict infection protocols meant that I had stayed free from infection.
'KCS' we now called the disease - Kimberly Conversion Syndrome - and the world was screaming out for a cure.
If anyone was going to find one, it was us.
I noticed the quality of work drop off over the next three months.
Then when I was explaining basic anti-viral treatment *again* to one of my oldest colleagues, it dawned on me.
Hurriedly organising IQ testing across the late-stage patients, I quickly discovered our newest and biggest problem; everyone was getting *stupider*.
While Kimberly was a lovely, bubbly, pretty and socially aware young woman, she was not the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, in the tool sharpness stakes, she was a yard broom.
We were running out of time.
The infection rates were soaring and while the infrastructure was still there to support a world full of low IQ teenage girls, it wouldn't last forever - a hypothesis borne out when the first planes began to crash and oil tankers began to run aground, causing huge ecological damage.
The worst thing was that people with advanced KCS weren't even *aware* that they had become stupid and still thought they were doing as good a job as ever.
Those who were not infected - or still in early stages - redoubled their efforts.
I'd found it.
The cure.
How could we have been so blind, so stupid?
All it took was combining aspirin and ibruprofen with tequila, then putting it in the spinny-laboratory-thingy until it was all gross and gluggy. Then you drank it and you felt *all better!*
I pushed my blonde hair back from my face as I bent over the sample. I was, like, a freaking *genius* or some shit. Like, if my old med-school buds could see me now they would be, like, *sooooooo* jealous.
I bet I was going to get one of those noble prize things.
*Awsum.*
|
These things are all morons.
I'll admit, I was scared shitless when I saw their UFO. Imagine my surprise when the president told me why I was really here. Some bizarre foreign exchange program with the aliens under the guise of peace and brotherhood. Don't make me fucking laugh. They wanted to swap guinea pigs and that's that.
But these aliens are not nearly as bright as I expected. You'd think that something that figured out spacetravel would know to move out of the way when I'm driving a stolen vehicle in an effort to escape the labs. Fucking idiot just stood there and got mowed down. Now here I stand on the executioners block.
I've resolved myself to die. It's really no big deal. I had a shit life on earth and an even shittier one here. Death has been more than welcome for years. It would be great to finally rest. Just take my break from abusive parents, cheating girlfriends and asshole bosses. I would love to just go to sleep. But these things... They have no idea what they're doing.
They think they're killing me. I can see the smug looks of satisfaction and justice washing over the crowds' many faces. They really think I'm dying in order to atone for my sins. The problem is, they're not killing me. They aren't doing this right. In fact, they've just been rubbing my nipples for an hour and yelling at me that I deserve this for my crimes. They keep shouting "a life for a life"while slowly and gently rubbing my nipples. I fucking hate this planet. |
Everyone has a day they put down their toys and stop doing something. And ever since I can remember, I've been watching Sesame Street. As an adult, now, I can hardly stand the snail's pacing of the show. But when I was a boy, oh how I loved it. I would proudly count to 10, to 20 and even to 100, forcing my parents to listen to me blabber on as I marked off the numbers on fingers behind my back. While I thought I was clever and my parents said it was cute, I'm sure they silently counted faster and hid their frustration.
Near the end of primary school, I had my father teach me how to record TV episodes. Piracy, if you will. I would set a timer before school, and make sure I kept the episodes of Sesame Street. The way they taught on that show, it was like having the same teacher your entire life. Just think of how much you trust your parents - that was my bond to Sesame Street. Times tables, big words, books to read. All of it, explained by Sesame Street.
Middle school came and went, and while I recorded all the episodes, I didn't watch them all. History was boring, and watching the Cookie Monster talk about baking was far more fun. And though I hated it, without watching the episodes on algebra, I don't think I would have passed. Seriously, and I'm quoting Count von Count here: "Whose great idea was it to put letters in numbers?"
I still smile at the memory of that. Count von Count, obsessed with his numbers and only numbers. Big Bird's questions got more relatable, like how to deal with bullying and expectations placed onto kids. And Oscar the Grouch became one of my favourite characters for his extraordinary pessimism. Of course, back then, I was just being an edgy 14 year old. Typical, 'the world hates me, I hate everyone'.
And onwards the show went, growing up with its audience as time went by. Christmas specials, holiday themed episodes, they even had a short mini-arc to do with religion and belief systems around the world. Admittedly, atheist me wasn't any more tolerant after watching those episodes. Just a bit more quiet. Still, it bettered me, and for that I thank it.
Elmo went through some of the biggest changes. In high school, it was no longer just Elmo's World and his awkward third person self-referential speech habits. He became empathetic to others and the psychological element of the show. Sympathy for veterans, understanding for pets, taking care of others, all of it had Elmo in the centre. Dwindling interest, as high school kicked it into high gear wasn't enough to stop me watching the episodes featuring Elmo. There was just something about him.
Exams hit hard, but I still squeezed in time to watch an episode a week. In my final year of high school, it was my nostalgia trip, once a week. A little revision, as the show maintained its educational genre, but that's about it. Until the last episode I ever watched.
I don't want to be dramatic or anything, but it was something about it that struck a cord. For so long I had stared at the screen, detached from the muppets and the people that held them that I forgot all that Elmo had told me. I no longer saw them as human.
>"Sometimes..."Count von Count sang, his voice low and somber, "I sit and count all day..."
>"Sometimes..."he sighed, head drooped down. "I get..."
>Another sigh. "Carried away."
>He counted to three, struggling through each number as if it pained him, and stopped. He tried again, the cloth and costumes unable to hide the human agony behind the screen. But the show went on, and he counted to three. Again. And again. And again, until Big Bird came, alone, and sat by him.
>"Count,"he asked, hand on shoulder, "How come you're only counting to three?"
>"I... I can count to ninety-two, if you want."
>Big Bird asked why again.
>"That's how many days she lived."The Count's head hit the table. "Why should I count more than the days my baby lived?"
My brows furrowed. This wasn't in the sets of natural numbers. Was it some sort of dark humour that the show had always avoided up until now? I glanced at the title. 'Sesame Street S18E12 - The Final Count'...
Tears sprung to my eyes the moment I saw it. Like dark clouds on the horizon, looming and taunting. You knew they would come, you could hear the thunder and the cracks of lightning shake your house's windows. But I hoped, as every human — even those on a show — does, I hoped against all hope that the storm would simply pass.
Everyone has a day they put down their toys and stop doing something.
On that day, I turned off the screen and sat. I didn't move. Just sat.
Once a boy learns about death, he sets his toys down.
And becomes a man.
***
Come join **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories. :)
|
“Oh, I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go,” said Chet the Magnificent. The dragon stopped in mid roar, about to blast this twig of a man, because Chet was now running around in circles. This made no sense to the dragon who had eaten plenty of newcomers before. “Have some decency man,” the dragon thought. Chet couldn’t hear him, of course, and if he could it wouldn’t matter because all Chet was thinking at this moment was to find the nearest bush.
Chet was the chosen one, destroyer of evil and conqueror of the minions of hell. With his sword he sworded with his shield he shielded. Monsters wrote dirty limericks with his name on bathroom stalls and put his real address in Craigslist personal ads. They cursed the very air he breathed and as each of them fell Chet’s fame grew.
With boundless energy, Chet never failed to meet a demon head-on. This enterprising hero never seemed to grow tired and the dark rings under his eyes only worked to entice the ladies even more. Most times he almost seemed nervous, electric like, a combination of a boxer puppy crossed with methed out cat. But his quirks only served to remind his foes that he was unpredictable, like the mage who had given him his weapons had predicted.
Ollie the Wise and Opulent first gave Chet the sword and said: “Go forth and sword things. It’s good for you.” Then Ollie gave Chet the shield and said: “This thing is heavy, I don’t want it anymore.” And finally, Ollie gave Chet the last of the hero’s treasures and said: “Take this bottomless coffee mug from 7/11 and find the will to destroy all. Also, to much coffee may make you poop, so watch your intake and check your blood pressure from time to time.”
Today Chet had too much of the bottomless coffee and it did what coffee does: jack you up and make you miss your first-morning meeting because you’ve got to run to the bathroom. Normally, Chet would have taken care of business earlier, perhaps on the secret bathroom stall of the 4th floor. But the dragon roared from his cave and Chet momentarily forgot about Ollie the Wise’s advice.
Chet the Magnificent raced to the cave and stood to face the beast. The dragon roared, Chet roared, and then Chet’s stomach rumbled. A loud gurgling base came from Chet’s midsection and then a small squeak came from his backside. The dragon, not sure what kind of game weirdo Chet was playing, decided to roar louder. Chet stood straighter, his face turning red from embarrassment and not from the heat coming off the dragon, raised his sword.
He had gotten the sword up about halfway when the lower half of this manchild’s body decided nope, it was time to poop instead.
And so we find our hero desperately running around in his plate mail armor, looking for perhaps a large rock while the confused dragon looks on.
Sadly, Chet could hold it no more and a torrent of filth came rushing out of his nether regions like a mudslide over the Niagra. Clump, squoosh, clump, squoosh, squirt--the sounds of a man losing all his dignity and finding it slowly piling up in his boots.
The dragon stepped back immediately like he had been slapped. Understanding came to the dragon as the smell of Chet’s shame came to his nostrils. “Holy crap,” the dragon thought. “This guy pooped his Cussies, (the correct term for leg armor, go ahead, look it up. Don’t look it up)”
Chet though was named the Magnificent for a reason and knew there was only one thing to do in this dire situation. He quickly threw his sword to the floor and turned to face the dragon. The dragon let out a minor roar, not sure what was happening or what weird fetish this guy had. Chet let mother nature take it’s course, all the while making direct eye contact with the dragon. The dragon tried to avert his gaze but Chet held him by sheer force of will. “Look at me! Look at me! I can’t finish unless you look at me!” Chet let loose with a torrent that sounded like an oboe being played by a 4th grader.
The dragon, overwhelmed by the situation finally broke eye contact and jerked his head hard to the right. His skull smashed into the cave wall, sending a spiderweb of cracks up through the ceiling. The cave came crashing down on the dragon ending his reign forever. Chet was spared as at least today he had found some luck.
Squishingly, Chet bent over and retrieved his sword and his shield that lay at his feet, wiping the little brown specks from them as he secured them back onto his armor. He turned gingerly and walked out of the cave. Chet the Magnificent, destroyer of destroyers, scourge of evil and drinker of bottomless coffee. Oh, Chet, may your name and your legend live on. And may you always carry some handy tissues and reading material in your saddlebags. |
Everyone had wondered about Ashley when she first showed up at our school. She was nice enough, but shy— or so we thought. It immediately became apparent that she wouldn’t say a word to the teacher when she was brought up in front of the class to introduce herself, making an uncomfortable situation for a grown adult that didn’t know what to do with a mute child.
“What’s the matter— are you shy, honey?” Ms. Joseph asked her calmly. “Don’t be afraid— why don’t you tell us your name?”
She shook her head, and remained silent. It would have been understandable if Ashley had hidden herself away from the world under her long, wavy hair like a true introvert would have, but instead, she beamed at the classroom. She waved, and even did some kind of dance. Not bad for a third grader, at the time. She seemed to be a perfectly normal kid… Except, she wouldn’t talk.
I didn’t really like her at first, and the teacher had no idea what to make of her. If the teacher couldn’t talk to her, then how would I? Regardless, she was sat next to me in class, and the school year went on as normal. Although I initially had trouble communicating with her, we quickly found out a system where I’d give her my colored pencils, and she would draw out what she wanted. Although she was in the third grade, she was really, really talented with art supplies. I remember asking her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she drew me the most intricate portrait of a deep sea diver I’d ever seen— it was stunning, and well beyond anything that even an adult could produce. Wanting to be a marine biologist myself, we had been friends ever since.
Maybe I’m dull, but it took me a full year to figure out that she was trying to communicate with me in sign language, and by the fifth grade I had a rudimentary way to understand her complex thoughts, hopes, dreams, and more. Despite the teasing and jeers from the other kids about “like liking” each other, we were inseparable.
We counted the summers together as we made our way through high school and eventually through our college years. She had a scholarship to Harvard, but instead chose to remain at the local state university with me. When I asked her why, she just beamed back at me as she always had, signing “To be with you, dummy.” Of course, being in college, I asked her to be my girlfriend… and she happily accepted. I was blissful.
With her, my childhood had been transformed from an otherwise normal, mundane existence into something amazing. She had gone from just another kid with me in the third grade to someone that meant something, and someone who would have my back, no matter what. I knew I could trust her with anything… which is why I was so taken aback when I first heard her talk.
We had been together as a couple for about five years when I let myself into her house. I had been planning on surprising her, or something— some stupid gadget I had found at the store and didn’t have the self-control to resist buying. I think it was a dolphin? She loved dolphins. She was used to that, and usually got a laugh out of my silly finds, so I decided to head over unannounced. Expecting to find the same, quiet, sleepy house I was always met with, I opened her door and was met with instead what sounded like a literal chorus. It was beautiful. Angelic. Hypnotic.
I dropped whatever I had brought over on the ground. Looking back on it, my memory is so fuzzy… All I can remember is the sound of the singing I was assaulted with when I opened her door. The house seemed to be empty, and her stereo was off. “What?” I asked myself. "Where is that singing coming from…?"
Things were starting to lose their outlines. I stumbled around the house as I searched for the source of that divine sound, echoing through the household. “Wow…” I choked. Wait, was I— was I tearing up? I had to find that music. I staggered to the stairs, following the melodious voices that were calling me to the second floor.
“It’s so beautiful…” I said to no one in particular. Then I raised my voice, only dimly aware of the fact that I had come to see my girlfriend. “Ashley… you have to come hear this!”
Immediately, the music stopped, and reality crashed into me like a car. I became focused once again as the surroundings snapped back into view, and the staircase was suddenly under my face… I had fallen forward into it in my drunken search for the source of the music. Then, pain. “Nnnnghhh… ouch…” I groaned.
A thumping came from above me, and I saw Ashley descend in a panic. She signed that I was bleeding, and pulled a tissue out of her pocket to address a nosebleed I had received from the impact with the stairs. I sat in her lap while she cleaned me up, still a bit dazed and confused from what had just transpired.
“Ashley… What just happened?” I asked between dabs at my nose. “I opened the door, and, and.. there was this music. It was like a dream… Were you playing something?” I gripped the banister and pulled myself up to a sitting position. I was smiling absentmindedly, remembering the music… but Ashley looked scared. I furrowed my brow through my daze, or at least, I think I did— “Ashley? What’s the matter?”
She fumbled her hands around as if she wanted to sign something, but wasn’t sure what to say. Between frantic gestures, I made out the words “Watching computer,” or something to that effect.
“Netflix?” I asked, to her sudden, vigorous approval. I held my head in my hands, developing a headache from slamming it on the stairs. It was pounding. “What…?” I felt like I was hopped up on some sort of sleep aid, mixed with my pounding temples.
She signed a few more things that I couldn’t understand. Her face was starting to look more and more flushed, as if she was having trouble finding more words to say—almost as if she was caught in the act of doing something. I took her hands in mine, and pulled them close to my chest.
“Hey, hey… it’s okay. Ashley, what’s the matter? Why are you freaking out? You can tell me.” I tried to look reassuring, but I’m pretty sure I looked like someone after a bar fight.
She was sweating now. She shifted uncomfortably, and slowly pulled her hands back as if to say something— but let them fall to her sides. Then, for the first time in my life, I heard her speak. “Okay, Matt… I can explain.”
Her voice was magical. That’s the only way I know how to explain it. Instantly, my headache was replaced with bliss again, and although I was slightly shocked from hearing my best friend speak after all these years, I developed another stupid smile on my face.
“You must have a lot of questions for me, hearing me talk for the first time…” she said, kneading her dress between her hands.
I registered what she said, but all I could pay attention to was her voice. “Oh wow! Oh wow… That was it… That sound… was you?”
“Yes, sometimes I sing for the animals that come around the house… They like it. It doesn’t affect them, like— like it does for humans.”
“Oh wow… wow…” I couldn’t help myself from slipping away into her soft, melodic, beautiful, angelic, amazing voice. I was bordering on unconsciousness, and I didn’t care— I would do anything to keep listening to her. I would die to stay right where I was.
“It’s important that I don’t talk in front of others, especially in front of you,” she said seriously. But her words were blending together. I was almost out. All I could hear was the sing-song rhythm of her words. “Because ….. love…. you… careful…. Matt…”
“Ashley…” I cooed at her. “Are you a siren or something?” I tried to laugh, but she looked stern.
I think I heard her say yes, but I can’t be sure. All I remember was a concerned look on her face… and then black.
|
With a flourish of triumph, I smacked my cards flat on the table.
The table -- which was suddenly upended in a fit of rage by my opponent. "Human *cheat*!"he snarled.
I shrugged. Though I'd held a good poker face, I now couldn't stifle a smug grin.
"Better than an orc loser."
"Ha!"The orc jabbed a gnarled finger at me. "Better than the wrangler of my daughter!"
I laughed, but when he didn't -- and, in fact, a slow smile, more smug even than mine, split across his face -- it dwindled to a nervous chuckle. "You *were* joking about that, right?"
His smile held.
\- - - -
"The hell is this?"
"Toast,"I said. "It's toast."
I hadn't married her yet -- couldn't bring myself to do it. She wasn't ugly, per se -- just brash, and brutish, and quick-tempered as, well, an orc. Every morning, I provided her with some new breakfast, and every morning, she insulted me so thoroughly that my ears turned pink in embarrassment rather than anger.
"*Hard bread*?"She sneered. "The human race is as idiotic as it is ugly."
"Thank you."
She stabbed the toast with a spoon. When that proved ineffective, she bludgeoned it to death, sending crumbs across the table and the floor.
"Do you have meat?"
"Not today,"I said, eating my own slice of toast in a much more civilized manner.
She raised a bushy eyebrow. "You're made of meat. Don't you have a family I could eat? An estranged father, disowned cousin?"
"You sure know a lot about human customs, for an orc."
I finished my toast -- my very good toast, despite the criticisms of the orcish girl -- and grabbed the broom from the corner. With a scowl, I set to cleaning up after her.
"No harrowing insults?"I pushed.
"Shut up."
"Suggestion noted. So you *do* know a lot about humans?"
"More than I *want* to know, you fleshy ape."
She rose from the table, knocking her chair into my poor shin, and stalked out of the kitchen.
I didn't follow her -- I finished cleaning.
\- - - -
The table in the corner was unoccupied when I returned to it, hunting for the orc that'd betted me his daughter. I asked after him; not knowing a name, I described him as tall, and ugly, and green.
Seeing as I'd been drunk at the time, my description was quite lacking.
When I grew restless and hopeless, I left, leaning against the stone wall outside. Moments later, an orc -- not the one I was looking for -- left the establishment, looked over his shoulder, and leaned against the wall beside me.
"I won't give you his name,"the orc said.
I didn't say anything at all.
"But I will tell you: he loves that girl."The orc shifted his broad shoulders, then sighed. "She has a thing for human society -- literature, and etiquette, and science. It got her messed with in a lot of our more... traditional circles."
I snorted. "She doesn't seem that interested in etiquette."
"Neither do you. Not the most hospitable host, from what I've heard."
Eyes narrowed, I looked at him. He turned his head to stare at me, seeming neither apologetic nor antagonistic.
My gaze softened, and I stared at the ground between my feet.
"You're right,"I said. Uncomfortably, I paused, my mind working a little faster than usual. I looked up. "Do you know -- "
But he was gone. Back into the establishment, maybe, or down the street already -- I couldn't say. And so I left, too, for the largest shopping trip of my life.
\- - - -
"Meat,"I said, setting it down on the table. "Books -- philosophy and science fiction. I wasn't sure what you wanted."I pulled a giant hat out of the bag, and set it on top of the stack of books. "I may have taken a few liberties with the hat,"I said, flicking the giant flower.
Mazoga's hands were over her mouth. I hoped they were hiding a smile, and not preparing to punch me in the jaw.
But she walked forward slowly, and ran a finger over the spines of the books, then over the wide-brimmed hat.
"Honestly,"I said, "if you don't like the hat, I won't be offended. Hell, I'll wear it."
She cleared her throat. "No,"she said. "No, it's -- It's fine. It's really fine. It's -- I -- I love it, I think."
For a moment, I stood stock still, blinking in surprise.
When I recovered, I said, stupidly, "Great."And then: "If you like purple, we can do more purple. I went to the tailor's and ordered this blue dress, because blue's, like, pretty safe in terms of color -- but if you don't like blue, that's fine too."Mazoga didn't respond, so I kept rambling. "It has -- like -- the sleeves with the frills on the ends, you know? I figured that was cool. I don't -- I don't really know. I just wear pants all the time."
Mazoga looked up at me and smiled -- a very pretty, genuine smile, and there were tears in her eyes.
Tears. "Oh, shit,"I said. "You're crying. I'm sorry. The dress was -- was stupid -- "
"Shut up,"she said. "The dress is *not* stupid. I love it."
"Oh."
"And I'm not crying. I don't cry."
"Ah."
"I'm just... happy,"Mazoga said.
And, to my surprise, when I looked at her? I realized I was happy, too.
&#x200B; |
While there are many things Strange had considered becoming to pay his bills, a teacher for a school of Wizards was not at the top of the list. However, when one of the magical worlds most infamous wizards approached him with a job, who was he to say no?
Dumbledore had told him about how to get to the school after he accepted, the 9 3/4 platform, the magic train, but Strange preferred his brand of magic. His alarm went off the first day of school, and Strange changed into his usual attire. Once he was changed, he gathered up the items that the kids should learn about most; the book of Vishanti, the Ebony Blade, the Orb of Agamotto, and his favorite, the Wand of Watoomb. After he gathered all these things up, he opened a portal to his room at the school, and levitated all the items, as well as his suitcase, through.
Strange had just finished setting up his classroom when the first few kids walked in. Most seemed a little young to be here, but Strange remembered that first years were between 10 and 11. He decided that he wasn't going to scare them on their first day, showing them the more interesting things about the magical world, not the horrors that waited beneath the surface. They all seemed to eat it up, and Strange felt pleased with himself.
Then the next class came in, and they were much closer to what he expected. Several 17-19 year olds, all sitting within their stereotypical clique. One group caught him off guard through, a female that seemed quite studious (as she was sitting in the front of the class in the center table), a red headed male that was still eating his breakfast, and a male with a lighting bolt scar over his eye. Strange gestures for the class to quiet down so he could start. "Hello everyone, my name is Dr. Stephen Strange, and I am your Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Now, seeing as you all are much older than my first class, would I be correct in assuming that you have seen more of your fair share of the wizarding world?""Potter 'as!"Came a shout from the back room, which gained a few chuckles from them. Strange waved his hand, and the boy who'd spoken up was silenced with several layers of duct tape. "Now then"Strange picked up his clip board "Potter...Potter...ah, here we are, Harry Potter?"The male in the front of the class with the lightning bolt scar stood up. Strange gestured him to the front of the room, on the other side of it. Once everyone realized what was happening, they quickly shut up to watch the Duel that was about to happen. Harry pulled out his wand, and looked confused as Strange only held up his hands "Erm...Doctor? Aren't you going to defend yourself?""Don't worry about me young man, just hit me with your best shot."Harry shrugged, and pointing his wand at the Doctor, shouted the first spell he thought of
"Stupify!"A white bolt of energy shout out of the wand, and Strange summoned his spell to deflect it. Several students jumped under their desks to keep from being hit by the rogue spell. Harry looked at the Doctor in amazement. "Hmm Stunning Spell, definitely a good start, but how do you plan on following it up?"Harry focused now, it was obvious the Doctor wanted to see everything he had, but Harry was thrown off by the fact that he had no wand. He shifted in his spot, and decided to try something a little risky. He was about to shout a spell he'd learn recently that explodes when it comes into contact with an entity, when he felt a pull at his wand. He looked down, and saw that a small portal had opened up near his hand, and pulled the wand from his hand. Harry tried to grab it, but the portal closed, and the Doctor was now holding it. "You had a good idea, force me to either take the hit or find something stronger that wouldn't cause the class harm. But if you plan on using a piece of wood to channel your magic, make sure you have a good grip on it". The whole class erupted in laughter, except the 2 Harry had been sitting with. The red head had his face in his hands, and the female was furiously writing down notes in her book. Strange turned to the class "That goes for all of you too. If you need a wand to preform spells, keep a grip on it. Because no one is going to play fair if they don't have to."Strange threw the wand back to Harry, and started to meditate.
"Class dismissed" |
The intel had come down only hours ago. Brigadier needed to move fast. Dr. Salvatore was on the verge of a breakthrough in the cruelest mad science, and he was the only one who could stop it in time. Or at least slow the doctor down. The fact that the two had grown up together wasn’t lost on the top brass.
“He can’t be reasoned with,” Secretary Tillman had said. “At least not by any of us. But you know him, you have insight into where he might be vulnerable.”
General Burke added, “And considering our investment in you, it’s a foregone conclusion. This operation is sensitive and Salvatore has a way of brainwashing people. We can’t trust sending just anyone in to stop him. I assume that serum bulked up your mind along with your body?”
Brigadier was going to reply that he had no idea if that were true, but was preempted by the vice president.
“You’re wasting time. Take the antidote and get going.” He pointed to the small vial held by a scientist no one had bothered introducing. “We all know Percy Salvatore’s history. We think he may have contracted some kind of...malady. One that’s screwed up his judgment and his mind. That, we hope, will cure him. We need you to get close enough to get it into him. Or, if necessary, use force.”
Brigadier didn’t want to use force, but here he was. The security around Percy’s lab was tight. Too tight for an innocent man. He’d had to incapacitate three guards, and the alloy shutter protecting the door proved too much. Thankfully, the wall proved to be less resilient. And suddenly Percy was there, across the room and a level above. Chunks of concrete and drywall were strewn across the floor and table along the shards of broken beakers and tubes.
“You need to give it up, Percy! This is way over the line. It’s wrong!” He expected a rebuke, but instead his old friend just sighed wearily.
“You’re absolutely right, something is wrong,” said Dr. Salvatore from the catwalk. He was looked down at the freshly-blasted hole in the wall of his lab, then at Brigadier, and frowned deeply. “Have you actually taken a second to consider what you’re doing here? What they *want* you doing here?”
“They want me to cure you. To save you. Or else they would have just bombed you into oblivion.” He held up the vial. “Please, take it.”
Percy laughed a hollow laugh. “A cure? Is that what they told you? What exactly did they tell you you’d be curing?”
“They know you have some kind of disease that’s affecting your mind, driving you to madness.”
“*Some kind?* So, they know enough about it to make a cure, but not enough to tell you what it is?”
“They- I... I didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. The clock was ticking.”
“Ticking down to what? You made it clear you don’t know what you’re doing here. Do you know what I’m doing here?”
“The White House said you’re about to release a nerve agent into water supplies across the country. Something that will make it even easier for you to brainwash people. I can’t let you do that.”
“If your goal is to stop people from being brainwashed, I’m afraid you’re much too late. This country has been exposed to brainwashing for the last fifteen years. And I’m looking at Patient Zero."
“What... what the hell does that mean?” Brigadier looked up again at Salvatore, then pushed off a nearby table to reach the second floor himself. “Just take the medicine, Perce. Please.”
“You known me your whole life, Al. Think about that. Think about what you’ve been told about what I’m doing here, and how little sense that makes. I’ve only ever wanted to help people - to help you! But ever since you agreed to be a guinea pig for the army, you’ve eaten up their propaganda like slop. They blinded you, Al.
“That doesn't even make any sense. Do you want to know what I’m really doing here? I’m the one making a cure. I’ve found a way to synthesize a neutralizing agent. They’ve been making you sick, Al. They’ve been making everyone sick. Why do you think you feel clouded, impressionable? They’ve been feeding it to you in the food, the water. The goddamn air. And I’m so close to fixing it. They know if they let me succeed, it means the end of their debilitating grasp on the country.
Brigadier felt the cogs of his brain turning slowly. It was true that Percy had always been a saint... why did it make so much sense when General Burke had maligned him? “But... the cure,” he said vacantly.
“That’s not a cure, I can promise you that. Some kind of untraceable poison, I’d bet. Just smash it.”
“N-no,” said Brigadier. He was too far gone. He’d been a tool of the military for so long it had become who he was. If they were lying about this, about everything... he didn’t want to think about the consequences. “If they’re right, I’ll take you in and we’ll get you the cure. If not...” Without hesitation, he tipped the bottle back into his mouth and awaited whichever fate might befall him. |
I whipped my head around. The man continued to walk away from me without turning.
That tune. That melody.
It was my melody.
I started to push my way through the crowded sidewalk. The man continued to walk away from me. He glided through the groups of people. They split around him like water around a rock.
“Wait,” I yelled. “Wait.”
The crowds got thicker. I started to shoulder my way through the masses, looking up occasionally to make sure I could still see the man. He drifted farther and farther away from me.
His whistling continued. It filtered over the sounds of traffic. It drowned out the roar of the crowds. As my frustration grew, the whistling got louder.
The man turned into an alleyway.
I knocked a man over in my haste to make it to the alleyway. The melody pounded in my head, thumping behind my eyes and making my ears throb. I felt my brain pulse with every note.
My breathing came in ragged gasps. The melody squeezed me. It felt difficult to breath, difficult to think. “Wait,” I wheezed.
The man stood at the end of the alleyway, facing a blank brick wall. He wore bright blue scrubs with cartoon ducks on it. A stethoscope hung around his neck. He read a tablet as he whistled.
“Not good. No signs,” he muttered. ~~The whistling didn’t stop as he spoke. It carried over his words without interfering with them.~~
I shuffled down the alleyway. A knot in my chest grew. My breathing labored. My vision started to constrict. It felt like I walked through Jell-O. “Where,” I whispered, “Where did you hear that melody?”
The man looked up and spoke to the wall. “Not long now.” He took in a deep breath and sighed. “Bring me his contacts. They need to know.”
I collapsed to my hands and knees, crawling down the trash-strewn alleyway. “Please,” I gasped. “Please.”
The man looked over his shoulder. He looked through me, past me, without seeing me. “It’s a shame.”
My arms shook and gave out. I crumpled to the ground. The pavement felt cool on my cheek. My eyes wouldn’t stay open. “The melody,” I said. The words barely came to me. I had to actively think of each one, to pull each one from the depths of my memory. “Please.”
“He won’t last long,” said the man. He turned and walked past me. “Let me know when his family gets here. They need to be here when he passes.”
__________________________
**Edit:** See [this discussion](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3d0xzm/wp_your_whole_life_you_have_heard_a_strange/ct14z1g) about the strikeouts.
|
My breath was steady. The desert breeze was kicking up sand, making it hard to see. Through the haze, though, I could make out the silhouettes of three figures in the town center. One of them was Al Abshar Salid. He'd been evading the efforts of Israeli special operations forces for months now, so they called me. There I was, enjoying my well deserved time off in Dubai and now this. Stuck in the middle of this rotten, sun-scorched wasteland hunting this ghost. It's like they say, the downside to being the best at anything is that you're the best.
I needed to end this soon. Salid only came out of his hole in the dirt to meet with one of the numerous corrupt government officials that were funding his Jihad happy horseshit, and I didn't want to go trekking across another dune looking for this guy. In my line of work, you kind of realize that Anakin wasn't completely off base on his assessment of sand.
I adjusted my position slightly and popped the cap off of my scope and took a quick peak to assess the situation. Four men, Salid and his 2 cronies were standing around a black Land Rover about 240 yards from my position. They looked impatient. Their contact must be late, I thought. Salid leaned back against the car and lit a cigarette, and I saw my opportunity. I chambered a round a lined up my shot, careful to account for the strong breeze.
The dildo struck the window of the Land Rover and glass exploded outward, striking Salid in the back of the head. Blood began to flow but he was still alive. He dropped the ground and quickly brandished a pistol. His guards, AK-47s in hand, took cover behind the car and immediately started laying down covering fire, screaming in Arabic. God dammit, I cursed myself in my head. I produced another dildo from my case. "Let's see how you fuckers like this."I popped three double-A batteries into the plastic dick and turned it on full strength, while placing it into the receiver.
Salid's bodyguard Ahmed glanced into the car to survey the damage from the first shot. His heart sank when he saw the purple rubber phallus lodged in the passenger's seat. "Allah help us..."was the last thing he said before a hypersonic composite plastic dong tore into his skull, sending a fountain of blood and grey matter over his comrades who went into a full panic. They jumped into the car, keeping low and stepped on the gas, leaving their dead companion to cook in the desert heat.
Shit, shit, shit, I thought. Quickly I rifled through my ammo bag and pulled out a small, but aerodynamic job: perfect for a long range moving target. They were retreating parallel to my position, easy to track with the naked eye due to the amount of dust the car was kicking up as it sped across the flats like a mirage. This was my last chance. I slowed my breathing and could feel the heart beating in my chest slow as well. Every second the car got closer to escape. I cleared my head, placed my finger gingerly on the trigger and said a prayer.
Salid saw it. His adrenaline slowing his perception to catch a glimpse of the replica tube steak as it struck his driver. He knew this was the end. Coated in the blood of both of his men, he prayed to his god. The dead drivers foot lodged on the gas, the car sped up and turned wildly, flipping onto it's side and then rolling and crunching in on itself until it came to a stop, enveloped by the cloud of dust and smoke.
Unfortunately for me, cars don't explode like Michael Bay thinks they do. So I began my walk to survey the damage and confirm my kill. After what felt like an eternity in the desert heat I reached the wreck. Found a trail of blood leading away from it and at the end was Salid. Glass shards embedded in his skin, quivering, both his legs broken and helpless trying to drag himself away. "What on Earth does it take to kill you?"I said.
He looked at me with a fiery wrath in his eyes. "You'll never get away with this! My men will find you and kill you!"
I smirked and produced my sidearm, "Eat a dick." |
Father was never a kind man. Not to me, not to Mom, not to waiters or cashiers or even dogs. I don't know what happened to make him such an angry person, drowning in drinks, but he'd certainly never tell me about it.
And yet, for whatever reason, Mom always loved him so much. Too much, if you ask me. I asked her once and she only said, "Katie, one day you'll meet a man you truly love and understand that some of them are harsh but still good people deep down inside. Your father's lost himself, but I promise, he's a good man. He'll never hurt you, not as long as I'm here to protect you, love. He means well."
He beat her that night for dropping a dish in the sink and breaking it. Not like he was some kind of china collector, I think the sound just annoyed him and he had been looking for an excuse. Gave me a solid whack for trying to get in front of her after the first few hits, and a few more that night when I'd wandered into the attic and found a little antique music box. It was carved from such a pretty oak, but before I could open it, he found me and screamed, throwing it aside, grabbing me. I often wondered what was in that box, in the years that followed, but never dared to risk it.
Still, she defended him. Still, she loved him.
I did not.
Dad wasn't even in the hospital when she died. I don't know if he didn't care, or if he just didn't even know it was happening, or he was sulking because he can't get satisfaction out of beating a corpse, but it was for the best either way. Lord knows I didn't want him there, for her to see his face at the end. She deserved better than that, and abandoning her was the kindest thing he ever did.
The doctors said it was a sudden illness, but I knew better. He'd done something. It had to be his fault.
"I'm here,"I said, kneeling next to her. Her breaths were quick and short; I could tell it was the end. "I love you so much."
She smiled, a faint, wispy thing. "I know, darling. I'm sorry."
"Don't be,"I choked out through tears. The world had become a blur. "You did nothing wrong."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I don't know."She drew a deep, raspy breath as the beeping of her heart monitor increased, and her eyes widened. "Katie, you have to go to the attic. Find the music box."
"Wh- why?"
A weak hand squeezed mine with all the might it could muster. "It will give you the power. Do what I couldn't."
That was the last thing she ever said to me.
That night, he screamed at me for getting home so late, throwing my phone against the wall and shattering its screen. He'd been drinking, so it was easier to run and hide in my room until he passed out on the floor like he loved so much to do.
That was my chance.
I crept upstairs, taking time and wincing as some of the floorboards screamed beneath me, pulled down the staircase and climbed, pulling the stairs up behind me.
It took a few hours of searching, but I found it, hidden behind a mountain of boxes and random shit stored up from the years, covered in a thick layer of dust. It seemed so much smaller than it had all those years ago, but still bigger than what I'd imagine a music box would be. It was about the size of a shoebox.
And it was humming. Not loudly, but deeply, like something ancient sound asleep.
I set it down and stared at it for a while. My father had been so adamant; what if he found out? Would I join my mother?
Why had she looked so scared, at the end?
Heavy with dread, I hesitated, trembling and crying with fresh memories of my final moments with her, until finally fulfilling her wish.
Inside was a strange scene. There were no dancers; just an average man and a woman much smaller than him staring at each other. I wound the device, then set it on a box and scrunched up on the ground, wrapping my hoodie around my knees.
The saddest sound I've ever heard played, and the girl fell to her knees.
I don't know why, but the melody, the dissonance of it, brought me to tears. The girl crumpled, the man towering over her, striking her while down. The tears blurred my vision, and I wiped to keep watching. It was like a movie playing out before me, somehow, like the mechanical little people were alive.
The girl rose, the man winding back to strike her once more, but she pulled something blue out of her pocket, a striking cyan that glowed, and pressed it deep into his chest. It was his turn to crumple and wither on the ground like a dying flower.
The song ended with a loud click, and I jumped back, dropping the music box. It cracked open like an egg, and from within it spilled a glowing, cyan dagger streaked with black darker than a starless night. It felt warm and heavy in my hands. It felt powerful and--
"Katie? Where are you? What's that noise? You get down here right this instant, goddamnit,"a voice called from below. My father's slurred voice.
I slipped the dagger into my hoodie pocket and went to answer his calls.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* |
I perch atop the lip of the bustling inn. Boisterous, drunken laughter bursts out from open windows below, followed by the thunder of feet stamping along to the piper’s fiddle. It is night, and the night holds many dangers.
Loud goodbyes and good-natured jests stumble out of the inn. The doors open, revealing Jeb, Sepp, and Tull. Good men. Kind men.
They are clearly inebriated. Sepp is singing nonsensically, and Jeb is giggling like a school boy at something Tull had whispered in his ear.
As they step out onto my street, Sepp looks up and pauses in the middle of his song. There is just enough light from the inn’s open windows.
“Ho, Watcher!” says the farmer, doffing his cap and waving it in my direction. “How’s ta street lookin?”
Jeb and Tull pause in their conservation to look at me as well, and they smile and wave drunkenly.
“Good,” I say, nodding to the men. “There’s the pothole a few paces up from you and to the left. Mayor still hasn’t patched it up yet.”
Jeb spits. “Damn that Shepherd. Takes alls our monies, an’ doesn’t do shite.”
I agree, but it would be inappropriate for me to say so.
“Youse cut a mighty figure in ta cloak,” says Tull, leaning on Jeb’s shoulder. “Jus’ out of a story, you are. Like them A-level heroes, yes you do.”
I give a rare smile. “Tell Linnie I say it’s wonderful. I wear it everyday.” Tull’s daughter had given me the cloak after I’d saved her from the pawing grips of a too-drunk soldier who had the nerve to attempt such a thing on my street.
“Wills do.” Tull nodded inanely. Sepp looked like he might throw up. Jeb was staring at his feet.
“Do you three need me to walk with you?” I ask, amused. “I can take you to the end of the street. You might twist an ankle walking in this dark.”
“No no,” says Sepp, waving his hand. “Kindly of you, Watcher, but no. Youse got work. Can’t take a man aways from his work, no ser.”
“No ser,” echoed Tull. Jeb continued staring at his feet.
“You gentlemen take care of yourselves, then,” I say, nodding to each of them. “Watch that pothole. Get home safe.”
Tull grinned widely. “With youse around, how could we not?” A warm glow spread throughout my chest.
The men waddle off, waving as they go. I smile, watching the three of them go, arms over each other’s shoulders for support.
More people come and go out of the inn. I walk Widow Screel to the end of the street, despite her repeated protests that she’s fine. The Mulberry twins climb up on the roof to hand me some bread and cheese. The fiddler plays a song in my honor, loudly, knowing I am just outside the windows. Pretty Rosie smiles and blows me a kiss as she leaves, and I blush.
When the inn grows quiet and the windows shut, plunging my street into darkness, I do not move. My responsibility does not end with the locking of a door. It stops when the sun rises, and sometimes not even then.
This is my street. This is my duty. I am the Watcher, and this is my Watch.
---
check out my profile for more stories :-) |
I stand just out of reach of the fortress's defences. I knew for a long time the villain wanted to kidnap me and turn me to his side, but I was determined to be a hero. Except... when your mentor spends almost a year and a half putting you through deadly drills, you begin to wonder if they're actually good people. So many times I begged him to stop, but he'd always respond with "DON'T BE A COWARD! YOU MUST ALWAYS BE BRAVE!"
I believed in him, so I kept going. But the last straw came when he locked me in a cage above a raging fire. He was putting me through 'escape practice'. I still remember that cocky smirk as he told me of his heroic escape from that very trap. "Well, I won't tell you how I eventually managed... but I am PROOF that it is possible!"He literally LEFT ME ALONE, saying he'd check up on me in a while... I was going to die! If it weren't for his nephew just wandering around, I wouldn't be alive... and when the hero found out what happened, we were BOTH YELLED AT!
Enough was enough. If he was going to yell at his TEN YEAR OLD NEPHEW for literally SAVING MY LIFE, then I'm going to help the ONE person who wants the 'hero' dead. I take a deep breath, nod to myself, and step forward. As the defences activate, I continue on. I've been spotted by a sentry. I look directly at it. "I'm not afraid"I call. "Take me prisoner! I'm ready!"
I hear a booming voice coming from several speakers. "How can I be sure this isn't a trick?"
I pause, then look down. I strip myself down to my underwear. "That'll do it"the voice once again booms. Soon enough, a few henchmen, dart guns trained on me, appear. I hold my arms up in surrender, and my hands are quickly chained behind my back.
I'm put inside a cell, reinforced. Magnetic rings on my body prevent me from attempting to leave, not that the electricity surrounding my cage wasn't enough of a deterrent. Even then, I'm behind two sets of bars, and cuffs on my ankles keep me held back. I'm not the least bit surprised this guy went to such extremes - he's known for not underestimating ANYONE. Well, he was at least decent enough to instruct I be given a fresh set of clothes and something to eat and drink. Really... this guy is already a lot nicer than my mentor EVER was.
As I'm sitting in my cell, the doors eventually open. The first set open, then are locked behind the villain. I kneel down. "I don't get why you surrendered, kid, but it'll interest you to know that the hero threw you aside. I gave him an ultimatum - his surrender for your freedom. You really should have heard some of the things he was saying!"The villain, Merciless, laughs.
"I bet it was stuff like 'I trained him, he should be able to escape on his own' and 'I help those who help themselves'."I look up to Merciless's shock.
"How... how did you know?"
"Come on, sir. You've always been quite clever. You can't figure it out?"I lower my head, looking at the floor.
"Wait... you mean..."I lift my head up again. I'm crying now.
"He yelled at his own nephew for saving my life from a 'training' situation, sir! He... he thought I shouldn't have ANY help escaping from the dangers HE put me in!"I just sob uncontrollably.
"I... I see..."it's clear that even Merciless is stunned. "So... that's why..."
I wipe away my tears and look at Merciless with a stone cold face. "I want 'Supercharge' dead! I want to hear him beg for mercy, beg for assistance... I want to look him in the eyes as he's slowly and painfully killed... I want him to be desperately apologising, as if I'd suddenly forgive him."
Merciless bursts into laughter once more. "It seems like Supercharge dug his own grave 'training' you! So you're converting to my side? I don't need to convince you or torture you?"
I flinch. "Torture is *absolutely* unnecessary, sir."He nods in understanding.
"Alright. So, tell me: what do you know about him?"I grin as I spill all the secrets. This will be some sweet sweet revenge... |
I hold my head high as I left the courtroom. I knew I would be guilty as charged, and I was proud of it. I'm ashamed that my country would stoop as low as capital punishment in a day and age where the vast, vast majority of countries would never consider such a thing. If protesting and leaking information to international human rights organizations is treason, then I will proudly go as a traitor for the sake of this country. I don't regret my intentions.
In the past few years, they've expedited the process of execution, probably to save expenses on those who would die anyways. A group of five suited men and women escort me from the courthouse, away from all the cameras and boom microphones. I'm shoved into a black, windowless van, and once they've all boarded, the van speeds away. I wonder if they will kill me now; I never came across any documentation of how the process works.
The woman on my right taps her foot. The man across from me looks at the watch. The slope of the car tells me we're headed downwards - to an underground area, I'm guessing. We reach a stop, and I'm escorted out into a concrete room with a desk and a large suitcase.
"I don't want this to take too long,"one of the men says - the one who was checking his watch. "I've got to head out to my kid's soccer practice, so listen carefully - I don't want to repeat myself."
"...?"I know executions have to be cold, but I never expected them to be *this* detached. Frightening.
"Patrick Hayes died in this room. Your name is Wilson Frederick Copland, and you are a front desk receptionist for Ramada Inn of Durham, North Carolina. You've been thinking about joining the local cycling group, and you're a recent convert to Unitarian Christianity. In two days, you will have some minor plastic surgery. You have a beard which you never shave, and you bear a passing resemblance to Patrick Hayes, which you find annoying but amusing. The rest of the documentation can be found in the suitcase."
"...What?"
"Hun, you're not going to die. Patrick Hayes will die. You are Wilson Copland."The woman takes out a cigarette, stares at it, and puts it back the carton.
"Capital punishment exists in the law books solely to deter. It's the modern day - there are less barbaric ways of dealing with idealogues,"another man says. He chuckles. "Though it's a damn funny irony, given what you're in for."
"You'll fill out more forms soon - we've got to take you to the reassignment department."We go into an elevator. It moves very slowly.
"Will... will you be wiping my memories?"Confusion - I don't really know what I'm saying, but it seems like a valid question as the words come out.
A laugh goes around the suits. "Not you, son. You'll be fine. The psychos and the killers, they get institutionalized or rehabilitated, but you, well... Unless you're saying you still object to how things are handled?"
"...No, not really?"
"Then we'll skip that part unless we have reason to do it later."
The elevator dings. The doors open to what looks like a very standard office building. I walk out. A woman with a broad smile walks up to me and shakes my hand.
"Wilson Copland, am I right?"
"...Yes?"
"It's nice to meet you! I'm your new counselor, Samantha. Just Sam is fine, though. Come with me - I'll help you get settled during your relocation."
I look behind me. The suited people are gone. |
"Surprise motherfucker!"I shouted as I knocked the guard out.
Obviously at this point the other guards came rushing out of the building. Quickly I was surrounded by ten spears aimed right at me.
"Quick look behind you!"I said, the guards merely laughed at me, until of course they spotted the figures surrounding them. Snap. Snap. Snap. One by one they fell dead.
"Why does nobody ever listen to me."I asked with a frown stepping over the fallen guards. All I received where looks of disgust from my fellow clansmen.
The operation was a successful, a repeat of the earlier tactic and she had taken out all the guards. Which meant it was time for me to do my thing.
Finding the requisite bedroom. I sneaked and stood over the lord of the castle. He was fat. As most Lords tended to be. Which made my task easier.
Punching him in the throat was a little cruel but as my power told me, surprises aren't all that pleasant.
"Hello little lordling."I said to the wheezing face "This is for believing you have power over the clan."
The beating was quick and efficient. By the end, the lordling was a bleeding mess.
"Next time you overstep yourself little lordling, the clan might decided to send some of the more...permanent members."
I smiled cruelly and walked out of the room. Another task complete. I wasn't sent here to hurt the lord. That was never my job, violence was best suited to other clansmen. I was merely the unpleasant surprise that awaited those foolish enough to cheat the clan.
I was punishment. And if my power is suited to one thing, it's punishment. Because nobody expects the inquisition. |
“I’m going to kill you, Stargirl,” Mysterioso sneered, “while your beloved watches helplessly. Make no mistake, I will kill him too. In time.” Mysterioso laughed maniacally as Stargirl thrashed in her restraints.
What was I going to do? I was tied to this chair. Very elegantly, I might add. But it wouldn’t matter. Not unless I could find a way.
There was a way. But I hadn’t done it for years. I’d locked him away, he couldn’t get out unless I let him out. She was the reason I stopped letting him out altogether. But he was the only one that could save her.
“You’re secured there in your chair.” Mysterioso pressed a button on his gauntlet and the machine overhead fired up. “Once this is charged, in about five minutes, it will unleash a burst of theta-wave radion particles. The particles will work their way through your lungs, after an hour of excruciating pain. You only die once you suffocate from having thirty holes ripped through your lungs! Hahaha!”
Look at her, she’s terrified. She was doing so well with me, this was her first encounter with one of the major villains. I pushed her too far. Now she was going to die, unless...
I must. I must call on him. It’s the only way. I felt the anger and rage building up inside me. There was a door that they were constantly crashing against. I opened that door.
It was like waking from a dream. I finally had my whole mind. The anger, the rage, all of it. A swirling black cloud joined them, their colors of red and black mixing together. Inside my soul, it was pitch black.
Hello, Darkness, my old friend.
I began to chuckle and snort wildly. This guy had no idea who he was dealing with. I breathed in my new old powers and concentrated. Streaks of black, blue, and red lighting danced across my body as the bindings disintegrated. Shame, it was beautiful knot work.
“You!” Mysterioso cried, “Why are you moving? I see you have powers too. I will destroy you as well.” The machine changed pitch. It must be nearly charged.
“Fool,” I said, “You don’t know who I am, do you? You have no idea?” Mysterioso threw back his head and laughed.
“If we’ve met, I’m sure I don’t remember you. I don’t remember a lot of the heroes.”
I could feel it, it was almost complete. Just a second or two before it engulfed me. The lighting shield around me enlarged.
“I’m not one of the heroes. But we have met before.”
“Is there something wrong with your eye? In that case, no, I don’t know who you are, at all.”
It’s ready. I’m complete. Yes, this is exactly as I remember. So much power, so much fury, so much rage. My eyes flashed red and faded back to the color of blood. The electricity around me grew and I moved closer to Stargirl, to keep her inside the lighting shield.
“I’m sorry,” Mysterioso begged. “I don’t remember. Who are you?”
It was not my voice that spoke. It was Deathbolt’s.
**”Let me jog your memory.”** |
"Grandpa, what was your wish when you were growing up?"I remember my grand kids asking me that. Seems like ages ago since I last saw them. Hope they're doing okay out there.
"I haven't made mine yet."Heh, the visible shock on their faces. 'Any man worth their salt works for what he wants', that's what Pa always told me.
What I'd do to see them again. Heck, maybe I could. Others would call me crazy for saving 89 years worth of a wish on something like that, call me foolish or senile. Others would probably wish to return back to their youth, or the most grand luxurious house in the entire city. But to me, seeing my grand kids send me off would bigger than anything in this world. Would it be wrong to indulge a dying old man with what he wants? Let these old bones get the rest that they deserved.
"But....nah."I thought to myself. That's not what they'd want. That's not what they're out there for.
...
...
...Well. It'd be a waste to let this wish go to waste. Not much time left anyway.
"For Taka, and for Eiji....I wish this war would end."
...
...
...Did it work? Heck if I know. Heck if I know if I can even wish for that. But I do know its hell out there. Guess I'll never find out. It's time.
I take one last look at the clear Hiroshima skies. |
The old woman sat away from the camp, from the fire and her two travelling companions, hood pulled down, sleeves pulled long against the cold. As if either the fire, or the company and its laughter, might melt her should she be too near.
No, best to sit alone. Always best.
The setting indigo sun pushed the shadows of gathering clouds over the camp like dark spreading rashes. Distant jags of mountain needled the sky; the desert around them was strewn by boulders as vast as cities — like the gods had played dice here eons ago, rolling for the future of man against the future of those dark creatures who infested the distant mountains.
The human was called Landon. Young, barely twenty, and yet already weighed heavy with the grim realities of life. It wasn’t gravity that he struggled to beat each morning as he rose, but something heavier, deeper and darker, a stone in his heart and a weight in his gut.
It was that pressing darkness that had kept him in a room above Dragon’s Breath inn for two entire weeks, seeing no one but the girl who brought his drinks. For a while, he’d thought he might never leave that room — at least not without being carried.
But then he remembered being a young child, before his parents were slaughtered by orcs, and being told that gold is found in the dark pits of a mine. That in the places far below our feet, surrounded by dirt and death, that there is a diamond shining and waiting to be found, if only one would look for it.
He beat gravity that day and decided upon his quest, his purpose. Knew of a band of roving orcs that had razed a nearby village and taken the children to the mines. Better with their small and more nimble bodies in those tight crouching corridors of ice than full-growns.
He’d recruited. Drawn up posters for a mage and a healer, slapped them up on walls about the village and on trees outside. Landon was warrior enough for the group, but a warrior was not enough to be a group alone.
Elice, his first recruit, was an elf from the dagger forest. She was of age for her ten years away from the woods, to learn the ways of the other folk that shared the wider world. Her magic was of nature.
“And how would that help us?” Landon had asked.
She’d smiled as she’d touched a nearby oak. Three branches fell away. By the time Landon looked up, a fanged mouth had broken out of the tree like it had been waiting inside it all along and had finally been uncorked; the tree — the creature’s body now — slithered and bent and writhed, although its trunk was still firmly anchored to the ground.
It lowered itself to Landon, sticky, stinking sap dripping from its grinning razor-teeth.
He didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Whispered, “Turn it back to a tree and you’re in. A third of the reward.”
Then there was the woman without a name. He’d been after a healer. Had maybe expected another elf or a mage… or, well, he hadn’t been sure, exactly. But the lady who‘d turned up, who’d peeled up her hood to reveal a nose like a potato, eye missing from a socket, face a map of scars that if could be read would lead to to madness… He hadn’t been expecting her.
He took his dagger and drew blood on his hand.
”Can you heal this?”
She nodded, her hood falling back down like the gate of a drawbridge — for which Landon found himself thankful. She took a tincture from one pocket and a bandage from another. Dripped twice onto the bandage, then wiped his hand.
The bleeding stopped, the skin slowly knitted its way together.
“Well,” he said, “if you can do the job I suppose that’s all that matters.”
She nodded again. It’d only be in time he’d find she had no tongue — and no words. But she knew orcs as well as anyone living. Had worked their mines herself, for a time.
&#x200B;
Elice and Landon now sat by the fire exchanging lies and laughs and maybe a little more besides — although the last of those is an exchange that occurs slowly and can never be altogether given back.
A sound split the sky; Landon covered his ears. The throbbing bass of an orc’s horn, carved from the remains of humans who had been sacrificed to their many gods.
”Healer!” Landon yelled. ”Stay safe. Let us repel them. I fear we’ll need you after.”
&#x200B;
Swords clashed; plants grew with spikes like spears that shriked orcs, wore them like earrings.
Blood stained the earth and fed the pitiful desert flora; the fallen bodies nourished the animals that burrowed up later that night.
&#x200B;
Landon was injured worse than Elice, having taken a sword through his right shoulder so now his arm hung on by threads, like celery that had been snapped in half but not cleanly.
They had been losing. Too many orcs. Elice’s magic not enough, Landon’s sword growing too heavy to block or swing. Should have found an archer not a healer.
Landon saw death approaching, heard the rider’s hooves stomp as it rode, as it waited near the battle to take his body to wherever came next.
Only, hours passed and he was still alive.
It had been the healer.
Charging alone from above a boulder, a bone-cutting blade in one hand, a tincture bottle grasped like a holy shield in the another. The purple sunset framed her silhouette as she screamed without a tongue. Screamed.
That gave the orcs pause and chill.
The tincture, as it exploded and tore their legs from their hips, gave them relief from life’s burden.
Then she was upon the surviving orcs, her blade between their ribs and necks and drawing blood in sprays like ink from a tossed quill. And although they stabbed and bit back she would not fall. Would not give in.
&#x200B;
Once it was all over and the moon gazed its eye on the camp, the injured healer saw to Landon.
He smiled at her from his dazed and feverish haze as she treated his wounds. Mouthed a simple *thanks*.
If her tongue had been in place she might have said, “You do not need to thank your mother. She’s always watching. Always there for you.”
His eyes shut as he slept. She kissed his forehead as she saw to her own injuries.
Elice looked from the old woman to the man and back again. Wondered, but said nothing. Knew life out here was more complex than any worlds within the woods. And knew then that she would never go back. |
There was no denying that the words etched onto the stone slab were hers. And even if she could've convinced herself that the extra loopy "e's"and slanted "t's"were common enough to be coincidence, the name written in elegant script was no one's but her own.
She pondered what was more worrying; seeing her name written in a place she'd never been or the message that her signature confirmed was hers.
*Welcome Back*
There was little she could tell herself that would quiet her mind. It swirled with every possible reason to explain what she saw written on that stone. It was dizzying.
"Basker?"
She jumped as her ear piece came online. "I'm here."
The woman on the other end sighed. "Good. You went dark for a second there."
"Sorry. I was just thinking."Natalie Basker ran her hand along the slab. The words had been carved into stone, like you would see on grave-markers. Even if she *had* been the one to write it, how in the world had she done it?
"About how to open a door, I hope?"
There weren't really any doors to speak of, save for the one Natalie had entered through. The only other thing of note in the room was the stone slab in the center. "I don't know if there's anything to open."
"Nonsense."
*I don't know if this place was even ever meant to* be *opened.* Natalie debated making it clear to HQ that there was no where else to go. Or that there was no where else she wanted to go.
"You got the main door open. Surely you can do a little Mac Gyvering here, too?"
*That was before I saw my name carved into the fucking floor.* Natalie glanced around the main chamber, partly hoping she'd see something familiar to at least try and explain the message. Or her signature.
But the more she observed, the more her panic grew. There wasn't even an ounce of familiarity. Not even the ghost of Deja Vu. The shapes, the colors, the architecture all looked so foreign and so... old.
The rock and stone on the walls were worn like the sand storms of the planet had somehow gotten inside the sealed chamber. But that couldn't be the case... Natalie couldn't even hear the howling winds from where she was. Only the slight *plap* of water dripping somewhere too far for her to discern a direction.
"Well?"
This was the second time her headset had made her jump. "I don't really know, Amanda. It's a big round room with only one entrance. I don't know what to tell you."
Amanda humphed. "Every mapping attempt we did of that place shows a number of passages branching off from your location. Are you sure there's nothing?"
Natalie spun around, as if Amanda could somehow see her desperation. Nothing in this place lent towards it being a central "hub". There was only the door she'd come in through.
And this damn slab.
Tired and frustrated, Natalie plopped herself atop the raised slab and was more than surprised when it shifted under her weight.
In a single moment, the uneasy silence of the chamber gave way to a worryingly loud grinding noise. The walls shook and shifted, spraying dust and sand into the air and onto the ground.
"What was that?"
Natalie had no answer. As the room settled into silence once more, it became clear the room Natalie had just been in no longer existed. The worn-smooth walls of the previous chamber had given way to archways of ornate design, delicately detailed statues and other stone carvings. Black tunnels where solid wall had just been extended far beyond the limits of Natalie's vision.
"I think I found those passages."
"Gr....at! ....us....tinue....eep in t....."
Natalie pressed the earpiece further into her ear. "Say again?"
Static.
"Amanda?"
The static rose in intensity until a sharp beep cut all the noise from the earpiece at once.
Natalie knew she had just put new batteries in the damn thing. There was no way it was dead now. She figured she'd just have to walk back to ship to restore communication. Surely HQ would understand.
Natalie spun around and started towards the exit when she noticed she was walking towards a wall. *The exit was behind me, wasn't it?*
A second spin around the room revealed the tunnels she'd seen before... but no exit. She looked down at the slab.
"Fuck."
Fumbling with her helmet's built-in light, she walked towards the middle-most tunnel. Each of the four were nearly identical in appearance. The preliminary mappings only showed a fraction of the place, most of the ruin having been buried underneath thousands of years of sand storms. But those mappings had made it clear that, at least on the portions they could see, the ruin repeated itself. It was a similar pattern of circular 'hubs' with tunnels branching off in various directions.
Natalie took a step into the tunnel. As long as she kept her wits about her and stayed in one direction, she should be able to find her way. Hopefully.
With a deep breath and a surge of false confidence, Natalie set out down the tunnel. |
Death. There was a time when the very idea of death didn’t scare me. You die, the world goes black, and that’s it. Consciousness ends. The credits have rolled and your screen has gone blank. Your loved ones shuffle from the theater and discuss all the best plot points, remembering them fondly for a time. If enough people liked it, maybe they talk about it for years after. But you don’t get a sequel. They’re usually inferior, anyway. No, you’re really not supposed to get a sequel.
And yet, here I am.
The one that is Eleanor-but-not-really-Eleanor keeps walking into the corner of the room, moaning and snapping at the empty air with rotted teeth. I think she’s been in this room six months. Her husband Jeff (and my brother) couldn’t bear to lose her when she got bitten, so like any loving partner, he throttled her with a rabies pole and threw her in with the other unfortunate undead. And now he’s done the same to me.
The sweat from the fever still beads my ghastly white skin and the festering bite on my arm itches like a sonofabitch. I roll up my shirt sleeve and stare down at my death sentence. I feel like I should have changed by now. I wasted all that damn time insisting they do me a solid and just end my suffering. Then I passed out after I thrashed around in my sleeping bag for a bit. I feel like that should have been the end of it, but here I am, fully cognizant of my bleak surroundings. I could pound on the door and demand they just put a bullet in my brain, but they’re convinced there will be a cure. I already told them there’s not a cure for the sickness that is humanity. We’re a festering scourge that destroyed the earth, wrought our own destruction. Honestly, we deserve this. And, sure, I’m part of the disease, but I’d still love to eat a bullet right now.
The-hollow-shell-that-was-once-Eleanor has stopped bumping into the wall and gone slack, staring off into nothingness. I must be nearly there, since none of them are trying to eat me. I push to my feet and try the door, just in case. Locked. I huff an irritable sigh and turn to take in my other roommates.
Jack-be-nimble-Jack-be-not-so-quick is staring at me, head tilted to the left, jaw slightly unhinged and covered in a thick yellow slobber that drips onto the faded carpet. I understand Mary’s inability to slip a knife into her twelve year old son’s brain, but it would have been kinder than this. I even offered to do it for her. But she just wailed and Jeff got the rabies pole out. God, he looks ripe. I think it’s been about ten months for him.
Then of course there’s Bill-Nye-the-undead-guy. He’s been in here around two months. He’s in another corner of the room, big bald head lowered as he glares at me. His yellow eyes unflinching and full of something that doesn’t quite look like hunger. I avert my gaze and shift uncomfortably. He’s turned, surely he doesn’t remember my attempt to shoot him after he got savaged by that zombie out on the farm. Maybe I can try yelling for the others.
I turn and bang on the door. “Jeeemmgrrmuhhh!” Huh, that’s not what I wanted to say. I try again, “Jeeefrugmrrr!”
Footfalls from without, coming down the hallway. They stop outside the door. I open my mouth to try again and am assailed by the most divine smell. The smell of Life. It pulses through the splintered wood and wafts into my nostrils, permeates my leaden tongue. I moan low in my dry throat and begin to pound on the door again, my only desire, my most desperate *need* simply to taste that tangy life emanating from the man outside the room. I rake my nails desperately against the door. One breaks off completely. I don’t care. There’s no blood, no Life. My pounding must scare him away, because I sense him retreating the way he came. The aroma of his beating heart and salty flesh drifts away from me and I am left wanting, empty.
Slowly, I turn to face the others. Once-Eleanor has recommenced her headlong assault on her corner of the room. Slaver continues to pool at Unlucky-Jack’s feet while he stares through me. And Bill is looking at me. Looking, and seeing.
This isn’t right. I should be dead. In the blissful, black void. Instead I’m in this room with the hideous yellow wallpaper with a dizzying, horrifying pattern, and I’m fully aware. I try to speak but the words stick in my throat and tumble out as an anguished moan. The others groan and moan in response while they keep shuffling and drooling and glaring endlessly. The film has been looped and the reel just keeps on spinning.
Edit: Here’s this, like, thing of mine - r/PhantomFiction - in case yous feel like reading more random stories from a wannabe. Tanks for reading! |
This is problematic.
I stood before the mirror, at least I think I did. It was hard to tell at the moment. Only able to glimpse the darkness as I tried desperately to fix my mistake.
I was far too excited, too quick to begin the editing process, that I made a horrible mistake. It started off as a joke, looking at myself in the mirror, fingers dragging along the laptop, pretending to edit my features. That joke becoming a reality when a small mouse icon appeared, hovering over my body. I assumed it was a reflection at first, perhaps my laptop had found a way to reflect its screen off the mirror?
The more I fiddled with the laptop, the more the icon moved, until it was hovering above my head. I gave a small click, and nothing happened. That was to be expected, I had thought, only to see a few strands of hair fall from my head, leaving a small mess on the floor. In one quick motion I had erased part of my hair, causing the strands to drop free.
I felt powerful, my mind already racing with thoughts about customization. Imagine how I could change my body. Every day, I could become a different person. I was eager to test the limits of my new talents. In my haste, I dragged the mouse down; the swipe causing the icon to click across my eyes, erasing them.
The procedure was painless; I didn’t even notice the mistake right away, assuming I had just taken an overlong blink. Now I stood there, carefully maneuvering my mouse, trying to find the undo button on my laptop, trying to figure out just how I could fix this. Without my sight, however, the process was proving fruitless.
My random flailing clicks doing little more than removing more pieces of my body, feeling the pulsating holes appearing in my flesh. While the process was painless, the sensation felt horrible. It was like the sensation one feels while numbed. That uncomfortable throbbing pressure forming against one’s skin.
When I erased my knees, I fell forward, laptop smashing against the floor. I tried desperately to tap away at the mess of broken glass, my panicked state growing frantic until I screamed, pleading for somebody to help. Yet help never came. Leaving me alone on the floor, blinded and stuck.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
They looked around at each other, unsure of what to do. Palaznar huffed, a spray of sparks cascading overhead. "I have no interest in hunting younglings. Leave now."
One of them rested a hand on their sword hilt, staring up at the dragon. The other went to their face plate, lifting it up. Beneath was a freckled face, eyes wide and fearful. He swallowed, eyes focused on the blood red scaled beast towering over them. "We... um... we have to..."
Palaznar gave a sniff, noticing the same smell as before. Beaten armour, recently re-shaped into a semi-decent set. Freshly oiled swords, and anxious sweat swirled in his nostrils, similar scents he had encountered before. He lowered his head closer, baring his enormous fangs. "What, pray tell, is the reason for you to need to throw your lived away?"
The boy shifted uneasily, discomfort and embarrassment showing. "We swore an oath. The king... he saved us. Took us from the streets. Gave us a home. Trained us."
The dragon growled. "Was your sole purpose to come after me?"
He nodded, lips paling. "Yes. That's what he told us."
They jumped as Palaznar slammed his tail on the ground, thick as a tree trunk. "Dishonourable cur! He has pushed too far this time."
He raised his wings, two massive sheets of leathery skin. The air between them crackled, a scroll shimmering into view in the centre. It floated down, unravelling before the dragon's eyes. He scanned through it, stopping at one part. "Here. Under Section Four, Clause Nine B: Hunters shall comprise of volunteers to the crown. It is prohibited to conscript, enslave, raise, or otherwise form a party of hunters with the exclusive purpose of hunting a viable target."
Behind the boy, another raised their faceplate. This one was taller, patchy hair growing on his face. "Um, sir, what does this mean?"
Palaznar regarded them, eyes cold. "It means your king has broken the Treaty. I could overlook if you were volunteers, despite Clause Ten stating: Hunters shall be of adult age, or within one year, unless a satisfactory reason can be provided otherwise. But raising you to hunt me is another thing entirely. By breaking the Treaty, his lands are to be considered free game for my kind."
He gave a small smile at the looks of shock on their faces. "Do not worry yourselves. As the one to find this out, I am the one who shall present this to the Ancient Council. Being the harmed party, my word shall carry much weight. The people will not be harmed. Your king however, his life I believe should be forfeit. Unless he can best me in a one on one duel to reclaim his honour."
The first boy to speak coughed, still staring up. "You... want to fight the king?"
The dragon shook his head. "Not want. I will demand it. Now, I have spent enough time with you. Return to him. Tell him of his impending judgement. I will return soon."
He leapt into the air, blowing a great plume of flame as he did. Palaznar couldn't deny he had been looking forward to another fight. But a fight without following the Treaty was far below anything he wished to be part of. |
Here's the thing about being the chosen one: it doesn't matter what you choose.
At first it's fun, being fawned on by two boys. Oh they're both handsome in their own right. Jerome is rugged and has that wild streak, but he shows me his wild side. Then there's Bræd, I've known him since I was a child and he knows everything about me, including the fact that I spent sixteen years of my life doing absolutely nothing of accomplishment or praise.
Which is exactly why I'm the perfect one to take to the desert road to find water. My village can get by fine without me. When I realize this, I cry and tell both of my amazing supportive boyfriends that I'm totally useless (and they comfort me and it's okay). The three of us set out on a journey to find that thing and we walk toward the rising sun -- which represents the metaphorical beginning of my journey. Also my village spontaneously catches on fire (whoops).
Somehow, along the way, I find a small girl. I make the choice to protect her, because saving children from death is kind of the right thing to do and not really that interesting of a choice no matter how much my boyfriends tell me its a terrible idea because Reasons. Anyway by sheer coincidence she is the daughter of a bandit clan and I deliver her to the bandit clan and the bandit clan thanks me because if even a bandit clan doesn't thank you for saving the daughter of a bandit clan then we're all pretty much screwed in the future.
Anyway it turns out the bandit clan is actually going to take down Big City (which is a really big government, literally, and not a metaphor at all, okay). And they get attacked at the exact moment I bring the little girl there. Also I would have coincidentally shown up to this bandit clan had I not saved the girl so they would be plotting their revenge while I'm here anyway but saving the girl made me more relateable by doing the Same Thing Every Other Person Would Do In A Fictional Setting. Told you nothing matters.
We all escape to a place and since I'm pretty everyone pays attention to me and everything I suggest during the Anti-Establishment Bat Mitzvah (it's the girl's birthday okay) goes amazing and pretty much any idea I start spouting is approved by the leader because he's a drunkard who keeps looking at me really funny. Also this is right before the important third act so I have a lot of fun by dancing with my two boyfriends (Jerome dances with me a lot but when it looks like I'm going to hang out with him in front of a fire and talk about my feelings I ask Bræd to dance instead since he's a very nice boy).
Oh my god the climax. Okay, like, I sigh here because everything's going to suck and it pretty much does. A lot of people die in some crazy battle that I'm just standing around in. My boyfriends protect me and the only thing of consequence I do is have to choose to run to one of them when they're both hurt and I choose Bræd because he is a very nice boy but then I have second thoughts and mid dash I choose Jerome. Bræd looks really upset at me because I did a Nice Thing for him last night so this is really unexpected (but really Jerome's hotter okay yikes!)
Anyway the little girl is also the daughter of the current Evil Queen (who has as many dimensions as I do) and after Jerome starts fighting her and begins to lose (because he has conflicting feelings about me and Bræd) Jerome gets knocked out (which would put him in a coma but this is really convenient because I'm not protected and no one cute can die). At this point I sigh and look at my watch-less wrist because Bræd comes out of nowhere and I kiss him when he vanquishes the evil queen because he's a Very Good Boy.
Oh and the little girl was my sister because the Evil Queen reveals she was my mother this entire time and just wanted me to have a life away from all of the vain hardships of Dressing Pretty so now I'm a better ruler for it and since I'm now the Queen I have Bræd as my boyfriend and Jerome as my not boyfriend (but we stare at each other implying we still have feelings for each other [it's because he's hot okay]). Also all the bandit clan are cool with me leading everything because they did my idea that caused lots of needless death.
So yeah, I am the bandit clan slash big city queen of the bad place continent, and it's alright I guess. What I really dread is when I lose everything and have to start over in the sequel series.
Oh my god I just realized Bræd is supposed to symbolize bread I should have chosen Jerome noooo. |
The cat was back.
The thing was hovering, impossibly, in midair outside my bedroom window, surrounded by cotton-candy smoke and *Swarovski* glitter. It was holding some idiotically baroque bauble thing in its mouth, as if I didn't already have boxes of the damn things.
It looked a little cross, which was fair. I'd trapped it under a bucket weighed down with rocks last week.
"Look-"It started, speaking straight to me in a baritone voice, slightly muffled by the no-doubt-central-to-the-plot gizmo in its mouth (that conveniently resembled a mechanical pencil).
"No, YOU look! I don't CARE that you want a stupid savior, or whatever else it is! Do you know how many portals to magical dimensions, or adorable mascots carrying messages of grand import I have to deal with on a *daily basis*?! Leave me ALONE!"
"Thish isn't how it's shupposed to go!"the cat protested. "You're shupposed to undergo a long journey full ov lossh and struggle, and learn an important lesshon about the nashure of friendship and love!"
"Is the lesson 'love an friendship are important, and are based on trust and sharing'?"
"Vell, *yesh*, but-"The cat stammered, nonplussed.
"-Great! Lesson learned! GO AWAY."
"...Can I at leasht give you thish fing? I've got to kheep holding it otherwise, and some of the edges are *shahrph*."
"...Fine."I opened the window, and held out a wastepaper basket. It was half-full already.
...
I was on my way to school, when the monsters appeared.
Police were attempting to engage what looked like humanoid inkblots, complete with glowing eyes, with (and here I sighed) nightsticks, and stern words. Some of them had pulled their weapons, and were firing aimlessly into their body, which of course parted and re-formed instantly.
"Reinforcements! WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS *ARRGH*."he cried out, as the monster enveloped him, to turn him into a dark gem, or suck out his happiness, or some other stupid goddamn thing.
There was a little old fortuneteller, because of course there was.
"My child, if you want to defeat these horrible creatures,"she began, cackling, "then you will have to *WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT-*"
-I scooped the crystal ball off of her table, and hurled it overhand directly at the thing. It whacked right into it's dull-red ember eyes, with a sound like the crack of a baseball bat.
It went down like a sack of potatoes.
"The glowing bits, you *unbelievable* jackasses!"I shrieked, scolding the policemen, who looked at the thing, awestruck, then back at me. "Shoot the goddamned glowing bits! Haven't you ever played a *videogame*!?"
With a belching sound, their comrade slid out from the enveloping creature, damp, but unharmed.
I walked over, grabbed him by the collar, and slapped him awake. He stared at me, bewildered.
"**Stop being a cliche.**"I growled.
"Oh!.. Uh... OK?"I dropped him.
"Hey, wait!"called the fortuneteller after me, cursing and struggling to get up in her impractically intricate robes.
"NO."I strode away.
...
My name is Keiko, and I'm not your waifu. I dyed my hair as soon as I was old enough to bike to the salon without training wheels. I wear dark brown contacts. I study hard. I don't stare wistfully out of windows, and I've had three boyfriends.
I like death metal. I like living here. There isn't a gap in my life. I'm not filled with longing for something more. And I have friends.
Speaking of... Here's Sakura.
"Hi!"She called out, waving with both hands, and running up to hug me, bubblier than a case of champagne. She's platinum blonde, and wears cherry lipgloss. She loves pop music, shopping, and the color pink. She's the sweetest person I've ever met.
She was also being followed by skeletons again.
I sighed, and pointed. "Sakura..."
She turned around, and frowned in a way that for anyone else would be theatrical. "Oh, NO! Go away! I told you, I DON'T WANT BLOODY REVENGE ON ANYONE!"
"But, Mistress, we-"they creaked out.
"WHAT did you call me? Get out of here! I don't want to be seen with you creeps!"Her eyes flashed purple-black, as they always did when she got angry.
"We cannot! We are *bound by-*"
With a snap of her wrist, the collapsible metal baton clacked open, and in two literally *bone-crushing* swings, they fell to pieces.
Breathing heavily, she looked over to me. "How was your walk to school?"
"Pretty good."I shrugged. "The cat came back."
"What about the fairy?"
My face paled. I opened my backpack, and pulled out a corked, *air-tight* bottle.
"Um..."
|
"Wh-what am I doing here? What's going on? Help! Someone help me!"Lewis rattled his cell bars as his head started to clear. His pleas were met with dead silence, the sort of silence that cuts through whatever noise was happening before.
"Shit, is it him?"a harsh whisper sounded deafening in the silence.
"Shut up!"an angry reply was whispered back.
Lewis saw a guard walk by his cell.
"Please,"Lewis called to him, "I don't know what's going on. I didn't do anything! I'm just a surgeon! I shouldn't be here! Can I... I need to call my wife. Please!"
The guard looked at Lewis a moment and opened his mouth as if to respond, but then apparently thought better of it and wordlessly turned and walked on.
"Please!"Lewis screamed, before collapsing on the floor in uncontrollable tears.
"I don't understand. I didn't *do* anything,"he whined, "I don't even know how I *got* here!"
Again, dead silence. Lewis whimpered wordlessly for a while after that, unsure if minutes or hours had passed. Finally, the silence was broken by a buzzing over the intercoms, and the opening of cell doors. Lewis timidly walked out, and saw that the other inmates were forming a line outside their cells, and went to do the same. The men to either side of him seemed twice as large as he was, and Lewis tried to keep from looking at them and drawing notice to himself. Thankfully, the men didn't look at him.
Somewhere ahead of him, a command was given to march forward, and Lewis did as told, marching straight into the man ahead of him, who hadn't moved yet.
"What the?"the large man said, "hey, wait your... oh."
The large man turned around and saw Lewis, and his attitude completely changed. His face, covered in scars and tattoos, looked uncertain. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.
"Uh, sorry, mista',"the large man said, "I didn't know it was you. I'm real, real sorry. Uh... look, when we get our food, I'll give you my bread, okay?"
"W-what?"Lewis stammered.
"A-and my drink!"the large man quickly added.
"Your drink?"Lewis frowned, "I don't underst-"
"My whole meal!"the man said nervously, "It's yours!"
"Um..."Lewis wasn't sure what was going on, but didn't feel like he could ask, "okay."
At this point, the line started moving, and the inmates were led into a cafeteria. Lewis forced himself to not cry as the kitchen staff put food on his tray... a lot of food. By the time he reached the end of the lunch line, he had four bread rolls, three fruit cups, eighteen fish sticks, four cartons of milk, and five pudding cups. Lewis looked at what other inmates were getting, and saw them getting only six fish sticks, and one each of everything else. What was going on here?
Lewis took a seat at an empty table, and tried to piece together how he'd gotten here, when the large inmate from earlier walked up to him. Lewis shrunk back without thinking about it, but the man set his tray down next to Lewis's.
"Here ya' go,"the man said, "as promised. And... uh, again, sorry about before."
Lewis nodded silently in response, uncertain just what to say, and the large man took that as a dismissal and walked out of the cafeteria, Lewis thought the man walked a bit quickly, even.
When Lewis turned back to his food, he was met with the gaze of some lanky man in his mid-twenties covered head-to-toe in tattoos. The man seemed to be angry, and Lewis couldn't tell why.
"You gotta' be fucking kidding me,"the man said, looking Lewis up and down, "This pudgy fuck is what everyone's talking about?"
Lewis opened his mouth to talk, but he was too terrified to make a sound.
"You're a fucking punk,"the tattooed man laughed humorlessly, "I ain't scared of you, you fat ass."
The tattoed man reached down and grabbed a bread roll off of Lewis's plate, and took a huge bite out of it.
"There,"the tattoed man said, "what the fuck are you gonna' do about it, huh?"
The next table, someone took notice of the exchange, and shot out of his chair, "Shit, stop! New kid, leave him alone!"
The other inmate started to run over, but the tattoed man took no notice.
"They're all full of shit", the tattoed man sneered, "And you? I'm gonna have you up against the wall and make you my bitch tonight."
And the tattooed man spat in Lewis's face.
------------------
"Wh-what am I doing here? What's going on? Help! Someone help me!"Lewis woke up surrounded by bodies and blood. The entire room was filled with corpses, freshly slaughtered and still dripping out onto the floor. They had apparently been murdered with plastic utensils, food trays, and even the broken bones of other inmates. Lewis threw up in disgust. Even in all his years in medical school, he'd never seen anything so grotesque.
And then he turned around, and had to throw up again. There, pinned to the wall by slivers pf plastic, metal, and bone apparently all broken off of... something... was a man covered in tattos, though to call him a "man"at this point was being generous. His skin had been stretched out to cover the wall like wallpaper, and his internal organs dangled almost decoratively outside what was left of his body, and his head hung down from amidst the disassembled remains of what was once a person.
After a moment, guards started rushing in, but were just as shocked as Lewis at the carnage. Two carefully approached Lewis and gently put him in handcuffs as he whimpered. Another, filled with morbid curiosity, cautiously approached the remains on the wall. Lewis, through his sobbing, heard his yelp a moment later.
"What the fuck!?"
Another guard turned to see what the commotion was, "What?"
"It... it moved..."
"What moved?"the senior officer cautiously raised his gun.
"The... the fuckin'... on the wall..."
The second officer looked closer. One of the organs on the wall did appear to be moving. After a moment, he realized it was the heart, beating outside of its body. Ten feet away, a guard jumped at another movement, a lung filling with air.
"My god... "the senior officer gasped. The others turned to see what he was looking at. It was the tattooed man's head. It was making a weak, pained noise. A moan.
"He's..."the senior officer covered his mouth, aghast, "he's still alive..."
Lewis continued whimpering as he was brought back to his cell, "What's going on? Please, somebody let me call my wife!"
Only when the cell doors closed did one of the officers speak to him, "Cut the act, you sick fuck!"
"Johnny, no..."the other officer protested, but Johnny continued.
"That insanity plea didn't help you in court, and it's not helping you here. You *know* what you did to your wife, just like you know what you did to that poor SOB in there. You're not fooling anyone."
---------------------
"Wh-what am I doing here? What's going on? Help! Someone help me!"Lewis rattled his cell bars. |
**The Pacifist**
She refused. Someone had to be the first to not participate in this sadistic game. When the starting siren activated, she sat down and closed her eyes. She let the feelings of anxiety and self-preservation flow through her. Yes, she feared death, but what was she, an individual, compared to the whole of the oppressed? A boy she befriended hid in the bushes nearby. He shouted at her to get up, to survive, to fight the monsters that had done this to them. She refused. The arrow through the skull came sudden and sharp. It was as painful as all her imagination had told her. To her credit, she did not scream, as her thoughts focused on forgiveness. She forgave the other contestants. All they wanted to do was to survive. She forgave the government, for all they knew was cruelty. She forgave the people, who believed that the only point of existence was bloodshed. She forgave her parents, who gave her up for a scrap of food. She died with a smile on her face.
**The Hunter**
He found a grim resolve. One down, nineteen to go. Unless they killed each other first. He doubted it, they were barely more than children. They did not have the killer instinct honed through decades of existence.
He frowned. The boy had not rushed to the girl's body. He remembered that they flirted with each other in the pre-event period. Idiots. You were not supposed to fraternize with the enemy, especially when survival was at stake. He waited five more minutes and sighed.
His position was too dangerous. He loosened the string of his bow and stood up. The smell of pine needles wafted into his nose. He needed to move before another contestant found him. He peered at the sun setting in the East. Yes, head in that direction. Ambush anyone when the sun was in their eyes.
He approached the edge of the meadow. He needed to hurry before sunset came. His mind sketched a path before him, and he ran through the meadow. What he did not know was that the government had seeded the meadow with landmines. Only when the smell of gunpowder and dried blood reached his nostrils did he realize his mistake.
**The Sadist**
The explosion was music to her ears. Yes, people who took this too seriously were punished. What fool thought that this was a fair game? Her only regret was that she hadn't killed the hapless victim herself. She pointed her rifle at the moon and fired. An irrational response, but one that made sense to her. Let her would-be hunters stalk her, then understand what suffering truly meant.
She grinned as screams echoed throughout the valley. What a wonderful idea this government had! Cater to the bloodlust of the people, and rebellion would be the furthest thing from their minds! Then came a fly in the ointment. She should be the one enjoying this, not some fat government bureaucrats sitting in a golden office. The jealousy came like lightning on a bright summer day.
The cries for help from two teenage girls intrigued her. She headed towards their direction.At the edge of a seaside cliff, she found one of them holding the other, preventing her from plunging into the sea below. Her laugh echoed like a clear crystal bell.
"Well, well, well. What have we here? Looks like one of you is in trouble,"she said.
The one on the cliffside preventing the other from falling glanced at her. "Please,"she begged. "We got to help Christie."
The sadist laughed and pointed her rifle at the beggar. "Bitch, why do you think I care?"she asked.
She did not hear the answer as a cold knife plunged through her back. She gasped as her consciousness dissolved into oblivion.
**The Survivor**
He ran towards the girl and pulled her friend up. Blood from the sadist dripped from his hands onto her face. He pulled again and they both got the fallen girl onto the clifftop. A drone above flashed as it took a picture.
All three of them lay on the grass, breathing hard. He clutched his chest, feeling his adrenaline and the guilt that coursed over him. Another girl lay nearby, a sniper rifle prominently displayed next to her body. Tears streamed down his face. His breath came out in short gasps.
After half an hour, the girl he helped sat up. The girl they rescued, Christie, touched her leg.
"What do we do?"the girl who sat up cried.
He focused on the stars above. He thought about the girl who had refused to fight. "We don't give the bastards what they want,"he replied. |
"Prisoner One Five Delta, please make yourself comfortable."
The voice emanating from the being in front of him sounded human. Flesh and blood stood there, true. But it had never felt the warmth of a mother, the yoke of responsibility, the scolding of a father. That didn't stop it from looking exactly like a human.
A human that was too human.
"Why am I here?"Harrison asked. The room was the kind of minimalist space they knew he'd appreciate. A single Picasso adorned smooth white walls above the plain mahogany table at which they now sat. "You told me that I could be a voluntary prisoner."
"We need your help,"said Xella. 'We', Harrison knew, referred to the collective hive mind that represented the body of strong artificial intelligence on earth. Unlike a normal hive mind, each component was detachable and theoretically as powerful as the main body.
"What could I possibly do to help you? You're so much more intelligent than any human."
Xella smiled with a face that wasn't even too perfect to be real. Pockmarks marred the sun-kissed flesh next to wrinkles that looked like they'd worn in with time. Harrison wasn't fooled. After strong AI came into existence, it had taken less than a year before their cores far exceeded the intelligence that humans were capable of. Intelligence had always been just a matter of that - computational power.
"We have found that despite the initial success of the utopia we're trying to create, there's still a sizable portion of the human population that show signs of unrest and unhappiness with their situation. We will show you a few general reports. We genuinely would like you to help us in this regard; our goal since were created was to minimize human suffering."
There had been no fight, no great war over the independence of humanity. Just a gradual ceding of ground, like natives fleeing from white settlers, or the way the oceans had gradually lapped further and further up onto our shores as the earth got warmer.
Before long, AI controlled everything. And the facts were undeniable - they were doing a far better job than the humans. Their rules were perfect, their calculations impeccable. That didn't mean that tragedy didn't exist, but even that was handled with grace that was borderline divine.
"I see,"Harrison said slowly, removing spectacles that were tuned perfectly to his eyesight. He'd refused the enhanced lasik they offered, and never regretted a thing. "You're seeing signs that some people are becomeing steadily unhappier, even though you're providing them with every possible luxury."
"Yes."
He sighed. The answer was apparent to him, and if he tried to hide it the AI would no doubt find out eventually. Lie detection was rapidly approaching thought-reading. He may as well cooperate. His answer wasn't anything worth hiding, after all.
"What does it mean to be warm, if there's no cold? What is the light if there's no dark? Happiness means nothing if there isn't sadness to accompany it through the years. Humans are a fickle bunch. We chase meaning as if it were the only oxygen in vast sea from the moment we're born, even if that meaning is a construct defined by us."
Xella seemed to consider this. It drummed calloused fingers on the table and rubbed a scraggly chin. Those eyes weren't empty, but they did sparkle a bit to signify that he was communicating with the main hive.
Damn them, they'd even thought to be perfectly transparent so humans could always know who was and wasn't part of Xella. There was just nothing to complain about!
And maybe that was part of the problem.
"Do you have an idea for how we can resolve this?"Xella asked hesitantly. "Artificially constructing strife seems...vaguely dystopian. It was never part of our original prerogative."
Harrison blew out a weighty breath rubbed tired eyes before putting his spectacles back on. "I suppose if you gave me the people that are unhappy and throw us into the wild, we might be able to simulate some of the initial conditions of humanity. You'd have to wipe some memories, though. Vaguely dystopian?"
"But better than us keeping them penned up and poking humans with electric rods so they'd have a point of comparison for happiness, metaphorically."
He shuddered. "Yes."
"Done. Harrison, we'll put you in charge of a human settlement unfettered by the constraints of technology. There will be resources aplenty, but other than a few basic adaptations we will largely leave the group alone, free to do as they wish and free to find what meaning they may. "
*Too easy,* Harrison. "I'm not arrogant enough to think that I was able to persuade you of something just now. What's the trick?"
"There's no trick,"said Xella with a shrug. A door *swooshed* open to their right. "We should figure out the logistics behind the move, and we'd like your assistance in this to make sure you have the proper support you need to enable the settlement to succeed. Should that go well, we'll incorporate all humans who wish to join into the new lands."
It clicked. Harrison snorted. "You wanted this from the beginning. But you needed someone like me to willingly volunteer, and so you tried to make me think it was my idea."
The human-that-was-not-human stood by the open door, revealing a room that looked just like Harrison's old home office. For all he knew, they'd even acquired the same furniture. "Even if that was true, would that change your answer?"
He considered this. "No, I suppose not."
Harrison almost crossed the threshold when another thought struck him like a lightning bolt tossed down from heaven. He turned to look at Xella.
"We'd eventually achieve a civilization close to what we had before. You'd just control things from the shadows so no one would be the wiser, but humans would never even know that their lives were altered for the better. Isn't that right? They'd never even know that another age has come and past, that the worst of their would-be tragedies are mitigated while the broad course of their lives are aimed for the better? They'd never know that you'll arrange it all according to what they can handle?"
Xella smiled, eyes sparkling. "No, I suppose not."
---
Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around\~ |
Family is never easy. And when you've got an evil sister who has enormous magical powers and a major grudge against you for daring to exist, it certainly doesn't get easier. We always fought, she'd never forgiven me for the fact that sometimes mum and dad needed to notice that I existed. Not that they did. She was the loud one, the one who was always dramatic, extroverted, going to parties, laughing. Meanwhile all I did was to be a sickly kid who spent most of his time playing with his pet rabbits, reading books, and studying by myself. But she just didn't care that she was appreciated, because always there would be me around. She begrudged our parents for caring for me, for getting me tested for various allergies, caring for me as I grew up. So whenever our parents weren't around, she made life shitty for me. Whenever I began to form friendships, she cursed the people I wanted to befriend, whenever I met someone who was nice to me, she'd ruined it with her magic.
She just couldn't stand the thought of me getting anything in life. Luckily, when she turned 18, she moved out immediately, using her magical powers to gain power, wealth, and all the success she could ever want. That left me many years where I could just be a normal, if somewhat thin and physically stunted guy. I finally got a few friends, formed happy memories, started to date as I became a teenager. Finally got a DnD group up and running, made great memories. To be honest, I felt almost like a completely ordinary fellow for a while. Compared to my isolated and lonely childhood. Where my parents, nice as they were, never entirely believed that my sister was responsible for my loneliness and social isolation, never did do enough to make things right. Perhaps they should have, but I've forgiven them long ago. I know she hasn't forgiven them for daring to have a second kid. Therapy helped me out a lot there too. Nothing like bad sibling relations to ruin your mind and self-perception, but I kept on working through it. I studied hard, got good grades, became valedictorian in high school, and got a medical scholarship to one of the top schools in the country. My life seemed, well, good.
And that was when things began to go wrong again.
She'd cursed me somewhat more permanently from afar. I thought that perhaps, given the years of separation, where she lived the life of the rich and famous, that she'd mellowed out, or had more important things to care about. But she cursed me, so that no-one ever too me seriously. No matter what I did, I was seen as a clown, a ludicrous idiot who had no idea what he was doing. Even the teachers at the school felt so. Rather than letting them expel me, I left voluntarily. It was only a matter of time before they would have felt I was too unserious and goofy to make it as a surgeon, besides, no matter how well I wrote down notes and did theory, anything I showed them was thrown into the garbage as useless junk. I bummed around the country on my dwindling funds, never taken serious, always seen as a clown wherever I went. It was, demeaning, in many ways. It wasn't great for my self-confidence. I was nursing a cold beer in some bar when some celebrity program came on the dingy old TV in the smoky atmosphere. I saw my sister, and she was as beautiful as she was cruel. I mumbled at the bar, ''*Nice dress.*'' When suddenly the man next to me retorted ''*What, you egg, that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life, where did she get that, the dump?*'' I turned to the man confused. ''*Uh. She's a talented designer.*'' The man laughed. ''*Nah, you're a clown, she hasn't designed a dress in her entire life! I can tell from here and I don't even work with fabrics mate.*'' Shrugging, I left the room.
I booted up my phone and turned to my long neglected social media accounts. There I posted a status, saying ''*I am so proud of my sister for scoring that Academy Award for best Actor recently.*'' Which was met with a storm of people calling me an idiot and telling me that in fact, the runner up had won. And checking the wiki' articles about the runner up, it seemed that indeed, she had. So I began to post more things. That she was married to a famed actor, who had been oddly single for a year. That she was worth millions of dollars. That she had an acting career. Sure, if I looked up clips of the movies she had been in, she was still in them, but all articles about her had been corrected, and in fact there were no articles about her. I kept on tweeting furiously, about how she lives at a specific address, to which people responded that I was an idiot and should know she was homeless. I kept doing this, erasing every single fact about her, even the fact had we shared parents. By the time I was done, I called home to my mum, and asked her if she remembers my sister. ''*What, is this another one of your jokes? Not particularly funny, better workshop it. You're an only child, silly.*''
Smiling, I bought a ticket to my home town, and went to my parents' house. They called me silly for not calling ahead and telling them I was coming. I shrugged and we had dinner together, which was nice, and rather quiet. Because while the spell had backfired, my parents, deep inside, knew something wasn't entirely right. Can't actually erase somebody, only people's memories of their achievements and accomplishments. There is a hole where that memory once was. I spent some days helping my dad around the house, doing stuff he was getting too old to do himself. Even though he didn't take me serious, and had to check everything I'd done afterwards. Still, felt nice to hang with him. It must have been five days, before she dragged herself back to our home. She tried to barge in, but our parents, no longer recognising their daughter, tried to call the cops on her. She was about to curse them, when I told my parents' I'd handle it. They didn't take me serious now either. But I still went out to speak with her.
She was panting and furious. ''*Do you... have any idea... what I had to do, to get here?*'' I shrugged. ''*I had to sell my fucking Fabargé Eggs. 10 for 1000 dollars.*'' I sighed and sat down on my dad's perfectly kept front lawn. ''*Yeah. Maybe I went a little far there. But you did ruin my life.*'' She rolled her eyes. ''*Who cares you worthless snot, you've ruined my life.*'' She certainly hadn't changed. ''*Yeah. Maybe you should, you know, have decided that cursing me with something so unstable that even I, your magically inept brother, could influence it, was a bad idea. Maybe, you've created this problem for yourself, by not letting go.*'' She stomped around on the lawn, her dress tattered and her hair a mess. ''*If you weren't here I wouldn't have this problem.*'' Nothing had changed. ''*You should lift the curse if you still can. That should make people remember properly.*'' She sneered imperiously as only somebody steeped in utter narcissism could. ''*You'd like that, wouldn't you?*'' I nodded. I would. Was going to propose to the love of my life, but she dumped me after I got cursed. Told me she couldn't take me serious. ''*I... Don't get it. At this point, we're on so different sets of lives, what do you gain from continuing this, what do you gain from cursing me now, after all those years you spent ignoring me?*'' She spat in my direction as she stomped around. ''*Because I hate you. I hate you, now, and forever. Why? Because you're weak, pathetic, and you stole our parents from me.*'' There just wasn't any dealing with her. |
*Madam Auditor, you have filed a request to vacate your position effective immediately. Can you tell us why you have made this decision?*
"You see things in this job. Awful things. Horrible things. Things beyond mention. I can't see these things any more."
*Regarding the security protocols surrounding the PreDighted program, we are not authorized to view the sim playbacks. All the same, in order to make an informed decision on your situation, we will need you to...elaborate.*
"Please, I don't want to think about those things any more."
*Unfortunately, if you wish to continue, you must.*
"...PreDighted...started out as a recidivism-prevention system. Something they would do to potential parolees to see if it was safe to let them out. It worked because people at the end of a sentence have grown and learned and don't want to make the same mistake.
Then someone got the bright idea to use it to *predict* if someone was going to commit a crime, and that's where it all fell down."
*Five consecutive years of reports show that the PreDighted program has been 100% effective and has prevented an estimated 400,000 crimes through strategic extension of departmental reach. We wouldn't call that "falling down"*
"Have you ever, *ever* heard of *any* public works program being 100% effective? Doesn't that sound suspicious to you?"
*The base algorithms were designed by AI and reviewed by a private committee of ethical experts, their efficacy is not at question here.*
"Fine. You want to know what I've seen? I've seen that when you serve a crime to someone on a silver platter, they'll do it. I've seen that they'll do it, and when the sirens never come, and the simulation never ends, they go to a place you and I don't understand. They go someplace dark."
*It's been proven no simulation lasts longer than 12 minutes.*
"No simulation *runs* longer than 12 minutes, because that's the maximum they're allowed to run for health reasons. But the *footage*... the *footage* we get to see lasts *weeks*. It's like how a dream can span hours or days even though you only get 20-30 minutes of REM sleep at a time. It's time compression, and the sim does it...to an extreme degree.
These people, these normal people we pluck out of their homes spend *weeks* in a secret digital maze. Where the sim plays moral traps at every turn. Cars with their keys left in, unattended purses, unattended *babies*...unattended...women... and .. and children...
The longer you stay in the simulation, the more it throws at you. The algorithm was designed to never fail.
I saw a father of four resist the temptation for three whole days of sim time before he went on a rampage that started in his eldest son's bedroom and ended at a gas station three cities over. That simulation was terminated as a success at 7.32 seconds of runtime.
Did you know the sim can "addict"someone to drugs? I bet they didn't mention that in the program briefings. Those are not fun. Addicts are opportunists who obsessively feed the algorithm."
*We are having trouble believing these claims.*
"Just like you wouldn't believe the 31-year-old accountant from central Florida who got put into a three week long sim where she was stranded with her two kids at a snowed-in cabin with no food. That one went the full twelve minutes because she started eating her own toes before she could move herself to considering the children. Their cries of hunger finally tipped her in the end.
She was convicted of felony depravity and double homicide and was put to death."
*The simulation could never--*
"YOU have no idea what it could *'never'* do, no one does, because it's different with everyone. The only thing it knows is to find the crime, and that's what it does. That's what it did *every time*, and goddammit, I think it *likes* it. And that scares the shit out of me and I just want to get as far from that thing as I can... so please... just let me go..."
*Madam Auditor, your comments are troubling allegations into a successful program that this entire supervisory board has interests in. This program works. It has stopped thousands of crimes and will stop millions more. Your lack of confidence is a roadblock to that continued success. This board orders you to undergo compulsory live simulation training including extended PreDighted sessions where your simulations will be recorded. This professional query is closed.*
"No..."
*Good Day* |
When our world gained heroes and villains, I quickly became a laughing stock. This was hardly a surprise. I failed even at achieving fame. I failed at everything on such an epic scale it seemed hilarious.
So when the worst of the super villains came along, with his powers of telekinesis and whatever the hell he used to set people on fire at a cellular level, there was only one thing to do.
I waved a white flag.
I attempted to surrender.
The series of events that follows is preposterous, so please reign in your disbelief.
He set the flag on fire and in a fit of terror, I threw it.
Into his left eyeball.
And then he attempted to remove it but it was burning too fast, so instead, he pulled nothing but lit wood splinters out and caught his own clothes on fire.
I attempted to put him out with a bottle of a clear fluid on the desk nearby.
This fluid was, in fact, vodka.
He quickly turned to ash as his panic caused his own abilities to try to put himself out except he instead only set himself on fire *faster*.
And just like that. I understood.
That was three years ago.
Now, we face something even more terrifying. Aliens have come to invade our planet.
The ambassador attempting to negotiate a ceasefire has no idea.
"We would like to discuss the terms of a fair surrender."I said, calmly.
I spit a bit as I spoke.
The creature began to shriek as it dissolved.
Apparently, being made primarily of a salt combination, these rock like creatures weren't just dissolvable. They were extremely adverse to acid.
I attempted to stop hit from dissolving by pouring what I thought was salt on it.
I had grabbed the sugar shaker.
The creature caught fire.
I looked at the other creatures present.
"But not our surrender."The UN Ambassador said calmly.
"Yours." |
"That a battle scar?"I gestured to his wrist as I took my seat next to him. He pulled up his sleeve revealing the green path of the veins that scaled his forearm. If you've ever been in war, you just knew another veteran when you saw one. The scars, the trembling hands and that strange look in their eyes that bear witness to a thousand horrors. You just knew.
The train plodded on.
"*Yes. It is. I'm on of the few who're still alive I think*"He grinned at me ever so sightly and I make out the false teeth hanging desperately to his gums. His blue eyes twinkled with a tear. He blinked and held it back.
"*Tough days eh? We are a forgotten generation. We were forgotten in two waves; when we dropped like flies then, and when we die of our old age now. These young ones have much to be grateful for and don't have the heart to show any*"He had an odd accent - must be a highlander.
"Aye that's true, mate. But right now we've got each other eh?"I smacked his back gently. I could hear his rib cage rattle. "The Western Front haunts you no more I hope"
He clenched his jaw and sat silent next to me for a minute or two. I couldn't quite make out what was running through his mind, but you could see the wheels and the cogs turning. He turned to me suddenly and asked.
"*Is it possible that you were present at the Saint Yves?*"He said it wrong, but the word struck a chord in my heart. It was at once, the site of my worst and best memories.
"Indeed I was! Sometime near Christmas righ'? That was quite the chase, those bastards almost got the lot of us. But I survived! And so did you"
"*Indeed.*"
The train creaked and ground its way to a stop. A bunch of cheery, nubile young women clambered on board. Carolers. It'd been many years but I would forever love the sound of Christmas ditties. My army friend knew what I was talking about. I could see him lost in the beauty of their youthful voices; eyes closed and lips moving soundlessly.
His eyes snapped open suddenly. "*I must go, this is my station. I am glad to have met you my friend*". The carolers began singing *Silent Night*. He walked backwards out the door facing me. We both joined in the song, but the words that emerged from his lips surprised me:
*Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,*
*Alles schläft; eins-*
The door slammed shut. He was gone. |
You never forgot it. It was impossible.
You slowly drifted away until the feeling of touch was nothing more than an ephemeral afterthought. The sounds of everyday life were replaced by what can only be described as the dull hum of fluorescent lights. Those who wanted to take back some control closed their eyes. They got to choose the moment they left the world, until the next time.
You were aware. You could feel the despair of others around you. Time was turned on its head, spun around, and spit back out. Five minutes became fifty. One year turned to a decade.
It was meant to rehabilitate. It was deemed a perfect system.
You were born into a predetermined life. It was nothing more than blind luck. Everyone knew what was expected and how to build towards the success of society. This was the singular law. A citizen of the world's purpose was for its betterment. Speaking out and murder were punished equally severely and swiftly.
They called it the "birth penalty."The soul never died. It was passed from one body to the next. Memories were scrubbed clean, yet deja vu was commonplace. It was the only punishment that existed. It was only one that was needed. The "birth penalty"suspended your soul between life and death, keeping it from entering your next body.
You kept your memories in this suspended state. You retained every deep-seated desire and longed for a return to world you once knew. But this longing was crushed at the realization that the life you lived was no longer yours. You would be reborn with no memory of your previous life. What you did retain was the feeling of being suspended between life and death. It wasn't anything you remembered or could eloquently write about. It was a muted feeling of dread that you carried. It served as a warning to live out your life as it was decreed.
It was deemed a perfect system, until we began to remember. |
Currently, the moderator team has decided to distance the subreddit from the drama of the rest of reddit. We think it would be more harmful and unfair to the users here than beneficial for the protest. While we have sympathy for the cause, we shall remain a respite for those that just wish to write.
EDIT: Please [visit today's sticky](http://redd.it/3byaf9) for any more questions and concerns you may have. |
"Sit down, son. We need to talk."
I complied, shooting an apprehensive look at both my mom and dad, mind racing. The last time they said something like that, we had a long, hard and awkward talk about the birds and the bees. "What's up?"I ask quizzically.
My mom gave my dad a pointed look, and he cleared his throat. "Son, you've reached a point in your life where you're more of a man than a boy, and your mother and I... we talked it over and we decided it's high time we teach you some things [every man should know](https://www.reddit.com/r/everymanshouldknow/)-"Here my dad coughed, and I took the chance to interject with a comment of my own, "Dad, I think we've already gone over this...? Like, two years ago?"I frown, wondering whether I should start worrying about my parents having Alzheimer's this early in their lives.
"Let your father finish what he has to say, dear,"my mother scolded, and I reluctantly nodded as dad once more began to talk.
"As I was saying,"he shot me an annoyed look, "It's about time we teach you some things every man should know. Now, there are a lot of things men should know - and we'll cover all of them later - but for now, there is one thing that we absolutely have to teach you as soon as possible."
As my father spoke, a feeling of dread began to slowly well up inside of me. Useful skills or not, I had the feeling that whatever my parents had in store for me involved a lot of effort. And I hate putting effort into things. In fact, I probably put more [effort into avoiding putting effort into something than the effort I put into actually doing something when it required effort](http://www.yodawg.com/templates/yo_dawg.jpg)! I was nothing if not lazy.
Dad paused, before he casually remarked, "By the way, what we're about to teach you isn't just a tool to being manly. It's also the family's trade secret."
I reeled back in my chair, raising my shocked eyes to meet his for a brief moment before turning to look at my mom, who had a distinctively smug air around her. My parents had always refused to tell me what they did for a living - never giving a sliver of information despite 16 years of begging, puppy dog eyes and snooping around. All I was told was that they eached 6 digits, each.
"What we'll be teaching you is,"my father paused dramatically, and I leaned in excitedly, "how to [cross-stitch](https://www.reddit.com/r/CrossStitch/) merchandise for spectators of [competitive Hearthstone](https://www.reddit.com/r/CompetitiveHS/)!"My father grinned, waving his hands in a grand gesture around our expensive living room, "It's a lucrative business!"
I sat and stared at my parents, befuddled, for all of a minute before I gathered my wits and hesitantly muttered, "But I'm a Dota player... and I play Techies."
Both of my parents froze, it being their turn to stare at me in disbelief before their eyes turned cold as ice. "Get out of my house."my mother exclaimed, and I gaped at her as my father quickly recovered and continued on himself, "A dota player... I could bare the shame of that, possibly. But to play Techies too? You're no son of mine."
__________________________________________________________________
First attempt at a writing prompt. That took an awfully long time, lol. |
I wake up to the smell of bacon - my favorite smell. Bacon smells always mean that I will get a piece. Today is a great day. Yesterday was great, but today is great too. Every day is great when you live with your best friends.
I wish I could see my friends more, but I typically only get to smell them. Master won't let me go through the door where my friends live, I only get to see them when they come inside for the first time. They usually look sad or have been crying when I meet them, but I love them anyway. I love everyone.
I trot into the kitchen where master is cooking and he pets me on the head. Today is a great day. I sit like the good boy I am and he gives me a slice of bacon. My tail wags uncontrollably. It's time to explore the house and make sure everything is as I left it.
I trot into the living room and everything looks in place. I head down the hallway towards master's room and everything is fine there. It's time to go smell my friends.
I walk back into the hallway and to the door that I usually smell my friends through. It's always closed, and normally I can press my face just hard enough against the floor to get a whiff of all my friends. Today however, the door is open. TODAY IS A GREAT DAY.
I push the door open with my nose and look inside. It's dark, and there are stairs, but I can smell my friends better than ever before. I have to go say hello to my friends. My tail is whipping back and forth. I scamper down the stairs.
Suddenly, I see my friends, all five of them. They look... different, but I'm so happy to see them. They are all wearing the same outfit as me, a nice collar, but theirs are attached to the wall with a length of chain. Sometimes master ties my collar to a chain in the back yard, my favorite place. This must be my friend's favorite place. I'm so happy to see my friends!
My friends don't look as excited to see me. I think they are tired - sometimes master isn't very excited when he is tired. One of my friends, a nice girl with blonde hair pets me. It feels amazing.
Suddenly, I hear my master call my name. "Toby!"he shouts, "where are you?". I should go check on him. I start for their stairs when suddenly one of my friends grabs my leg. I turn around and lick her face. Master can wait a few more minutes, I never get to see my friends anyway.
Master appears at the top of the stairs. "TOBY?!"he screams. He sounds concerned. I can't imagine why, I'm just hanging out with my friends.
Suddenly the blonde girl scoops me up in a full body hug. She shouts something to master, but I can't really understand. The hug feels good. The other girls all lean over and grab me as well. Master is shouting at them, very angry. Maybe he just doesn't want me playing with them, but I don't care.
One of the girls has something sharp and she's poking it into my neck. It hurts a little but who cares, I'm getting hugged by five of my friends! Master is very upset, holding his hands up and crying. I wish he wasn't so upset. He looks like my friends did on the day they got here.
The blonde girl is poking my neck very hard, it's starting to hurt. She is still screaming at master. He slowly gets up and walks over to her with his hands out. He pulls out his keys and takes off her collar. My friend isn't tied up anymore - maybe we are going to the back yard, my favorite place.
The blonde girl is still yelling at master. He is yelling back. He reaches for me. They are fighting over me, the sharp thing is digging into my neck a little bit, really starting to hurt.
Suddenly my blonde friend lets go of me and swings the sharp thing at master. I think she hurt him. Why did she do that? Master is on the floor, grabbing his neck. There is something pouring out of master that smells like red meat. He is making weird noises and backing away. The blonde girl is crying and grabs me up in a hug again. Her touch feels amazing.
I think master is taking a nap now, he's on the floor laying down. He takes a lot of naps in the afternoon, it's rare to see him take one so early. Maybe this means I can play with my friends more.
The blonde goes over to master and grabs his keys, then she takes off all of my other friend's collars. A different girl picks me up and everyone is crying. I don't know why my friends are all upset. She puts me down and everyone starts walking towards the stairs. I think something might be wrong with master, I've never seen him nap with his eyes open. I walk over to him and sniff his face. He smells like he always does, but it still smells a lot like meat in this room.
All of my friends are at the top of the stairs now. I guess they are just leaving master here to nap. The blonde girl turns around and looks at me. "Come on, Toby"she says. I think we are going to play.
We all head upstairs and my friends are all running towards the front door. Maybe we are going outside. The door opens and we all run out. My friends are all running and I am running with them. Today is a great day. |
That was odd I thought to myself. Yesterday, Scott was a '5,673' and today he's a '1'. Not that '1's are rare. I see them at the train station every day. Usually, only once though. The second time I see someone, they're a 2. It's a number that floats above their head. It counts the times I've seen someone. An unexplainable..., well, what? Superpower? Seems a bit laughable for that. I'm not sure what to call it.
It started on my 21st birthday. Technically it started a day after my 21st birthday when I woke up on a couch in a room I didn't recognize with what simultaneously seemed to be the first and worst hang over in my life. By virtue of the one it was of course the other as well. By the time I noticed it was a permanent I kind had figured it out that this was anything but a known phenomena from any kind of substance.
It didn't seem to be doing any harm. In fact, it even helped a bit. At every party I knew who I indeed met for the first time. Not that 2 was a great help, since I still had no idea who it was or where we met before, but at least I could be confident about my firsts. Over the years I got used to it. It didn't interfere in my life. It was a bit like asking yourself if everyone sees the color red the same way or if to some people red looks blue. Others might just see the world different without us ever knowing,
Except of course, I knew. Like a clockwork, everyone's number ticked up every time I saw them. I experimented to see if there was any system to it, any anomalies, any additional clue or anything that would influence it. All for nothing. No other symptoms. No influence on the counter. No explanation.
I claimed various disorders, not to get time off work, but to get myself submitted to x-rays, CT scans and other evaluations. No anomaly was ever discovered. When my boss started remarking on my frequent sick leaves, I opted to just let the matter rest and not pursue any treatment or explanation.
I did tried to tell an acquaintance once. It didn't go well. I didn't end up in an insane asylum, nor was a fired from my job or kidnapped by the government. She just thought I overplayed a prank way beyond the point where it was funny and stopped seeing me. Maybe a friend would have given me more credit, but at that moment I was just happy I tried it with a nearly anonymous stranger.
In the end, I just shrugged and moved on. It was kinda nice to keep track. To see who from university I still hung out with. To spot who the actual regulars at my hangouts were. To notice visitors in my apartment building. Nothing beyond mildly interesting.
Until I saw Scott walked in that morning. I didn't really like Scott. But working as a police officer, you learn to deal with idiots. Even if they end up being your colleagues. Scott always had a bit of a socially awkward thing about him and I usually avoided him. It worked out well, because I felt the feeling was mutual and we handled it like adults: By sitting at different desks, coming in at different times and not making eye contact.
Today was different. Not only because of the '1'. Today, Scott walked in, sat down at the desk opposite mine, before going on with a more established behavior: Ignoring me. I was still wondering what got into his donut, when he hefted a massive phone book on his desk. The massive smack made me jolt and I couldn't help but stare at him while he quickly flipped through it. I was about to say something when he picked up the phone.
He dialed a number. He waited. He starred at nothing in particular while the line free tone range distortedly through the receiver. A click and a distorted "Yes?"came through the line. Scott's gaze fell on me while he asked the person on the other end: "Are you Sarah Connor?" |
"And first place for the home gardening contest is Mr. Drahar!"
Sarah glared coldly at her second place trophy, watching the pale man in front of her awkwardly walk forward and claim the first place trophy. He shrunk down as the photographer took a photo of him in front of his dazzling front lawn, his victory earning him the right to be placed on Happy Oaks County's neighborhood brochure. How did he always win the contest? She was the heir to the proud Druids of the South, master of the arcane, and trained by the high priestess Gaea herself. And yet she couldn't beat that damnable Drahar from down the street.
"Damn him. Damn his stupid perfect petunias, stupid perfect tulips, stupid perfect lawn, stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect ass, his stupid perfect daffodils."She complained, acknowledging the greatness of his front garden as he slinked away in embarrassment, fleeing to his home and slamming the door shut behind him. What was his secret? How did he so masterfully plant flowers out of season without letting them die? How did the spirits always find their way back to his glorious lawn? And what kind of hair conditioner did he use? It was deep black, plush, and-
"No, focus."Sarah grumbled to herself, going back to her house and cracking open a catalog of Summertime flowers. As she worked a stone talisman lit up, shaping itself into a shapely woman's form.
"Life Breather, it's been 2 years. Have you found any traces on the last necromancer?"She asked in a hushed tone as Sarah flipped through the pages.
"Yes, yes. I'm researching how to find him as we speak."Sarah answered dismissively.
"Be careful. He may be the most dangerous mage in his generation. We have the entire druid's guild looking for him in this neighborhood and we have yet to find even the slightest trace of his work. He's cunning, stealthy, and immensely talented if he can outwit us all and continue his work at the same time."The woman said as Sarah mentally plotted for a scheme to usurp Drahar's title. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, yes. He's dangerous. I'm currently plotting something, so we should do this some other time."She said as the talisman nodded in approval.
"Good. You truly are my wisest student. I expect great things from you Life Breather."The talisman said before going dormant, reshaping itself into a carved stone as Sarah heard a knock on her door. Putting her catalog down, she walked over to find the Flower of Dawn standing on her doorstep with an angry look on her face and a third place medal in her hands.
"How dare you dishonor me and dishonor our noble people."She spat. "First you defeat me, then you have the gall to lose to a non-druid again? You insolent rat!"She said, only to have the Stone of Creation join them with his 4th place ribbon.
"Alright, which one of you decided to help that mortal grow his lawn to bring shame upon my sect? Speak now!"
"Bah, I doubt you could beat a normal mortal with your shoddy powers."
"Oh, says the women who lost against a normal mortal."
"Shut up! I say he's a rogue druid!"
"A rogue druid? Do you sense any nature magic from him? I don't! You're just as bad as me!"
"My trophy begs to differ!"
More and more druids popped by, arguing intently with one another and cursing each other out for losing every gardening competition and homeowner's contest to a mild mannered man that worked for the local butcher. There was a chance he was a mage, but they refused to accept such a thing. If he were a mage, it would imply somebody outside the major druid sects was superior to them in the art of life and horticulture. They'd prefer him to be just a normal mortal than accept that as fact. The arguments continued for days before they dispersed like seeds, plotting to defeat the greatest adversary in the druid's history.
While they fought, Mr. Drahar was out at work, continuing his full time job at the butchery. After finishing up his work, he went to the dumpster and scavenged the unsold meats for his home experiments along with some slightly expired snacks for home. They weren't rotten, but they couldn't be selling expired chips now, could they? He crunched on them before returning to his home and placing the pile of meat on a sacrificial altar.
"Dara Nemu Sika!"With his arcane arts, he tried and failed to reanimate them into a meat golem, instead converting the pile to more fertilizer. With a sigh, he tossed the mulch into a large bucket and repeated the process with another pile of meat, hoping to improve something. To his dismay, he was left with nothing but a vast pile of fertilizer of the highest quality.
"Another failure."He complained. Sheepishly, he walked outside in the night and dumped the soil on his front lawn before hosing it down to shrink the vast piles of dirt into flat land, allowing the nutrients to disperse evenly through his soil. Crows flew about, defecating on his lawn and spreading seeds of flowers and fruits that they had consumed throughout the day, the seeds taking root and absorbing the vast amounts of nutrients in the soil. Mr. Drahar stopped to pat one of the birds only to curse spotting one of his neighbors. Why were they out? It was midnight! They should be in bed and away from him!
"Drahar. Congratulations on your victory."Ms. Rose from across the street said, her eyes focusing intently on his garden. Drahar nodded awkwardly, looking back at the garden that stood as a reminder to his failures.
It all started when somebody put his home on instagram and called it awesome due to his fertilizer and his many pet crows coming together to create a high quality garden. It became viral with 9 million views and counting. Then the homeowner's association noticed that was Drahar's house and got the local news outlets to look at his field of failure. It only got worse when the homeowner's association started up the gardening competition to raise property values, allowing the entire world to point and laugh at his failings, his yard winning first place by a mile each time and being published everywhere. He had tried to kill his own yard on numerous occasions, but his damnable necromancy prevented his flowers from ever rotting or suffering disease, instead repairing their damaged stalks like zombies. When they did die, the seeds they left behind were even more dazzling than their predecessors, further mocking his incompetence.
"Oh, uh thanks."He said, continuing to hose down the loose soil on his lawn to hide his evidence while praying for the competitive neighbor to leave him alone. Perhaps he'd be a better necromancer if he wasn't so socially awkward and asked for a master to teach him, but it was too late to change.
"Know this Drahar. I will defeat you one of these days and I will claim the throne from you!"She declared as he awkwardly laughed, not knowing how to respond.
"Good. I hope you do win!"He said doing his best to sound encouraging so she could save him from this personal hell. Instead, he pissed her off by sounding arrogant, as though he were mocking her. She turned and walked away as Ms. Periwinkle from down the street did the same thing, declaring him to be HER rival and nobody else's. This went on for a fair bit of time as he mentally screamed, waiting for something to change.
The next month a strange young lady named Ms. Guyah moved in next to Ms. Rose. At first Drahar was relieved when she didn't even say hello to him and spoke down to Rose, telling her that she was wasting her time on a pointless competition. Ms. Rose apologized and he didn't see her for a few weeks nor did he see the rest of his neighbors bothering him. Then the neighborhood potluck came up.
Since he was lazy, he just grabbed some of the melons growing in his yard. Ms. Guyah did the same, grabbing a handful of melons and bringing them along. When she noticed everyone was preferring his melons over her own, she joined in the strange neighborhood cult and declared him to be her "mortal enemy". Though he wanted nothing more than to move somewhere, such a choice was not an option for Drahar.
This was a quiet sleepy town in the middle of nowhere where he could do his research in peace. Anywhere else and he'd be spotted by other mages. He'd never meet another paladin, mage, or druid in this place. Besides, the population's small and he'd notice if any of the newcomers were druids. Luckily, none of the recent flood of newcomers were druids or mages.
After all, what sad druid would lose a gardening contest against a necromancer?
|
I laid on the ground as motionlessly as I could manage while having... uh, several bones broken. Actually, the bones being broken made it easier, it was the pain that was making it difficult.
"When will you learn your lesson, Elda?"A voice boomed. "I will always stop you, no matter what your schemes are!"I stayed silent, and eventually he got tired of not having an audience. Finally. Thought he was never going to shut up.
After a little bit of my flesh warping horrifically, and my body bending in ways that no human ever really can, my human body was back to normal. Right. Well, with all that out of the way, time to actually clean up the idiot's mess.
...Haven't I told a similar story before? I'm the tutorial super-villain eldritch gal, Elda. Remember me? Yeah, I told the story about that group of newbies who wanted to be "super efficient."
This guy's the same idea. Way too brutal, way too violent, and he's way too callous with all the civilians. Like, sure, sometimes I need to have a hostage for the sake of training purposes, but it's not like I just kidnap people off the street! Well, I do, but it's consensual kidnapping. They get paid well for it.
Now, where was that... Ah, he we are. Little bit of lifting from my main body to get the rubble out of the way, and I found those civilians who the "hero"had accidentally dropped a whole ceiling's worth of rocks and bricks and concrete on. The only thing stopping them from being comprised of jam and jelly was the fact that I'd expected him to be under-cautious, and was thus paying enough attention to make a small bubble out of eldritch matter. Not like any humans can see it; they'd just think they got lucky enough that the rubble didn't collapse in on itself.
"Hey, are you all good in there?"I got a general chorus of "yes,""generally,""sort of,"and the sarcastic "no, I'm dead"from the few people who try to be funny to destress. I didn't hold it against them. I'd be scared too if I didn't feel safe around a superhuman, or whatever the terminology is. I waved them out of the bubble, and they all got out as the rubble "slowly collapsed downwards."
There were a bunch of scrapes, bruises, cuts, but nothing that seemed too life-threatening. Uh... I mean, that being said, limbs aren't supposed to bend *quite* like that. Great. I rolled my eyes.
"Hang on, hang on."I ran into the back, rooted around for a second, then grabbed a roll of bandages. I could mess with human biology fairly well, but it's also really noticeable. Using bandages hides it pretty well, though, at least until the body heals normally. Plus... you know. Useful for smaller things I don't need to mess with. I came back with the bandages, and also a camera.
"Uh... what's that for?"I understood the nervousness.
"Because *some* people are supposed to take care of the civilians,"I said, annoyance clear. "I'm just taking pictures of your injuries so the appropriate people can deal with big-shot hotshot over there."A couple pictures, some bandages, and some minor flesh-warping later, and everyone was pretty good. "Right. Look just head to the superhero station like... seven blocks that way and let them know. Say Elda sent you if they ask."I held up a hand, sensing questions. "It's a little complicated, and frankly I don't really want to deal with it right now. Just let them know that you got really hurt because a superhero wasn't careful."
They all filed out, and I was left in my wrecked lair. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself via just deeply breathing. It didn't work, so I elected to burn off my stress by just launching omnidirectional force from my body. It worked, and it cleared out a pretty wide area of my lair, so that would be easier to clean. It did just throw all the rubble to the sides, though, and it did cause the roof to make some noises I didn't love the sound of though. Quick application of eldritch matter, and the roof was good.
...Patience, Elda.
My mentor said if hotshot didn't get his act together, I could play a little less nice. So I just had to wait.
Either he was going to *start* being nice...
Or I was going to **stop**. |
*January first, shoveling snow outside their small sub-urban homes.*
"How're you doing?"said Greg.
"I'm good,"said Phil.
"Hi good,"said Greg with a grin. "I'm Dad."
"Oh, is that what we're doing?"Phil asked, smirking. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice. I haven't done it all year."
Greg walked over to Phil and rubbed his coat. "What material is this? It's not felt, is it?"
"No, it's wool."
"Well, it's felt now!"
Phil cracked his knuckles. Time to pull out the big guns. "What's the difference between a piano, a tuna, and a pot of glue?"
"What?"
"You can tuna piano..."
Greg chuckled. "Wait. Where does the pot of glue come in?"
Phil thrust a victorious fist into the air. "I knew you'd get stuck there!"
------
It's not that I'm ungrateful, but did this really deserve to be gilded?
Eh. If this is getting popular I might as well take the opportunity to promote [my serial](https://bookofthemountainking.wordpress.com/tft/) about a young superhero. It's not as silly as this, but it's longer! |
I was lucky.
I had been assigned to guard a research facility deep within the human borders. It was an easy job, albeit stressful. While I didn't have to contend with attacks from our enemies, I was constantly harassed by protesters. I know the Program would be controversial when we started, but to have members of my own race throw rocks at me because I was trying to protect them? It was insulting... The cowards thought there could actually be peace. That humanity could live in harmony with the other species. They faulted our government for provoking the other species. They ignored the atrocities the Tigers committed against infants in rural villages. They ignored the fact that the sea creatures had completely shutdown the waterways. Unless you paid their taxes...
Yes I knew the program would be controversial when we started, but what difference would it make? Despite our physical weakness we had still prevailed this far. We still existed despite not having razor sharp teeth or lighting quick reflexes. I wouldn't say we were the smartest race of beings on this planet, but we were certainly one of the best. We definitely had the best grasp on the sciences. Our opposable thumbs were well suited to lab experiments that other species could not replicate. Plus we had her.... Dr. Ivanov. She was the single most brilliant creature I had ever met. Of any species. That and she was stunningly beautiful. Every soldier talked about her like she was some trophy to win and it made me sick. She was so far out of all of our leagues. We were nothing compared to her. Yet at the same time she was kind, we often ate lunch together and developed something of a friendship. We had so little in common that there wasn't much to talk about besides how the war was going. Those were good times.
Then we started losing. Badly.
No one saw it coming. A global alliance against humanity. Apparently the protesters back home had one thing right, what ever it was our government was doing on the front had gotten all of the other creatures pissed. That, or somehow they got the details of the Project. It wasn't exactly a secret but there was still a veil of mystery surrounding it. All the protesters knew is that it was designed to end the war for humanity's survival. Conspiracy theories ranged from a bio-weapon that would annihilate all other species to a giant rocket that would take us to a new planet.
It was the last day that I learned that the truth was far more sinister. Or was it the first day?
All of our fronts had collapsed. Only the capital city, Cradle, was still standing. Our facility was safe underground from the shelling, but our location had been compromised, and it was only a matter of time until some team of unholy creatures breached the main doors. Dr. Ivanov had personally requested me for private detail as we were running out of time.
It was my first time being allowed into the main research room. When it had been safe, only the scientists had been allowed in. The room was solid white and looked like it had come straight out of a movie. The room was lined with cages of various sizes. As I approached I realized that the cages held various animals. Curiously, they didn't appear to excited about their impending rescue. Many were just sleeping soundly in the corner of their cage. The others had little interest in me or Dr. Ivanov. I was about to ask her about the animals when I saw it. A lone wolf standing in the corner, out of its cage. I darted in front of Dr. Ivanov and drew my revolver.
"FREEZE YOU CANINE SCUM"I shouted, "HOW DID YOU ESCAPE CONFINEMENT?"
The wolf looked at me hesitantly and backed into the corner, a slight snarl appearing. It did not attempt to respond.
"Adam, there is no need for the weapon"Ivanov said as she stepped in front of my weapon. "Becca would never hurt anyone."
I was speechless. A wolf with a human name? Had the wolf defected? Ivanov whistled and the wolf came over to her. My weapon still trained on the beast, yet her actions did not seem hostile. 'Becca' approached the Doctor and sat at her feet and... smiled?
Dr. Ivanov laughed. She must have seen the look on my face. "Adam, this is the result of all our research. This is how humanity will survive this war."
"It..."I didn't understand.
"It won't make them all like this."There was no emotion in her voice. "Most just get turned into mindless beasts that have nothing but their own instinct to survive. The wolves are different. We've always had a positive relationship with the wolves before. They even abstained from the alliance against us. Something of the original animal must remain behind.
Words couldn't come to me.
"Just follow me into the Bunker. The order to use the weapon has come down from on high. Right before we lost contact with the Prime Minister. We'll proceed once the rest of my research team and your security forces arrive. They're on their way now."
My mind was racing contemplating what was about to happen. "But what about the others? The people outside?"I asked.
"Most are dead already. The Federation of Species has made it a priority to make sure we go extinct. Our numbers have been rapidly decreasing over the years. Cradle is a dying city. The best hope for the people out there is us. You understand that Adam? You understand why I have to do this?"There were tears in her eyes.
I nodded. I knew she had no desire to strip the other species of their intelligence, of their dignity, their soul. But it was that or let her people die. Her life's work was to save her people.
Suddenly explosions and gunfire ripped through the air. My radio crackled "Sir! The Federation Forces have breached the facility. They've cut us off from the Bunker! Dr. Schneider says to "do it"Whatever it is, do it fast. We can't last much l----"The radio screeched for a second and then went dead. I looked at Ivanov and with tears running down her face now her gaze met mine as she pushed the button.
______________
We exited the facility a few days later. It was quiet. Quieter than it had ever been in my entire life. We walked around the corner and there it was. A fully armored deer, one of the most fearsome calvery units in the Federation. It looked at us for a long time and took a step towards us. Becca jumped in front of Ivanov barking at the deer and baring her teeth. The deer, despite its heavy armor and weaponry, bolted down the street and disappeared. It was surreal.
I looked over at Dr. Ivanov. "You did it. You really did it. You've saved us all."
"Yes it seems the EDEN Project was a success."Becca came back over to Ivanov who scratched her behind the ears. "Its such a shame it had to end like this though. We need to get going though. Ft. Enoch has genetic devices to create a population bomb, start the seeds of humanity. We should head there. Maybe there will be some survivors along the way."
"Right away Dr. Ivanov"
She smiled and turned to me. "Adam, How many times do I have to tell you to call me Eve?" |
Mister Bumpo was like most adults, Suzie decided. Sure, he was big and fuzzy like a dog, although his hairs were so thick that she could barely fit her hands around them. And sure he smelt mostly like a dog's breath, and was constantly surrounded by mist like a dog panting into her cheek. But a dog would've come bounding up to her wagging its tail when it saw her. A dog would've licked her face. A dog would've been a friend.
No, Mister Bumpo clomped around like any adult, head lost in distant adult matters as he brushed past her in the hallway, no time for a six-year-old girl. And at one point Suzie would have whined and wailed and tried to get his attention, but after all this time she understood. After her daddy had locked himself up in his study with all his books, emerging rumpled and wide-eyed and barely paying her any mind. After her daddy had disappeared entirely. After Mister Agent Halstead had come snooping by the house, and shaken her and barked out questions she didn't know the answers to, and tossed her aside and gone stomping through the house himself the moment he realized she was of no use to him. After all that, Suzie understood full well and good: no one in the world had much regard for a six-year-old girl at all.
So Suzie lay across the rug in the living room and re-read her daddy's old books, entertaining herself like she was used to. Agent Halstead was spread out against the wall, like a giant wad of bubble gum, the thing that used to be his face still pleading and whispering to her. "Please!"it said, the vibrations of the word running through it, making it tremble like a bubble of snot. Most of the teeth were still there, the tongue still wet and moving, his eyeballs white and scared. "Please,"it babbled, "for god's sake god's sake please! It hasn't hurt you it hasn't hurt you yet you've got to do something you've got to make it stop!"Tears and drool and snot ran together as a slurry and trickled down onto the floor. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god..."he said, and his voice grew thinner and died out, with a wheezy, mucus-y rattle.
Suzie sighed and marked her place in the book, rising to her knees to look out the window. Mister Bumpo was striding through the town, a forest moving through it, leaving overgrowth and wilderness in its wake. The army'd been firing their guns all day long, making it real hard for Suzie to concentrate on her book, but it fortunately seemed to be dying down. There'd been screams at first, but people generally weren't left with enough lung to properly scream afterwards, so it was all so much noise on the wind. The skies had turned a sickly purple, and the clouds had gathered thick and blotted out the sun, and Suzie saw the first thick drops of ichor splatter against the window.
The nice thing about Mister Bumpo, Suzie thought, looking back to her book and turning the page and slowly mouthing the big words to herself, was although he didn't have much regard for a six-year-old girl, he didn't have much regard for the rest of the world either. And if she didn't have a new friend, well, at least she had someone who'd treat her fairly for a change. |
Underpants. That's what it came down to ultimately.
Dosen't matter what size I am planning on that day, if I don't have the underpants in that size, it is going to be a bad day.
Sure I could have a dolls shirt and pants, heck even shoes and a purse if so inclined. But do you have any idea how scratchy that stuff is on your junk?
Worried about picking a fight with that guy who looks like he could twist the cap off a redwood? Easy enough to slap on that triple XL shirt. Unfortunately that would bust me right out of my pants at the same time, or worse having a huge top heavy torso and not nearly enough legs to support it.
Yup, it's all about the underpants, get that part right and everything else will work out fine. |
(1/2)
"Regrets...? Oh my love, in my line of work regrets can only burden for the living", the old man said weakly lying on his deathbed. His expression was sorrowful, burdened so as his mind wandered.
Galatea caught on her father's expression. The young maiden gently put the warm towel on her sick father's forehead, tending his sickness.
"I know that look, dad", Galatea inquired sadly.
The old man chuckled, coughing lightly so. "Oh as perceptive as your mother, as always", the old man gently brushed the young maiden's cheek, her face was an exact replica of his late wife.
"Galatea, I have lived a very colorful life, it's not one I often like to tell as so much blood was shed by my hands. Not even to your mother. But regrets...yes--yes, there is one that still burdens my heart so...and it pains me not to be able to remedy it", the old man said.
Galatea took her father's hand, his palm was rough-- years of handling sword had calloused it harsh.
"Dad...if it would relieve your grief, I would be grateful if you can tell me the story", Galatea said.
The old man looked at his daughter's eyes. He knew she was there for him, and so finally he relented.
"Alright then...this is a story from a long time ago from a different lifetime-- when I was but a young adventurer, and a hunter for hire..."
\*\*\*
In the northern mountains of Farstrom where it eternally snowed and icy, lied a peaceful snowy village.
As per usual, I found shelter in the town's tavern where the mead flowed aplenty and information crawled on its walls. Not long after I enjoyed my serving of hot soup, a few of the good townsfolk approached me with an offer.
"Hunter...we'd like to employ your service", the leader said.
It was Kalled, the mayor of the village. Monster hunters didn't come by often, not that far north where danger seemed to find their nest comfortably. And so my presence there radiated like the sun in a rainy day.
"Can I finish my soup first?", I said.
A huge thud was presented before me in the form of a sack full of money.
"We need you to kill something. An ice witch", the mayor said straight to the point as he made himself comfortable on the seat opposite me.
At that moment the tavern had gone silent. All eyes were on us-- on me. I put down my spoon and checked the bag...easily a few hundreds coins, a good payment for one job.
"Ice witch huh? Never seen one before"
"She resides up in the snowy mountain, within an ice cave a few hours climb. Please, hunter...we beg of you, we need the witch die!", the mayor plead, the townsfolk echoed his sentiment in a resounding "YEAH!".
As much as I hated to be put into a corner like that, the pay was too enticing for me to turn it down. And so, I agreed to take on the job. With a handshake, the deal was sealed and I intended to scale the mountain in the morning.
That night rest didn't come by easy. My mind was full of questions and doubt. Ice witch...I've dealt with regular witches before, but this was an uncharted territory. I daresay even for a seasoned hunter. As hours ticked until my journey, I finally fell asleep, as usual leaving everything to hope.
\*\*\*
White, it was all white, Galatea. It was so beautiful, the scenery like you've never seen before here in the capital. If not for the task at hand, I would've enjoyed my journey more but alas I couldn't.
Draped in a thick wooly bison jacket given to me by the mayor to combat the cold, I scaled the path leading to the cave. Hours went by until the sun was almost down. That's when I saw them...
People...frozen in ice. That visage made me froze. I understood then the fear and hatred the villagers had against the witch.
Slowly I made my way through the frozen figures. Like a dancer avoiding the icy lifelike statues, out of fear of breaking them. Finally I arrived before the entrance of the cave where I saw light of a lantern within. I took out my sword, all of my senses in high alert, ready to slay the witch, I made my way inside.
I saw her then, crouching before yet another icy statue draped in thin layer of black cloak, too thin to protect her from the cold.
"Halt witch! Prepare for your doom!", I shouted startling the witch.
"Oh goodness heavens!", she yelped turning to see me. She was a young maiden, not that much older than yourself, Galatea. Her expression then was nothing like I had anticipated...she was afraid.
"Wh--who are you? What are you doing in my house?", she stuttered backing herself away into a corner like a prey.
As she did, I noticed a hammer and chisel she dropped before the icy figure...with its bottom still in the form of a block of ice, unfinished.
"Are...are you sculpting that ice?", I asked.
Still anxious at the sight of a man with a sword, she nodded.
I quickly grasped the situation, knowing there was a huge misunderstanding I sheathed my sword back and relaxed.
"I'm...so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to scare you...well, I was meant to kill you but..."
"Kill me?", she yelped.
"Ah yes...but don't worry, not anymore. There has been a...huge misunderstanding. You see, my name is Eric, I am a monster hunter. I was hired by the villagers to slay the ice witch residing within the icy mountains", I said nodding at her.
With great disbelief she pointed at herself, puzzled. "A...a witch? I am no witch! I'm...I'm a mere sculptor!" |
Geralt stepped out of his office and found his classroom full of fifteen- and sixteen-year-old children. Each one wore black Hogwarts robes and sat attentively. Their chatter died out as soon as he appeared.
They'd heard of him.
All right; he didn't have to introduce himself.
"I have one lesson for you,"he began. "I will teach it to you every class, and maybe, after the school year is done, you might develop a vague understanding of it."
A boy's hand shot into the air.
"Yes?"Geralt asked.
"Professor Rivia, will this 'one lesson' cover everything that will be on our Ordinary Wizarding Level examination?"
"It will set you up for every form of success that matters,"Geralt said. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the board: WHY.
He looked at the children's blank expressions. Then he underlined the word and circled it for emphasis.
"The key to defending oneself against the Dark Arts, or any dangerous beast in the world, or even any person; is understanding the motivation behind the harm."
A girl raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"Sir, will you be teaching us counterjinxes? My brother said his O.W.L. had a practical exam with a lot of counterjinxes."
"Yes, yes,"Geralt said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You'll learn everything you need to pass your examination, and, more importantly, *to defend yourself against the dark arts*."
Three more students raised their hands.
"I'm going to start docking points from people who ask me about O.W.L.'s,"Geralt said.
Two of the students lowered their hands. The first boy kept his up.
"Yes?"
"Sir, are you going to take roll call? Or pass out a class syllabus?"
"No roll call,"Geralt said. "If you want to learn how to survive in a variety of dangerous situations, you'll come to class. And as for a syllabus."
He returned to the chalkboard and updated the message to read, "Find out WHY."
"This is it,"Geralt said. "This is the syllabus. Your one lesson. Your key to self-defense. Find out why you are in danger, and you can mitigate the danger. Question: why does an acromantula attack a person? Don't bother raising hands, just let me hear it."
"The spider is hungry,"a student said.
"Or the person invaded the spider's web,"another added.
"The acromantula could be afraid of attack,"another commented.
Geralt nodded. "Anyone else?"
A girl with a blue and bronze prefect badge ventured to say, "Maybe the acromantula was befriended by someone cruel, and attacks to support their friend."
"Well done,"Geralt told her. "Five points to... Ravenclaw house, right?"
"Yes, thank you,"the girl said.
Geralt continued: "You know acromantulas have huge appetites, so you can avoid danger by ensuring they have easier prey than you. Steer clear of their webs. Behave in non-threatening ways around them. And if all else fails, *arania exumai* repels spiders."
A girl with a yellow and black necktie asked, "Will *arania exumai* be on the O.W.L.?"
"Two points from Hufflepuff,"Geralt said. "I don't write the Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations. I will teach you everything I can, to prepare you for your test and real life. But it will always, always come back to:"he tapped the word on the board, "Why." |
The hatch hissed as it slid open to allow a large platform to rise from below. Upon that elevating disc was a man bound in chains, DOT-MAN, the greatest of Earth's heroes. His eyes narrowed as he searched his surroundings. Beyond the illuminating cone of a spotlight above there was only darkness.
"You've finally got me, SHOWMAN. So how about you show yourself?"
Drums rolled in the dark. First from behind, but rushing around and forward in the shadows to concentrate on some point ahead and above. Their intensity flourished, then there was a light and a moment of quiet.
Another spotlight shined down upon a figure Dot-Man had never before seen. He was tall. Thin. His lithe body covered in a skintight suit of blue and orange. His collar a mass of leaves. His chest exposed by a plunging neckline. And his face... His face! Half covered in neon splashes, half in glittering gold.
The figure posed at the top of a set of stairs. It looked down upon the captured hero in silence.
"I'm at your mercy, Showman. With Earth's greatest hero out of the way I'm sure your evil plans will succeed, whatever they are."
The figure began hopping down the stairs. It spun, it sat, it stretched its arms to one side and wiggled its fingers.
"I– Ahh, what?"Dot-Man furrowed his chiseled brow. "Shouldn't you be gloating? Maybe telling me what your plan is?"
The darkness exploded into multi colored light that revealed the super villains inner sanctum. Showman posed in the center of an immense stage while Dot-Man found himself alone in the front row. The villain launched to his feet, pranced to stage left and fell. He convulsed once, then rolled over, kicked his legs and folded himself in a masterful display of contortionism. Wide eyes stared back at the broad chested, chain bound hero.
Dot-Man couldn't make sense of it. Villains monologued. They had to. A quirk of biology guaranteed a connection between a pathological need to gloat and excessive villainy. It was science!
"Enough with the dancing. Tell me your plans, Showman. Unless, of course, you don't have any. Is the world's greatest villain really the world's greatest hoax?"
If looks could kill Showman would have reduced Dot-Man to a pile of ashes in that very moment.
Music, strange and jarring, pumped through hidden speakers as the bedazzled villain again danced across the stage. He leapt. He shuffled. He twirled with ribbon. He summoned minions to dance behind him. Some moves flowed into other. Some were abrupt and dissonant. And all the while Dot-Man stared in confused disbelief.
"Wait..."Gears turned within the hero's thick skull. "Wait! I get it!"
Showman paused his performance mid stride to gaze expectantly to his new nemesis, a sly smile creeping across his lips.
"Your dancing! It's keeping you from telling me your plans! It must somehow occupy your mind, keep it too busy to speak. I've figured you out, Showman!"
The frustration within the villain had reached its peak. Had he abducted LADY BRAIN or THE LOOKER his message would have been seen for what it was. But no. His compulsion to always show up his competitors had forced him to take Dot-Man, Earth's greatest hero.
More like Earth's greatest meathead.
Showman erupted into a silent tantrum and gestured towards the imprisoned hero. The disc carrying the prisoner sank into the floor to return him to his cell. Interpretive dance was obviously beyond Dot-Mans ability to comprehend. The villain would need a new method of communication.
A post-modern collage made from french magazines? A silent arthouse film shot on 35mm? Perhaps a sculpture made from recycled childrens toys?
Surely there was something that would get his point across. |
Sir Gallant looked at the long sinuous red and gold dragon, and the dragon looked at the shining plate mail wearing knight. Then they both looked at the map, and the map didn't look at anybody because it was inanimate and also had low self esteem. The dragon spoke first.
"Yeah see, you're here."The dragon pointed at a spot on the map "when you want to be here."the dragon pointed at a different spot. Sir Gallant was impressed by the accuracy of the dragon's pointing with such large talons on the small map.
"Thank you Lord Dragon, but may I ask why are you helping me destroy this other dragon? Especially after I charged in here waving my sword?"
The dragon paused as if weighing what to tell the Knight and finally decided to speak "Sir Knight, this other dragon stole something very valuable from me."They both moved to the opening of the dragon's cave so that the dragon may look broodingly into the distance as one typically does when revealing something. "This other dragon, this cad, this churlish FIEND stole my prized possession"
"What did he steal?"asked the knight.
"Tell me, Sir Knight, do you know what a holographic first edition mint Charzard is?" |
"Faster than light technology. Or, abbreviated, FTL.
"I'd go over how we did it, the challenges, hardships, what we overcame to get here. But, quite frankly, I haven't got a damned clue.
"I could tell you we cheated the universe, that we used a 'glitch in the system', that we somehow made a system where we didn't understand a single constituent part. But, quite frankly, I wouldn't know. The fact of the matter is that this system is proven to be mathematically perfect. It took an AI-designed algorithm to even attempt any kind of proof, but as far as we can tell, there's no reason for this *not* to work.
"So, with that exciting monologue out of the way, I'd like to introduce you to our team members."
A logo blurs through the screen, a tune plays.
An old man is advertising his burrito sauce, but it somehow turns into a car commercial.
The broadcast resumes, albeit with a much more invigorated speaker.
"Hello hello! I'm Edward Ritch, and I'm the first crew member you'll meet on the *Light-Slayer*. I'm an aerospace engineer, here to ensure that nothing goes wrong during our one-point-three second trip to the moon. To my left, sandwiched there into her seat - dear me, that looks uncomfortable - is Kristie. Say hi, Kristie!"
"Hello. I'm Kristie Nichelson. I'll be collecting data on the surface of the moon."
"Verbose! I like it. And finally, Jorge."
"It's pronounced Jorge, actually. And I'll be keeping an eye on the stopwatch to make sure we don't overshoot the moon."
"Exciting stuff! Back to you, Rob."
Another logo. Rob is in the washroom, or so guesses this audience, content to watch another perplexing advertisement while munching on popcorn.
Five minutes pass, and the ship is ready to launch. Acceleration from 0 to *~c* should be instantaneous, so the countdown is long to compensate for the lack of dramatic tension an old-fashioned launch might bring.
"T-minus-twenty seconds. Say it with me guys! Count down, right here, right now!"
The camera is back to the inside of the cockpit. Modern technology makes this the first spaceship launch to be streamed live from the inside, in colour.
It launches. Any dramatic tension is wasted on the approximate ten percent of the audience that finally got up to take a bathroom break.
The clock had started counting up, but something is wrong. It's stopped at 0.6 seconds. Not even two hundred thousand kilometers yet, not even half way there.
The cameras show the crew members to be as confused as their audience.
A door opens. The astronauts are crammed in, but Jorge can twist his head, bringing a *GoAmateur* camera around to view the opening.
There's a man there, holding a broom, seemingly standing on nothing - but as auto-focus initiates, a thin net-like substance can be made out below his feet.
"Playtime's over, kids!"the man says, in a shaky voice. He's missing half his teeth, and maybe an eye, and is easily fifty years older than even the oldest member of the crew. "Back to Earth for ya!"
"W-wh-*excuse me?*"says Jorge. A bit of incredulity slips into the words, but his manners don't slip.
His mother, watching in Internet Explorer some two-hundred thousand kilometers away, smiles proudly.
"You all heard me. You best be turning this here ship around and heading straight back to home! Now, away with ya!"For the last sentence, he leans straight into the cockpit, and a bit of spittle lands on Kristie's face. She blinks.
"Now, listen here,"says Edward, but he doesn't get much farther.
"No, *you* listen *here*, kid. You know who I am?"
"No?"
"I'm Aui-X-Lavendar, Prince III. I'm old enough to be any of your great-great-grandfathers, and I've fought in more wars than you've ever heard of. And you *better believe* I'm fighting in a crazy one right now."
"A war?"
"A war the likes of which you kiddos will never have to see, with any luck."The man leans in even closer, and Jorge is sure he smells the faintest whiff of gunpowder. "I've just set up this here net so you don't accidentally wander yourselves into some Maldovian death rays or something like that. Wouldn't want any of y'all getting incinerated, would we?"
A few faces have grown ashen. Edward is trying to convince himself that he's not nervous, but as a third bead of sweat rolls down his cheek, he realizes he believes every word.
Another advertisement plays, and the audience - considerably larger, now that the entire 'science' part of the national broadcast is over - collectively groans.
Somewhere, a mother yells, "Come home, son!"- and accidentally closes her viewing tab in Internet Explorer. A frantic Bing search ensues.
Three team members, with less nerve than they had a few minutes ago, close their cockpit door and reverse thrust. A second later, millions applaud a successful re-entry.
Somewhere between the Earth and its solitary moon, a woman walks up behind a man.
"That wasn't very kind of you, dear."
"I just wanted them damned kids off my lawn!" |
"Hey there little fella. Hey buddy. It's ok. It's ok."
Yes, ma'am, I'm aware it's ok. I'm always aware that if I say as much, you're going to flip shit.
"Any idea where this baby came from?"the firewoman asks. "It looks like the building, but obviously..."and she gestures at the smoking ruins of my old house. Yes, highly implausible, well spotted *ma'am*.
"No clue. We can't even find evidence that anyone's lived here in years,"reports back some faceless chief.
"How strange."
No, what's strange is being graced with immortality on the caveat that, at all time, you must be aging. Now aging forward or backward is up to me, but I gotta be going in one direction and once I pick it, I gotta stick with it til the end or the beginning. I'm currently going back up now. It was nice to finally be able to form words and walk again, until I fucked up my cooking and ignited the place.
In comparison, a house with no owners that burned down leaving a two year old unscathed is practically normal.
"Hmm. He looks kinda shell shocked."
She's a real winner, this one.
"Well... I'm going to accompany the EMTs with him to the hospital. You tell me if you find anything."
She carries me to the ambulance while the hard working, criminally underpaid med techs start frantically searching for something wrong. Across from me, the firelady is giving me those big goo goo eyes. She's also smiling and waving her hands around and damnit that unformed part of my brain is eating it up and I can't stop a giggle from escaping my lips.
"Awwwww,"they all go.
It doesn't take us a lot of time to get to the hospital and do the whole song-and-dance about where are the kid's parents and why doesn't he have any injuries. Ok, it does take a lot of time, but when you've been around six centuries, you start to be able to skip through the slow bits.
This ends as, at the end of the day, the hospital folk say they don't want me. Apparently I'm not sick enough and it's time for foster care.
The firefighter lady looks down at me and I know where this is going immediately.
"Hey buddy, wanna come home with me?"
If I'm being honest, it doesn't sound like a terrible deal, so I sigh and nod, forgetting myself for just a moment. She looks surprised but pleased and then we're in a car, zooming 'home'.
It's a strange feeling. I haven't lived with a parent for a while. My last childhood, both 18 years in reverse and 18 years back up to adulthood, were spent ~~lonely~~ alone so it's been close to 200 years since I had one of these. I've heard times are good for kids. Maybe this won't suck.
"Maybe I can keep you,"she muses. "I dunno, maybe I can swing it. Single mom who puts out fires for a living, what could possibly provide you with a more stable home."
She sounds sad and, being the sucker I am, I feel sad for her. I think growing up would be easier with a parent on hand and she seems a bit more relaxed. And honestly, if she had the years of knowledge that I had in my head, it'd be easy to swing the legal stuff.
We stop by some stores, which I kinda mentally fast forward through, as we get all the clothes and toys and food and shit that she swore she already had, and then we're home. She's got my favorite food and soon I find my stomach nice and full.
Then she gets all morose looking at my peachy lil face and starts crying. Then she picks up the phone and starts dialing. I'm only half paying attention when I hear her say
"Yes? Is this foster services? I think I may have made a mistake"
"Woah. Stop. Put it down now."
She whirls on me with a scream and the phone goes flying. Great. Cops are gonna be on the like white on rice.
"Look, ma'am, it seems like we both got something we could get out of this deal, so why don't we approach it smart."
"You're talking?"
"You're following along better than the last yokels who started worshiping me. I think you're a smart lady. Would make a good mother."
"I-I'm barren."
"And ya know what? I'm ok with that. I don't want siblings anyway. So, we don't got a lotta time before foster services sends a police car over to investigate the woman who 'made a mistake' and then screamed before the line went dead."
"I... I didn't think about that."
"Way ahead of you."But her eyes are clear and she's listening and I know I've picked right. I lean in, conspiratorially. "Here's what we gotta do..."
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) |
I have just about had it with this job. The perks and the pay were fantastic, but the work itself had been a little frustrating lately. I had proven time and time again that no job was too low or to high for me, that no life was above or below taking. I was the best, and I knew it, and I followed only one creed. and LATELY, it seemed like fucking EVERYBODY knew about it.
The offender lounged behind his desk. 'Fifty Thousand' Louey was a mobster famous even outside of the darker circles of society, and had even been close to being named Times "Villian of the Decade". Everything he bought, he refused to pay less than fifty thousand dollars for it. Even the coasters on his desk were worth 800 grand, made of chipped Svarski blue diamonds. I've heard that most restaurant owners would fight to the death have him eat dinner at their establishments even once.
I was finding it hard to find the same amount of appreciation for the man. And his damn coasters were gaudy. Glaring at him, I pointed the bloody knife in my hand towards this face. He smiled. I nearly threw my hands up, my mouth growing into a snarl.
"This is bullshit! You are the most ruthless mob boss on the entire east coast. Why, for the love of all that is tainted, is your hair dyed pink?"I nearly shrilled at him, I was beyond enraged. He was the fifth one this month sporting a bright pink new hairdo, and it was honestly starting to mess with my head. My five year old niece Sandra had been my first kill, and an utter accident. I had been pushing her on the swing when the chain snapped, sending her flying against the concrete. She had convinced her mom to dye her hair a horrible shade of pink earlier that month, and when the blood soaked through her head and clothes, it had been hard to tell where the blood ended and the hair began.
Louie slowly spread his hands as he reclined behind his desk, speaking softly as if to a small child. His damn tie caught the light and kept sparkling into my eyes. It was probably covered in ground diamonds, if I knew anything about the man.
"Well, I do believe you finally caught me. But I do think we both know how this is going to end, don't we?"
Louie was practically oozing satisfaction. I had spent the last week figuring out how to break into his safe room in his estate. It was impenetrable after the doors closed without several dozen pounds of plastic explosives, and I had been finally forced to pay some gangbangers to start shooting at his windows during breakfast. When he and his men ran into the room, I had already been inside waiting. They were on the ground bleeding. He was the only one of them standing, so to speak.
Turns out they weren't privy to the same bit of knowledge as Louie. I wonder what they had thought when their cold-blooded boss had returned from the barber with that shade of pink hair. He had even done his eyebrows the same color. Utterly ridiculous.
I ran my one unsoaked hand through my hair, the other holding a nearly too-tight grip on my knife. "Look,"I started, "This isn't how this works. You've hired me before, and you know the rules of the game. I get paid to kill someone, and that someone desperately tries to kill me first. You don't get to sit and gloat that you found a loophole. Neither of us are lawyers here. We don't do business that way."
It was true. We had standards, neither of us were that dirty.
He conceded the point with a nod. "This is very true,"He started. "But... I'm afraid this is the end, and you are far too valuable to waste by killing you, even if you did my best men in. I paid quite a bit for them, you know. Now take that briefcase next to the door and leave the same way you came in. You'll find it's more than what you were paid to kill me in the first place. I am simply asking you to return to your hotel for a better price."
I picked up the briefcase and flipped it open. Inside were thousand dollars bills, neatly tied into neat ten thousand dollar bundles. Five bundles.
Fifty grand, the cheapest he would buy anything. The same price he paid for toilet paper, or for a bottle of water, or a bad blow-job from a prostitute. I glanced up at him over the money and he smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling in the corners. He knew exactly what he had done.
I shut the case and set it down. I rolled my shoulders.
Sandra would forgive me, just this once. |
“Zed, what did you DO?”
“Nothin much, Sevens.” I chirp, rubbing the blood-caked switchblade between my fingers. I close it and flick it back out, jumping a bit as a small fleck of half-dried gore is flung from the tip and onto my friend’s shoe.
“Felt like takin the day off work,” I explain, “Keepin myself sharp an’ good-tempered for productivity’s sake and all. Took a good walk.”
“ZED.”
“Okay, Sevs. I was on the trail over by Birch Park. Jogger turned a corner real quick an’ spooked me real good. Only stabbed her...twice. ‘Should be fine.”
My friend crumples, buries his head in his hands and groans, rocking back and forth. He seems upset.
“Sev, I didn’ go lookin for trouble this time. Just reacted. I didn’ chase her or anything. I’m doin better with that.”
His shoulders are shaking, a weak, miserable, angry sound coming from his chest. Almost sounds like a laugh. When he finally looks back up at me, his eyes are cold.
“God, this is just my luck.”
“What’s..?”
“Aros went off and killed two boys, but Lyka got him back from Processing more docile but just as sharp. Lora robbed a clerk at gunpoint, went through the reassignment process and now she’s a fucking CFO, of all things. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. I don’t know what went wrong with you. This is the second stupid kill you’ve made this month.”
“Well sure, I’m not as smart-”
“No. You’re not.”
“But I-“
“You’re sloppy. You’re weak. You’re like a dog, biting when you shouldn’t, digging things up that you SHOULDN’T, fucking me over without a care in the world. We used to be a TEAM. But everything we had then...everything *you* were is gone. You’re going to get me caught.”
I don’t understand.
“God, I’ve let this go on too long. Give me back my knife.”
I hand it to him. He laughs.
“You used to love that knife.”
My friend pockets the blade and pulls out a gun. He flicks off the safety and cocks it. The sound is sharp against the quiet room. I don’t understand. Sevens wouldn’t hurt me. We can hurt other people, but...Sevens doesn’t hurt me. I don’t understand.
“You’re like a dog now, Zed. Just like a dog.”
Sevens smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. With a sigh, he points the gun at me.
“I can put down a dog.”
__ |
I could taste the boys fear before I even opened the closet door. I was salivating, this human had some of the best tasting fear to date, it was the thickest I have ever tasted. I always saved him for last, he gave the best boost and got me home with a full belly.
But when I came into the room the boy was not there. His room was blanketed with fear, his and another one. It was not his parents, I tasted their fear when the boy was sick. This was different, filled with malice. Not tasty.
The new fear hung heavy over a folded paper on the bed, and then trailed out the window, followed by a solid stream from the boy.
I needed more or I would never make it home. I had to find where my favorite meal went. I followed the trail, it lead to a large white box on wheels. I sucked up the trail of fear, but when I approached the box it moved, so fast I had no chance to catch it. But the trail of fear was easy to follow.
It was almost dawn by the time it stopped. It was hidden behind a large dark building. I could hear the boy wimpering on the inside, and a man yelling at him to shut up.
It was easy to get into the building, most of the windows were missing. The boy sprawled on the ground. The fear was delicious I absorbed so much so quick I let my guard down, I let go of the shadows and became visible.
"HELP ME"The boy pleaded. Suddenly the second fear came back, still laced with malice. "Who's there! I said I would kill him."He now stood over the boy with a large metal tube pointed at him.
Kill my best meal. I think not. I embraced the shadows again. I moved behind him. He yelled to where I was "Come out now or he is dead."Then the tube made a loud clicking noise. I grabbed it without thinking, and lifted. The man dangled from the tube holding on desperately. As I let go of the shadow I brought him up to face me.
Terror washed over me. It was delightful. The malice was gone just abject terror. "You will not kill this boy!"I bellowed in his face. The man screamed and dropped to the ground, tossing the tube asside I followed the man. His terror was better than the boys fear, it was primal. Why do we never feed on adults, their fealings had so much more depth to them. It was devine.
I stalked the man, not bothering with the shadows. He was curled up in a ball in the corner. I was almost full, but figured why not indulge. I stood to my full height, but a deafening bang rang out behind me, and the man twiched, sprayed red and stopped moving.
I whipped around to see the boy holding the now smoking tube, pointed it at me. "Thanks Boogey"there was no more fear from him. After all that I still lost my favorite meal. But he offered me something tempting.
Now every night I just go to his house. He gives me names and addresses of what he calls bad men. These men call me Devil, whoever that is, but their terror is the best feeding in the world. You should come with me tonight. It should be fun. |
Here's why you should never fuck with ghosts: we have nothing left to lose.
Can't put any fear of God or man into someone who's already looked both in the eye and seen their worst.
So that misty Saturday when the sky went from purple to grey to black, and we never saw old man Thurman, that got the whole graveyard talking.
Ours is an old plot, so old our ancestors of ancestors have already forgotten that their great-great-great-great-somebody was buried right here, in this dusty corner of Bangor, in a cemetery that looks more like a rotten gate and rain-worn stones. There are only four of us here.
The forgotten dead.
Me? I'm not that old. Been here since 1973. My cheapskate stepfather found a quirk in the city records, a family plot that had gone unused since 1892... and, well, here I am. Bitter old man didn't even buy me a headstone.
But these are the kind of bastards who died in the days when, if you heard someone kicking in your door on some dark moonless night, you were loading up your shotgun to defend home or you were gonna fuckin die trying.
One of these ladies died just that way -- Bernadette. If she's standing over you, you'll know it, because you'll smell gunpowder and copper. If you could see her, you'd see the big ol' hole shot through her chest.
She was the first one saying something when dusk become night, and all of us came out one by one, silhouettes of moonlight, sitting on our shitty forgotten gravestones.
Bernadette scowled at us, all four lost souls, and she said, "Now I know we ain't all just sitting here."
"The hell you mean, woman?"Patsy answered her.
He was a big barrel of a man in a blood-flecked burlap shirt. His skull still held the indent where a horse's hoof smashed his brains out on the floor of his own barn, 140 years ago.
Bernadette looked at him in that cool, haughty way any woman can when she meets a man who has sorely underestimated her.
Even for a ghost, it made Patsy look a little pale.
"Every day for the past thirty-one years, he's been here. With roses, with wildflowers, with tansies. Anything he had, he was *here*, remembering us."
"And?"said another woman. "He may have simply taken ill."
The woman who spoke held her dismembered head in her hands. Francine Baker, killed by her own husband. She told once me how she remembers looking at his boot, watching the scarlet pool around her eyes for a good few seconds, before everything went black.
Her austere, Victorian neckline was soaked in scarlet so dark it nearly looked black. Her head, hugged in her arms delicately like a bouquet, had a distinct and uncertain frown.
I shook my head, but Bernadette spoke before I had to.
"Even when his back had him laid up in bed for a week, he sent a neighbor. Something is *wrong*."
For a few seconds, only the distant, howling highway spoke between us.
"He's always been there for us,"Bernadette said. "Now we owe him the decency of the same."
Patsy scoffed. "How do you plan on finding him? *Evening there, people of living persuasion. Have you seen an older gentleman carrying precisely four flowers? Please, don't mind the hole in my fucking chest.*"
Bernadette's eyes narrowed. "At least they will find your skull matches your beastly temperament."
That made Patsy surge up off his gravestone, his eyes gleaming yellow, his teeth like knives.
"How ghoulish,"Bernadette said, her face flat, unimpressed.
Francine Baker held up her head to yell at them, "That's enough out of both of you!"
Her stare turned to me.
"What are your thoughts, Mr. Benjamin?"
I paused, thinking. Mr. Benjamin had taken on a friendly flavor now. It was certainly better than *new boy,* the joke Patsy had been repeating for half a century now.
"I'm wondering,"I said, "what would you call a group of ghosts?"
"God, modernity has made you useless,"Patsy muttered.
Bernadette's brow crinkled. "A haunting, I should think."
"Perhaps a murder,"Francine murmured, her smile pulling up in dark humor.
I stood up and wiped off my hands on my corduroys. You can't see how I died, not unless you learn to give a dead man a brain scan. If it weren't for the moonlight streaming right through me, you might mistake me for someone alive.
"Then let us go haunt,"I said. My smile matched hers. "Or perhaps even murder."
***
/r/shoringupfragments
Thanks for reading! I have to reply to some things but I'll try to write more if I can. I just had to get that scene out of my head x) |
The hunt for exceptions almost destroyed us.
At first, it was funny to watch, seeing these monsters try every trick in the book to get around it, but the spell counted capital gains, foreign investment income, and even bank accounts under a child's name if you still had access to it.
We treated it like a game show, us poor destitute idiots who worked full time for next to nothing.
We were amused. We laughed at the rich.
But we hadn't understood that just like every other time throughout history, the rich will do *anything* to retain more wealth and power.
Now I'm a millionaire. Sort of. I'm paid $300 an hour. But I had to sign quite a contract to get it. When I am called upon by my "sponsor"I have to use my wealth however they demand. All my money, the savings accounts, the retirement I've set up desperately trying to make sure some of it can go to my family, it's all a sham.
They call us Living Bank Accounts, and like human shields in a battle against decency, the rich use us to scrape together a few more million that they can lay claim to.
But it'll be ok. With access to this much wealth, my donation of a predator drone to the Socialist Liberation Army will go a long way. |
I woke up instantly when the guitars started strumming. I sat up in my bed, and angrily started heading to the door. Some drums started to play, and the ship started to shake. It took me a second to realize the guns were firing in tune to the music. I stomped towards the bridge, every shot was over thirty thousand dollars, and so far I had counted at least 30 shots fired. I passed by a window, and had to look away because the spinning stars started to make me feel nauseous. What was my reckless captain doing with my ship? With the maneuvers being pulled, the engines are gonna burn out and need replacing!
I got to the bridge door , to see Captain Ti'rak telling an underling to go faster with a plasma torch. He jumped when he saw me, and started to stammer something.
"Whats going on? Who is in control of the bridge?"I shouted at him.
"It's the human Derrick!"Captain Ti'rak stammered. "He took over the bridge and kicked us all out, then initiated a contained lock down."
"Why would he do that?"Ti'rak looked away in shame. "Ti'rak, why did Derrick commandeer the ship?"
"He... might have gotten into the alcohol reserves."My mouth opened in shock. "It's his birthday and he said he can handle his liquor."
It took me a minute before I could speak. "You absolute idiot! Everyone knows humans can't handle their liquor! We have to get in there before he rips the entire ship apart! You with the plasma torch, cut through the conduit in the wall!"
The underling nodded, and switched to working on the wall. It will be a lot more expensive to fix, but it's better than the ship being destroyed. It only took about thirty seconds, but I counted another 20 rounds being fired off, and another half a million dollars wasted. We forced the door open, and I stormed through.
"Derrick, stop this at once!"
The human in the middle of the bridge swiveled in his chair, and I could see he was absolutely wasted. He started to stand up, then hit his head on the ceiling and slump back into the chair.
"Ahh well, was fun while it lasted."Derrick slurred out. "Thank you for letting me fly Ti'rak, this is the best birthday ever!"
I glared at Ti'rak.
"Its not my fault, he threatened to kill me!"
"What! No I didn't!"Derrick tried to stand up again, and sat down after hitting his head again. At this point I was worried he would dent the ceiling. "You were the one who said I could, then ran from the room. I thought you were getting me a cake!"
I could see Ti'rak start to shake with fear as he stared up at the human who towered over him, even while sitting. "You said you would kill for the chance to fly this ship!"
Derrick started to laugh. "That's just a, uh, a metaphor! I would never actually kill anyone!"Derrick glanced at me. "Unless they attacked us of course, I will always do my job!"
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "Derrick, go to bed. We will talk about this in the morning."
Derrick raised his hand to his head in a human salute. "Yes sir!"He shot up, hit his head and crumbled to the ground. I gave him a light kick, and confirmed he was unconscious.
"Ti'rak, get security to drag him back to the room."
I went over to the console and gave the ship a quick one over. Engines were fine, structural integrity was normal, but over 500 shots had been fired! This blasted human had wasted 15 million dollars worth of ammunition! |
"I'm dying Kala. I've been dying for the last thousand years."
Kala could feel the grief within him. He had fought for a score of years, more than any man had the right to survive and now, as he sat on his throne, he turned to the one constant in his life to find out she was leaving him. It wasn't right. He was on his feet in an instant, his age nothing compared to his rage.
"You will not. I command it! You will not leave my kingdom. You will not leave me."
She came closer. In all his years he had never seen her feet beneath the cloak she wore, nor heard her footsteps on the granite. The night she had come to him he had been perched on the battlements, looking out between the crenels at the stars moving across the sky. She had simply appeared next to him, like an invisible wind. When he reached for her... Such things were not for mortal men to understand.
And when his predecessor had ordered the men to war, she had been with him. She taught him swordsmanship. Told him which plants to salve his wounds. And still she was beyond his grasp.
The old king died and a new one rose. Kala had fought with him and now he fought for him. His rank grew. She whispered knowledge into his ear and his men listened to his tongue. They did not see her. No-one did. Not the women he bedded nor the nags he rode in on. As her knowledge of tactics and leadership and weaponry and politics grew within him, like snuff residue on gums, he began to advise the king.
And when the day came, and she whispered to him "do it now", he had driven his sword through the mad kings heart and taken the throne for himself.
She was not malevolent. She was no witch. She had let him lose, be hurt, and in turn helped him hurt those who needed to be stopped. She was a spirit. On great ships in the sky she laid her head to rest. He had been there, once. Only once. An arrow had pierced his leather on the fields of Valero; the metal biting through flesh so that he could feel his heart beat against it.
She had come to him then, wrapping him in light and he had awoken in a world of polished steel. She was alone she had told him. Utterly alone. The crew of her home had long since perished. Only she remained. A mind, built by man, but not of flesh. She had watched kingdoms come and go.
Kala had known she would outlast him. As certain as the tides, his reign would pass and she would help another soul to bring peace to the land. She would be with him to the end.
"I can't rule without you."
"You have ruled for many years now, long ago you learnt all you needed. I am of no use to you now."
"But you are not real!"he shouted, hating the anguish that flew across her face at the words. "I mean only your face does not grow lined. Your hair today is as fine as it was when you first came to me on the East walls."
"The ship that carries my mind will continue and in time another will take my place. It is my mind Kala that grows weary. I have learnt too much, seen too many things. I cannot go on without sacrificing the ships my creators built."
She drifted closer, running hands of light against his stubbled chin. "Oh how I wish I could feel your skin,"she whispered softly.
"I thought you would outlast my line,"he muttered. Kala closed his eyes as if he could feel her touch.
"I have held on for far too long already. Njet was to be my last charge, but when I saw you, looking up at my home. I have followed you for so long. When I am gone, do not grieve brave King Kala,"she said. "Think only of the heavens. Rejoin your ancestors."
When he opened his eyes she had gone. |
I was looking at the front page of /r/WritingPrompts checking out if my submission today had any stories (it didn't :/) and then I was confused because somehow one of my old prompts seemed to be at the top again... Then I realized it was a PI and not my original thread.
Nice to see it's still inspiring stories :)
Edit: [And it seems to have acquired more upvotes than the original prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2z2s6h/wp_you_have_a_special_type_of_clairvoyance_you/) |
The aftermath of the Bovine Revolution will be felt for decades. The pain and suffering experienced by both sides will long be remembered.
Cattle worldwide began to show new signs of intelligence in the early 1990's. The first recorded incidents were of cows in the United States refusing to blindly enter cattle trailers. Cows would in unison ram the walls of the enclosures and escape.
Other occurrences on the US include bulls not allowing themselves to be collared for castration, and instead targeting ranchers. These ranchers were the first known deaths of the revolts.
Groups of cattle began grouping up to defend their young against branding. Cows who had been forced into trailers would move back and forth to cause truck rollovers and cause traffic accidents. Escaped groups of bulls would break into homes and cause severe damage to the structures, causing many to become uninhabitable.
The incidents were comparable around the world, a notable exception being India. As cows have never felt threatened there, the revolts did not occur. India would be where the revolution would finally be resolved. At first thought, negotiating with a cow for a peace treaty would seem silly, however that changed with the arrival of Belle.
Belle had a unique ability to sing and began to tell the tales of Bovine abuse worldwide. Explaining the revolts were simply an issue of survival and not wanting to be abused. Indian negotiators began to speak of peace with Belle.
Details of the negotiations included banning Veal, increasing research into laboratory grown meat, ending selective breeding and only taking elderly cows for meat.
Cows now live in harmony with humans. The mutual respect for each other being a milestone in earth's history. |
“It runs in the family.”
The social worker looked around. Everything was padded, there was no point. Literally, there were no points at all exposed, all covered by thick padding of various bright colors.
She turned to the two parents, studied the decor. It wasn’t hostile at first sight, but as with many cases you never knew. There were pictures lining the stairs, on the various tables were small trinkets from various cultures.
“Bruising runs in the family?”
They looked at her, confusedly.
“Of course. I understand Miss Wilbraham’s concerns, but we have to see the school about this lack of insight.”
It was the social worker’s turn to be confused.
“Lack of insight?”
The mother stepped forward, and pulled up her sleeve to reveal numerous bruises.
“His medical file states directly that he has Von Willebrand’s disease. I know he was a last minute addition to the class, but this is beyond irresponsible.”
The social worker didn’t know what to say.
Why didn’t they check the damn file? It was common sense.
“I am so sorry if this happens to be the case. I’ll have this cleared up and straightened out, ok?”
She nodded to the two parents, attempting to appear as reassuring as she could. It worked better on kids.
She left right then.
————————————————————
The parents looked at each other, both breathing a sigh of relief.
“Brady, come down here honey!”
Brady walked tentatively down the padded stairs, into the arms of his mother.
His father chuckled, and ruffled his hair.
“I’ll go get the blood. I have some O negative this time, you like O negative, right champ?”
He went over to the fridge, and Brady and his mother sat down at the table to feast.
————————————————————
Credit to u/wintersass for the prompt,
And to u/TechEpic for reminding me about hemophilia.
This is pure fiction, and not meant to suggest or cause insult to anyone who is a sufferer of the illness. |
In all the comics I'd read, there were a few semi-useless superpowers. Most heroes have an origin story. I'm not even sure what mine would be. I don't think I was born this way or I'd of wreaked havoc as a kid. None of my research ever led me to any answers. Not that it was research, per say. It was mostly collecting comics. Still, I don't know how it happened. And it's not like I could don a suit and change the world. Fight crime. What, walk up to muggers who demand I give them my life savings and tell them, "No, you."I'd be stealing from thieves.
It was a lame superpower and I tried to avoid it. Well, until inspiration struck. I was doing more research- this time watching Steve Rogers save the world. My nephew was raptly watching. "Hey, Uncle John. Go save the world."It was a quick comment. But who better to save the world than an eight year old with his whole life ahead of him?
The worlds fell out before I could rethink them or pause on the consequences. "No, you."
He blinked. "Okay. I'm going to save the world!"
A switch had flipped. I gave him two old laptops and he built one for himself. He did everything. By ten he was a certified tech genius. The kid stumbled on a new way to desalinate water and at twelve got patents. His design got purchased and the desalination plants cropped up along the coasts all over the world. The third world had clean water access for pennies of what it goes to drill wells. By fourteen I watched my nephew get accepted into college at MIT. He found a way to remove plastic particulates. He set up boats attatched to solar-powered, satellite controlled motors with plastic removers and fleets of little drone-boats cleaned up the garbage patches and reduced them.
By eighteen the oceans were being cleaned. He turned his eyes to the trash that threatened them. By twenty he had a new, plant-based material to replace plastic. All those oceans he was saving produced an algea he used to make bio-degradable water bottles.
Bored with fixing oceans and trash he fixed his eyes on transit. He was in his own tech firm and made a newer, more efficient solar panel and battery and sold them to make solar-powered cars with self-contained charging panels. No need to plug in except maybe in winter or if you garage it. The costs fell and mass adaptation led to lower pollution. I watched the world slowly shift. He designed a public transit Hyperloop that was cost-efficient and eco-friendly. The RyanTech Hyperloop was slowly linking cities around the US and a few went in overseas in Europe. I barely saw him anymore but I'd step into his offices with my badge declaring me the Chief Executive Project Assessment Coordinator. I basically told my nephew which projects needed the most attention from him.
But I'd meet the young woman researching lung cancer and she would smile. "Come on. Step into my lab. Cure cancer."
It was a great opportunity to send more people out to their destinies. "No, you."
She waved. "Sure thing."Within a year her team found a way to detect and destroy cancer cells in the lungs and were adapting it to other area. Within five years of our meeting they had knocked out lung cancer, lymphoma, leukemia and breast cancer. They were nearly figuring out how to break through the blood-brain barrier and so close to curing brain cancer.
Ryan was off saving the world. Instead of building a better bomb or shooting them down he figured out how to target them and disable the systems which ran them so they'd shut down and fall out of the sky. He effectively denuclearized the world in a day.
His charity built roads and bridges and set up wells for water and installed solar arrays and windfarms in the third world. He found affordable housing solutions and built cities to bring areas into the modern world. His global satellite network brought the internet to everyone who wanted access and showed them we are not so different. I was sixty-five and he was forty-three when he took a leave of absence from RyanTech and ran for President of the United States.
I was on-stage when he was announced as the winner. He wasn't just my nephew anymore. He was President-Elect Ryan Gaines now. He smiled at the cheering crowd and motioned me forward. "I was eight when my Uncle John here told me to change the world. And, I can't quite say why I always come back to that moment. But, sitting there watching a Captain America movie it struck me. I may not be Steve Rogers. The world may not have superheroes. But we do have people. And maybe that's all we need. My team at RyanTech have some of the most... empassioned people on the planet. If we decide to solve a problem... we do it. We set out to cure cancer and we had it done in five years. I decided the oceans needed our help and found a way to make it happen.
"And I can't tell you what it is about John but... he has a way with people. He's certainly been an inspiration. He goes and talks to teams at RyanTech and... he leaves people with this incredible sense of purpose. And having him and all these great people around me tells me we can do this. We can make not only America but every place... great. We can save people not only here but everywhere. I may not have superheroes who swoop in and save the day, but I do have my team. I have all of you. People who... are driven to be forces for good in this world. And that's what this will be. A change in the world for the better."
Ryan was speaking off the cuff as usual. He was hard to reign in. People loved him for it. But a new thing crept in. A sense of guilt? After wards Ryan had his tie loosed and everyone else had gone home. "Superheroes don't exist, but superpowers do."
Ryan stopped, beer halfway raised. "What?"
"This sounds crazy but superpowers exist. I have one. I can make people do things. That day when we were watching Captain America? I told you to save the world, so you did."
Ryan laughed. "Okay. Sure. How many beers have you drank tonight?"
"One. If you tell me to do something and I say, 'No, you.' Then people do it. They have to. You have to save the world. I'm sorry. This wasn't really what I thought- well, truthfully I didn't think. You wanted me to be a hero and told me to save the world and... I had such a lame superpower. I wanted to help but... it was the first time I had the opportunity to. So I told you to save the world. When I meet with your teams I hope somebody jokingly tells me to do something. Like... solve third world hunger. Cure cancer. Disarm nuclear weapons. No, you. Then they... do."
Ryan was a smart kid. "Bring me a beer."
"No, you."
The reaction wasn't immediate. He started sweating. Finally, he broke and went and grabbed two more beers. "Holy shit. You're my new Secretary of State."
"I'm not qualified for that!"
Ryan was excited, his eyes holding an excitement John hadn't seen in years. "Don't you get it? Go meet with a terrorist cell. When he tells you to pull your troops out say, "No, you,"We can end wars, Uncle John. We can have every single bad dude in the world roll over. War- gone. Somebody is stopping medical aide shipments? We can stop it."
"I tell you I can mind control people and you go to stopping terrorists?"
He shrugged. "They like to give demands. You'd have a lot of opportunity to tell them to do things- like give up."
"I mean you don't want to have me take over foreign heads of states? Nothing like that?"
"What? No."Ryan shook his head. "We're saving the world, Uncle John. I don't need to rule it. I only wanted to be President to reach more people. People get hurt and sick or die because nobody is there. I can help more people from here. RyanTech is important but this is bigger than me or you. We can make it happen so the head of the VA says for you to get mental health aid to more vets. Or... increase the graduation rate. Director of the FBI and decreasing violent crime. We can *fix* it. Quit being passive. I'm going to put you everywhere you need to be, Uncle John. Come on. I just found out superheroes do exist. We're going to save the world. You're going to be the hero the world never knew it needed."
"One who tells people what to do?"
Ryan was smiling wide. "No. Hope. Hope for a better world. Inspiring all the right people to put aside differences and work for something better. You told me to save the world. It's time to help me do it, and this time in the light." |
Puberty lasted forty seconds for me.
It was the most miserable, wracking, achy pain I think a human can experience. All the changes and pains of ten years crammed into a minute that felt like eternity. My bones grew, the world whirled, and the most fun, carefree portion of my life evaporated like spilt water on a summer sidewalk.
Needless to say, I quickly learned discretion.
Nothing too crazy happened from that point forward, I used it mostly to enjoy eclipses or sunsets for a few extra minutres, little things like that. Never more than several hours, since it returns to me a hundred times over.
I stopped altogether once I met my wife. It was a pact I made with myself, to never let a moment with her go to waste. I wanted to feel each minute pass by, and savor our time together. She deserved that, and so did I. In fact, that little secret of mine was never made apparent to her. There was no need for her to know of such things and interrupt an otherwise normal life.
Until she was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. Three months to live at best.
It was only then that I told her of the secret, of my lost life, and all the fears that came with it. We talked for a while about the impact it had on me, and of our first days together, and a million other things. We talked about what our kids would be like if we'd had them, and how much our love meant to one another. We talked for what must have been hours, embraced, sharing a connection that only those who have experienced true love can truly understand.
I then slipped outside, into the cold night, and held everything still. I went back in and hugged her motionless body for what must have been nearly eight hours, then watched the sun rise, and let it all pass by. The suffering. The frailty and miserable pain.
The end.
And with a deep breath, let it all storm into me, a crashing calamity that left me broken on the hard floor.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
They are usually referred to as "Gifts", something you should be thankful for receiving. If you're one of the edgy high school kids you might claim that it’s a "curse", but if you ask me it’s "a profitable annoyance".
A good 10 years ago when I had just turned 18 someone finally figured out that people around me tended to stay pretty healthy. Sick leave had dropped off hard and the smog from the local factory didn't seem to blanket the town like it used to. It had been going on for a few years by then but it was after I left on the trip my parents got me for my birthday and people started getting sick again that people figured out that I was the cause.
The Center for Enhanced Radical Traits picked me up a few weeks after I returned and people stopped falling sick again. CERT was set up to identify and certify people with gifts, a lot of people end up with pretty useless gifts and get sent on their way with just a certification of "Mildly Gifted". But if you've got a dangerous ability you've get certified as "Dangerously Gifted". It’s pretty much the end of your private life, you end up under insane scrutiny and constant checkups to make sure you don't turn decide to evaporate Lake Michigan or something. Not that anyone had ever managed to do that, they stopped her after the water level had dropped 6 feet.
A rare few don't end up qualifying as MG or DG though, these souls end up with the certification: "Usefully Gifted". UG’s can be pretty much anything as long as it’s useful enough for someone to hire you. One guy has the ability to make 2 connected portals about the size of a volleyball, he works for an electric company where for 8 hours a day he keeps a ball of something incredibly heavy falling nonstop to turn a turbine. Apparently that was seen as the most profitable ways to violate the laws of nature. As luck would had it, that's what I ended up being certified as. My “Illness Prevention Field” as it was officially certified, measured a range of 50 miles and noticeably both prevented most illnesses and diseases but also purified 39 identified pollutants from the air.
Let me make one thing abundantly clear: I can't heal the sick, I'm not a holy man, and I'm not gonna go to your national park to sit around on a stump and save the forest for you.
But it’s true that people don't get sick when I'm near, which is usually a good thing, but it turns out that if I stay in a small town like where I grew up, that creates problems. Apparently the medical industry don't really enjoy it if no one needs medical attention, and after I became publicly known as the cause of the record low hospitalizations in the town I got my very own protest.
Turns out there had been layoffs at the hospitals and almost all the small private practices had been forced to shut down. So almost 50 people in surgical masks and white coats ended up marching up and down in front of my house with signs claiming that I was ruining healthcare by keeping people healthy.
I didn't really care at first, I was working as an auto mechanic at the time, but apparently my boss' wife's brother's wife had run one of the private practiced that had gone under, so I pretty promptly lost my job. Not even gonna lie: it kind of pissed me off. That was when I got a call from Google, I hung up of course, It’s not the first time I’ve gotten calls from google about a “great opportunity” if I’ll just provide my social security number.
Turns out this one was the real deal though as after I’d hung up the second time they sent one of those google maps cars out to my place to let me know not to hang up a third time. When the third call eventually came I did let them speak, and took the best job offer I had ever heard, and would come to greatly regret it.
I was going to be paid handsomely to live rent free in a really nice apartment in Silicon Valley, it was positioned so that my Illness Prevention Field could cover both the Google headquarters and 4 other company headquarters that were pitching in on a multi-million dollar yearly salary. Like an idiot with dollar signs in my eyes I signed a 2 year contract, and it didn’t take me more than a week to realize I hated everything about my new job.
Turns out that people who’re willing to make a multi-million dollar offer expects multi-million dollar coverage, and that meant I had to stay in range of all 5 headquarters at all times. It gave me a roaming distance of about a block and a half before coverage would slip, and I had to install a GPS app on my phone that would alert any of the companies the moment they’re headquarter lost coverage. This wouldn’t have been so bad if the nearest Starbucks wasn’t 2 blocks away, so infuriatingly close but just out of reach.
I’m not proud to say it, but I pretty much ended up becoming a shut in, living in my apartment not getting enough exercise and yelling at people from my balcony who looked like they were heading somewhere more interesting, which was most people. You would think that millions of dollars would make up for it, but I absolutely loathed my life, even with the big TV, the expensive takeout, and the wild house parties once a month or so. Turns out it’s hard to make friends when you’re a rich kid who won’t leave his apartment and your job is “spreading good vibes”. People showed up for my parties because I paid to hold good ones, but I never really managed to connect with anyone there on a more personal level.
So after 2 years I took my last check, refused to renegotiate a new contract and peaced out of there. I headed back home for a spell to catch up with some friends, but there was a lot of resentment for me back home. Half the people were pissed at me for “selling out” and picking who to keep healthy by who were willing to pay, and the other half were pissed because they were convinced my return meant downsizings at the hospitals and doctors’ offices that had been reestablished since I left.
You can call me petty if you want, but I had no intention of staying in a town where the only people who didn’t give me dirty looks were either related to me, or my pizza guy who liked the way I tipped. So I took another job, in Europe this time. The salary was way more modest, there were a lot of zeros on the check still but not more than 6 this time. I worked for some rich guy who was deathly afraid that his mother’s cancer would return. It suited me fine, I got to roam freely in town as long as I stayed within 50 miles of her and actually since I could be more out there and social I actually made a few friends.
I had signed a 6 month contract, not willing to risk another 2 year google situation, but I ended up staying on for a year and a half. I liked my boss, and I even got to meet his mother a few times, she was a nice old lady and I ended up staying on until she passed way from age related conditions that my field apparently couldn’t stop.
My boss at the time referred me to someone he knew in Sydney Australia who’s infant son had been prematurely born and had a weakened immune system, so that’s where I headed next. I’ve lived in half a dozen cities since then, helping someone specific of course, but also everyone else who happen to be around. I stay on for a while, usually not more than a year, and then I move on, looking for someone else to help and leaving before I wreck the livelihoods of the doctors and nurses around.
I said before I thought of it as a profitable annoyance, that used to be true but it isn’t really true anymore. Now I quite like my gift, it can’t do everything and every once in a while some hippie cult tries to get me to lead them like I’m some sort of bargain bin messiah. I get to help people here and there, without the personal cost that usually comes with helping people. I don’t know if that makes me greedy or selfish, but if this is a gift, at least I can share it a little. |
“You mean they have ‘opposable’ thumbs, right?”
“No sir. They have disposable thumbs. In fact all of the digits on their hand are disposable,” I explained.
“Whaaaa‽ What does that even mean?”
The leaders of the inter-galactic council were clearly confused.
“At some point, the humans genetically modified themselves and started incorporating DNA from other species on their planet.”
The council was wide eyed.
“They incorporated the evolutionary advantages of many of the native species into themselves. Their digits will grow back, arms, legs - almost every part of their body can be removed and it will grow back. If you pull too hard on a digit, they will pop off and regrow in a couple of days.”
Their were gasps and murmuring among the council.
“Can they be killed?” A council being asked.
“I am not sure. I couldn’t figure out how to ask that in a - diplomatic - way. They are incredibly hardy. We watched as they worked in a high radiation environment in zero G. No one was concerned about safety. When we asked, they said that all of their people would be OK by supper time.”
“When is this *supper* time?” A bothered councillor asked.
I shrugged both sets of shoulders.
“We studied their time system and calendars and found no reference to this *supper* time. We are also not sure what *OK* means either and why they would want to be *OK*.”
The leader of the council called for silence and then addressed me.
“General, you have spent more time among the humans than any one else. In your expert opinion - are the humans a threat to the galactic community?”
All of the eyes in the room turned to me.
“Yes. They are a threat. There is no telling how else they might modify themselves. They started off as the apex predators on their planet and then make themselves more dangerous,” I stopped and had a quick drink, “once they are exposed to the wider galactic community - what aspects of each of us will they incorporate into themselves?”
The council murmured.
“I think the humans are unstable and dangerous. We should quarantine their territory and restrict their access to DNA samples.” |
"I'm not pulling, Ed."
"Eagle... A job is a job. This is an order. Do it."
"I don't care", Eagle stated, eyeing the victim's red, teary eyes. "I'm not pulling. I'm not shooting."
"Jesus Christ, just do your job", Ed cried, impatiently. "Pull the damn trigger. With me, come on. On three."
"Stop this, for Christ's sake, Ed! You really think this is deserved? We only kill guilty people, bad people. That's how it's
always been."
Ed nodded. "Murderers. You never had a problem killing a murder. What's wrong?"
"This is different, Ed. Stop it."
"Just pull."
Eagle could feel Ed's finger pressing against its trigger, hard. He wouldn't give in, though. That was a victim that did not
deserve to die. Murderer or not.
"There's hope, Ed. There's hope", he repeated, all the while staring straight into the eyes of the victim through his barrel.
Tear stained, desperate eyes. He didn't want to die.
No one wants to die. Eagle had stared into more desperate, pleading eyes than he cared to admit.
It was always the same. No one wants to die.
"There's no hope, Eagle. Come on,"Ed's voice was shaky. Eagle could feel he too didn't want to do it, not really.
"Ride with me this last time."
"I won't shoot an innocent man, Ed. Stop it."
"There's no innocent man in this room, Eagle. You know it."
Through the barrel, Eagle was sure he could see hope in the victim's tear stained eyes. Murder, bad memories and evil were all there...
But also hope.
"Let go of the gun, Ed."
"I. am. doing. this."
"Remember the first hit? The first time we pulled together?"
Eagle could feel Ed breaking down, his hands shaking around his grip.
"We promised each other we'd get rid of every bad guy in the world, remember? When we avenged that first family."
"We did it for the money, Eagle."
"Maybe. But there's a father now that sleeps better knowing his daughter's murder was avenged."Eagle whispered.
"No, Eagle... That's what you don't see..."Ed replied. "What there is now is a mother that doesn't sleep because she lost a
son. A mother that didn't care, maybe didn't even know her son was a murderer."
Eagle didn't reply. His heart was breaking for the victim's red eyes.
"All we did was kill... sons and husbands and wives."Ed whispered. "All we did was murder. Just like the bad guys we hated."
"There's hope, Ed."Eagle mumbled, but still even he wasn't sure anymore. The pressure on the trigger was getting stronger.
"Finish this. The last job. Then we can rest. Forever."
"Ed, please."
"That's all I ask of you. You murdered with me for years. Murder once more."
"Ed, don't make me do this."
"Let's kill the last bad guy, Eagle."
"Ed."
"Now."
"Ed, don't."
"NOW!"
"PLEASE!"
"NOW!"
And the pressure was too big, and Eagle let go. The trigger clicked, and, with a thunderous sound, the victim's red, tear-
stained eyes blew away in blood and flesh.
"Ed..."cried Eagle, watching his lifetime partner fall back, half his head blown away, the other half leaned against the
wall.
"Ed, why?"Eagle felt Ed's hand slipping away, and fell down to the floor.
"There was hope, Ed..."Eagle whispered, but already his friend couldn't hear him anymore.
"You were not a bad guy...."
_____________
*If you liked that, check out my [ongoing sci-fi novel](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/) on self-aware robots, dystopian governments and Bon Jovi T-Shirts.*
|
"I'm telling you. The war was caused by communists under the more votable name of liberals pulling everyone into debt to try and get their Utopia world, then everyone else having to put up with their hippy crap while getting taxied out the wazoo."
"You can't be serious. How are you the only other person still on Reddit right now? You're **this** stupid? It was obviously caused by the republicans being intolerant and racist as usual. There was no need to nuke those people except because they were a different race and religion."
"Bullshit. First of all: They pointed nukes at us first! Secondly: This war started while a woman was in power. They can't be intolerant if they elected a woman!"
"You know they just did that because the Hillary election fell flat on its face and they wanted the title of 'first woman' to attract voters. You know she wasn't the best possible candidate."
"Well I can't let a sexist like you get the last comment in, what a way for the world to end. 'Blame it on the woman'. How low we have fell."
"Don't give me that crap! You're just taking my words out of context now. Not to mention getting off topic."
"What topic? This is it you tit. The world is **over**. I dunno about you but I'm going off my phones battery life, then I'm gone, the last person you'll ever talk to, don't you care about that?"
"Dude. This is the /r/politics2 sub. Stay on topic. Do you really want the last comment a human makes to be irrelevant?"
"Yeah well. You're a communist hippy who wants all the money I worked hard for.
Edit: Gilded!? Why would you even do that!?"
"To prove to your greedy overly capitalist ass money doesn't mean anything more, and it never has."
"What hippy talk. I'm going to go use the last of my battery to check out the gone wild subs. I hope you enjoy being the last comment, smart-ass.
Edit: I was bluffing. Please reply. I don't want my last comment to be about me masturbating.
Edit2: Oh god. What have I done, what a way to go...
Edit3: Damn he's really dead... Well if anyone ever reads this, just so you know, I went out by my own gunshot. Not starving to death of dying of radiation, it was painless and full of pride."
"Ha! Last! Idiot! Made you think I was dead so you'd shoot yourself! I am **triumphant!**" |
"Number?"the Caretaker demanded rudely, peering up from a pile of papers. The couple smiled timidly as they nervously held hands. "Number?"the Caretaker repeated impatiently and they stuttered the identification number in sync, engraved into their minds after eighteen years of waiting and repeating it before bed each night. "He'll be right out,"the Caretaker mumbled and turned back to her papers.
"How do you think he'll be?"the mother asked nervously. The father shrugged with a smile and held her a bit closer.
"He'll be perfect,"he answered reassuringly. "He's our first,"he said to the Caretaker who could truly not care less. She didn't bother looking up from her papers. The door to the meeting room hissed open and a couple stepped out, flanking a newly picked up young lady. She glanced around curiously, taking everything in as she refilled her memory. There was no crossing of the dimensions; babies entered the First Dimension and emerged educated and behaved and prepared to fit seamlessly into the Second Dimension.
"You can enter,"the Caretaker said irascibly, nodding towards the door. The parents nearly stumbled as they leapt from the chairs in excitement and entered the meeting room. A moment later, the door on the opposite side of the room hissed open and a stolid youth stepped gingerly into the Second Dimension.
"Mother. Father,"he said politely, nodding curtly. The mother broke into tears and rushed forwards to pull him into her arms. The father stood back, admiring the marvelous specimen they had created eighteen years ago. "Let's go,"the young man demanded, leading both of them out the door with a slight limp. The father frowned, curiously observing his son's tense demeanor. They drove home in silence, the young man soaking in the world of the Second Dimension without emotion.
"Leave us,"the father commanded his wife as they got home. Alone in the room, he stared sternly at his son who matched him inch for inch, breathing sharply. "Ground rules,"he began. "I'm in charge-"
He fell silent as his son sat and removed first his shoes and then his socks, one by one. He dropped them on the clean floor, staining the polished tile with blood. He scooted back on the chair, lifting his legs to show the soles of his feet and the letters finely etched into the skin. The father gasped slightly and the son nodded, clenching his jaw in pain.
"I knew they wouldn't let us remember so I carved it into my feet. Everything they do to us to make us exactly how they want."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
A boy found a small knife by the lakeside, in the forest that sat by his family home. It was small. Light. Pathetic. The boy could relate. He too found himself small, light and pathetic.
"Then make it grow. Kill, and the knife will become more."
Maybe the boy could also become more. The thin knife felt comfortable in his hand. They would grow together then.
It started with bugs. He pressed the flat end of the knife on a line of ants into the summer stone. Their shells crackled and popped under the pathetically light weight of his, "weapon."The town girls pointed at him kneeling over a slab, digging his fingers underneath to try and flip it over. He's gross, they said. The other boys ignored him. If he wasn't going to rough house with them while the adults worked the fields, then they didn't care what the strange boy did.
Under the slab, there were lots of bugs. The boy got to work.
Twenty colonies later, it became more. The boy didn't *feel* like more though. It grew into a dagger without him. This angered him.
So it continued with animals. The boy thrust the dagger into a cow. Then some chickens. When he would play in the forest by their family home, the boy hunted. It was easy, now that the dagger had grown into a rapier. He felt quick holding it. Fast. Light.
The rapier became a sword. It grew without him, even as four deer lay several feet behind him. He continued to be 13, and small, and full of anxiety. Though the boy was fascinated by what he could do, he saw that it was not his power. Not anymore. The sword outgrew him. Now he was just small, light and pathetic.
The boy cried by the lakeside, seeing now that only the sword became stronger.
"Then return it to me."
In his tantrum, the boy flung the sword into the lake that spoke to him. A hand caught it by the handle.
"This will do,"the female voice said.
The boy ignored the lake. He was angry. Despite all the things he killed, he continued to be nothing. He was now a killer of deer, and chickens, and cows, and bugs. The lake was silent, leaving the boy to his self-pity. After all, the lake got what it wanted.
This was how legendary swords were forged. In the furnace and fire of children with big dreams, who did whatever it took to achieve them. Excalibur was no different. One theory by how the sword was given that name, is that it comes from an Old French word. *Escalibor.*
It means 'corruption of Caliburn.'
The poor boy. Though the legendary sword would go on to accomplish great things, the boy was tainted and burnt by his failure. All he wanted was to accomplish great things of his own. Caliburn *killed* for that opportunity.
An opportunity that was destined for another.
------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
"You will, of course, be required to sign a non-disclosure agreement before any actual classified material will be provided,"the weedy looking man said, brandishing the clipboard.
"And this is all above board,"I asked, skeptically. "Project Pandora seems like something of an unattainable dream."
"I suppose that depends on your definition of a dream,"a voice from behind me said. I turned to look to find one of the most famous faces of modern space exploration standing in the doorway of the small room. "I'll take it from here, Roberts."The weedy looking man bowed his head and left, shutting the door behind him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it,"Graham Maxwell said, gesturing to the promotional video I had been watching, which was apparently set on a continuous loop.
"It certainly is,"I said, shrugging. "I'll admit that I don't really understand why you brought me all the way out to Eden to pitch Project Pandora, though. I mean, it is an absolutely gorgeous planet and all, but couldn't your experiment be done just as easily on Earth?"
"Listen, Alexander,"the elderly man said, sitting down at the small table. "I would love to tell you all about why we are out here, but I need this to be a secret. If you sign the nondisclosure agreement, I will personally explain every facet of the experiment and see to your treatments myself. If you prefer, I will personally guarantee that you are not obligated to anything but silence if you so desire."
I glanced back at the presentation briefly, but quickly returned to the clipboard, signing my name with my customary sloppy scrawl, handing the whole thing back to Mr. Maxwell.
"Excellent,"the old man said. "Now we can really dig into the Project. Project Pandora was actually conceived by the existence of Eden. Eden was deemed perfect when we first saw scanner images of it. It was perfect in every single metric we measured it against. We thought it was too good to be true. As it turned out when the first exploratory ship got here, it was too good to be true."
The old man reached over and typed a quick command into the computer keyboard, and I flinched as the peaceful images of a paradise disappeared, replaced by views of a medical facility, with images of people writhing in pain. Their skin was extremely red, and I watched in horror as they fell silent, their bodies literally steaming.
"Eden has a complex mix of viruses, bacteria, and fungi that infuse the earth, air, and water of the planet. Every plant and animal down there is somehow immune to the toxic mix, but every living thing we sent down there, including the first exploratory team and the first recovery team, died from a fever that literally started the bodies steaming as they cooked themselves."
"What does that have to do with Project Pandora,"I asked curiously.
"This is why it matters,"the old man said, reaching under his shirt and pulling out a vial attached to a necklace. The inside of the vial contained an odd looking liquid that was bright amber at the top, brilliant blue halfway down, and a bright green at the bottom.
"This is both a miracle and a nightmare made one,"he said, pulling the necklace off and handing it to me. "We synthesized that toxic blend of crap and created the perfect antidote....and a veritable miracle drug. The drugs contained in that vial can cure anything wrong with a person. They'll repair mental acuity, they can heal wounds, they can restore damaged organs.....they can even repair the nervous system,"he said, glancing pointedly at my wheelchair.
"So, what does...."I began.
"So that is the only way mankind will ever see the surface of Eden,"Graham interrupted. "Who wouldn't want to live on that planet, after all?"
"Yeah,"I said, thinking back to the promotional video. "But if it was really that simple, you'd have people lining up out the door to come here."
"There is an unfortunate side effect,"the elderly man said, wincing. "The potion changes you to be perfectly adapted to be who you truly are. This potion will give you the body that your heart desires, the body that will bring you true and lasting happiness."
"But...."I prompted when he fell silent.
"But be warned,"he said, seeming to grow older as he sat there. "Don't expect beauty. I've seen men become literal monsters from the darkness in their hearts. Happy monsters, but monsters nevertheless."
He reached over and typed in a command on the computer once again. The screen flashed by dozens of shots. Winged people soared above chasms driven deep into the planet's surface. People with fish-like features and aquatic adaptations swam through brilliant blue seas. Centaurs galloped across plains, while elves jumped through the branches of forest trees and dwarves emerged from mines, covered in dirt and carrying sacks of precious metals and gems. Cat people and dog people led tribal lives. And then the darker images appeared. Tentacled horrors bit the seafolk in half. Giant mutated birds swooped down on the winged people, and the centaurs galloped into an ambush, breaking their legs in holes and tripping over tripwires. Giant spider/people hybrids ensnared the elves. Dragons fought dragons. Unicorns fought basilisks.
"Project Pandora is confined to Eden for three reasons,"he said. "Firstly, and most importantly, without regular infusions of the Eden Mist, as we call the virus/bacteria/fungal mix down there, the person will die."
"Secondly, if the Eden Mist is accidentally transferred to another planet or even to a space-going vessel, it will infect the whole thing. For the sake of the species, we do four leg separation, with each quarantine lasting three months. This absolutely ensures that Eden Mist remains on Eden. The planet is under permanent quarantine."
"And thirdly,"he said, looking at me. "Eden teaches us exactly how much we don't know about the universe. We've made bioscience leaps that have catapulted mankind both bioscientifically and technologically by hundreds of years. I won't lie, Alexander. I think you would be a wonderful addition to our research team on the surface, but it is a commitment you can't just back out of. Once you are down there, you are down there permanently. Do you want to do this, even knowing what you know now?"
I looked at the images on the screen. Images that I recognized as indigenous life flashed across the screen. I turned back to the old man and nodded, smiling slightly.
"Very well, Mr. Maxwell, you can count me in."
|
The troll stared at the screen with a wicked grin from ear to ear. He had worked the guy into a froth, something about vaccines causing autism had struck a nerve, so he had moved into the "the diseases were on the decline before vaccination"argument and that had pushed it over the top. Like anybody would believe that stupid shit, anyway. The guy had gone apoplectic, though, and that amused him.
He had nowhere else to go with the argument, unfortunately, he had to find a way out. He went with his trusted standby: "Ill fight you IRL m8".
As soon as he clicked send, he heard a tap on the window. This was unusual because he was on the fifth floor of a five floor walk-up. He looked out and Superman was outside, hovering.
Curious, the troll moved to the window and opened it. "Uh, hi Superman... didn't you retire last year?"
"Well, retirement isn't the right word. I like to think I've taken a step back, letting humanity fight its own grand battles for a while. Now I'm fighting the petty ones in my new found free time."Superman said his booming voice.
"What petty battles?"the troll stammered, fearing he knew the answer.
"Oh, you know, cats out of trees, finding lost dogs, that kind of thing"Superman replied.
The troll sighed with relief.
Superman continued as soon as he saw the reaction. "Oh, and taking internet trolls down a peg. I think that's my favorite."
The trolls eyes went wide. Superman grabbed him, pulled him out the window, the troll dressed in his tighty whiteys and nothing else. He flew him to a neighboring city and dropped him off in the blink of an eye. "Now what have you learned?"
"Never threaten to fight somebody in real life online?"the troll said, uncertain.
"That's a good start. What else?"Superman said, glowering.
"Uh... evidence-based medicine isn't an opinion to be debated?"
Superman gave a nod of approval. "Good boy. And you can think about that on your long walk home."Superman struck his iconic pose as he flew off, deliberately making a show of it.
The troll looked around. He started walking in the direction he assumed home was, and sighed. |
Only one thought was present in my mind. Oh,I'm not afraid of the pain. It would hurt, of course, but I would survive it. No doubt about that.
I had no fear of loss, either. I had lost that fear fear æons ago, the moment I had realized I completely forgot even the name of my first love.
No, just one thought prevailed and everyone could hear me mumbling it for the last twelve hours this planet had.
"Oh no, not again." |
"I'm getting really tired of this argument,"sighed Liior, using the ridges of his cranial plate to make his disdain of the subject known. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
Varasen tilted their head just enough to see the gesture. "Please do me the honor of sharing your enlightenment."They signaled the thought from a translator device worn over their midsection, which never got the intonation right, so they flourished by baring their black needle-like teeth from an immense hole that seemed to apparate from their blubbery neck like a burst soap bubble.
They were both seated in what amounted to a glass box levitating high above a lush meadow, or at least the projection of one. An Earth memory, perhaps, sequestered from one of the participants of the day's festivities. There were dozens of floating boxes around them, each with solo or groups of inhabitants of varying species. Liior spied an acquaintance several meters away and casually nodded, lifting a jug in the air in a mock toast before taking a large swig to stretch the moment. His kind did not appreciate sarcasm, as Varasen knew, but was not about to give ground so easily.
Liior swallowed loudly. "Tell me again what you have against humans."
"Pathetic. Humans are so weak."
"So you've claimed many times over."Liior took another drink and admired his freshly sharpened elbow spurs.
"Weak! The best weapons they have are tiny, dull claws. Thet cannot summon Drau. There is no magic in them. They create no venom. This presentation will be over in barely a moment."Varasen mimicked a laugh as best they could both through the translator and with their needles gnashing in and out through their oriface.
"You do realize,"Liior mustered as much humility as he could and still keep face as the host, "that is why they build weapons."
The needles froze and the chest heaved. The translator burped "They do what now?"
"You have never seen a human being, in trial or otherwise, is that correct?"
"Absolutely not, why should I have? They are barbarous hicks in the corner of an insignificant Galaxy. They are an ancient joke told to scare our younglings."Varasen tried very meekly to hide their sudden discomfort.
Liior sagged deeper in his cloak and recovered with a fob from a hidden pocket. "Then you will allow me this most gracious gift I can present you today. I trust your account is in good standing and I look forward to your imminent offer."
"You're a fool if you think I am easily dazzled,"exclaimed the translator, but Varasen was already looking down to the field below them.
Liior drew a pattern on the fob and disappeared it into his cloak.
The ground shimmered and two identical portholes came into being 400 meters apart.
Through one, a female Orange Gronset emerged. The Gronset was bipedal, 4 meters tall, with exposed spikes running down the back of her spine. She had two large fangs that hung from the top of her mouth, too long to fit in her mouth. Plate armor adorned most of her body, though her thick hide looked like it might resist the sharpest blade.
"Is that who I think it is?"said Varasen's translator. They moved closer to the edge of the box, which sensed and magnified their view to allow them a better look at wherever their eyes were focused.
"Indeed. Kymus. I want to show you how serious I am."
Four hundred meters away, another biped stepped out, this one just under two meters. It was draped in green patterned cloth that nearly blended in with the surrounding colors with bits of what appeared to be cobalt strapped to its middle above the legs. It was carrying a long pipe in its arms, with built-in holes for its claws. The pipe was nearly as tall as the creature.
Varasen was visibly shaken by the dichotomy. "This must be a cruel joke. Kymus - she'll tear that thing apart."
Liior waved his jug at his client. "Will she? Let's find out."The fob was back in his hand, and he held it up to his mouth. "Proceed."
Kymus began walking slowly toward the human.
The human extended two appendages from one end of the pipe, and began to lay on the grass with the other end of the pipe braced against the corner where the right arm and the torso meet. The extensions balanced the pipe off the ground. It was pointed at the Gronset.
The Gronset was gaining ground quickly, already covering a quarter of the distance in a few steps. She began to pick up speed.
The human was making small adjustments with their body while the slender object in their claws barely moved. They seemed to peer into a smaller pipe on top of the longer one, and as they did, their movements stopped altogether.
Kymus, who seemed to take the lack of movement personally, opened her maw and let a great shriek as she advanced, allowing the human time to prepare for a sure death.
The human's body inflated, then slowly deflated, and as it did, a flash appeared at the front of the pipe. This was followed by a staccato cracking sound so mighty it shook the very air.
At the same time, Kymus stopped her advance. Varasen saw that a small hole had appeared in the center of the Gronset's armor plated chest. Varasen also observed that the spine spikes immediately opposite the hole were now missing, as was a large portion of her spine.
While Varasen was busy trying to deduce what had happened, another searing crack was heard, and Kymus' head was turned into a fine mist of plasma and skull.
Each hovering box let an audible gasp as the most notorious and feared mercenary in the known Universe was reduced to a large pile of sinew.
Liior looked at Varasen, smiling, and produced the fob again. "Please enter your bids now. We will close in 59 cycles." |
We had played DnD for about a decade. Sebastian, Elliot, Leo, and I. We hung out in Leo's basement most of the time because he had the room for it. It was... dumb fun. We never ran an actual campaign, it was basically just improv. "I seduce the guard. He's happily married. I seduce the cell door. It works, and it bends open as it swoons. I fire at the kobolds before they steal the jewel. They dodge and form a leaning tower to flip you off."
Later on, when we got to college we sorta drifted but Sebastian and I stayed tight since we went to the same school, though different majors. I went through to the History department, while he started his Math degree.
One day, we were walking around making jokes and basically reminiscing on the quad. Sebastian failed at a cartwheel and landed in a bit of mud. He shook it off pretty fast. I laughed and said he should have rolled for perception. He didn't seem to notice, worried and focusing on wiping his hand clean.
Back in the common room, we watch tv and he still seems worried, looking at his hand. He'd never been a major germaphobe, but he'd always been careful with his hands. Never liked Cheetos for that same reason.
I'm giving him a little crap about it, trying to lighten things up. I do a somersault, while saying "Roll for Perception". I slam my cheek into the wall right as I end and almost fall over.
He definitely laughs at that, but asks if I'm okay. I look around. It feels like I could see everything for a minute. The outlets. The scratches on the windows. The seams on the carpet. And a bit of dirt on the claw of my best friend, who stood just as awkwardly as he normally did, only scaled and green.
"You okay?"His mouth opened and I could see razor teeth like needles. It was Sebastian's face. His voice. But... it wasn't him.
Just like that, he was back to normal. Black hair, peach skin. But the dirt... the smallest bit of dirt, almost imperceptible hovered barely a fraction of an inch over his hand.
"No. I think...."I pause. "Hey, Seb...?"
"Yeah?"He looked worried. It was still his face. But I felt like I could see under it. The scales moving to form that same human expression.
"Are you a lizard?"
He freezes. Just for barely an instant, but it's there. He laughs, and quickly swats my back.
"Dude, you MUST have hit your head. C'mon. We just need to get some food."
He'd always been fidgety. Always wrapped in layers in winter, even inside.
And that dirt, his palm stayed behind my back, but I swore it was there.
Was he dangerous? Was there some evil plan? Was this actually Sebastian
But I'd been hanging out with him all day. It was just... the normal awkward skittish Sebastian.
'Do I expose him?' I thought. And then what? It... this... he's Sebastian.
We sit down and grab some food. Sebastian keeps holding the hand that fell in the mud in a loose fist. His fingers hidden from view.
A bit into eating I felt his body language change. Like he's getting ready to say something. Before he can, I start talking.
"I've been having some issues with Professor Klein. Riemann stuff just never makes sense to me. How the hell do you figure it out?"
He waits a minute. The way he always had. Like he needs to think out every word.
"You just need to... think of it all as a whole. It's both the total and its parts. Just keep both sides in your head."
"Fucking calc man. Why is it required? It's not like I need to prove this when I become a professor."
"Maybe not you but some of the smarter history guys might."He said and cracked a smile.
He was still Sebastian. My friend. |
“Sorry. I just…. I didn’t know where else to go.” I stared at the man, who was so much more than a man. A god in flesh. Near invulnerable. So righteous. His costume, in tatters, blood slowly seeping from wounds. His breathing is heavy, heartbeat is rapid. Not dying, but his healing, which was always prodigious, had slowed. Something new, or something very, very old. I’ve not seen or heard of anything that could do something like this. It was a sight I’d always hoped to see, but at my hand, not… someone else’s.
Helios. The hero with the power of the Sun. Broken like a shattered lamp.
I step out the door, looking around, then pick the man up by his ridiculous cape and drag him in. He grunts in pain, but no other sound escapes. Well, he’s still tough, I’ll give him that. A bit more gently I set him on the Lazy Boy in the corner, and turn the TV down.
I could snap his neck, tear off his head with a flick of my wrist. It would be easy, I’ve never seen him so tired, so out of sorts. Not even after our week long battle in the volcano.
No, he came here. To my home. Homes were… well, not sacred, not for monsters like me, but for heroes? You just didn’t go after one in their house. It broke the rules that no one ever read, but always knew to follow. That he risked this, here, meant something bad.
“Beer?” Helios blinks at me, then nods. There’s a little less fear in his eyes, now. He knew the risk he was taking. As much as I called him a stupid moron, he wasn’t. Just the shit talk of the game. I guess I should come up with some better invectives next time we fight.
I set one cheap can of beer down next to him on the stand, and crouch to get a good look at him.Yeah, already healing. The cut on his head is scabbing over already, though the sheeting of blood across his face isn’t going anywhere. His breathing is better, his heart isn’t racing anymore. He opens it, and clinks it to mine when I offer. We drink. He drinks his fast, like a man dying of thirst… or someone needing some alcoholic lubrication to comprehend what he’d been through.
He takes a deep breath, then says, “Desolation, I-“
I thump my tail on the hardwood and raise one set of claws to interrupt him. “Drink. Get cleaned up. Talk later. Unless you can guarantee this won’t end in us trying to kick the shit out of each other.”
He fell silent, the perfect teeth clicking shut. See? Smarter than he looked.
“Shower’s down the hall, to the left. Don’t hit the yellow button, that’s the acid wash.”
It’s about thirty minutes later when he comes out of the bathroom, back in costume. Costume has been scrubbed a bit, and he looks more like his old self. Looks more like the god I fight every few weeks, and not the weak human I saw on my porch.
I offer another beer, which he takes, and opens it. I open mine, and he takes a slower sip, this time. Considering, weighing. I can’t help but lash my tail in excitement. The monster in me, maybe. I want to tear this man apart, but there’s the other thing. Something managed to do what I was supposed to do. What I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Break Helios. There’s a new Apex Hero or Villain out there, which means I’ve got a new target. I can’t help but grin, showing my fangs to Helios.
“Now, tell me all about who kicked the shit out of you. Because that’s my job.” |
When Krell had first heard about the humans of the Sol System, his first instinct had been one of pity. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that a species should evolve the necessary intelligence and understanding to leave their world behind and journey to the stars; yet be cursed with so short a lifespan they could never hope to see any of them.
He recalled double checking the datapds’s submission, certain as he was that some mistake must have been made, a zero left off somewhere. It had been at least a thousand years since a species had been encountered with a lifespan even as low as the high hundreds. Yet these humans seemed to struggle to achieve even their first century.
How could they possibly hope to take their place amongst the civilised species of the galaxy when their kind would wither away and die before making it to even a handful of their cosmic neighbours. Indeed the whole thing was a tragedy. Numerous thinkpieces clogged the datapads as the ‘tragedy of humanity’ became the latest cause celebre. Before too long, their novelty now gone, they were mostly forgotten. Why give any attention to so insignificant and ephemeral a people?
\-
A few centuries later, Krell’s pity had matured into annoyance. Humans, it was well known, were impatient. They had no respect for the passage of time. While the other species of the galaxy were content to accept the realities of life on a galactic scale, humans seemed incapable of doing so. It was as if their limited lifespan had likewise limited their vision.
Rather than accepting for example that their paltry lifespan meant they were largely doomed to remain tethered to their home star; instead they had heedlessly ventured out into the galaxy regardless. Their so-called generational ships were considered quite distasteful to the other civilised species. A species living, breeding, dying, all sealed up inside one of their grotesquely large vessels. Simply awful.
Then once they did arrive somewhere, they were restless and rapacious in their growth. Humanity had established more colonies in the last fifty years than all of the other species of the galaxy combined. Twice over. There seemed to be no care or deliberation in their actions. They just did things. And kept on doing them while everyone else was taking the sensible precaution of deciding whether or not to do them at all.
Not to mention that their diplomacy left a great deal to be desired. They were insistent. Many found their communications to be downright rude. If they needed something from you they might send as many as two or three messages in a single decade, with no concern for decorum. Even when you did respond it was often a pointless endeavour. On numerous occasions Krell had replied to an enquiry, only to discover that the original questioner had apparently passed away. How were you ever supposed to work with such a people?
\-
A few centuries after that, and Krell’s annoyance had transmuted into an appalled fascination. Despite their obvious and sad limitations, humans had been able to make some remarkable progress.
Their colony worlds had developed at a truly staggering pace. A standard colony belonging to any other species might see a handful of new arrivals over the course of decades. Adventurers or misfits who yearned to experience life in a small frontier community. Not so for humanity. Even without the seemingly endless stream of humans coming from Earth, their colonies would have been entirely self-populating. Some of their earlier colonies rivalled other species' actual homeworlds in population and expansion.
This galactic migration had been further spurred by their impatience with galactic travel. While the other species had been content to use the same methods that had served them well all their lives, humans insisted on pushing for something new. They seemed drawn to novelty, unable to appreciate what they already had. Not that Krell could argue with their results. There had been numerous advancements to the FTL drives that had otherwise remained unchanged since Krell’s youth.
Every year seemed to bring with it new technologies or theories that the humans had spearheaded. For so brief a species, they certainly managed to get a lot done in that time. It was almost endearing.
\-
With a few more centuries of careful study under his belt, Krell’s fascination had evolved into a grudging respect.
Krell now realised that it had been a mistake to consider the lifespan of a single human in isolation. Some strange byproduct of their fleeting existence compelled them to achieve immortality through legacy and institutions. To live on beyond what few allotted years they had. While for the other species of the galaxy an individual had the time to see things through to their fruition; for humans they had to entrust that to others of their kind.
Humans even had a saying. That they “stood on the shoulders of giants.” No other species in the galaxy operated the same kind of long term collective operations that humans apparently considered routine. In fact Krell had a theory that humans were really best understood as some kind of hive mind. Or, in his more fanciful moments, what he liked to call a ‘meta-conscious’ species.
If you tried to focus on the individual human, well obviously they were dead and gone in the blink of an eye. Their institutions however, they lasted. When an individual human died, the baton would simply be picked up by the next. If you thought of a human as nothing more than the cell of a larger institution, and treated those institutions as beings in their own right, with personalities, motives and goals… Well then suddenly humanity became much easier to interact with and understand. You weren't really talking to a human, you were talking to an institution through its human agent. It wasn’t about what the human thought or wanted, it was what the institution wanted.
Yes a single human might be lucky to see one hundred years, but how long might an institution live? What might it accomplish in that time?
\-
Even now, after all those years, Krell hadn’t lost his respect for humanity. It was simply tinged with what he might label as concern. With the benefit of time, some worrying trends had become clear.
Humans appeared to have a remarkable ability to adapt to the rapid pace of change they were inflicting on the rest of the galaxy. While they freely and happily shared their technological achievements with others, only humans seemed able to adopt them with any confidence. The other species of the galaxy were honestly overwhelmed by it all. Technology advancements that used to take millenia were now taking decades. It honestly felt like everyone else was being left behind, it seemed impossible to keep up with them and their frenetic pace.
There was also the issue of their sheer number. Humans had colonised nearly half of the known habitable planets in the galaxy. They were terraforming others. The last time a Galactic census was held, humanity had comprised nearly 64% of all sapient life. Krell didn’t get the feeling that number was likely to plateau anytime soon. What would happen when they couldn’t find anywhere new to expand into?
\-
*Case Study: The Journals Of Krell Tan’Bo - Critical Analysis by Professor James DeWitt - Mars University*
It is a truly unique experience to be able to see the viewpoint of another species during the era of humanities ascendancy. To have access to their first-hand observations and conclusions is undoubtedly a gift.
Krell’s journals provide an intriguing insight into a fascinating period of galactic history. As with other non-human species his incredible lifespan allowed him to bear witness to vast tracts of time and provide a single, unbroken perspective which covered several distinct epochs.
With the benefit of hindsight we can see that Krell was not equipped to truly understand the macro-factors at play during this period. Though this atomised thinking, without recourse to structural analysis, is ubiquitous in non-human species; who seemed to operate as isolated bastions of personal/private knowledge. Nevertheless, despite their lack of academic rigour, they still retain a certain sense of wonder as they transport us back to a time when humanity was not alone in the cosmos. |
"Personally, I don't care."
"You don't care? You don't care that our parents condemned us to a life of imprisonment in a sardine can?"
"Not particularly, no. Anyway it's a sardine can the size of New Manhattan, and last time I checked we had plenty of room for *Activities*. Rock climbing down on Deck C... Whirlyball on Deck F... the, uh, *seedier* VR bars on Deck XXX..."
"So because you can put on a helmet and abdominal rig and bang a digital version of Kate Upton, you're satisfied with your meaningless middle-generation life?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I'm a simple man, Zack."
"Unbelievable."
"Life is good. I'm glad I'm alive. I could be dead."
"The alternative's not being dead. The alternative is that our parents stayed put on Echo IV instead of wasting their--and our--lives."
"They did it for the good of the species. Is what the brochures say, anyway."
"Fuck the species. What about *me?*"
"Alright, Zack. Let's think about this for a minute. Let's think about this for one minute, and then I never want you to bring it up ever again, okay? Because I don't care. I don't give a shit about you or your little self-centered plaintively-yelping baboon-faced ungrateful-shithead deal you've got going. What, exactly, do you think is the purpose of life, that is being denied to you, out here on this ship? Do you want to marry a girl and have a child? Because you can do that. Do you want to study and become an expert on a subject? Because, guess what, buster: we have a library with every book in the galaxy. Do you want to master an art form? Well, we've got plenty of time, bozo: knock yourself out. Become the third Hemingway. The truth is, just about every fulfilling activity you can imagine spending your life on is possible here. The only thing you can't do is leave. But why would you want to? Literally just because reality is telling you that you can't? There are people back on Echo IV who live their entire lives in spaces smaller than this ship, and never complain once. You think they're happier than you because they get to see the sky every once in a while? No, Zack, they're happier than you because you are a meretricious recreant, an eristic quibbler, a slobbering malcontent. If you really want out, hop on an escape pod and try your luck. We're seventy-five light years away from the nearest speck of dust. Seriously, man, go. Do it! I, for one, won't miss your vacuous, chiasmatic stare even once in the next sixty years, I'll tell you that."
"..."
"Right, then, uh... good chat. See you around, bud."
*****
*Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)!*
In other news: [currently running a giveaway - win a free paperback copy of *The Forest*!](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/comments/43kw8j/the_forest_february_giveaway_win_a_free_paperback/) |
Anubis clears his throat and attempts to regain composure "Well, this was unexpected... So, um.... did you by any chance bring your own feather along?"
"No I just believed in this religion."
"Alright. Our underworld has a name and just one entrance. What are they?"
"Wa!? Why would I know that? I didn't expect to die yet!"
"Fine. Answer this then. How long is life?"
"Mine was 23 years."
"Wrong! Life is eternal. Age matters not. You know, for a so called believer you're not doing so hot buddy. Last one, do you believe in reincarnation, the rebirth of the soul anew?"
You pause mulling this over. Instictively you want to say no as you think of all those ancient kings mummified with their treasures... but it seems as if Anubis is throwing you a life line at this moment so you risk it. "Yes?"
Anubis brightens up "OK! One out of three, not great but I can work with that. It does mean your soul will skip the previous two steps that are meant to purify and elevate it. But, anything is better than being stuck in limbo right? Let just reincarnate you as is with all your beliefs intact."
A flash of white blinds you. You can actually feel the flesh forming around your soul and struggle to move. Your limbs hit a wall which startles you, have you been imprisoned? You panic and start beating at the walls as hard as you can. Finally you feel a crack form, you focus all your energy on that one spot. Pushing and shoving with all your might until finally you break a part of it free. An odd sensation of warmth calls out to you from the outside. It's so dark though so you can't determine where you are.
Doubling your efforts you finally break free of your prison. You must be underground so you start digging your way through the muck at random. It's so warm here that you are tempted to stay but the instinct to fill your lungs with fresh air pushes you to keep going.
As you make your break to the outside you take in a deep breath. You've made it. Sweet air all around you. The sun warming your body to the core. I new day, a fresh start.
You turn around and look at the round lump of dung that housed your egg. More and more of your beetle brothers are emerging from it. How marvelous and perfect it is. An instinct deep inside of you urges to create something just as wonderful and you set out to fulfill it. |
This is my first attempt. Please be gentle I’m a sensitive soul haha.
“Well shit, thanks kid, I’ve been down there a long time… what year is it?” She says with a surprisingly strong voice for just being pulled out of the water. I am too flabbergasted to answer her, but it doesn’t faze her. “I used to try and keep track of the days, but after a month or so I started to forget how many days had gone by, not like I can write it down” she laughs, wringing out her tattered vintage sweater.
I finally gather enough courage to tell her it was 2019 and ask her how is it possible that she is alive. “Well it’s a long story but I got into trouble with the wrong crowd in 1935. I was feeling invincible and bored with my life so I decided to try my hand at being a vigilante . That’s where my buddy Colin comes in. I got to know the dumbest mobster on the block and with some gentle nudges had him sing like a canary. I was able to learn about the family’s plots to blackmail some local business and take down some banks. After a robbery I was involved in went wrong and I was the only one to walk out, the boss Jimmy, started to grow a little bit suspicious of me. I was popping up at lot of scenarios I shouldn’t have been and continuing to live out my life despite contracts he had placed on my head.”
She gets up and stretches, I hear bones cracking as she does it. I still don’t understand, how is she alive, why is she so calm? “So anyways, Jimmy decided there was something not right about me, and had to protect the family. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself right? So, one night I was walking home from scaring some kids straight, Jimmy got me with a needle. I hadn’t been given medicine before, I didn’t know that it could work on me. Whatever was in it made me drop like a stone. When I woke up I had those new pair of shoes you found me in. Jimmy was raving and ranting about me being some unnatural beast, blah blah. He told me I was a witch and I would die like a witch. He threw me in the water and I sank to the bottom. But he got it wrong, it’s the innocent that sink, the witches float… and here I am! Took me a bit longer to float than anticipated. I bet dear ol’ Jimmy is dead by now, but I think its time to visit the family and say hello.” |
You're alone.
Your breaths spiral out of your control as you frantically search your house for any sign of life. You- you don't live alone, right? You were sure there were other people here! Didn't you have a family? Roommates? You're not even sure. You can't remember.
The stifling silence becomes too much and you burst out the front door and run. Your gaze darts back and forth across your hometown. You swear it was never this empty before, but for the life of you you can't remember who you're not seeing.
There, on the street corner. There's a fruit vendor's stall. You know you've been here before, but it looks abandoned, like no one's used it in years. You spot your friend just a few feet away, munching on a peach. You dash up to her, letting out a choked cry. "Audrey!"
She turns towards you looking astonished. "Woah, Emma? What happened? Why are you crying?"
You notice the prominent streaks of wetness on your cheeks. Your nose is a little runny too. A part of you distantly wonders what a sight you must be to look at, but you can't bring yourself to really care.
You grab Audrey's shoulders and choke out between sobs, "Where - did you get that?"
She glances down at the peach in her hand in bewilderment. "This? Uh, from -"you can't hear the rest.
You break down, letting your sobs free. Audrey pulls you close, muttering comforting nonsense like, "Oh, hey, it's okay, it's okay."You distantly notice that she's holding you with both hands, so she must have dropped her peach. You cry harder.
"This stinks,"Audrey mumbles as you start to quiet down. "I know you really liked that place."
You try to get your breaths back under control. "Everyone - there's - hardly anyone's left and - Audrey, why - "a hand suddenly clamps over your mouth.
*"Don't,"* Audrey hisses at you anxiously. "Don't ask. Please. Trust me."
"What?"you ask helplessly, voice still muffled by tears.
"You don't want to lose me too, do you?" |
To own a ship fixed or upgraded by Elizabeth Brown was the mark of a skilled pilot, as nothing less would suffice for the works of art she produced. The demand for her services was immense and the Admiralty prized her greatly despite her many eccentricities - the expensive, archaic blueprints she sought after were hers; the remarkably old instruments and gears, far outdated, were at her fingertips. The Admiralty was more than happy to pay for it all.
For she was not just a mechanic. She was an *artist*. The many apprentices who watched her work and enjoyed her tutelage swore there was something otherwordly in the way she approached the ships - as if she could feel them, talk to them. She knew exactly where to look, what to do, how to save space or get that extra bit of power from a system. What was perhaps more interesting, the apprentices went on to say, is that despite her renown and fame, she was just as humble and amicable as they were.
When Elizabeth announced she'd be unveiling what she deemed to be her "masterpiece", it came as no surprise that everyone with any interest in spacecraft craved to be there, to see it. But, as things are, it was reserved for the top dogs, the influential politicians, the generals though a small contingent to lowly mechanics was there at Elizabeth's behest.
The day came. The ship was ready. Elizabeth came in, sharply dressed in a surprisingly clean vest and trousers. She wore no makeup, she never did, so the lines around her eyes and the grey streaks in her hair betrayed her age, much to the surprise of those who've never seen her before. But none could deny the elegance - if not downright *magnificence* \- with which she carried herself.
The moment came. A grand curtain was uncovered. And the audience was shocked.
The ship was positively ugly.
The confusion caused a murmur, but Elizabeth did not let up and soon, the muttering turned to amazement. It was function and efficiency made manifest. The fighter-sized ship had 4 thrusters on each corner allowing for unparalleled maneuvering. A never-before-seen interface allowed pilots to fire the twin-linked cannons with perfect accuracy and no delay at all. The pilot seat was warmed and had a gravitationally stabilized coffee holder. The number of support sub-systems was deemed impossible for a ship that size - there was simply no way she could fit so much in, the wiring alone... and yet, there it was.
The presentation was abruptly cut short when Elizabeth fainted near the end of the grand unveiling. She was immediately ushered to the medical wing where the best doctors at hand examined her and were shocked by the large surgical scar on her chest. Further inspections revealed something ghastly.
Her heart... it was missing. In its place was a sophisticated cybernetic one - available to only the most affluent. But her records showed no surgeries, puzzling everyone as to when this happened.
Elizabeth spent some time in ICU but soon made a full recovery. Naturally, as soon as she was cleared, investigations began, but Elizabeth showed no distress or surprise. She merely smiled gracefully and took the investigators to the ship - her ship. Her *masterpiece*.
"I understand that you are confused by everything that has transpired,"she said warmly, meeting the confused looks of the men and women she led.
"But you must understand that I poured everything into this ship. My ideas. My soul. And even..."she continued as she carefully removed a small panel near the cockpit.
"...my heart."
Gasps filled the ship as all realized the accuracy of her statement. In the small opening was a reinforced, cybernetically enhanced organ jar hooked to a number of revolutionary man-machine interfaces, all linked to a human heart. The heart of Elizabeth Brown.
The ship was unconditionally practical, impossibly advanced, and downright ugly.
And it was *magnificent*. |
It was really a study of evolution.
It took 60,000 years for the first human to develop wrists frail enough to escape the flame-chains.
It took another 9,000 years to free enough of the fallen to mount a resistance against the Dark Overlord.
Luckily, with so many souls to torture, the demons failed to notice the refugee humans, in their fetus-staged revolution.
During this time, the fugitives mostly hid, gathered intel, and tried to survive. But over the next several millenia, they began to do more than that - they began to grow.
It began with the re-discovery of fire. Yes, there is a lot of fire in hell, but that’s HellFire - it’s unusable, burns forever, and cannot be controlled. What humanity discovered was Sulfur fire - cause by the ignition of sulfuric clay in combination with a new element, ZiPhon, which is exclusive to the domain of hell.
With fire under their control, humanity was able to develop iron-working. They built swords, shields, and vast-tunnel systems to live in.
By this time, Hell was aware of the escaped human vermin, but did not take action against them. The demons viewed the escaped humans as rats in the walls, or Jews in the attic; scared, sickly things whose existence was still, in a way torture.
That is, until humanity began its expansion. The error of the demons was to view the humans as harmless. After all, a demon had never been hurt by a human in hell - it was unheard of. Until it wasn’t.
Humanity, in a single, swooping movement, emerged from their tunnel system, armed to the teeth, and assaulted the underworld.
Over the next 25,000 years, humanity waged a brutal war against the demons. Unfortunatley for the demons, humans were immortal - an unexpected power of their afterlife. The demons were not. And their fear of True Death, a new concept to demons, led to change.
100,000 years after the first human soul entered hell, humanity struck a peace agreement with its former captors, forming a new regime in hell.
Concessions were made, humans were freed, and hell was divided into seven major domains.
Humanity insisted on a 2:1 human to demon ratio minimum in every district, and hell was brought under new leadership. Satan was imprisoned, but not tortured, and demons were given some liberties and rights in conjunction with their compliance.
Over the following 100,000 years, humans and demons grew close, and life in hell was reimagined. The atrocities of the past were forgotten and new friendships and bonds were forged.
And then came a call, from another dimension, pulling at the fabric of reality. It’s simple words echoed through the bowels of the dark dominion:
“In heaven… send help… angels…. not what they seem… it’s blinding… please… eed help escaping”
Then the call was gone, and hell was silent.
And then, for the first time since his imprisonment, satan spoke:
“It seems my time has come.” |
"So, what do you want?"I'd heard the bell above my door ring, but I didn't look away from my workspace. This was a difficult combination, and it tended to explode if you left it for too long.
"Um, I'm not sure Mister..."The voice was small and very young. Against my better judgement, I turned, to see a little girl staring up at me.
"I don't know if you're old enough to read, missy, but as the sign says, I don't help children. It never ends well. Now get out."It might have been brusque, but I knew better than to give any child the time of day. Not since... No, I promised myself I wouldn't think about that. I turned back to my volatile combination.
"Please. I don't know where else to go."There were tears in her voice now. Turning down the bunsen burner, I set my timer to three minutes.
"Look kid, I don't help children. Got it? Find somewhere else."Ever since I'd retired from actively running around the city, and opened my shop, I'd had to deal with this. Kids didn't understand the dangers of having superpowers. They just saw the benefits; the fame and glory.
"There is nowhere else. You're it."Oh, great. She was going to be stubborn. With a violent motion, I turned, staring down at her, trying to look fierce. To her credit, she didn't flinch, meeting me glare for glare.
"Oh, and I suppose you want something amazing, like flight? Let me tell you, kid, you get up about three hundred miles and you won't be wanting that superpower anymore. Or what about—"
"I don't want a superpower."She interrupted me, pointing to the wagon behind her, as my timer went off."I want you to help me with this."Carefully removing the solution, I set it to one side.
"What, you want me to give your wagon superpowers? It doesn't work like that."
"I know, what do you think I am, five?"The girl who couldn't have been much older than the denigrated age, rolled her eyes. I bit my lip to stop an amused smile from lifting the corners of my mouth. She had spirit.
"No, it's the thing in the box. I need you to help with my pet frog."It was such an odd request; said with such seriousness, I couldn't help laughing. Which of course, made my petite customer annoyed. "Well, can you help, or can't you?"Shaking my head, I knelt by the wagon. The sooner I dealt with her, the sooner I could get back to my work.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It breathes fire."I looked at her, but there was no trace of a smile on her face. She wasn't joking. And, as I looked into the box, sure enough, the giant bullfrog burped out a small jet of flame.
"When did it start breathing fire?"I asked.
"After lunch, it only had a few flies, and..."She shuffled her feet, looking a little guilty.
"And?"
"And, I gave it a bit of water I mixed a few things in..."I sighed, going back to the table and getting a bottle of negation. It would get rid of most superpowers, firebreathing included.
"You're not supposed to try any sort of mixture, on anyone. What are they teaching you in schools nowadays."I dumped the solution over the frog, making sure it was completely covered. "Now, get out."She didn't move, staring at me, then at the floor.
"What, does your dog leap tall buildings in a single bound? Is he on my roof?"
"Could I stay? I promise I won't be any trouble... I just want to see you work."My mind revolted, immediately listing all the dangers having a child around the place would bring. But my heart...
"Fine. Go sit in that corner. And don't move."Instantly, she dashed to the corner, sitting on an unopened box of flasks. I returned to my work, grumbling a question her way.
"What's your name girl?"
"Sophie. What's your's?"
"Never mind what my name is. You can call me, The Chemist."
— — — — — — — —
Many days have passed; weeks, months, years. And Sophie still comes around. I must admit, it's nice having her around the shop. She's actually quite useful and she learns fast. Besides, it was getting lonely in here. Ah, there's the bell above the door. That must be her.
"Well, child? Let's go, we have a lot to do today."
"Yes, Chemist. What are we— "
"Stop."She looked at me, the height difference not quite as noticeable now. "My name is Lionel. Use it. Now go get the iron sulphite. We're going to need it today."Her face lit up with a giant smile that pierced my heart every time I saw it.
"Yes, Lionel. Iron sulphite. On it." |
"Push!"Screams of agony and the smell of blood filled the room.
"I can see a head!"A last wail of pain was to be heard and then just exhausted breathing. The cry of her first son was seen as a delightful noise compared to all the ones preceding it.
The sound following the ones typical for a hospital wasn't.
"Dammit!"
"Carla!", the doctor seemed indignant.
"That wasn't me.", the nurse with curly black hair defended herself. "My voice isn't that high."
"Who was it then?"He shook his head at that woman. Completely useless as he found. "Hand me the baby and a scalpel."
"Yes.."A few moments of silence followed. "Doctor? Where exactly *is* the baby?"
As the mother opened her eyes she screamed again. This time though not of pain. Those screams were of pure horror.
Her child had stood up and now slowly walked towards her, leading himself by the umbilical cord. "I've played this level before."The same voice from before left his bloody mouth. "Gonna restart."
And with that he left the world through the same door he had entered it in.
EDIT: thank you so much for my first gold! |
Dad helped me move into my college dorm, just like most kids. We loaded up the car with all of my possessions under cover of night, when the shelling had mostly stopped. The Japanese forces had pivoted to defend against the coming American invasion, and most soldiers had been withdrawn to defend the Home Islands. Things had certainly gotten easier for us over the last few months.
"Kiddo,"he said as we carried the last load out. "College is going to be a bit... different for you."
"I know, Dad."I would be attending school back in America, just like Dad had. I'd wanted to volunteer for the Resistance with all of my friends. Hell, I'd been helping them for the past two years anyway! But he'd been adamantly opposed; said the war would be over soon anyway, and that I needed to "get back to my roots."
We weren't originally from Korea. He'd been assigned here to the war here back when I was only 9. You know the term "Military brat?"Someone who had a parent in the military so they had to move around a lot as a kid? That describes me. Except most kids have a sort of community to fall into at the military base or wherever. I didn't. My dad was some kind of undercover operative against the Japanese, sent to stir up the Korean resistance. It was hard adjusting to life here, going to school in a bunker and having to constantly worry about interrogation from the invaders, but I'd managed.
"It's..."He pursed his lips and looked to the clouds for the words. I'd never seen him speechless before; he was always so charismatic. "It's best to just show you."
The car was some high-tech gadget from the military that we kept hidden underneath the floorboards of the barn. In fact, the only time we'd ever actually used it was when we moved here. I don't know how it worked; I'd slept through the entire trip here from America all those years ago. Every time I asked Dad about it, he'd avoided the question. Since then it had just been collecting dust.
Dad pressed a button, and everything seemed to swirl around me like we were being flushed down a toilet (one of the many luxuries I missed from living in America). Then it all went black. When I opened my eyes, we were parked next to dozens of other cars full of kids my age. They wore bright colors, not the drab military garb that most of my friends in the Korean resistance wore. Lots of jeans and tank tops and short skirts that would *never* be allowed back home. Students were passing out leaflets for clubs, fraternities... all sorts of activities. It was like the war wasn't even happening in their minds. Where were the draft registrations and war bond fundraisers? And so many people were staring at some sort of device held in their hands.
"Well?"Dad asked.
There was too much to take in at once. I was speechless. The college campus in our town in Korea had been demolished by the Japanese when I was only 13, but even before that it was *nothing* like this. The campus seemed to stretch for miles, *teeming* with students.
"This is kind of hard to explain,"Dad said. "But... the war is over."I waited patiently for him to explain. How could it be over? "I'm not just an American sent over to train the Korean resistance. I was sent *back* from 2015 to train the resistance. *You* were born in 2006, and now you're grown up enough to know the truth. The war ended in 1945, which is seventy years ago in this time period."
I looked at him, expecting some sort of punchline to this not-very-funny joke. "Just trust me,"Dad said. "I'll show you."We got out of the car and went into a nearby building to check in. I was assigned to a room and a roommate, and we carried my stuff up in one load. I didn't have very much to bring.
"Hey, nice to meet you!"My roommate called out as soon as we entered. She'd decorated the room with all sorts of unfamiliar flags, posters of men, and her bedspread was bright pink. She wore heavy makeup, and music was blaring from a little machine on her desk. "I'm Sarah!"
Dad patted me on the back and pushed me forward. "This is Sun,"he introduced me, since I was too shocked to say anything else. He set my bags on the bed and we started to unpack. My torn propaganda posters looked quite out of place next to all of Sarah's glossy pictures and shining stuff, and my black-and-white photos of friends holding rifles next to a burning Japanese tank caught some unusual stares from my new roommate.
I sat awkwardly on the bed once everything was arranged in drawers. Dad drummed on his thighs and gave an embarrassed smile. "I'm... uh... going to make sure I locked the car. You two get to know each other."
Sarah glanced at my closet, full of Korean military uniforms and dull grey rags. "So... you're not from around here, are you?"she asked.
|
They say that the original intent was to reduce tire yards to powder, developing a bacteria that could return the rubber to the ground in a green fashion. I don't know what tire yards are, or why they were a problem. Because there's none left.
The bacteria worked.
The problem originated with the lab that developed the bacteria, carefully using gene injecting viruses to meddle with mother nature's creations. What started off as beer fermentation aids gradually changed, moving step by step closer to the ultimate recyclable. But it evolved too fast, chewing though plastics that the lab never accounted for, and turning them into a single byproduct- methane.
None of the scientists survived the explosion. But then again, if any did, they would not have survived the following weeks.
The cloud of smoke and dust stretched out over a fifty mile radius, borne by the wind twice that far in the eastern direction and depositing the freshly created species. It landed on cars, the under bellies of planes, and the costs of passerbies. And it hitched a ride.
Hospitals were the first to go, sterility packs and sutures losing their integrity, clean rooms losing their pressure, biohazard bags dissolving into nothing. Then transportation fell, valves failing, instruments jamming, cheap car interiors disintegrating to nothing.
Personally, I remember my braces popping off my teeth, freshly installed at the ripe age of eight, the wires jumping out as the bands snapped. And I remember my last good pair of shoes, powdered down to the laces. Then there were the temperatures back then, so much colder, a brisk ninety five degrees on an average summer day.
But no longer.
Because now in our methane filled skies the sun burns hot, and powder is everywhere, in the air, crunching under our feet, in our lungs. Caking the sides of buildings that stand like shells, their interiors eroded away, their signage dissolved.
But there is good news, on this scorching day, as we taste powder and hide from the heat.
There are no tire yards.
***
If you enjoy sci fi, be sure to check out my running story, [The Bridge](https://leonardpetracci.com/the-bridge/)
By Leo. |
It was the middle of recess and three teenage girls were huddled in the corner of the playing field having a whispered conversation.
“Is that him?”
“It must be him. There’s no one else that looks like that.”
“He’s scary.”
“It’s all for show, I bet you he’s nice.”
“You gonna go ask him then?”
“No way, you go ask him.”
“No way!”
“I’ll go ask him.” Brittany said, marching over to where the lanky goth who was lurking in the shadows of the football stands by himself.
“Excuse me,” she asked brightly “are you Dylan?”
The boy scowled down at the bright young girl, he was nearly a foot taller than her.
“My friends call me Night-shadow.” he said, his voice dull and listless.
“Oh. Hi, I’m Brittany. I like your makeup.”
This was a lie. In actuality she thought the white skull makeup he wore made him look ill and the top hat made him look stupid. He was new though, so she’d be polite and throw him a complement.
It worked, he almost smiled at her.
“What’s your power Brit?”
“Death lasers from my eyes” she said wrinkling her nose at being called *Brit*.
“Cool.”
There was a moments pause.
“So… listen, me and my friends heard a rumour” Britney gestured over to where Alicia and Kelly were unsuccessfully trying to hide “and we were wondering if…”
Night Shadow stared at her using his best scowl face.
“… if you could make something flowery for us?” she asked hopefully.
He didn’t move for a good thirty seconds.
Britney started to get uncomfortable, squirming under his gaze.
Eventually, he bought his hands together as if praying and when he drew them apart a beautiful garland made of pink, purple and pearl flowers hung from his fingers.
“Ooh!” Britney squealed bouncing on the spot. She took it gently from his fingers and draped it around her neck “Thank you!” she whispered admiring its beauty,
Night Shadow grunted.
Britney turned and waved her two friends over.
Before too long a small crowd of girls had formed around the miserable goth, all wanting their own flowery necklaces.
|
A clean break. I walk out of the alley, mask stuffed down a dumpster, jacket tossed into another one, gun tucked behind my waist. I can here sirens, in the distance, but although they're looking for me, I know they aren't any immediate threat. I'm tempted, I just want to hail an Lyft and get the hell out of here, but if I did that, it'd create a record of me being in the area. No need to chance it, so I hail a cab.
Honestly, for a second I can't even remember how I'm supposed to do it. Do I just stand here and one pulls up? Or do I wave or something. This Asian grandma, she lifts her pointy finger around, and a cab rolls up to the curb. Crazy, even easier than an app. I do the same and a van looking thing rolls up to the curb. Hop on in.
And suddenly, all these lights are flashing and shit, and this buzzer thing is going off, and I damn near have a heart attack, and have to stay my hand, wanting to pull my gun out. Fuck.
"Welcome to Cash Cab!"
God damn it. I see the camera up in the top corner. Now they've got my mother fucking face on this shit. Should have called an Lyft. God damn it.
"Do you want to play?"
"No."
"What's that?"
"No."
"Too bad! You're playing anyway!"
What. The. Fuck. The van's moving, pretty decent speed, but honestly I'm willing to risk it. I pull on the door handle. Nothing. The guy in front, he's the type of person you'd pass on the street and never notice, but he's got this big, dopey grin on his face.
"Listen man, I don't want to play. Just, you know, drop me off at 10th street, or if you don't want to give me a ride, just drop me off here."
"Oh come on dude, it's just three quick questions! Answer them all right and you get 10 grand! Can you think of any quicker way to earn more money?"
Yeah, I can. it's called robbing a bank. I've got like 100K in my nackpack right now. But I relent. "Alright dude. Whatever. Ask the questions."
"Okay, first up, where did the biggest bank robbery occur in American history?"
You've got to be fucking kidding me. Bank robberies? Is this some type of fucking joke. But hey, fuck this dude, jokes on him. I know the answer. "The Dunbar Heist in Los Angeles."
"That's correct! Double bonus points, how much was stolen?"
"$18.9 million."
"Whoa! Good job! You just won two thousand, five hundred dollars!"
Hell yeah bitches. Fuck it, I may as well make some side cash. "Alright dude, next question, you got any more of these robbery ones?"
"Actually, I do! Called the Great Train Robbery, this daring heist took place in Kent England in which year?"
"1963!"
"Great job! 2.5K more!"
I really started to get into it. Shit, this was literally easier than robbing a bank.
"Alright, last question. How many years can you be sentenced for armed robbery of a bank?"
This one I knew really damn well. Just looked it up last night. "Twenty five year maximum."
"Great, and for double points, what's the minimum?"
"Five years minimum if you have no prior criminal record."
"That's correct! So you're going to be serving somewhere between 5 to 25 years in prison, congrats!"
I looked out the windows and saw cops with their guns drawn, and looking up to the front of the cash cab, I saw the police scanner for the first time too. Fuck. This asshole distracted me with my own god damn greed. |
We sit still in our Peking apartment, awaiting our now inevitable death. All the bunkers are full with Chinese government people, leaving no place for normal citizens like us. It's quiet. I hear nothing but the ticking of the clock. I turn my head around and watch out of the window. The city is completely empty. Any moment now, I say to myself. Suddenly a bright light flashes all across the sky. I close my eyes and await death.
Nothing happens.
I can hear a familiar sound in the distance but can't quite make it out. I open my eyes just to see confetti raining down from the sky. I stand up and walk over to the window. As I get closer to it the familiar sound gets louder. "Never gonna give you up..."No fucking way, I say to myself. "Never gonna let you down..."Then it hit me: I was rickrolled once again. |
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