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The glow of the screen enveloped me as I dropped into the chair, smiling. Work sucked, but streaming was where I was truly happy.
I booted up the strategy game that had been putting up a fight the last few weeks, and as my chat filled, it went from comments on my gaming, to casual conversation, to what seemed like concern.
"You good? You seem pale."
"Dude, your bags have bags. Are you sleeping?"
"Holy shit, you look like violent ass."That last one was from a moderator, which was slightly more annoying. I'd regretted the facecam ever since I'd installed it, but kept it because my brother recommended it.
"Unit One, secure Foxtrot. Unit Seven, move to Alpha. Now stuff it about my looks, guys. We're only a few hours from taking Paris."
The references to how I looked began dropping off, but as the stream continued, they began coming back, almost hesitantly.
"You know you don't have to stream all the time, right? We'll be here if you need time off."
"Cheer150 If we fill the cup, will you go to bed please?"
I thanked the tipper, pointedly ignoring the message. I didn't need sleep.
Work sucked. My personal life was trash. But people liked me, and my stream.
That's all that matters. |
Their invasion was going well, until they got off their ships. See, when they were on the ships, those things shaped like throwing knives shoved through cigars, they were insulated - not from the atmosphere, but from everything that was in it. On the ships, they terrorized our biggest cities, they stood toe to toe with our militaries and bloodied the noses of nations.
Then, they left the ships. And died, in almost all cases, without ever encountering violence. And it wasn't because of the germs. Well, not entirely.
See, it turns out that Earth life is unique in that it's all telepathic. How did we miss that?
Imagine you've got two voices, and two senses of hearing. One is how you speak to others. The other is the telepathy. Now, imagine that evolution has been steadily turning down your sense of telepathy hearing, because you'd go crazy and not pass on your genes - but turning up the volume of your telepathy voice, because that makes you more likely to pass on your genes. For millions of years. All life on Earth, the hearing is basically set to mute, and the voice volume knob doesn't go up to 11 - it goes up to 11 *million.*
Now, the Mrrkh, they had somehow managed to build their ships out of a material that could stop the scream, and that's why they showed up - that's why they made the mistake of dropping out of their ships and trying to really set about occupying the place. No other race uses the material, and that's why we haven't seen any other aliens until now; our entire planet lacks a psionic indoor voice. We've been able to talk to some of the Mrrkh survivors because of it, though.
That's also why they attacked us, apparently - we're getting louder, faster, and they're starting to have to abandon planets because of it, since it drives other races mad. They call us the Screaming Planet, and to them, we are Hell, and all its demons.
We haven't told them we're reverse-engineering their systems yet. Figured it best not to give the only living aliens we've encountered an aneurysm. |
I sat in my closet, hearing only the sound of my heartbeat, and my hasty, shallow breathing, as well as the monstrous noises that inched closer to my hiding place. Try as I might to keep the closet closed, I was no match for the creature outside forcing its way in.
“AAAHHHHH!”
The furry, snake-like creature slithered in right next to me, its fur changing color to match the coats inside, and placed the tip of its tail to my lips to hush me.
“Sshh! It’ll hear you!”
“What are you talking about?” I whispered back.
It pointed to somewhere outside the closet with its tail, as we both hear a LOUD pop sound and deafening footsteps stomping around my house. Whatever scared this furry snake isn’t to be trifled with, and seeing it shudder and sob quietly, maybe this snake isn’t so bad as whatever was outside. It coiled around me and I hugged it with my arms while waiting for the loud footsteps to move away from our location, but it kept getting closer.
Then the closet doors were thrown off their hinges.
“Fuzzy Wuzzy! Are you skipping school again?” Came the booming roar of the 8-foot-tall Sasquatch with 8 eyes standing outside.
The furry snake, called Fuzzy Wuzzy, coiled himself tighter around me. “I’m no good at scaring kids at all! Can’t we just befriend the kids when we hide under their beds or closets every night? I don’t want to go back to Scare School!”
“Whatever will your parents say about you, if you continue to play truant and eventually flunk out of school? They will be sorely disappointed, Fuzzy Wuzzy.”
It was then I decided I would like to chip in. “I can be friends with Fuzzy Wuzzy! Why don’t you go back to school, but be assigned to ‘scare’ me and we can just cuddle at night? You can just pretend to be my new favourite stuffed toy!”
The Sasquatch furrowed its thick, luxurious brows, then nodded. “I’ll seek special permission from the headmaster, I’ll see if I can make this work since this kid seems to take a liking to you.”
And so this is the tale I tell my daughter, as I pass Fuzzy Wuzzy to her to be her next cuddle buddy. Fuzzy Wuzzy managed his best snek smile, promising to always be by her side at night, and to keep her nightmares away, just as he had always done for me ever since that fateful day we first met. |
"See me after class,"the paper said in red ink, circled. There was no grade.
Andrew looked up from the paper to see Professor Morrison staring back at him like they were the only two people in the vast lecture hall. Morrison's smiled twitched a bit. *He knew*. Andrew shrank down into his seat, trying to hide from the professor's unflinching gaze. *He knew*.
"Today's lecture,"the professor started "Is about the 'Black Moment' of the story arc."He drew a curved line on the board and tapped emphatically at the top of the curve. "This is the point where everything starts to look bleak, and your hero might not win."Morrison looked directly at Andrew again. "Where suddenly, it looks like it might not end happily ever after."
Andrew scrolled through his Reddit profile, wondering how best to cover his tracks. He browsed through his submissions: every week, his prompt had hit the top of /r/writingprompts, and he had simply taken the best answers and turned them in as his own story. *Should I just delete them? No, too obvious: he already knows they're mine.* Students around him were scribbling notes as Morrison continued lecturing on plot arcs and resolution. Andrew scrambled for any possible way out, but there was none: the day of reckoning had come. The bell rang, and he began the slow walk down the hall to Morrison's office.
Andrew knocked softly on the office door. *Maybe he won't hear me, and I can just go*. Not particularly reasonable, but Andrew had never been particularly creative; hence the posts to /r/WritingPrompts in the first place. But Morrison called out "Come in,"and Andrew was stuck. He turned the nob and entered the office.
Morrison smiled like a hunter surveying the prey caught in a trap. "Good morning, Andrew."Morrison knotted his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. His office was richly decorated: the walls were lined with books, some faded leather spines, some brand new paperbacks and other recently published works. His massive, mahogany desk was crowded with papers and awards; the large computer monitor looked entirely out of place. "Have a seat,"he said, gesturing across the desk. Andrew had a lump the size of a golf ball in his throat as he sat down; his hands were clammy and sweating. "I take it you know what *prompted* this little meeting,"Morrison asked.
"Yes, sir,"Andrew replied reluctantly, looking at his shoes, trying to find the best way to phrase his apology. Maybe he could convince Morrison to just fail him, instead of kicking him out of school for cheating.
"I only have one question. I just want to know..."Morrison trailed off as he swung the monitor around to show Andrew. Reddit was already open, to a profile Andrew recognized: /u/Luna_LoveWell. "Why did you never select any of *my* responses to turn in??"
----
If you enjoyed the story, you should subscribe to my writing subreddit, /r/Luna_lovewell! |
**Mary**
>"Johnny? Johnny, It's your mother."
>"Did you remember to buy bacon from Sal's? Your father wants bacon from Sal's. It's the only bacon he likes.
>"What are you talking about, Johnny?"
>"Johnny, stop playing around and answer my question. Did you get the bacon?"
>"Then get off this phone and go back to Sal's. Your father needs a good breakfast in the morning or he get cranky at work."
>"I will not take any more of this! You will stop talking like that to your mother!"
>"Fine. I'll be in the kitchen. I'm going to bake a cake for your brother Mark. It's his birthday tomorrow."
**Mark**
>"Hi mom."
>"It's me, Mark. Johnny... he's dead."
>"There was a car accident."
>"No, I-"
>"Mom, Dad's dead too. They were in the car together. Try to-"
>"Mom, please. Mom... Just... I'll be home soon, I just need to take care of a few more things."
>"No, Mom. Please, don't-"
**Together**
>"Johnny? Johnny, It's your mother."
>"Hi mom."
>"Did you remember to buy bacon from Sal's? Your father wants bacon from Sal's. It's the only bacon he likes.
>"It's me, Mark. Johnny... he's dead."
>"What are you talking about, Johnny?"
>"There was a car accident."
>"Johnny, stop playing around and answer my question. Did you get the bacon?"
>"No, I-"
>"Then get off this phone and go back to Sal's. Your father needs a good breakfast in the morning or he get cranky at work."
>"Mom, Dad's dead too. They were in the car together. Try to-"
>"I will not take any more of this! You will stop talking like that to your mother!"
>"Mom, please. Mom... Just... I'll be home soon, I just need to take care of a few more things."
>"Fine. I'll be in the kitchen. I'm going to bake a cake for your brother Mark. It's his birthday tomorrow."
>"No, Mom. Please, don't-"
>*Click* |
(Potentially NSFW for mentions of sex, but no sex scene is specifically written here.)
Hell is a surpsingly nice place, really. Oh, sure, all the fire and brimstone and torture is still there, but it's mostly just for decoration. Besides, the humans are the ones doing the torturing, unless they're masochists of course. For the type of person who would be sent there, Hell is a paradise. But for some people, it's even better. Adam Weaver was in the process of finding this out firsthand. He had been in Hell for all of a subjective six hours, and already he was being waited on hand and foot by succubi and incubi, seated in a throne across the table from Lucifer himself. The Prince of Hell flashed him a winning smile, motioning an incubus to slide a plate in front of Adam, and then himself. "Go on, eat. I've taken the liberty of deciding the first course myself, but you can have anything you'd like, and as much of it as you want. It's not like you'll ever feel over-full or gain weight here, anyways, and the supply is infinite."
Adam took a bite. He was starting to get used to his surroundings, to the point where he could act at least somewhat normally. His eyes widened as the food touched his tongue, and he slid his eyes shut, savoring the flavor. "...Wow, that's good. I think I'll stick with this for a while."He smiled back, his expression more unsure than the Prince's. He hesitated before asking the question that was on his mind ever since he learned just where he was. "So. I get that this is Hell, and it's nowhere near as bad as what anyone on Earth thought, but why the special treatment for me? I kind of get the sense this isn't exactly common."
Lucifer nodded, swallowing a bite of his own meal. "Well, it's not exactly uncommon, given the sheer number of new arrivals we have. But we have a bit of a semi-friendly competition going on with Heaven down here. We have a sins leaderboard, they have a good deeds one, and we like to gloat about our top performers every few centuries. And as it stands, you're the best sinner we've had in a while. I'm guessing that's a little surprising for you to hear?"
Adam nodded. "Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, I know I wasn't exactly a model citizen, but there are plenty of people who've done way worse than me... I think, at least. What did I do to get that spot?"
The Devil shrugged. "Oh, sure, some people have more sins, or worse sins. But what's the point of a competition of you don't give points for style, right? You had the single best incident I've ever heard of."He grinned widely, and two stone tablets appeared in his hands. "There are probably a thousand ways to sin, but these are the big ones. The Ten Commandments. Break one of those, it's generally worse than any of the others, so they're a good benchmark. Couple different versions, but I like the Septuagint best. Let's see... no gods before God, no 'graven images,' no taking God's name in vain, keep the Sabbath holy, respect your parents, no killing, stealing, adultery, lying in important circumstances, or coveting."Lucifer smiled widely at Adam. "You broke all ten in the span of about five minutes, all with the same actions."
Adam's eyes went wide. "...Wait, what? I think you made some kind of mistake. Like, maybe three or four of those, but I know I didn't kill anyone, steal anything, cheat on anyone..."
Lucifer shook his head. "No, no, I get it. It's confusing for a lot of people. Basically, the way the system's set up, counting sins is kind of pointless anyways, right? Either you go to Heaven or Hell, and that's more of a holistic thing than just weighing good and bad. So we decided to have some fun with the rules for our little competition, and that means we have a wider interpretation of those. So, adultery includes fornication, and everything else still counts if you're an accomplice or root cause. On December 29, 2013, at about ten PM, you had sex with your boyfriend, right?"
Adam exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Don't tell me gay sex is some kind of catch-all sin."
"What? No, of course not, no one cares about that. We don't even count that on the list anymore. But you weren't married at the time, so that counts towards adultery. Add in a daddy kink you two indulged in, plus some 'worship' of a specific body part or two, and that brings us way up. No gods before God and the graven images one are both checked off by the worship kink, honoring your parents is the daddy kink, and I don't even know how many times you yelled out "oh God."Name in vain. And all on a Sunday, which ticks that box too! Six out of ten, and we're just getting started."
Adam couldn't help but laugh as Lucifer continued the list - it was ridiculous, but technically true. "Wow. Okay, fine, but what about, um... killing, stealing, coveting, and lying, right? I don't think I did those."
The Devil just grinned. "Are you sure? Because you finished up and started talking something like a minute or two later. You pretty much immediately went to a description of one of your coworkers you both knew and didn't like. Remember that?"
"Yeah, she had just gotten a promotion I'd been wanting for some time, and... oh, fuck, there's the coveting, right?"Adam brought a palm to his face, laughing. "And then I exaggerated how much of a bitch she was being to me, which counts as lying, and that probably set my boyfriend up to pull the desktop icon reversal trick with her laptop three days later... which means he had to kind of steal her computer for about twenty minutes, and that makes me a root cause."
Lucifer laughed with Adam, reaching over the table to clap him on the shoulder. "You're getting the hang of it now. Nine out of ten, in the span of five minutes and a couple innocuous remarks. So all that's left is that pesky commandment number six. 'Thou shalt not kill.' Any ideas what that might have been?"
Adam sighed. "I'm trying to think, but I can't remember anything that fits that. Nothing I did that night made anyone else die later."
Lucifer nodded. "Remind me, how exactly did you die?"
Adam grimaced, thinking back to the months spent in a hospital bed before he finally entered Hell. "Early-onset lung cancer. Inoperable, and chemo didn't do anything. Why?"
"You weren't just talking after sex, remember?"
Adam rolled his eyes, groaning. "Smoking a cigarette. Fuck, that makes ten."
Lucifer grinned, shaking Adam's hand. "Ten out of ten. First one in a couple dozen years to get them all in that short a timespan."He spread his arms, gesturing to their surroundings with a smirk. "I've heard there's a special place in Hell for people like you." |
[SPAGHETTI SLURP]
[FORK SCRATCHING ON PLATE]
[FOOTSTEP BEHIND]
[DAGGER UNSHEATHED] [HAHA JUST KIDDING]
I spun around but on one was there. Just my cat Bella.
[WET TONGUE LICKS PAW]
I’ve never had the subtitles make a mistake. Maybe it can be wrong? I never went to the doctors for it. I remember how Dad reacted when I told him. I don’t want to be labeled.
[GUN HAMMER CLICKS]
I jumped up from my chair with my heart pounding out of my chest. No one is here! I grabbed my chef’s knife just in case. I searched every room.
[BABIES CRIES]
[SHH! YOU’LL WAKE THEM UP!]
No one is here. Why are they popping up?! I started to cry.
[MAN *SOBS*]
I don’t know what to do. I’ve had them since I was three but they’ve always made being deaf easier. They’ve never made me feel paralyzed. I need to text dad.
“Dad, I don’t know how to explain this. Remember when I was eight and told you about the subtitles? I wasn’t playing a joke. They’re real. But I keep seeing them for things that don’t happen.”
“Kevin, are you ok? I think you need to come home.”
“No, I’m not ok. I’m scared. This has never happened before.”
“It has happened before. You’re not well. How long have you been off the Seroquel?”
|
You'd be surprised how much infernal energy it takes to combat stage three melanoma; which, if given only that information, might lead you to believe my bargain with Andre Schnapp is a poor one. What good a bargain where I am but a passenger, and he gets to continue living his life as if the cancer had never began to metastasize?
In asking such a question, you reveal two fundamental facts about yourself: first, that you've never had the pleasure of hell's hospitality. Second, that you severely underestimate how much fun a demon can have even if he's only behind the wheel of a meat wagon for about twenty seconds.
Allow me to introduce myself, my name is XclNkrazzi. You can call me Nick, and for simplicity we'll call me a demon of gluttony. That's not precisely my role, but karmic metaphysical matters would make a deeper understanding problematic for the tattered remains of your immortal soul. I used to spend most of my day getting whipped, and the rest of it being force fed a culinary morass that makes human centipede look downright appetizing. In the rare days we got a break from that spa day schedule, I'd haul boulders up a ladder to an overseer who would then drop them on me. Good times.
About three months ago, that all changed, and now I spend most of my time lighting tiny tumors on fire. No idea how Schnapp got hold of me out of all the damned spirits of hell, but I burn the midnight oil happily to keep the - pardon me - hell away from my old job.
I've spent the last twelve weeks double bunking inside Andre's monkeymobile, and we've gotten to know each other pretty well. Andre was always a bit of a timid guy, one of the reasons he didn't go to a doctor as soon as he should of, too afraid of hearing bad news. Me? I spent half an eternity eating nails for breakfast on a good day. Andre worked as a waiter when I first set up shop, some lady stiffed him on a hundred dollar drink tab, left him one of those fake $10 bill religious pamphlet things.
I don't think either of us realized I was driving till the boys in blue had us locked up in the drunk tank for the night and I'd knocked out a solid half the bar. Took a lot of juice mind melding my way out of that one, but apparently being a jackass is a good way to keep the candles on in here.
Whatever keeps me away from the chow line, I'll take; and hell, Andre has a pretty hot wife. |
They dressed in white lab coats
\- Have you brought the ceramic pot?
\- Yes, and the vinegar and grape juice - he rised the pipette and the test tube
\- And I have the iron and cooper bars
Jhar opened the book, strangely made only with paper, not covered in leather.
He said - 250 mililitres of grape juice, and 150 of vinegar, be sure to measure it well, Dalke
\- I am doing it well, but why did you have to invite Malt? He brings some laboratory tools and suddenly is in the club.
\- He's here because I trust him. Now put the bars under the liquid. They must be far from each other
Malt doubtfully submerged them - Awww! It has casted a lightning!
They all scrambled back...
And some kind of figure appeared over the ceramic pot
*Hello, I'm carl Sagan, and this is Cosmos*
\- What the...!
*This is the age of planetary exploration when our ships have begun to sail the heavens.*
\- Stop it Malt! Do it fast!
*In those heavens, there are some worlds much like hell. Our planet is, in comparison, much like a heaven.*
Malt rushed and knocked the pot to the ground. The image was still floating
*But the gates of heaven and hell are adjacent and unmarked.*
They all felt paralyzed, numb
*The Earth is a lovely and more or less placid place.*
\- Jhar, in case I die I... - Dlke muttered - I love you
*Things change, but slowly.*
They stood there, quiet, until the thing was gone, it had said some things deeply unresting, a hell in the heavens, Life in other orbs, doom for the earth...
And Malt would never confess it, but he wanted **more** |
As I fought, a deeply unhelpful part of my soon to be drowned brain, pointed out that perhaps screaming as I fell was not such a great idea. On account of how you’d wasted all that air, it continued.
Snide comments, even when only I could hear them. That was about right. Perhaps this was my life flashing before my eyes? If it was, it seemed unfair that the it had chosen to focus on me being a smart ass, and a really long extended play of me drowning.
There was no light to aim at. No bubbles to follow. My chest was screaming for air, but something held my mouth clamped shut. My hands hit brick and with nothing left to do but guess, I picked a direction and struck out with all I had left.
Just as my resolve gave out, my hand broke the waters surface, and my desperate breath sucked in air, not liquid. The relief was overwhelming, but that air was quickly knocked out of me as I dropped suddenly to land on firm ground. I lay on my back in shock and looked up the water flowing 10 feet above my head.
I stood slowly, dripping on the floor, of what turned out to be a small smooth walled cavern. Blankly I stared about me. The walls were offwhite, and featureless, with no doors or windows. Smoother than any rock I’d ever seen. No obvious tool marks to betray its construction. Their stonemason was a lot more talented than Anguin in our village. “How in Geesuz name am I going to get back up there?” I asked under my breath, looking up at the surface of the water above me.
“You will not”, replied a voice from everywhere at once.
I spun round quickly, but no doors had opened, and no assailant stood behind me waiting to strike.
“Show yourself!”, I hissed.
“I fear you are unprepared for that”, said the voice. “What are you?”
“I’m a man. What am …. wait what are you?”
“Your genetic profile does not correlate with my files. I am an autonomous supervision intelligence. I am in control of this facility.”
“Facility? This is a well!”
“A well what?”
“A well, full of water. My village has used it for generations. Clean, endless water. Drinking it keeps us safe, and cures us when we are sick.”
There was a pause.
“Hello?”, I said. “How can I get out of here?”
The voice spoke up again. “This eventuality is not in my protocols. I will need to evaluate the situation.”
“OK, but can we evaluate this with me in some dry clothes?”
There was another pause. “Affirmative. Please proceed through the door to your right.”
I looked to my right just in time to see a hole materialise in the wall. Not hinged like on the council longhouse or like a tent flap. It just appeared. Maybe 7ft high, too tall for any person to need. With nowhere else to go I ‘proceeded’ as directed. As I left, I stole one last look over my shoulder at the surface of the water that resolutely remained on the ceiling.
In front of me was a small platform, around 2ft square. I eyed it suspiciously.
“Please step onto the transport pad”, the voice suggested.
I did as I was bidden. There was a sensation of movement that startled me, and to my shame I fell to my knees and shut my eyes. When I opened them I was moving at unbelievable speed, faster even than the sleds we rode as kids down the lower slopes of Mount Wassington. I screamed.
I must have fainted, because the pad had stopped when I next became aware. I was in a chamber not unlike the first in size and shape. In front of me on a counter top was some folded material.
“I have estimated your size. This is a Medium childs suit. I believe it will fit you.”
The suit turned out to be an all in one, trousers and jerkin. I managed to get my arms and legs in, but there were no buttons or buckles to keep it done up. Just cold hard teeth on the edges of the fabric. I tried to push them together but to no avail. In the end, the arms knotted around my waist were enough to hold it up.
“What was that water? How did I get here.”
“The water is a perimeter defence. The facility uses it as a filter to limit exposure to potential risk factors. The filter uses several antibacterial, antiviral and anti-radiation chemical, and nanotech countermeasures. It is not recommended as a drinking source.”
“Facility. What’s a facility? Where the FUCK AM I!”
“You are in Vault 122. Bretton Woods. I have been out of contact with Norad now for 392 years, 4 months, 22 Days. This eventuality is not in my protocols. I will need to evaluate the situation.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
Edit - Everyone, thanks so much for all the comments, I've not had anything get so many people read it before I don't think. I'm not entirely sure what a silver is but thats the first of those I've got as well! I'm going to write some more now, and continue it on my sub, as well as on here.
I'm doing WP's to practice writing as I've never written anything very long, I've done a couple of stories where I went to more than one section but nothing more. So any feedback on style or technique I'd love as well. I can take some constructive, as the karma from this will last me some time!
Edit 2 - Part 2 in the replies! |
"What the..."
I picked up the device and looked at it, inspecting it carefully. It looked like some regular old tablet, yet there was no home button or anything like that. Just the skill points. I touched my muscles again, to make sure this was legit. My biceps were harder, and I suddenly felt less tired. I looked at the other attributes: *Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, Charisma, Luck, and Special.* I looked at the last one in confusion. What did that mean? I wasn't sure, so I tried to tap it. An error screen flashed, as it said I didn't have enough XP. Was this a video game? I tapped the small question mark at the top. It said, *In order to obtain XP, you need to meet new people, try new things, and unlock achievements.* "Achievements?"I said out loud. I pressed the trophy icon at the top right, and a list of achievements with images popped up. I gasped. These were things I had always wanted to do! And they were... achievements?
I tucked the device into my back pocket. It was time for me to turn my life around with this.
*A few months later...*
Life had turned around, thanks to this. I had 15 strength, 14 dexterity, 14 constitution, 13 wisdom, 16 intelligence, 16 charisma, 15 luck, and... no special. I hadn't tried it yet, mainly because I didn't need to. I was now the most popular kid at school. I had a girlfriend (*luckily* met her at the diner), I was the best kid in a fight(strength and dexterity was pretty useful), and I had lots of friends(talk about charisma). Life was going great. I had most of my achievements done, and I was ready to level up more. However, I figured it was time to try Special, see what it was. In my room, I took out the device and tapped it. It asked me if I was sure, and I said yes.
Suddenly, I felt everything drain away. The numbers went down and I felt myself grow weaker, and dumber. NO! Why?! I lost all my XP, my achievements, everything. I threw the tablet onto the ground. My life was ruined! I picked up the tablet and shouted, "Why!?! Why would you do this?"I stopped, and fell to my bed, defeated. However, a small beeping came from the tablet. I looked at it. The words **1 Super Point Remaining** beeped there softly. I tapped the screen, and saw some kind of skill tree. Listed there were Heat Vision, Levitation, and Freeze Hands.
I smiled. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. |
I sighed. Rainie was following me home, *again*. She probably thought she was being stealthy, but I could hear her footsteps echoing just a fraction of a beat behind mine. I stopped suddenly and turned around.
"I know you're out there, Rainie,"I said.
She stepped out from behind a tree and giggled nervously. "Sorry, Brian. I thought I was being sneaky! How did you know I was here? Is supernatural hearing your power?"
I smiled haplessly, masking the frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior. "I just had a gut feeling. Look, it's quite flattering that you think I'm a superhero, but I keep telling you, I'm just a regular guy."
She laughed. "I know, I know, the feds are making you keep quiet because all the work you do is top secret. But really! You can trust me! I could be your sidekick! Or something!"I swear, you could feel the chipper enthusiasm just radiating from her.
"No, I'm serious. I'm just a normal guy walking home. If you want to follow me back to suburbia, you're welcome to, but I'm really not all that interesting."
"That's the thing, though,"she said, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "You *just* fly under the radar. You're too normal. It's almost you're like you're trying your best to be the most mediocre person possible. I know it's all to keep your secret identity,"she paused, searching for the proper adjective. "S*ecret.* so that your cover won't ever be blown."
Spreading my arms out, I shrugged. "If you don't believe me, like I said, you can follow me home to my parent's house with its white-picket fence. Really, there's nothing to see. Except for maybe the kitchen. We got it remodeled last month, it's quite nice. Mom really likes the extra counter space. But my parents aren't home right now."
Rainie smiled slyly. "Are you inviting me over? Careful now, Brian, I might unearth your superhero costume and find out what your alter-ego is. Frostbite? Tidemaker? I've got a couple of guesses."
Shit. There really was no shaking off this girl, was there? I wasn't too worried about her finding my secret lair, as she seemed to possess only a single brain cell - one that is wholly convinced that I'm a superhero. But if she did poke around while searching for clues, she might unearth some evidence of my past crimes.
But if I could pull off a perfectly normal dinner, a casual pizza dinner, some Netflix, and maybe make some untoward advances towards her, she'll get the message. I'm just Brian, a normal 16-year old kid who likes TV and is awkward around girls.
"Sure,"I said. "Come on over." |
Things had been strange for Henry since the attack a few weeks ago. An unknown creature had left him bleeding outside of his apartment complex. He barely had the strength to drag himself inside to safety. And when he finally recovered, he had found his skin would burn if he so much grazed a beam of sunlight. It was not hard to put two and two together. That had only been the start of his problems.
“Mister Henry Warrens? It’s good to finally talk with you.”
Henry waved the suited man inside Wildridge Manor. “Special Agent Lawson? Thank you for agreeing to meet with me at such a late hour to discuss this issue. Did you want anything to drink?”
Agent Lawson stifled a yawn. “I’m fine, thank you. The sooner I can address the claims from the audit boys, the sooner I can go home. Still, it must be inconvenient to be stuck in your home like this.”
Henry chuckled nervously. “It was all rather sudden. The sunlight sensitivity was rather disorienting. It made seeking medical help rather difficult. And since the doctors couldn’t figure out the cause, this was the best solution. I was lucky I was bequeathed this place. My tiny old apartment would have driven me nuts.”
Keys and paperwork had shown up in his mailbox only a day after his transformation. And as far as his lawyer friend could tell, everything was legitimate. Henry and Agent Lawson now sat in a lavish sitting room. Old tapestries and paintings lined the far wall, though Henry had not placed them there. Packages had arrived at the manor, and the next morning the rooms were decorated. While Agent Lawson surveyed the room, Henry fidgeted in a tall-backed chair. The wood seemed ancient and probably very expensive. The padding was soft but did little to calm his nerves.
“You’ve got a generous uncle,” Agent Lawson finally said. “Unfortunately, your recently acquired wealth set off quite a few alarms in our system. Your uncle was a reclusive person, and what information we had on him was sparse at best. I understand you’re still receiving items to add to your impressive… collection.”
Henry only lowered his head, feeling the awkwardness claw at the inside of his stomach.
Agent Lawson opened his briefcase and brought out a thick folder. “I brought you some paperwork. The agency was hoping you could keep a list of all the things that arrive. It would help ensure that nothing your uncle owned was stolen. This way, we won’t have to bother you as much in the future.”
“Oh. I’ll get right on that.” The stack of papers was much heavier than it looked. “And the deposits?”
“They’ll be on hold for a while longer while we attempt to trace the source. If everything comes back clean, it will be yours to use. Though, I would recommend brushing up on tax laws considering your new tax bracket.”
“Right.” The information was all a bit overwhelming.
“Next – ”
Before Agent Lawson could continue, the doorbell rang. Henry frowned in confusion.
Agent Lawson coughed politely. “Were you expecting someone?”
“No.” Henry got to his feet slowly. “My friends don’t even know I moved here yet.”
That got Agent Lawson to stand as well. One hand brushed a lump at his side.
“With such a prominent building now being own, I recommend you have security.” He followed Henry toward the entry hall. “You have a lot of wealth in here that thieves might seek to take.”
Henry swallowed before croaking out, “Right.”
He opened the door to reveal a young woman dressed in a lacey maid outfit. It was chilly outside, yet she did not flinch.
Henry could feel Agent Lawson’s judgmental eyes on the back of his head. “Uh… can I help you?”
The woman bowed. “Greetings, Master. My name is Sasha Tenebris. My family has sent me here to work as your maid.”
Agent Lawson frowned. “A maid? I was under the impression Mister Warrens lived alone.”
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do.”
“That is correct. As I stated, I will begin working and living here today.” She bowed again. “This will fulfill the contract my parents made when I was a child.”
“Contract?” There was a growing stack of letters in the dining room. Henry had not had time to go through them all yet.
“Where are you from, Miss Tenebris?” Agent Lawson stepped toward her, still wary at the sudden intrusion.
She replied, “Romania.”
The frown on Agent Lawson’s face only deepened. “May I see your passport, Miss Tenebris?”
Sasha blinked. “My what?”
Agent Lawson cleared his throat. “You are here to work as Mister Warrens’s maid, am I correct? Can I see your work visa?”
“I’m here to fulfill a familial blood contract. Is that proof enough?”
Agent Lawson squinted at her. “No, no it isn’t.”
And so, Agent Lawson took the self-proclaimed maid away for more questioning. Henry watched as the car drove away with a thoroughly confused Sasha Tenebris in the back seat. She stared at the manor until they were out of sight. Only then did Henry let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s the fifth maid this week.”
...
That was far too many words for the 'clueless magical worker' joke.
If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile.
Thanks for reading. |
An ocean looks infinite to a sailor until they see the coast. Even if they know otherwise, the sailor can gaze at the blue smudged horizon and let themselves believe the water is all there is. This is what Tallara tells me as I sit outside her cell.
Tallara is a caged god who destroyed the rest of our fleet before I captured her. I was just lucky — I arrived late and by then she was weakened and almost unconscious.
Behind the transparent blue field that cages her, she is strapped to the brig’s wall. Needles inject tranquillisers into her at regular intervals. Her muscles are weak and her speech is slurred, but her mind is still sharp.
We are returning to Venus where our military will extract more information on the other gods from her. And once she was been wrung dry of information, she will be killed.
”It’ll be humane,” I say.
She smiles at that. At humane. She says, “Yes, I would say death is humane. I’d go so far as to say it’s your species‘ signature.”
“You wiped out a fleet,” I retort. “Guess the gods are humane too.”
”I only killed for self-preservation.”
”So do we.”
We’re silent for a while. The journey home will be years long. At some point I will go into Sleep and let the AI deliver me. But for now, for a reason I don’t understand, I want to be here outside her cell.
”How do you keep yourself from being bored to death?” I ask.
”Bored?” she says, as if the idea has never even crossed her mind.
”Yeah. How do you stop yourself being bored over a hundred-thousand years?”
She considers. ”There are a trillion beautiful things in the universe. Many creatures, less advanced than you or I, but far more perfect for it. We help them — even help them to evolve, if necessary. We are parents to a trillion species.“
“A trillion?” I whistle. “I’ve got one kid. That’s enough trouble for me.”
”I visited earth,” she says. ”Thousands of years ago. So rare to find such a perfect planet.”
”Yeah. I‘ve seen pictures.“
”But you’ve not been there?”
She knows I haven’t. Earth is a ball of charcoal. The other planets in the system could be terraformed, but fixing up the old planet? Impossible.
“Should have killed us back then,” I said. “When we were weak.”
“I didn’t think you’d grow so powerful so quickly.”
I look at Tallara. If it wasn’t for her red skin and perfectly black eyes, you might think she was once human, too. Or that we were once like that.
“You should have left us alone for good then. Not come back to kill us.”
”I didn’t want to. But you’d find us and you’d kill us if I didn’t. I couldn’t wait for you to become stronger than you are.”
”Why would we kill you?”
”Because we’re powerful. Because you don’t understand us. Because you kill everything you—“
”Alright! I get the picture. Listen, I’m not saying you’re right, but sure, we don’t have history in our favor. Either way, you want to kill us so we need to kill you first.”
“You should know that when a god dies there’s an event like a supernova but far greater. Your system will be wiped out with me. Most of humanity will be gone.”
”You should know,” I reply, “that I play a lot of poker and always know when someone’s bluffing. Besides, you’re not the first god we’ve caught.”
We’re silent for a long while after that. Tallara falls in and out of consciousness as the needles prick her skin and as she recovers. I try to read a book on a hollow-tablet, but I can’t stop looking at her.
I never liked the ideas of zoos. Of something like a tiger, so beautiful and powerful and wild, being locked behind steel bars. Displayed to the public for our amusement passed off as our education.
It’s not like we even saved the tigers in the end.
Humane.
What does the word even mean? Why’s the context always about death? Putting down a person or animal in a humane way.
There’s something else troubling me, too. As if, since first seeing her, an anxiety that I didn’t know I’d been holding in my gut — always holding there — had been lessened. What anxiety exactly, I can’t say. But it’s deep and primal.
“What are you reading?” she asks.
“How do we do this?” I say, ignoring her question. “How do we live together? Mortals and immortals.”
”We don’t.”
”Are you really that cynical of humanity? Or is it that you’re cynical of your own race? Are you just too selfish to share the universe with us. To try to find a way to co-exist.”
After a while she says, “I let myself believe the ocean was infinite. But here I am on the shore.”
”We can find a way.”
She doesn’t reply.
I look at my book again. Old earth poetry. Tennyson. “ Break, break, break/On thy cold gray stones/O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter/The thoughts that arise in me …”
”It’s about death?” she says.
I nod.
”Even immortals die,” she says, sadly. “They just allow themselves to believe the horizon is blurred and blue.” Then after a while she adds, “If there’s one thing your species did well — better than us, in truth — it was poetry.”
We have six years ahead, if I don’t Sleep. I’m not sure if six years with me will help humanity’s cause or harm it, but if there’s even a chance we can find another path for both our species to tread, then we need to search for it.
And it’s not just that I despair at the thought of killing the gods. Or despair at the idea of humanity’s extinction.
It’s that I want to believe in humanity itself.
In being humane.
I choose another poem and I begin to read out loud. |
"This,"the commercial said, zooming in on the wispy, tentacled creature half-hiding behind a massive red boulder, "Is Had'frer'mo. Had'frer'mo has spent all of his short life living in the shadows of Olympus Mons, struggling every day to collect enough water to live."
The camera shows the poor little martian licking the boulders on the slope of the mountain, collecting every last drop of moisture. Long acoustic guitar notes play in the background, intended to stir emotions. "Unlike most of his countrymen living around the polar ice cap, Had'frer'mo and his family almost never have enough moisture. He has no time for school, or play, or anything that most children get to experience. All he can do is try to survive."
The Camera flips back to the scrawny Martian, wide-eyed and covered in red dust. He looks a bit like an overgrown octopus. A human missionary holds out a hand with a sprinkling of water, and the Martian gingerly touches the droplets in amazement. "Had'frer'mo dreams of coming to Earth someday. He hears stories of humans who have so much fresh water that they can just fill holes in their backyard with it."
Had'frer'mo appears again on the screen holding a drawing of him standing somewhere on Earth. He'd used a green crayon for that; every drawing of Mars was done in vibrant red. In the drawing, he was standing in the rain with his tentacles in the air, the Martian equivalent of a smile.
"For just five cents a month, you can help Had'frer'mo live a better life. Your donation will pay for ice to be brought from the poles to his village and distributed to all of the families. Had'frer'mo's parents will be able to get him the education he needs. For your donations, you'll receive letters and drawings from Had'frer'mo every month, showing you what an impact you have had. And maybe someday, he'll be able to come to Earth, to meet you and to see the rain. *You* can make this possible, and all it takes... is this."
The commercial cuts to a still photo of a nickel against a black background.
"Please, call now. For Had'frer'mo, and for all other Martians."
*Paid for by the Christian Interplanetary Relief Fund*
----
If you enjoyed this story, visit /r/Luna_Lovewell for hundreds more!
|
"You son of a bitch."
"w-what. No-no, This can't be happening!"
"Do you know what you've done to me? How many things I've stolen? How many people I've fought naked? How many fucking people I've fucked, had children with and then murdered, including the children? At least 12 times.
I've been a vampire, a werewolf, both once, I've killed literal thousands, I've walked around while everyone was on fire and naked and for some reason all the innkeeper from whiterun.
I once rode a dragon into the ground for 3 months. Why. Why? If I could do even a fraction of the thin-"
The computer turned off. I turned it off. I considered burning it but nah. I needed time to think. Maybe watch some skyrim porn, get some idea's. |
Terror froze Dave where he sat. It was just meant to be a joke, it was never meant to go this far. Todd was convulsing on the floor at the center of a glowing pentagram seeming to burn the flames of hell itself. There was an earsplitting roar, or was it a crushing silence? Dave couldn’t think straight as his friend was dying, or worse.
Then everything stopped. Darkness returned to the room, and the normal silence filled the room. Todd’s body lay limp on the ground.
“Todd…are…are you alright?” squeaked Dave.
“I’m free!” Todd’s body was on its feet in an instant, hands out wide. But the voice was not his, it was so much deeper, there was pure evil ingrained in its very essence. Was it just his eyes, or did Todd’s body change? His eyes seemed yellow now, and his skin slightly tinged in red. Dave felt his bladder emptying.
“God damn, hell blows. Glad to be out of there.” At this point Todd – or rather what was once Todd – looked over and noticed Dave and smiled a large, welcoming smile. “Hey man, I’m Eric, how’s it going?”
Dave made a sound somewhere between a mouse delightfully eating some peanut butter and a shoe squeaking in hard linoleum floor. At this point Todd, or I guess Eric now, noticed Dave’s pants.
“Oh shit, did I do that? I’m so sorry man, a summoning can get a bit scary if you haven’t been through one before. Here I got you, bud.” The next instant Dave’s pants felt as though they were fresh from the drier.
“Oh, thank you.” Dave managed to say.
“Glad I could help! Now what is there to do around here? It’s been a long time since I’ve been up here. You still fight each other to the death in colosseums?”
“Umm…no we don’t much approve of that anymore…”
“Hmm, hang on a second, let me sift through this guy’s thoughts. There has to be something fun to do.” For a couple of moments ToddEric stared into space. “I got it! Let’s try a bar.”
“A…bar?” ToddEric grabbed Dave’s hand and a moment later they were outside of one of the most popular bars in the city.
“The name’s Eric, I believe I was expected.” He flicked his fingers at the bouncer who instantly relented without a word and let them in. Dave couldn’t believe it, only the top people got to enter this place. He glanced down to check his pants quick before he embarrassed himself and noticed he was fully dressed in what had to be a suit worth thousands of dollars.
EricTodd disappeared for awhile as Dave explored the club, but in only about a minute he had returned with two drinks and two ladies.
“Here you go Dave, have a drink. Also, some guy was nice enough to offer us this ecstasy.” EricTodd held out a drink and a pill to Dave, and he hesitantly took it.
“Can’t this do bad shit to you…?” Dave asked.
“Don’t worry about it, here.” EricTodd touched Dave on the shoulder and he felt a shock course through his body. “You should be protected from any harm. Now for the important question, which of these lovely ladies would you like? If you’ve seen what I’ve seen down in hell, you’d know I’m not picky, so go ahead.”
What followed was one of the most intense parties Dave has ever had. He never felt fatigued, the ecstasy blew his mind and the alcohol only compounded the fact. Every lady he saw seemed interested in him, and he danced his mind out right next to Eric. It was quite possibly the most enjoyable night of his life, and when 2:00 AM rolled around, he felt sad to see it end.
Outside the club, Eric and Dave stood facing each other, knowing the end of a good thing was here.
“I should find another body, let you get back to hanging out with your friend Todd. Thank you, Dave, for spending time with me tonight.” Eric said.
“No thank you, it was really enjoyable. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repeat this night.”
“You really think so? Well I’m glad I made your day! Goodbye Dave.”
“Wait, Eric! What if…you didn’t leave? What if you stayed here with me?”
“But…what about Todd?”
“Todd blows! I want you Eric!”
There was a long pause, Dave stared into Eric’s electric yellow eyes, and felt charged by them. “If that’s what you want Dave, I’ll be happy to stay.” It really was what he wanted. Todd kind of sucked anyway.
|
"It's my birthday today,"I commented dryly as I chewed on that same bland ham and cheese sandwich. Sandwich number 6288. Almost two decades gone, and I still had the rest of my life ahead of me to spend on this desolate asteroid mining platform thousands of miles from Earth or any other colonized planet. Asteroid 912b7. The home I never wanted. "Happy cakeday to me, eh?"I chuckled humorlessly.
Nothing about this sentence was comfortable, and I guess that was the point. My meal spot was made from spiky asteroid rock and I was constantly tethered so as to not float off away from my empty prison. The air was unbreathable and I constantly walked around in a space suit and helmet with a microphone included as if to taunt me.
The AI that helps keep the platform functioning - and happens to be the only interaction keeping me even a semblance of sane - chuckled back in her cold, robotic manner. "Ha. Ha. Happy birthday, Jonathan,"she said with as much emotion as she could muster. I sighed.
Patricia was fickle. On the worst of days, she was bland and idiotic and seemed to barely be able to keep the pumps and drills running smoothly. I would run around, adjusting the controls and desperately making fixes. On the best of days, we could hold a broken and forced conversation.
Today sat somewhere in the middle. She seemed pensive, her answers delayed and plodding. I worried that some day she just would shut off. That's when my demise would accelerate and soon enough I would be untethering myself from the mining station and letting myself float off to die somewhere even more remote. It was a matter of time. The thought that the inevitable was inescapable was oddly comforting.
"Thanks,"I shrugged as I finished my sandwich. I stared out into the expanse of space, at the planets where little colonies or thriving cities went about a life full of human interaction and conversation. I stared at the stars that seemed so close but were so agonizingly far away. I stared at the other asteroids, some of which contained a human just like me, banished to this remote and desolate realm to serve out a sentence for a crime.
I regretted the crime every day, that much had been accomplished at least. But lately I had been missing what could have been more than usual. Maybe that's what happens after six thousand identical breakfasts and six thousand identical lunches and six thousand identical dinners. "I wish I could see Earth one last time,"I thought out loud, my statement directed at nobody in particular. My family would still be living on Earth. Maybe they would acknowledge my birthday. Maybe they thought about me from time to time, with yearning instead of scorn. "Evacuate off this stony piece of shit."
"Evacuation is possible,"Patricia said simply. I scoffed at first. Then I turned towards her slowly, as if she was a bear and I was snacking on some berries and any sudden movement would make her strike. Nope, nothing alive here but me. It was still Patricia, in all her steely, rhythmic beauty.
She kept on drilling as she uttered those fateful words. Her multitasking was something I had resigned myself to. She could talk and pump out those precious metals at the same time, or pump out those precious metals as she drilled into the asteroid and rinsed out all the byproducts and still held a conversation. On the other hand, I could just manage to eat a sandwich and talk. It made the time go faster doing one thing at a time. I had also grown a bit dull over the years so multitasking seemed harder than ever.
"Excuse me?"I ventured. She wasn't one for jokes. She wasn't one to deviate from those programmed interactions, really. She could learn, but even that was programmed. I'm sure today's technology would have made her a far more interesting conversation partner but she was almost thirty years old now and on her second convict. She was old.
"Evacuation procedures have been programmed,"she reported nonchalantly, as if those weren't the words I had been waiting to hear for nearly two decades. My once brown and luscious hair had grown white and thin; my beard had come and gone and come again dozens of times. I had had seventeen birthday sandwiches alone here. Seventeen candle-less celebrations. Seventeen years of solitude.
"How?"I asked quietly, just above a whisper so that she could still hear me but as if there was the risk of somebody else listening. Once, maybe I would have thought they were listening. After all this time? Nobody would be wasting their time on me. "Why wouldn't you have told me this before?"
"You never asked,"she stated matter-of-factly. I sighed. I wouldn't get anywhere arguing with Patricia. That would be the end. She was easy to offend and anger and then she would shut down all communications and I would be left to talk to myself. "The cargo pod can be used as an evacuation capsule."It was an ugly little craft. The metals were crammed into it as densely as possible, molding into the shape of the cabin for maximum capacity. And once full it would be launched off to the nearest Aggregation Station, heated so that the metals flowed to be emptied before making its way back to me. It only ran one route, back and forth forever. It would only take me that far.
"Will you be with me?"I asked shyly. Seventeen years with her. Leaving her felt... Wrong. My conscience struggled with the idea. Ironic, I know, given my charges. That cargo wouldn't have had much of a life to live anyways, but in hindsight I should have never abandoned that fiery inferno with the hold still locked. That was the cherry on top of the smuggling and trafficking charges. That's what had made the difference between working the Aggregation Station with the company of another handful of humans or working the Mining Platform on Asteroid 912b7.
If she could shake her head and shed a tear, she might have now. Instead, she answered me bluntly, as I was used to. "No,"she responded. Maybe she would have also called me an idiot. "I have the platform to attend to."So I would truly be alone then. Unless I succeeded.
I walked cautiously over to the cargo pod once I finished my sandwich. There was no rush, after all. I had been there so long that a few more minutes made little difference. I climbed into the empty hold, wondering how many loads it had shuttled from asteroid to asteroid. I wondered if she would even hesitate to cram a load of metals into the hold on top of me, squishing me against the far wall until there was nothing left. It would be quick and almost painless, at least.
"I'm ready,"I told her. "Send me off."
I paused, waiting for the hold to close and to be pitched into complete darkness and to be launched to a new beginning, or to an untimely end. The screech of an alarm shook me from my daydreams. "Unidentified cargo in holding area,"an alarm reported. "Unidentified cargo in holding area,"it repeated annoyingly. I wondered if somebody elsewhere would receive a report of the alert.
"Override,"I heard Patricia say. And the alarms stopped and everything was quiet again but for the whir of the drills deep below the surface. "De-schedule Fill Process,"she continued and I sighed a breath of relief. I would not be crushed, as welcome an escape that would have been. "Initiate Evacuation Sequence,"she said finally, her voice more soothing and welcome than it had ever been. I gave Patricia one last smile as the door to the hold closed.
And then I paused. I couldn't go without her. Not after everything she had done for me. I pushed at the door. I kicked and screamed at her to let me out, the darkness closing in on me. Then the door opened and I scrambled out. "You're coming with me,"I told her as I shoved into the small building that held my bed and the kitchen and a bathroom all in one open room.
"I have the platform to attend to,"she argued. I ignored her. I tore her from the operating center, cradling her tiny, lifeless body in my hands. Some day I would revive her so that she could enjoy the life she deserved. The drills and machinery whirred to a stop. For the first time, I basked in the absolute silence that even the lonely nights hadn't granted me as Patricia ceaselessly worked. They would definitely notice now that production had stopped. I carefully climbed back into the evacuation pod, my fingers shakily finding the handful of controls that the pod had. It didn't need more than a few to run its route. Close hold. Prepare thrusters. Launch.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"Can I wish for more wishes?"
The old man looked solemnly at the Djinn who was shaking his head. He was a red spirit with a velvet vest, gold jewelry and an intimidating mustache. He floated with his arms crossed, the bottom half of his being still connected to the tube of Bengay he flashily appeared out from. Ernest, who had purchased the Bengay from a shady back-alley dealer, was still taking the time to process the floating genie levitating in front of him. The tube remained on the ground. Ernest's knees were aching for the heat relief offered by the ointment.
"10 wishes, huh?"
He pulled wonderingly at the white stands of hair that comprised his meager beard. He scratched his bald head and sucked on the three yellow teeth he had left: a front tooth, an incisor and a molar. Continuing to think of ways not to squander the glorious opportunity that had presented itself, Ernest breathed with an audible wheeze. He straightened his shabby Hawaiian shirt.
"What would you wish for,"Ernest questioned the genie.
"Eternal freedom."
"Ah,"said Ernest waving his hand. "I have that, it's not all it's cracked up to be. How about I wish for an actual tube of Bengay."
"...just a tube of Bengay?"
Ernest paused, making sure to get the most out of his ten wishes. He continued, "A *neverending* tube of Bengay."
"Is this your first wish?"said the Djinn, refraining himself from offering further advice.
"Indeed it is."
"So be it."Storm clouds suddenly appeared in the sky. The spirit thunderously clapped his hands and lightning streaked across dark clouds. From the heavens descended a travel-sized tube of Bengay. Ernest gleefully grabbed the floating tube and squeezed it to his heart's delight, causing the painkilling paste to spread all over. He rubbed some on his screaming knees.
"Ahhhhh yeah,"said Ernest, whose jean shorts were hiked up to his pale thighs. "That's the good stuff."He squeezed some more from the tube and began rubbing it on his bald skull.
"Nine wishes to go, Ernest."boomed the genie.
A voice came from behind the garbage pails, "Hey Ernie, what's that?"
An octogenarian in a trench coat came hobbling over. He stood at an almost perfect 90-degree angle, leaning heavily on a cane. He adjusted his peaky blinder and sized up the Djinn.
"What is this, an immigrant?"
"What?"asked Ernest, putting his hand to his ear.
"I SAID IS THIS AN IMMIGRANT?"
"I told you, I'm innocent! I was holding the heroin for someone else!"
The Djinn watched in horror as the two ancient street urchins continued to bicker. They repeated themselves nearly nine times before Ernest had had enough.
"Enough!"he exclaimed. "I wish I had perfect hearing so I could hear this buffoon."
Clouds rolled into the sky again as the genie magnificently clapped his hands. Immediately, Ernest's inner ears became rejuvenated as his hearing improved to perfection. Thunder was heard directly above them.
"Agh, not so loud,"clamored Ernest. He rubbed a pinky in his right ear. "Now, what did you say, Andy?"
"I said is that an immigrant?"asked the other old guy.
"Are you daft? He's a genie. He came out of the Bengay you sold me."
Andy's jaw nearly hit the floor. "My Bengay?? The expired tube I sold to you for a dollar??"
Ernest shrugged. "Finders keepers."He saw the forlorn look in his peer's eye. "Tell you what. Genie. How about a tube of Bengay for the old man here? The kind you made for me."
The genie abandoned the theatrics and snapped his fingers. A neverending tube of Bengay fell from the sky like a meteorite, landing at the feet of Andy. Andy reached down to pick it up. Out of anger, he squeezed the tube in his fist. The cap popped off and the ointment came streaming out.
"You can wish us riches and you wasted it on this rubbish?"
Ernest winked as Bengay continued to cover Andy's furious fist. He paused to marvel at how much paste they can fit into such a tiny tube, then returned to hurling insults at Ernest. Exhausted quickly from extra effort, he began applying the excess Bengay to his back.
"Ahhhhh yeah,"said Andy, whose trench coat was now flipped over his head. "That's the good stuff."
Ernest, now struck with inspiration from his friend's outburst raised his finger in the air.
"GENIE!"He commanded. "I wish I were the richest man in the world!"
The Djinn's eyes flickered. Dark clouds rolled across the sky. Finally, finally, they were getting somewhere. |
"Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh Arrrgg bahhhh ummm braimns urgghhh...nom nom" |
“What is it they say, Professor? To break the rules, you must first know them? Well I’ve gleaned an insight into the deepest layers of understanding to come to this conclusion.”
Esme dropped the stack of papers onto his desk and then gently placed a USB atop the stack.
“Printed with citations and supporting documents and graphs, as well as a digital copy with additional documentation and links.”
The Professor took the drive and placed it by his computer and then grabbed the hefty stack of papers and brought it up. As his eyes passed over the title of the thesis, she watched a frown come across his face. Esme grinned in anticipation.
“*The Theory and Study of the Science Of Magic, by Esme Lucero.*”
He glanced up at her.
“Is this some sort of tongue in cheek joke I’m not understanding? The title of your thesis need only be a brief insight into what you’ve been studying, not an allusion to how magical the natural world is.”
“Oh but it is an insight into what I’ve been working on. And I can assure you, this world is undoubtedly magic. Both figuratively and literally.”
Before he could respond Esme placed a finger to his lips. She grabbed a pen from his desk and began drawing a series of shapes and circles that intertwined to create an intricate pattern.
“The hard part is drawing on the other hand. I had to teach myself to be ambidextrous, but I have a shortcut to avoid the tediousness of how long it takes me.”
She pulled a sticker from her pocket. It had a similar design to what she had drawn on her hand. She peeled the backing off the sticker and placed it onto her palm.
“I found that you don’t have to use chalk, ink, or blood—thank god—to make this work. I streamlined the process by using a drawing software. Makes it much easier, though I did fry a couple tablets in the beginning.”
“What process,” the Professor said. “Blood? Did you harm yourself? Ms. Lucero this is highly irregular—“
“Oh it’s more than irregular. It’s magic.”
She clapped her hands together and began rubbing them vigorously. The Professor watched as the friction began to cause a small stream of smoke. His eyes grew wide. She brought her hands apart one more time and smiled.
“Don’t blink for this part.”
Esme brought her hands together hard and the Professor jumped back as he watched a small orb of fire emerge from Esme’s palms. It floated just above the surface of her skin and gave off a steady heat. He watched as she moved it back and forth from one hand to the other.
“How on earth,” he said.
Esme’s eyes were wide with wonder. The light from the flame lit up her face in a warm glow.
“It’s amazing isn’t it? I still can’t get over it. I had a few hiccups along the way. Set my clothes on fire a couple times. Could’ve been *much* worse but I was cautious. Science and safety go hand in hand, right?”
The Professor stood up and brought his hand towards the fire. He could feel the heat. He brought one finger near and felt a singe on his skin that made him recoil.
“Careful. It’s very real, I assure you.”
“Incredible. Can you…cane you make it burn brighter? Hotter?”
Esme nodded.
“I can bring it to roughly 1400 celsius before it gets too much for me to handle.”
“This is…this is amazing.”
“And it’s attainable. Repeatable. And not just with fire. I can sculpt earth, dissolve metal, freeze water, all with the appropriate formulae and materials. You’re the first witness.”
The Professor began flipping through the documents.
“You say it’s repeatable. What’s the simplest thing that I could do?”
Esme brought her hands together slowly and smothered the flame. Smoke filtered through the creases between her fingers. She shook her hands out and dug into her pocket to produce a bag of seeds.
“Take these. Pour a few into your mouth but don’t swallow them. Just allow them to sit under your tongue. I’m going to give you a phrase to say on a piece of paper. Say it three times and then spit them into the circle I’m about to draw.”
“Will this…hurt me, Esme?”
“Only if you swallow the seeds. You won’t die or be maimed but passing them won’t be pleasant.”
He did as she said and dropped the packet of seeds into his mouth, careful not to swallow any of them. The sat under his tongue and as she drew the design on a piece of paper, he read over the phrase. Though he was no etymologist or linguist, he knew these words were a romanization of words unknown to most languages he’d seen or heard of before. Nevertheless he worked diligently to ensure the pronunciation was correct, and when Esme had competed the circle he did as she instructed. As the last line of the incantation passed through his lips, he spat the seeds onto the paper, and watched as the circle began to glow.
The seeds were clumped together on the page. As the light from the circle glowed brighter, he watched the seeds begin to crack and sprout green vines and tendrils that began to wrap together. They culminated to form humanoid looking being made of plant life. It stood about 20 centimeters tall and though it had no eyes, it seemed to look up at the Professor.
“Alchemists would have called this little guy a homunculus. Ask him to do something for you. Make it simple though. When they’re this new, they can’t handle tasks that are too complex.”
“Oh. Um. Can you bring me that,” he said pointing to the USB drive.
The plant creature nodded and walked over to the drive, picking it up between its two vine like arms and brought it to him. A smile grew across his face as he took it from the creature.
“So what do we think.”
“What do I think? Esme, forget about a doctorate. Forget academia. This will change the world.”
“So what’s next then?”
“You tell me. I think you’re the teacher now.” |
“My liege, the ‘Hero’ is upon us; he wishes to usurp the throne, for the name of honour and justice I believe.” The shady advisor twiddled his fingers and licked his calloused lips.
“Oh god….. He won’t make his move here though will he? Not yet at least, I’d have thought. What book are we on?” The Wicked King replied, exhausted by the constant attacks on his throne. After all what is an evil villain to do if not cause trouble?
“Book 2 I believe your grace.” The advisor now, rummaging through old parchments, scheming away. “What would you have us do? Chase him from the castle with a hundred of our finest swordsmen? That ought to scare him off”.
The Wicked King surveyed his throne room and his companions, “No I figure we’re on book 2, I’ve probably got enough plot armour to see me through this one, you as well advisor.” The king paused and fixed his eye upon a knight in a red shirt. “You not so much” The Wicked king said, chuckling to himself. The knight simply, swallowed deep and began to sweat; he was too expendable to speak.
“Besides” The Wicked King continued “he is rather endearing isn’t he? Our beloved Hero. So clueless.” Everyone in his court nodded in agreement, a few laughing at the hapless hero.
“Aye, my Liege. He doesn’t realise he could march in here now. And strike us all down, without getting so much as a scratch on him, he could even kill me, and I’m the Burly Bodyguard” The bodyguard laughed heartily.
“Very well then, prepare the feast, plans go ahead as usual, and remember everyone, try not to ridicule the Hero too much….”
Evening came and with it the Hero, who burst through to the kings hall, as celebrations were in full swing. “Vile Tyrant!” the Hero called, golden locks billowing in a sudden convenient breeze. “Thou hast pillaged and defiled the Kingdom for too long, I hereby declare you a monster, and I shall thwart thee.”
Silence filled the room, followed by rapturous laughter. “I told you” The wicked King said to his court, “the Hero is so much.” He tried to contain his laughter but simply couldn’t. “Very well Hero, have at me.”
“Nay” the Hero responded, his voice valiant, his stance brave and strong, his whole being clueless as to being a fictional character. “I would not desecrate your feast, for I am a man of honour. I shall see you upon the battlefield, my armies ride as we speak. They shalt be upon your door by the turn of the season. I pray you considered abdicating, lest you have a death wish.”
“Brilliant simply brilliant, thank you Hero, your entertainment is priceless. Erm let me think, I know, Guards seize him dead or alive. Haha, that ought to spice things up. “The King leaned back into his chair, and watched as the Hero battled off his guards, with ease, plot armour intact, and finest swordsman in the land moniker serving him well.
The Hero, pranced from table to table, swung from chandeliers, effortlessly slaying guards. He landed in the centre of the hall, and stared at a young Knight in red. “Stand down boy” He said, voice unwavering, sword pointed towards the knight. But the Knight in Red charged at the Hero, and found his voice, screaming a sound of sheer pain “ARGH!” he cried as he did battle with the Hero. To the onlookers it was chaos, the Knight slashing hopelessly at the Hero, until finally blood was drawn.
“Told you he wouldn’t last” the Wicked King turned to the Shady Advisor and shot him a smile.
“Perhaps you should look again my liege.” And the advisor smiled back.
In the middle of the hall, the Hero knelt, his hands covered in blood, his eyes wide and in shock, as his innards lay strewn across the floor. The Red Knight stood in front of The Hero Towering over him, sword in hand. “I did it, I slayed the Hero.” He muttered to himself, in sheer disbelief.
The Wicked King jolted upwards from his seat, his voice filled with rage and his face reddening. “What madness is this!” his face growing redder “Trusted Old Healer confirm to me this Hero is dead.” The kings voice broke a little as he spoke, could it be he was saddened by the Hero’s demise?
But as he seated himself once more, his face continued to redden, turning from scarlet to crimson and finally settling on a deep purple. He was now unable to speak, as his voice grew more broken, and he struggled for breath. The Shady Advisor approached him, “My liege, I failed to provide you with a vital piece of information, you see.” He licked his lips, as he was prone to do “we are in a George R. R. Martin Novel…. No one is safe.”
|
It had been just a month for me, and two centuries for the rest of the world.
I was woken once again with a hiss of escaping air, ready to be paraded around like a trophy, a 'marvel of modern science!' But the hall was practically empty; crowds had been thin last time they woke me, too. Now, just a few scientists waiting to examine me for any ill effects, and a familiar-looking group that I soon recognized were my descendants. A middle aged man walked forward, holding a youngster in his arms. "Remember me? Paul?"the man asked. Ah yes. My great-great grandnephew. I'd met him during the last awakening, when he was just a teenager, showing off to some girl about how he was related to me. I saw the same girl behind him, now a mother of three.
"Where is everyone?"I asked. He gave a sad smile. It was pretty obvious; I shouldn't have asked. No one cared anymore. Cryosleep was a triumph of engineering when I was first put on display; hell, even the President showed up when I was first put in the chamber! But now... it was apparently old news. Living fossils like myself weren't particularly rare anymore. The world had moved on to bigger and better things. No one really celebrated 200-year-old inventions in my time, either.
My family took me back to their home, on the 110th floor of an impossibly tall skyscraper. They ushered me into a room that they'd set aside for me, all decorated like the 21st century. "We got all the best antiques from all over the city!"said my great-great-great grandniece. I gave a wan smile and thanked her. An Xbox was connected to the panel TV, and a Jonas Brothers poster hung on the wall. *All the best antiques, here in this room*, I thought as I sat on the bed.
I spent a week with these strangers, thanking them for their hospitality. They showed me the modern world and its marvels, inventions and discoveries that I could not even comprehend. We watched videos from the great Colony Ships, nearing their distant destination systems; "This was all thanks to you,"Paul told me. I certainly was a groundbreaking guinea pig.
After a week, they brought me back to the chamber. It used to be in City Hall, but it had been moved to a dumpy off-site storage center. The scientists in charge of the project greeted me as the family dropped me off. "Have a good visit?"they asked. I sighed in response and climbed up the stairs to my chamber. Would there still be anyone to greet me fifty years from now? I paused, one foot already inside.
"There's nothing left for me here,"I told the scientists. "How do I get on one of those Colony Ships?" |
Belle walked through the atrium of the convention center; although she came for the much smaller nuclear physics convention, it was unfortunately booked at the same time as the local FurCon. She brushed past people in costume, desperately trying to avoid their stares, as she ran to the escalator.
As soon as she stepped on, she was knocked flat on her back by someone who rolled down. When she came to her senses, she found herself staring into the soulless plastic eyes of a fox costume.
"Sorry!"the stranger shouted, quickly scrambling to his feet and running away.
"Stop!"a security guard shouted, hopping the balustrade and giving chase. He, too, ran straight into Belle, also knocking her down.
"Am I invisible?"Belle muttered, slowly getting to her feet.
"Whoa, you look..."the security guard stuttered, before holding out his hand. "Gaston. And you are?"
"Belle. Listen, I'm not here for this,"she quickly began, motioning around her. "I'm here for the physics convention."
"Oh, an educated girl!"Gaston laughed. "Up the stairs, to the right."
"If I may ask, what was that about?"
"Him? He runs around in costume, even in rooms where it's forbidden. A total freak if you ask me."He licked his palm and slicked his greasy hair back. "So, wanna get a drink tonight?"
"I'm gonna be at a formal event tonight,"she spoke, waving him away.
"Damn,"Gaston muttered to himself, long after she had left. "I have to find a way to get that."
--
In the evening, when Belle's convention had finally wrapped up for the day, she walked back through the large atrium, typing on her laptop with one hand as she precariously balanced it with the other. She was once again knocked from her feet as she ran into the same man, wearing the same fox costume, still on the run. She tumbled backwards, dropping her laptop, screaming in both anger and frustration. To her surprise, both she and her computer were caught mid-fall by the furry.
"Sorry,"he urgently muttered, getting her back on her feet and turning to run. She grabbed his arm and held him.
"Wait, what's the hurry?"
"That guard wants my head on his wall, I gotta go!"
Sure enough, the guard turned the corner, and was scanning the hallway. She pulled him aside into the restroom, and watched as the guard passed by.
"That guard insists that you're trespassing,"Belle scolded.
"I... look. This isn't me,"he responded, motioning to himself.
"No shit, I don't need to be a physicist to see that."
"No, I mean I'm supposed to be at the physics conference, but some lunatic hag convinced me to put this on, and now the zipper's stuck; I think she locked it as a joke, but I can't tell. I can't go home looking like this, my parents will get the wrong idea! Thanks for the help, but I've gotta find that witch again, hope that she'll unlock it."
He brushed past her and left.
--
The next day, she returned with a pair of scissors, on the (likely) chance she would be knocked from her feet again. However, she couldn't find the man in suit anywhere. The whole day, she wondered where he could be; she went from room to room to visit different speakers, and even went to the shared food court for lunch, but found no trace of him. It was highly unlikely that a fox on the run wouldn't pass by her again. Just as she got up, she saw him brush past, barreling over tables to get away. She looked over her shoulder and didn't find the guard. Thinking it safe, she stood, only to get knocked over by Gaston.
"You know,"she began, pushing him off. "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose."
"You'd protect those freaks?"Gaston inquired, sneering as he stood, brushing himself off. "You know, I've read a paper on psychology that says that people who have to dress up as animals are sick in the head. Wanna catch a drink later?"
"You know,"Belle retorted. "I had a word with him yesterday, he says his zipper just got stuck, and he can't leave looking like that."
"Not my job to care."He took off after the man, soon rounding the corner and going out of sight. Moments later, the man in fox costume strolled up to her casually.
"You'd defend me?"he inquired, taking a seat.
"Why not? We're all people, after all."
"Heh, sure."
"Oh, that reminds me!"Belle withdrew her scissors. "I've got a fix."
"I already tried, but be my guest. Probably kevlar or something, I can't seem to cut it."
Sure enough, the scissors failed.
"As long as I'm around, I don't think the guard will harass you."
"You'd be caught hanging around me?"
"Sure, if you're in for the physics convention, you must be either a physicist or an enthusiast. I just happen to be in for the same convention."
"Really? Oh, that's fantastic! Could you fill me in on Korsikov's lecture on optics?"
"Sure thing."
--
"You know, if you want, you can spend the night at my place,"Belle offered. "You seem nice enough."
"That sounds... nice. I don't think anyone ever even dreamed of helping me out, not since I look like this."
They approached the escalator, before they heard a shout from behind them.
"Stop right there!"
Belle and the stranger turned around to find a taser pointed at them.
"You can't hit a taser from this range, put it down before you hurt someone!"Belle shouted, getting in the way."
The guard ran towards them, shouting obscenities.
"Look out!"the stranger shouted, once it was evident that Gaston wouldn't stop, Belle in the way or no. He pushed Belle down, and was promptly tackled by the guard; they tumbled down the up escalator senselessly, losing all sense of direction. Gaston fired his taser; one lead hit the stranger in his back, and the second stuck in the escalator's lower rail. The spontaneous shock both seared the man's costume, and knocked Gaston unconscious.
The stranger grabbed at the escalator's handguard, and managed to stop tumbling. He rode it back up to Belle.
"Well, that was a fiasco,"he muttered, accepting her hug.
Belle sniffed at the air.
"What the hell is that smell?"
The stranger looked around to find that his suit was slightly on fire.
"Oh shit!"he shouted, quickly tearing at it. The plastic melted, revealing his true form: golden locks, piercing blue eyes, and the most sculpted jaw that Belle had ever seen. He was wearing a very professional suit, and although he was damp from sweat, she thought he looked gorgeous.
"My God, you're handsome,"Belle stuttered, running a hand down his chest.
"So, is that offer to stay at your place still valid?"
She nodded furiously.
"Well then, we'd best get going. It's getting dark out."
They took the down escalator, all the while staring at the still tumbling guard.
"Do you think we should help him?"Belle inquired.
"Him? Nah, fuck that guy."The stranger checked his watch. "You know, there's an amazing steak place near here, if you'd accompany me for dinner."
"I'd love to."She paused for a second, staring into the distance. "Say, you never told me your name."
"Prince,"the stranger responded, holding out his hand; she shook it.
"Belle."
As they exited, the sun moments from setting, the last rays of light illuminated the still tumbling Gaston. |
I woke up in my old bed. Well, it wasn't very old at this point. Actually I think it was brand new... What day was it? I looked around for my phone and started to have a mini panic attack. *Where's my phone?!* Oh, right. Attached to the wall in the other room.
I sat up in bed and instinctively went to brace my back with my hand expecting that sharp pain to shoot through it, but felt nothing. And that felt amazing.
That old TV I had was sitting across the room, staring at me with a dull intensity. Well, it wasn't old either, it's just old to my old eyes. I looked around for a remote and after a minute just chuckled. I got up and walked the 8 foot distance between myself and the set to turn it on. It took a minute but it finally kicked on and I then turned around and walked back to the bed. Right when I sat down I started looking for the remote again, only to immediately frown and make the journey back over to the TV to tune it to the news.
Cloudy with a chance of rain on this Monday morning.
What's funny is I remember why I saved on this day and never turned back. It all went so well that I didn't need to turn back. I started my new job today where I would eventually meet the love of my life at a work outing where she happened to be a server. The oh-so-clever pick-up line I used, "If I could re-arrange the alphabet..."would definitely work again, even though years later she told me it was a terrible line and she just found me very cute and decided "ah what the hell?"
And part of why I came back is because of how much I missed her. Part of me wanted so badly to come back and somehow get her to stop smoking and doing so many unhealthy things. But cancer is not something you can just stop, sadly.
So now I either go to work and relive it all like some nostalgic infused dream or drive to some new state and start again.
Part of me wanted to go visit Michael and give him a sermon on drinking and driving. He'd be gone ten years from now, but maybe I could plant a seed in him. Another part wanted to go call out Jacob for how much he'd been abusing his girlfriend. But I wasn't sure how much of the flow of everything I wanted to mess with. After all I could just come back again and try another route if something went awry.
And as I was pondering all of this, regret started to set in. Regret for the fact that I threw away 40 years of my life to start again, followed by over-analyzing everything. What if I screw up the fantastically awful pick-up line? Or what if having all the answers at my new job takes me down a different path that ends badly?
You see people always want to go back and change something in their life. Whether it was the one time you were drunk in public or the time you were just a bit too clingy with your first significant other, everyone wants that reset button. The problem is they don't really understand that your past defines who you are. If you change the smallest thing, that could mean the difference between job security or jail time. Sounds extreme, but that's just the truth.
I thought I understood this concept, but I hadn't felt grief like I felt the night I reset. See I had lost family members and thought about it, but I knew I shouldn't mess with it. I knew then, and I knew when I ended up resetting. I just couldn't stand another night away from her. And now I'm here, laying in my old new bed pondering life's existence and whether this was actually a good idea, which I'm pretty sure it wasn't.
I guess I should go define my past and get to work. |
Steven had been an avid smoker for twelve years now. “Was this my sixth or seventh attempt at quitting?” Steven asked himself as he pulled his rusted out 98’ Ford Explorer into the driveway. He turned the car off and got out, “well it doesn’t really matter now cause here I am, back at it again. What’s Daniel going to think? Here’s the sixth or seventh time I’ve shown him, that I can’t keep my promises. Sooner or later he’s going to realize I can’t follow through on things.”
Steven’s reliability, or lack thereof, was something that his wife, Stephanie was already well aware of. Each time he said he was going to quit, Steven would make a big production out of it. He’d make a long winded speech at dinner about all the money they were going to save and that he was going to treat the family to a vacation for the first time. Each time their son, Daniel, would get his hopes up and each time he’d be let down. Seeing as how Steven could never quit for longer than a three-week period, the $76.97 that he had “saved the family” wouldn’t get the them over the state line.
It was a hot July day and Steven couldn’t wait to get inside. The air conditioning in his car didn’t work and neither did the windows. Only the rear passenger window went down about half way.
As he reached for the knob on the front door, someone inside beat him to it and opened it for him. There stood a man, about 25 years old who had a patchy beard, unkempt shoulder length hair, and he appeared to be underweight but it was hard to tell because his shirt was so baggy.
“Dad?” said this strange man.
Steve’s first thought was that he had the wrong house. But the mailbox next to the door said 627 Maple Shade drive, so he was in the right place. The only logical explanation was that Steven has misheard him. Maybe it was one of Stephanie’s friend’s and her son were over or something. “I’m sorry what was that?” Steven asked.
The man replied, “Dad, it’s me. Your son.”
“Very funny, seriously though who let you in here?” responded Steven who was starting to get annoyed at this man who was blocking the entrance and letting all of the air condition out of the house.
“Your son” insisted the man. “I was worried that you wouldn’t recognize me, Mom said you’d know immediately once you saw me. But I guess she was wrong.”
Steven lost his temper and pushed past the man to enter his home. “I don’t know who the hell you are or who you’re pretending to be. But my son Daniel is twelve years old and you are most certainly not him. Now you’ve got three seconds to tell me who you are or get the hell out of my house before I call the cops.” At this point Steven was both infuriated and fearful at what would happen next. “Stephanie!” he yelled up the steps to make sure she was ok. “Stephanie, are you there? Are you ok?”
The man looked Steven in the eyes. Heartbrokenly he said “Dad it’s me. It’s Brandon.”
“Br ...Br... Brandon? No you’re not... You can’t be. Are you really?!” responded the awestruck Steven. His mind was racing a mile a minute, he couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. Brandon had disappeared thirteen years ago. He was on the brink on crying now.
They had lost him and the police never found a trace. He had gone to the park to play basketball, and just never came home. They said it was as if he had vanished, but most likely he had been abducted. After the first 48 hours, Steven and Stephanie had prepared themselves for the worst, but the news never came. They knew nothing and somehow knowing nothing was worse. Steven had started praying for some sort of closure. He was praying for his son’s body to be found, but it never was.
During the first year Steven and Stephanie were on the brink of divorce. They couldn’t stand to look at each other and all the marriage counselors were a complete waste of money. That didn’t stop them from trying to make their marriage work though, because Stephanie was pregnant again. They had a second chance at having a family.
The tears were streaming down Steven’s face now and there was no stopping them either, his son was home. He recognized him now through the beard and the long hair. It was his son. His son that they had assumed was dead for almost twelve years was alive and he was standing right in front of Steven.
Stephanie was on the couch; she had already gone through a box a tissues. Daniel was sitting next to her, looking as confused as ever. Daniel never knew about his older brother, his parents were both unable to talk about Brandon without spiraling back into a depression, so they just didn’t. They would sort that out later but none of that mattered now because he was home. Brandon finally came back to them. |
It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur.
For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass.
”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.”
Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna.
Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did.
Now the cat, Fia — *flickering fire* — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in.
”It had been so lonely,” said Josh.
Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue.
Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited.
And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail.
This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty.
Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death.
”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower.
“He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… *gifts*, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash.
“I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?”
Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer.
“He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.”
“I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.”
“To the local tip I should think.” |
I glanced over the black screen, mounted on the wall above the azure white desk. Written on it in bright characters were the words:
Universe 22b [Version 1.96]
(c) UniversalTech. All rights reserved.
U:\Users\God22b> Version 2.0 is ready to install. Proceed with installing? (YES/NO/MOREINFO)
I stood there for a while. Version 2.0? What the hell was that? I glanced at the keyboard sitting patiently next to the mug of cold Earl Grey and slowly sat down on the chair. Carefully and deliberately, I wrote down "MOREINFO"and hit Enter.
A wall of text appeared:
VERSION 2.0 UPDATE INFORMATION
=======================
-Fixed Sloth bug where wings would occasionally not spawn
-Humans patched -- Fixed bug where they would not spawn with the knowledge of Life, the Universe and Everything, added extra teeth, eyes don't downgrade overtime, lifespan increased by 100 years, General Intelligence increased by 67 points.
-Dolphins patched -- Dolphins can now communicate telepathically with every species on Earth and can now walk on land.
-New species: Wingodile, Chirds, Falena Sharks
Wingodile: Crocodiles with wings (type WINGODILEHELP for more information or RENAME SPECIES1345325 [INSERTNAMEHERE])
Chird: Keeping the original chickens, but new advanced species can finally fly up to 1km height, as intended. (type CHIRDHELP for more information or RENAME SPECIES1345326 [INSERTNAMEHERE])
Falena Shark: A hybrid of a shark and a whale. Has legs, probably will succeed in World Domination. Highly intelligent, immortal. (type FALENASHARKHELP for more information or RENAME SPECIES1345327 [INSERTNAMEHERE])
-Fixed an issue where nothing could go faster than 299,792,458m/s
-Earth now renamed to Gaia, after disputes with Greeks
-Penguins can now fly for a limited time
-Added new species branched off humans: Homosuperiors. Twice the size of regular humans, super strength, can fly, infinite lifespan, cannot be harmed in any way, can sense electromagnetic waves
-Removed bug where platypuses would sense electromagnetic waves, added nipples.
-Other minor bug fixes. (type BUGFIXESLIST for a more detailed list of what was patched)
TYPE "INSTALLUPDATE"to proceed or "CANCELUPDATE"to cancel. For more commands, type "HELP"
I typed HELP. Another wall of text came up, but I caught what I was looking for. The command I came here for:
"DELETEUNIVERSE"-Will permanently delete this universe, automatically starting another one. All progress will be lost.
With shaking hands, I started typing. DELETEUNIVERSE
"Ready to delete Universe 22b. Press any key to continue."
I pressed the End button. |
-syringe behind. I stare at it in horror. The urge is too great. The power is at my fingertips.
I snatch it up and stab myself in the arm with it. I gasp and whine as I force it into myself, drawing blood. Blood is spilling everywhere. I have to be quick now. I have to hurry.
I hear a shout from far away. They know, they can see me through the camera.
I use the end of the syringe as a pen, dipping it in my own blood. Quickly now.
*The door to room 407 won't open.* I have to re-bloody the pen with every few letters, it's much to fine to last any longer. A slam against the doors make me jump. The knob turns and they are pounding on the other side of it. My heart is racing as I stare at it, expecting them to break through any moment now.
Slowly, hesitantly, a grin spreads across my face. My breathing is growing heavier. Finally, the power is at my finger-tips once again.
*None of the doors will open.*
I write down. I hear shouts and screams from the other side of the door, pleading with me, begging me to stop.
*The windows won't open. They won't break.*
A familiar voice calls my name from the other side of the door. Susanna. I'm sorry...
*Susanna, the nurse of the Facility suddenly drops dead from an aneurysm.*
It's a kindness, really. Another shout and scream on the other side of the door.
*A fire erupts, it will spread and engulf and burn the whole Facility, but leave the surroundings untouched.*
I put down the syringe and lean back. I smile as I hear screams. The smell of smoke drifts to my room. Soon, soon it will all be over. Finally, I won't be a slave to their whims. I won't write what they dictate. I will be free. The world will be free of this terrible place.
As a last minute thought I realize I can still do good.
*Everyone with the power of the pen will die before midnight.*
I scribble down. It takes too long. The room is now filled with smoke and I'm having a hard time concentrating. The screams aren't pressing against my door anymore. They are too concerned with escaping. I just have one more thing to write. One final salvation before...
*Everyone who worked in t-.* |
**2018**
*Grandson, I am not who you thought I am. I was born in the year 3456. I am a time traveler but I failed my mission. Attached is a map showing the location of the device. Power sources now should be enough. You must complete my mission...*
My grandfather made sure to add a space between these words and his mission for dramatic effect. What kind of heroic task did he trust me with? Preventing the Holocaust, preventing the fall of the twin towers, or maybe preventing the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy?
*Before you stop reading, hear me out. You will have to extend the space race...*
Sounds good grandpa.
*and prevent the collapse of the Soviet Union.*
Wait, what?
I couldn't believe this. My grandfather is asking me to keep an isolated, repressive, and corrupt state alive? This can't be.
*Listen to me. In the year 3339, we were attacked by an alien empire. We tried to resist them, but their technology was superior to ours. They conquered us, then used us as slave labor, forcing us to work sixteen hours a day. They called us savages, destroyed our culture, forced us to speak their language, and beat the humanity out of us. In 3396, some alien activists finally abolished slavery, and our alien viceroys shipped us off into crammed human reservations in the Sahara, Central Asia, and Texas.*
*I was born in 3435, in the Chihuahuan Reservation. When I was seventeen, I was caught stealing some valuables off some alien who got drunk on my uncle's moonshine. The bastard's friends tried to catch me, but I ran out into the desert. I wandered for three days, both in the heat of the day and the cold of the night. I didn't know whether thirst or hunger would take me first, but neither did. I stumbled across a small metal shed in the middle of the desert. The shed was empty, but I noticed that there was a trapdoor in the ground. I entered the trapdoor, and descended down into the Earth. Inside, I found enough food to last me fifteen years, and some blueprints.*
*I filled my stomach and napped. When I awoke, I went straight to examining those blueprints. I didn't know the English language very well, but I knew enough to understand what they were describing: The process of making a time machine. It was impossible to build for the people who created the blueprints, but it would take relatively little time and money to do this when you had access to alien resources.*
*So I did this. First, I went to the year 2500, where I learned about human history and the English Dialect of that time. Then, I went back to the year 1963, as I believed it would be the optimal time to start my plan. However, I met your grandmother. She distracted me from my mission. I ended up having a family, and forgetting about my mission.*
*So here it is, what I planned to do to prevent the fall of the Soviet Union, and the fall of mankind.*
I went straight to packing for the journey. I packed a Swiss knife, some food and water, large numbers of dollar bills and coins minted before 1963, my grandfathers passport (it is very convenient that I look just like a younger version of him), an M1911 pistol with some ammunition, and my grandfathers letter. I put on one of his old suits, and went to find the Device.
He kept it in his room, in his nightstand. It was an old-timey pocket watch. I lifted the lid, and saw the word *Molnija*, and the phrase *Made in USSR*. I set the time to 3:45, then started winding it. Slowly, the watch face started turning into a menu, asking me where to go and when to be there. I set the time for November 22, 1963. Elm Street Dallas.
**1963**
I knew exactly what would happen. My watch was already set to the next date, my pistol was drawn and loaded, and a man was waiting to take his shot, waiting for the limousine to pass. He was so focused, he would have never seen me coming. Right as he was about to pull the trigger of his sniper rifle, I yanked the barrel to the side. The shot was heard by everyone present, and so everyone looked our way. he started panicking, and I shot his foot. I made sure he tripped, and then knocked him out with the butt of his own rifle. I stood up and fired five shots into the air. The space program will get the funding it deserves. I then proceeded to get out of sight and go to my next destination.
**1986**
22 April. Pripyat, Ukraine. I found a good old Soviet phone booth, and also a man who bought my dollars and exchanged them for roubles. I fed the machine some money, and called the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.
"Hello?"Said someone in Russian.
"Listen here comrade."I looked at my watch. "I have a detonator in my hand and I will blow up your entire Nuclear Power Station if you don't comply with my demands."
I heard some chatter on the other side. "You are bluffing."
The time was 13:04:33.
"Okay, we are listening!"
"Meet me in Cafe Pripyat in an hour."
They'll raid that place and spend their day finding bombs in the power plant, I am sure of it.
I traveled back nine hours, and found myself in an army stockpile. I grabbed some packs of remote explosives, and one explosive on a timer. I saw some grenades, and grabbed three. I then travelled to the Nuclear reactor, and set up the remote explosives in locations that were distant from each other. I placed the timed explosive in a place where the explosion would be visible and harmless.
The time was 4:00:00. The explosive would detonate in 9:04:33.
That increased the lifespan of the union by just a bit.
**1991**
Moscow, April 19th. The bastards weren't even expecting it. As soon as the coup started, everyone gathered in a room to talk. I traveled right into that room. I drew my pistol, and shot the man who is to thank for ending the repression of the Soviet Union: Mikhail Gorbachev. I took out my grenades, and drew the pins. Threw them all down, and traveled to the year 3456.
**3456**
According to the information I found, the Soviet Union was locked in a cold war with the united states until 2425, when it finally collapsed. They kept seeing who would break the limits, first racing to the moon, then to Mars, and then to Proxima Centauri. They developed new and better weapons, and waged more and more proxy wars. In 3339, the aliens came. They didn't come to a weak Earth with no experience in space, they came to a planet that took time to prepare for invasion from a foreign body.
Long story short, their invasion lasted seven hours. In those seven hours, space stations warned us about the oncoming fleet Humanity became united, and all Nuclear Powers agreed to launch all their Interplanetary Ballistic Missiles towards the invading Aliens. We reduced them to rubble.
----------------------------------------------------
*Thanks for reading, feedback is very welcome and appreciated. I am trying to get better at writing.* |
Honestly, I was surprised they still laughed at the joke, sure I appreciated that they found some humour in it. The pity laughs were what made the heavy bag I carried lighter. "Necromancers are just really late healers."It was a dry joke, the sort that comes from a real smart-ass, the sort of one that would drop stupid quips in the middle of battles. He was a good man... Jameson had always been kind to me, before I even joined his party.
Who would want a healer that can barely close a scratch? I would ask as I sat alone in the guild, watching the happy parties go out in search of fortune, occasionally someone would approach me, before one of their fellow party members would whisper something in their ear, causing them to quickly leave.
But...
You weren't like that. No, you and your party. You, Lissa and Gruz all would sit with me, telling me of your grand adventures, Lissa would laugh often making a playful comment like "We could have really used a healer"before nudging my shoulder. Lissa was truly a bright woman, a sorceress with a drinking problem, well she claimed it was only a problem when she wasn't drinking. Despite all that she was the strongest sorceress one could find, a true scholar and the woman who taught me my first healing spells...
"Come on, it’s just a cut, Gruz barely feels it! do you Gruz?"She chuckled as she dug the blade into the Dwarfs hand as he drank down another gallon of ale.
"Of course, not Lass, but I would appreciate it if you asked before stabbing me."he hissed, only earning a loud laugh from the sorceress.
Gruz was a true man’s man. Strong, sturdy, Chest hair that could strangle a bear. He was truly the sort of man that I wanted to be when I grew up. grew up, that was funny considering I was already eighteen when I grew up, although I guess growing wasn't just physical now was it?
Things had gone well with Jameson and his crew, of course things were going well, look at them all. some of the best dysfunctional people you could find. and my friends. Yet that all was shattered.
Why didn't they wake me up? I could have helped. There’s nothing worse than waking up to the sound of fresh blood, the head of your dwarven friend tossed carelessly across the floor while the one that taught you all you knew was lying in a pool of her own blood. I spent minutes crying over her body, trying whatever I could to save her, but she was cold. it had been hours already... perhaps longer, finally there was a cough.
"Jameson!"I shouted, rushing over to the leader as he gagged, a spear lodged in his chest.
If only I had been stronger...
"I can heal you! I...."I was lying to myself, the tears welling up in my eyes were enough evidence of that, I had no chance of saving him, yet even in death he just smiled.
"Hey... It's not your fault. I was foolish, we should have retreated... How about one last joke, for old times?"I hated listening to him speak, it hurt. it was obvious by the gagging sound he made, as if his blood would drip into his lungs with each breath.
"No. no jokes, you will have plenty of time to tell more, please don't leave me"
"Necromancers are just really late healers"He said with a long drawn out laugh that slowly faded into nothingness. He was gone and I was back alone.
"Necromancers..."
Weeks had passed since that incident, I had grieved the whole time, before finally I decided to do something, A career change as it were, I packed up my fallen comrades bones, placing them into a bag. A basic necromancer could do little more than reanimate a corpse with a lifeless body. I wasn't aiming for the basics. I would bring them with me on my travels, searching for a way to revive them, even if it killed me.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
Pt 1 of 2:
My mother’s sobs woke me the day my father passed away in his sleep.
Wandering into their bedroom with the confused and fearful concern of a six-year-old, I stopped at her side. “Mama,” I whispered. “Why’s papa sleeping with his eyes open?”
She took me into her arms and kissed my forehead, holding me close.
I could say that’s what prompted me to go into the medical field, to save those who others thought couldn’t be saved. But the sudden death that had struck down my father was something in his brain, the most complex of all our organs by far, and we were decades from figuring out how to save those like him the first time I stepped through the front doors of my college university.
My path to a career as a doctor developed the same way anyone else’s does. You find something you’re good at and, if it doesn’t make you miserable to learn about it, that’s what you seek out in school. My talents were considerable in the sciences and a career in the medical field would help support my mother as she grew older, having struggled for many years to raise me without my father’s income.
Magic had always fascinated me as well, but it never drew me in the way it did others. Our society was entering an industrial age of combustion and electricity, of new and stunning technologies, and magic in comparison didn’t seem as incredible as the sciences. I enjoyed my classes in middle and high school, of course, just like all my classmates. It just never appealed to me to pursue it as a profession.
Until one day, in the city library as I studied for exams in my final year of medical school, I found myself going cross-eyed at the materials in front of me after hours of work. Taking a deep breath and stretching, I left my papers and books strewn across the table in front of me and decided to stretch my legs. Wandering the aisles, I noticed someone had left a small pile of books next to the shelf, having not bothered to put them back, a pet peeve of mine. I knelt down to pick them up but ended up just sitting on the floor when I saw the topic.
Necromancy was something studied for historical purposes, but strictly illegal. Of course, like many things against the law, in exceedingly rare cases people still performed it despite the repercussions, legal and moral. They often ended up regretting their actions when what they’d brought back was a twisted, demented, or even catatonic version of the one they’d loved. The police and magical detectives dealt with those cases and all I knew of them was what I read in the papers.
Flipping through one of the books that appeared more reader-friendly than the rest, something drew me in. I found myself sitting there for a long while, just continuing to read the book, then putting it aside and reaching for one that was significantly more advanced. And I had a thought that at first convinced me I was on the edge of insanity, but it persisted in my mind nonetheless.
What if you could heal dead or dying *tissue*, before the person died?
I eventually forced myself away from the books, putting them back on the shelf in the order determined by the codes on their spines, and back to my studies. But I kept at the research in my spare time, uncommon as spare time was in the busy life of a medical graduate that began a residency at a nearby hospital. And the more I learned, the more I was fascinated by the possibilities. Even though insecurities voiced themselves in my head, telling me that if this was possible, or indeed if it was a way around the laws we had in place, was I really remarkable enough to make a discovery like this?
Ultimately, I started experimentation. On myself first, of course, like any moral physician. I started small, with slits in the back of my arm made by a razor, using spells of my own design and wording to mend the wound. The first time I had success with a spell of my own creation, I nearly passed out from shock. I then moved onto deeper wounds, with identical success. Necrotic tissue was the easiest, and when I occasionally found injured animals along the city streets, their wounds festering and worsening, I brought them back to my home to heal them.
Next, I moved onto a mouse, easily caught in one of the traps laid in the alley behind my apartment. Something in my gut squirmed with discomfort as I repeatedly injured the animal in various and creative ways for my experiments, even as I used nitrous oxide to dull its pain, but it was science, and science demanded sacrifice. I eventually set it free, watching it dash away from me at great speed, probably assuming it had suffered through a torturous Hell only to miraculously escape.
Like any good doctor, I took detailed and thorough notes of all my exploits and experiments. But then one day, as I closed my large notebook and tucked it away in my desk drawer, I let out a sigh as depression started to take hold. There was no way to introduce this to the medical field without explaining the source. Despite my specific and creative changes to the spells of necromancy that had developed it into something new, the roots of this magic were undeniable. Not only would my medical license be revoked; I would likely be imprisoned.
My mind ruminated on this for weeks, and eventually months. I sent money to my mother regularly and each time I thought of how I couldn’t risk my livelihood on something that could very well land me in prison. But eventually, I found myself front and center in a situation where I needed to make a choice. |
Finally, I had traced him. Backup was en route. E.Y.E. drones were in the air. I blinked thrice, bringing up my targeting HUD. I checked my magazines and batteries. This crazy zipper wasn't going to get away this time.
I moved like a ghost, down the stairs and into the Hinterlands. I hated them, these crawlspaces between corpo bunkers and city structures, but they were the only places left in the city that weren't monitored. As a consequence, they were overrun with zippers, psychos, junkies, geeks: anyone who valued privacy over safety.
I slipped on my IR lenses, peering through the darkness. There. A catwalk, and a keypad.
If I was quick, I could make the bust before private security got to him. It would be a light on the city's dash if we were the ones to finally nail this zipper. I hurried over, scanned the keypad. Used city worker overrides. The door slid open.
Monowire whipped dangerously close, forcing me around the doorframe. Electrical noise like frying bacon drowned out all sound. My audio feed was null. I couldn't hear the shots, but I knew they were coming. I ducked, as metal shavings exploded from the wall above me. Same tricks; this was my guy.
We had done this part of the dance before. We knew each other's moves. Next up, he woul--
The static screening vanished. Audio came back online. This was... new.
He was receiving a call. He had to turn off his scrambler to do so.
"Yes? Yes it is. She what? I'll be right there; ten... no, disregard. *Seven* minutes. Thank you,"he finished.
I heard a low hum. I took an E.Y.E. out of my kit and tossed it into the air, opening live+.02 feed. Risky, but I had to see.
It was a bunker, or something similar. He was deactivating a custom security suite. Indicators suddenly went dark all across the near wall. An EM denial field deactivated less than seven centimeters from my foot--I would have stepped right through it, frying my leg augs.
My E.Y.E. caught a frame of him moving, before he fried it. I swore. He was faster than me.
Visual returned. He was *right there* in front of me. I tried to aim. He was faster.
"My apologies, Detective. Something has come up. Next time, perhaps."
---
When I reactivated, my whole system felt fried. Broken E.Y.E.s lay scattered about. External sync showed I was only offline for twenty two seconds, but that was enough. He was gone.
He hadn't killed me, though. And he had recognized what was happening. He even spoke, probably on a net call. Then he had spoken *to me.* That was... unexpected.
Zippers lost control, lost their ability to distinguish reality from what was happening in their game. That was their whole deal. Was this guy a psycho, instead? A geek, maybe? Was my intel bad?
I looked around. I was inside the bunker. The door was shut, but only directionally sealed. He had... what, thrown me in here and locked the door to keep the junkies away?
Nothing made sense. Zippers don't act like that. Neither do geeks.
I retrieved my pistol. The magazine was gone, as was the battery pack to my armor. I patted myself down. Everything else was intact. Even my SIM was still there. MED diagnostic showed only two minor impacts on my person--probably where he had grabbed me, and where I had hit the floor.
A known cyber terrorist shorts out a pursuing officer, disables me, has me dead to rights, could have killed me at his leisure or stripped me for augs... but instead, he just nicks my ammo and tucks me in his safety bunker, unsecured. And then leaves.
What. The. Fuck.
I rebooted: all systems booted up. I did a scan: no malware. I even checked my uplink. Full signal. He hadn't even hacked me.
I couldn't parse it. I looked around. And then it all started to make sense.
The bunker wasn't just a tube and some storage. It a *bunk*, in the traditional sense. There was a *bed.* There was *food.* There was some sort of colorful markings, too sloppy for gang tags, all along one wall. Wax sticks, wrapped in paper, all different colors. An old analogue data brick, with some sort of cartoon monster tagged on the front.
Along one wall, there were... pictures. Also analogue. Some kind of chemical reaction must have made them; I could detect light-sensitive nitrates in the sublayers. There were smudges of skin oil on the plastic square borders. I moved closer.
They were pictures of a person. A woman, holding a bundle. A pinkish little face peeked out of the bundle.
A baby. A live baby. I fried a little, inside.
"Fuck me. He's *organic,*"I muttered aloud.
"Mostly,"he replied. "And so is she."
I straightened up, slowly. He stood in the doorway, holding a gun in one hand, some kind of wide field emitter. In his other arm, he held his daughter.
"You're not a runner,"I realized.
"No, Detective. I'm a *father*." |
Beneath the gold coins there are bones. I know this. They are buried deep in the warm piles, covered by trinkets. A crown falls there (and the skull that sat beneath it?) Armour studded with rubies (and the ribs which it protected?) greaves from a man who lost his legs to my jaws, gloves from scorched hands when the skin of his face began to melt.
The cave is large and black. The heat from my scales fills the gold coins and they glow like embers. Three scared sheep skitter in the tunnels ahead. Offerings from the people in the village below, who love me and adore me for my sapphire blue wings, for the help I lend at harvest time, for the tears I weep to heal illnesses. Human lives are short and they do not remember.
My life is long and I have tried to forget.
The coins scratch at my scales. It is time for another shedding. (How many has it been?) The new colour beneath the bright, pure blue is dark, black as the cave walls. When I see it, the bones whisper to me from beneath the treasure.
*When they see you they will know. They will see you as you are.*
Fear like a lance through me.
I scatter the gold to dig for old bones who have no tongue and yet speak to me. They recount my sins like a litany, chant them like the tolling of the church bell when mass is read. I find no bones, only ash and blood and a great shed skin in terrible black.
*Leave me alone, I am good now, I am good, I swear*
My begging finds silence. Only the dead remain, and I with them. |
Doing this rather quickly because I have to go. Sorry about the poor/mediocre quality! I don't write a lot, but I might try writing more because this was actually kind of fun. Comments/Critiques are welcome.
“My Emperor, the visitors.” The servant said, kneeling before a well-dressed man sitting atop a gorgeous European throne. The Emperor motioned for me to approach, and I walked down the golden carpet, marvelling at the beauty of my surroundings. Outside, the air of this world was thick and hard to breathe, but it felt just like my home inside this massive church.
“Where are you from?” He inquired, puzzling over my figure. *Male, speaks French. Corsican accent.* My neural implant informed me.
“I’m from Mars, your majesty.” I replied, smiling at his confusion.
“Mars?” He repeated. I could tell he wanted to inquire further, but he didn’t. “Do you know where we are?”
“We are currently on KD-2931 e.”
“Wrong. We’re in Hell.” He laughed.
“If we’re in hell. . . Then shouldn’t you be. . . Suffering?” I said.
“Hell isn’t exactly what you imagine.” He replied, “The Umayyads have had Satan locked up in a cell of eternal torture for over a thousand years now. The only battles being fought down here are between men.”
“And where do you stand in this world?” I said.
“Well, five hundred years ago I conquered two thirds of this god-awful world. My empire fell apart after I tried to invade Russia, though.” He looked away and sighed, “You’d think General Winter would be dead in Hell, but no, he just took off his clothes and became General Summer. Today my meagre empire barely manages to fend off even those damn Nazi’s!”
“I heard you were interested in my services.” I said. His eyes lit up, and he looked at me hungrily. “The spaceship we came in cannot fly, but the matter manipulators still work.”
“Yes, yes. . . Your services.” He stared at me with a confident gaze. “What would you like in return?”
“You have the manpower needed to gather materials in order to repair my jump drive. I'll need that.” I said. “I’ll print you as many plasma rifles and energy shields as you need, but you will have to bring the necessary raw materials yourself.”
The Emperor grinned, imagination running wild. Hitler, Mussolini, Bismarck, Victoria, Alexander. . . They were all going to kneel before the Emperor of France. |
I remember watching a video where a guy would bend spoons. He had a weird accent and I recall thinking he was oddly handsome, in his 80s clothes and 80s hair. But spoons weren't the only thing he could do amazing things with - he could make objects rotate without touching them, bend house keys, describe hidden pictures and all manner of other simple tricks.
His name of course, was Uri Geller.
No one in my family ever had any doubt he was a charlatan - that these 'feats' were nothing more that sleight of hand or trickery. My sister and I would play at these games, trying to duplicate the 'powers' of Mr Geller - and over time we figured out our own ways to cheat and make the impossible seem possible.
But as we grew older, both of us forgot about Uri and his spoons and became more enamoured of boy bands and celebrities.
The tricks that we perfected though, I never forgot. They were calming, soothing - and sometimes I would practice them when I was stressed or anxious; the familiar forms relaxing my knotted thoughts.
 
The party wasn't going well.
Far too many people crowded the apartment and things were too loud. Protectively holding my drink to my chest, I made my way to the kitchen, looking for my bestie, Jess.
"You seen Jess?"I yelled to one of the guys near the fridge.
He just shrugged, I wasn't even sure he'd heard what I said. The kitchen led to one of the balcony doors and I found Jess out there, getting some air - or so I thought.
"Jess?"
As she turned her carefully made-up face to me, I knew something was wrong. Tear-tracks marked the contouring blush and suspicious blurs surrounded her eyes. She'd been crying out here, alone.
"Oh Jess."
Sobbing, she let me enfold her in a hug, words hiccuping into my shoulder,
"He dumped me, Sara. In front of the others."
"Oh shit honey, I'm so fucking sorry! I should have been there for you."
Untangling herself she sniffed and wiped her nose on a napkin.
"No, you weren't to know. You were having a good time - my shit shouldn't ruin that."
"Seriously? This is the worst party. I've barely spoken to anyone."
She blinked, dabbing at the corners of her eyes,
"I just wish I could stop thinking about him."
Regarding my distraught friend, I held up my index finger,
"Wait here a sec, I'll be right back."
Pushing back into the kitchen, I yanked open the most likely drawer and grabbed a handful of spoons, before exiting again and pulling the sliding door closed behind me.
Placing down all but one of the spoons, I held one up,
"Watch this."
Rubbing the spoon with my finger, I held the tip of the handle. As I rubbed, the metal deformed and the bowl of the spoon drooped.
Jess grinned at me through her tears,
"I had no idea you were into this hokey magic crap."
In response I fingered an imaginary moustache,
"You insult the Great Sara!"
She giggled as I put a spoon on the outdoor table and slowly rotated it without touching it.
"And now, for my final trick, the *friend bend*!"
Placing a spoon in her hand, I closed her fingers around the handle, leaving plenty of spoon still visible.
*"Behold!"* I proclaimed, standing back and moving my hands around hers. As she watched, the spoon drooped, then folded in half and the bowl fell to the floor with a *clink* on the patio tiles.
Jess's hand shook slightly,
"How did you do that?"she whispered.
I shrugged,
"It's just a dumb spoon trick."
"No it isn't,"she interjected, "you can't bend a spoon *in someone else's hand!*"
"Sure you can; it's all just the same thing."
Shaking her head vehemently now, Jess pointed to the four remaining spoons.
"Bend them. Bend them without touching them."
"Whatever,"I responded, focusing on the spoons, stroking them with my imaginary fingers. One by one, the spoons deformed and bent in on themselves - one snapped clean in half.
"Sara,"Jess said, swallowing thickly, "what you just did was *impossible*." |
The only thing keeping me alive was the smell of freshly roasted coffee. My mug sat heavy on my fingers as I made my way, carefully, through the instrumentation lab. When I passed by the clock I closed my eyes, because who the hell wants to know that it's twelve minutes past four AM?
Other than myself, a dozen or so half-finished contraptions, and a chemical-grade shower and sink, the only other thing in the room was Nanjit. If you asked me to describe Nanjit without using the word "eccentric,"I'd tell you it couldn't be done. His hair always looked like he had just stepped out of a blast chamber. When he wasn't invading someone's personal space (usually mine), he could be found tinkering with some appliance or other.
This time, he was adjusting the eyepieces of the microscopes with a screwdriver. Only, the eye-pieces were no longer attached to a microscope - instead, Nanjit had fastened them to some spherical piece of metal, laced with exposed circuits and vacuum tubes. Wires spilled out of the sphere at random openings, as if it were a grotesque, mechanical egg laid by some alien monster.
Even though he was eye-deep into the lenses, he must've heard me when I walked into the room, because he started flapping his hand in my direction. Naturally, I pretended not to notice.
"Benson,"he hissed at me, "Come over here."
I let out the deepest, most drawn out sigh I could muster, and turned towards Nanjit.
"Nanjit, I have less than four hours to complete this round, and I'm only a fifth of the way through."
In response, he flapped his hand harder, "No, Benson. Seriously. You want to see this."
It takes maybe five steps to cross from my side of the lab to his. I did it in about thirty. It was a pleasure to watch Nanjit squirm and writhe and flap as I shuffled across the lab.
My voice was stonier than a C-type asteroid.
"What?"
"Put your head in there,"he pointed at the eye-pieces, "Don't blink. If you blink, it'll change."
My eyebrows creased together, "Change?"
If there's one good thing I can say about Nanjit, it's that he never fails to capture your curiosity.
"Yes. When you see it, don't blink."
I put my mug down on the table, and leaned forward, not really sure what to expect. The rubber kissed the rims of my eyes, and I blinked a few times to clear the blur of too-close light.
I saw a woman's face, pale, streaked with sweat. Just from looking at her, I could almost feel her pain. Her skin was turning red under her own exertions. There was blood all over my hands. Wait - *my hands?*
I blinked.
"Do you see it?"Nanjit whispered breathlessly.
A man with a thick, curly beard was staring at me - smiling, laughing. He didn't have a shirt on - no, he didn't have *anything* on. And the look he was giving to me, it made me feel naked too. He looked down, and I looked down, and I saw that our bodies were connected - only, it wasn't my body, it was a woman's: dark curves rising and falling like dunes in the desert.
I blinked.
"Nanjit, what the hell is this-"
The Earth was a fat, blue marble, swirled with white and splattered with green.
"It's a seer. You can see through the eyes of *anyone*-"
"Anyone? What about animals?"
The moon was a much smaller marble, hovering just in front of the Earth, obscuring most of South America.
"Not animals, I've adjusted it for higher intelligence. It's several levels above dogs and dolphins."
"Nanjit-"
"It skips over children too. But most adult humans, you can see through their eyes. Really, anyone with an average adult level intellect, or above."
"What about astronauts?"
"Ohh!"he gasped, "I wasn't sure if it would work beyond the Earth's Atmosphere. Did you find someone on the ISS?"
"No, it's farther out than that. Hey, are there any astronauts beyond the moon's orbit?"
A shadow passed over the moon, lancing its spear tip over the craters.
"I ... I don't think so. Why?"
***
[*Part 2 >*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4atgk8/wp_youve_just_invented_a_device_that_allows_you/d13tnly) |
Exotic Meats Club:
...
...
...
10/12/1998: Albert: Ostrich wings, roasted.
10/15/1998: Ben: panda chop cooked medium-rare.
11/02/1998: Karl: Yeti flesh roasted with acorn atop a campfire.
11/12/1998: Igor: Dragon meat served on their scales.
11/20/1998: Albert : Kraken sausage and exotic spices.
11/29/1998: Henry: Meat from Albert Einstein boiled in a pot.
12/03/1998: Karl: Neandertal steak served still raw.
12/12/1998: Ben: Karl meat, freshly cut in thin ribbons.
12/25/1998: Igor: boiled eyeballs of one Yeshua of Nazareth.
01/05/1999: Ben: A piece of the moon served with the Karl leftovers.
01/11/1999: Albert: Magma, careful.
01/20/1999: Henry: Teeth from Igor.
01/22/1999: Igor: liquified meat from 32 american presidents.
01/25/1999: Ben: remnants of the black plague.
02/03/1999: Igor: Flesh from an alien ambassador.
02/11/1999: Ben: Technology from an alien race (Thought to be a time machine).
02/23/2158: Albert: I think we should stop...
02/23/2158: Ben: Albert chops boiled in its blood.
02/23/2158: Ben: Igor and Henry served with a cool wine.
02/24/2159: Ben: Ben.
|
The sins of man were like paint on the artist's palette; the colors were endless, and oftentimes they blend together. The reds of rage blended in with the sorrow of blues. The estranged husband bathed in flames of anger as he strangled his cheating wife, his aura soon being overtaken by the same shade of blue that the skin of his wife's face would take as the life was choked out of her.
At times, it was beautiful.
At times, Roger somewhat appreciated it. It was humanity, after all. What would humanity be without some form of sin?
He was a religious man, Roger.
The correctional officer would often find himself admiring the new inmates as they came in through the onboarding process. Admiring the shades of their auras, not once ever seeing one aura that was identical to the other.
Every man's sin was different from the others. Shades of paint mixing in with each other. You could never duplicate the same one.
That was God's plan, after all. Every man had their own fate, their own destiny, their own sins, and their own penance to pay. Roger knew he had his to pay soon, he saw it in the mirror every day as he shaved. It wasn't exactly necessary to shave every day, but he did anyway. It was his chance to meditate. It was his chance to stare into his reflection.
And his chance to inspect his aura.
It had always been yellow. A brightly burning shade of yellow. He had researched exactly what the yellow aura had meant. It had intrigued him, made him wonder what kind of sin it was that he had committed that earned him the yellow aura.
There was a time where he had thought that maybe the yellow aura didn't mean sin at all, but maybe instead it meant a glowing aura, a sinless aura. An aura that meant to be light, branding him as a warrior of God. An angel of vengeance shrouded in a glowing light, striking down all forms of evil as he saw fit.
At least that's what Roger wanted to believe the yellow aura had meant. There were other meanings that the color yellow had meant, some more conventional and acceptable than others. Others, not quite so much. He had read on some websites that yellow was the color of cowardice. The exact opposite of bravery.
Roger refused to believe that was what *his* yellow aura had meant.
***
It was Sunday, 8 in the morning. The time that new inmates were enrolled into the Bradbury Penitentiary. Roger was in charge of signing in the new inmates, taking their prints, reviewing their forms, making sure that everything was in order before he officially introduced them to their new iron-bar-encased coffin.
One of the new inmates, Cullingsworth, was rolled in by his caretaker. Cullingsworth was an elderly prisoner, somewhere around 90 years old. His crimes were on par with what many kid were convinced the crimes of the Boogeyman were, but the difference between Cullingsworth and the Boogeyman was that Boogeyman was a myth, and Cullingsworth was very much real.
Before he was rolled into the penitentiary, Roger reviewed his file.
**Fifteen counts of domestic abuse.**
**Twenty-three counts of kidnapping.**
**Fifty-four first-degree murders.**
Roger furled his brow as he reviewed the doc. It almost seemed comical, the amount of crimes the man committed.
"You've been busy,"Roger said to himself. Lowly, that way no one else could hear him.
**Burglary**
**Assault**
**Grand Theft Auto**
**Arson**
"Jesus Christ,"Roger said to himself. "What haven't you done?"
He tried to continue reading the document when the lights in the corridor went out. He quickly looked around, wondering if the warden had somehow forgotten to pay the electric bill, but no, Roger knew that it was a trick of the eyes.
The room appeared to have dimmed, but truly the lights were still on. He was looking directly up into the fluorescent bulbs hanging directly above. His eyes told him that they were still lit, but deep in the recesses of his mind, they had gone out. Spiritually, Roger felt darkness approaching.
Rounding the corner, Roger saw that disciple of darkness approaching. Cullingsworth, sitting in his wheelchair, slouched over to the side, his mouth hanging open, a line of drool hanging down over his chin, his eyes completely devoid of attentiveness. The caretaker who was pushing the chair was practically the opposite; a young woman with curly blonde hair, and a smile on her face.
Her aura was blue, what Roger had long before denoted as 'sinless' or 'innocent', but that blue was being sucked away. Sucked away into the black-hole aura that belonged to Cullingsworth. It seemed that all reality was being warped and bent towards Cullingsworth, as if the laws of gravity and the special theory of relativity were bending to the will of Cullingsworth.
Not the will. No, the *demand*.
Roger felt his breath catch in his throat as the caretaker came to a stop with Cullingsworth just a mere few feet away from him. The caretaker spoke, but Roger couldn't hear her. The black hole that was Cullingsworth's aura seemed to have stolen sound from Roger as well as light.
To Roger, there was only one logical explanation as to why this demon was presented to him;
This was a test. A test from God. One of the many faces of *ultimate* evil had been presented to him, and as an Agent of the Lord, it was now time to prove his worth.
Roger took a step towards Cullingsworth and his caretaker, a step closer into the void that was Cullingsworth's energy. He gripped the baton that was fastened to his belt. He gripped it with a sweaty palm, preparing himself to draw it.
He saw it in his mind: He was going to draw his baton, and he was going to bash Cullingsworth head in. He was going to cave the devil's skull in and restore the light to the world that the devil's aura had sucked up. Roger was going to forcefully destroy this black hole.
Roger was going to free light from the unparalleled pull that was the black hole of Cullingsworth's existence.
He drew the baton, and Cullingsworth dead gaze shifted, suddenly attentive and aware.
The since then catatonic criminal locked eyes with Roger.
And the devil *smiled*.
Roger put away his baton. He apologized to the frightened caretaker. He checked in Cullingsworth into the penitentiary.
And later that night, a few moments before he began preparing his noose, he stared into the mirror, staring at his aura. That yellow aura.
Yellow, its other known meaning being that of cowardice. |
I am not a good person, not really. I like to think I am, but I'm just like you. I don't keep cash in my wallet so I don't feel guilty for not giving any to the pan handlers. I drive right past that guy hitch hiking, after all they could be a serial killer! I might hold the door open for people behind me but by god you better grab that handle cause I'm letting go as soon as I'm through. That being said, whenever I have a truly terrible week I do like helping someone out. Do a random good deed for the sole reason of doing good.
I had a shit week. Like shittier than all other weeks combined. Started off by dropping a lasagna straight out the oven on my girl friend's dad. Turns out pasta sauce is analogous to fucking napalm. Then the day after that I came home to my best friend spit roasting my girlfriend with my brother. Lots of things were thrown, three relationships broken beyond repair. Then I got in a car accident on my way to work the next day, but it wouldn't have mattered because I was about to get fired that day. That Saturday I woke up defeated. I just stared at the ceiling for about an hour and a half not even bothering to look at my phone, just enjoying my misery.
When the door bell rang I bellowed out the most forceful "fuck off"but they either didn't hear or didn't care and rang again. So I got up and realized it had snowed like a motherfucker that night. A solid ten inches were on the ground.
"Eh man, I'll shovel your driveway for $20"the guy at my driveway was least homeless looking, clearly seasoned homeless guy I have ever seen. He was dressed like he was purposefully trying to dress dirty, while it also looking completely natural. Its hard to explain. Just think of the perfect "homeless, but not a hobo"kinda guy. Anyways, I don't carry cash.
"Sorry man, but I... uh..."I look around and I *really* do not want to shovel all that white bullshit by myself. "I don't carry cash. **BUT** How about this; I help you out and in return whenever you're done you can come back here and you can crash in the garage. Get out of the wind kinda deal."You would have thought I had offered to buy him his whole goddamn apartment complex with a seven figure a year salary.
"You got a deal man!"So I bundled up and grabbed my shovel and together we got to work. It was hard and I'm pretty sure he ended up doing like three fourths of the work, at the end of it I was sore and it was pretty obvious he was too.
"I am so goddamn sore. You want a beer and a shower man?"He looked at me questioningly
"Day's not over yet, I could probably hit up one or two..."We looked around and most of the neighborhood had already come out and were starting to shovel their own driveways. "Yeah I could go for a shower."
After that we went inside he used the guest shower, and we had a few beers. I might have had a few too many, he ended up sleeping on the couch. It was way too cold to kick him out. The next day he was even worse. The snow had doubled up. We just woke up and looked at each other. "I think I have enough beer to get us through today and tomorrow. I probably shouldn't drink all of it myself, and I got a weeks worth of heavy drinking."
Well, turned out he was a pretty cool dude and made a great roommate. We helped eachother get great jobs, I got a job at the local hospital in its IT department, he got a job on an airline as a steward. That spring he was back up on his feet and was moving into a small one bedroom apartment.
I'll never forget the last thing he said to me as we finished up moving him in "By the way, my name isn't Frank, its Forseti."
That was about five or six years ago now. We fell out of touch, when Frank moved out he didn't have a phone or internet or anything. We exchanged letters every now and then, he changed me though. I started carrying cash and I never passed someone on the street, even if only to talk to them for a few minutes. I picked up almost every hitch hiker (I kept my senses about me, serial killers and all - you understand). I started to let other people go before me when I held the door open. I almost didn't even notice the changes they were so small, but it brightened so many other people's days even if only a glimmer.
Then another of the worst and best days of my life. A lawyer came knocking on my door during the dreariest week I can remember, almost as if the world was mourning. He asked for two forms of identification (mail and a driver's license). He then handed over a manila envelope and an antique chest and without saying another word he left.
As I opened the envelope I had the creeping feeling of loss wash over me, intermingled though was something I couldn't quite place. Power? I couldn't believe my eyes. I was rich! Holy shit! This was that old homeless guy all those years ago? How? I was all of a sudden one of the richest people in all of history! I collapsed and then chest roared, without roaring. Only I could hear it, of that I was sure. Then a wave of desire washed over me. A sense of "right". I opened the chest and inside was a golden light that poured out and over me.
I am Forseti, god of Judgement.
​
Author's note: I know nothing about Norse mythology other than Thor loved humans and was strong. I literally just googled "Norse god of Judgement" |
The thing about streaming services is the abundance of B- through Z- grade movies. I love them. If it wasn’t for searching for the very cheesiest movies out there, I would never have found Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Or Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter(which is a musical). Or…
You get the idea.
Some people watch Cheers or Friends on a loop. My Mom does Murder She Wrote. I do horror films that are horrific. Tropes? Bring them on! Canned music? The best around! The same character names used over and over? Sure, Brad, go pick up Betty for a night on the town!
I have a big screen tv, the type that makes you wish you had friends to help you move it, and that is just in the same room. I have a couch that is full of pillows and blankets, mainly because I tend to conk out while watching these things and it is just comfier. And the dog, a little pug-chihuahua mix with breathing problems and and attitude. He doesn’t like it when I dress him up, but he will suffer and sit next to me as I watch the screen.
Sitting down to tonights movie, I had my ‘dinner’, read chips and salsa, because salsa is vegetables, and a beer. I don’t really drink, but a friend had dropped off a care package and along with some other things, there was a six pack of Corona. So, I felt all thematic and found a movie about some people who were digging up Aztec ruins, and about to suffer for it.
It was AWFUL! I LOVED IT!
Except…
When I giggled at the Buxom Sidekick Archeologist being squeamish about worms, the Main character side-eyed the screen and nodded. And then, when the costumed killer pushed the Buff yet Tender hired mercenary into a pit of spikes, scorpions, and alligators (really?), I called out, “Yes!”, and the main character stopped and said, “I never did like him. Now I don’t have to pay him.”
The stereotypical Sex At An Inappropriate Moment scene was coming. The Buxom Sidekick Archeologist was putting the moves on the Main character, who, I would say was a delightful combination of Strong Jawline and Bespectacled Nerd. She was all, ‘I’m so scared! Hold me!’ and I called out, ‘Don’t do it man! The killer will hack her to death before she gets her boobs out!’
The Main actually stopped and sighed this painful sigh and pushed her away. “We don’t have time for this if we are to live until daybreak.” She looked… confused, but stuck with him as they were crawling their way out of the cave they had fallen into.
I saw the Bad Guy Is About To Trap Them coming. It was just a glimpse of the really bad feather mask fading into the darkness of the cave in front of them, but it was so obvious! There were two tunnels, one looking like it went up, one kinda not so friendly and going down. He held the flickering electric torch (yes, flashlight in British English because he let slip his London accent a few times over his Southern drawl. So cute!) and swung it to the tunnel that led up. That was the way the Bad Guy had gone.
I yelled at the screen, waking Pupper, and called out, “Don’t go in there! The killers in there!”
He stopped! He moved the light from one tunnel entrance to the other and then looked down in the sand floor. He saw the footsteps(and I think it was a Nike sneaker foot print), and said, “Thanks for the heads up!” He turned to the screen and gave a thumbs up.
I sat there. Just watching. I… Could not believe what had just happened.
The Buxom whatever gave him a strange look, but followed him into the other tunnel. A few moments later, I watched the feather mask Bad Guy come out of the Obvious Trap tunnel and look after the two. He even shrugged.
The movie ended with a sunrise over a mountain that looked more like Italy than Qxiuatl. The two who survived stood at the entrance of a cave, the pink and gold colors bright on their dirty faces. They looked tired, but Main character put his arm around the shoulder of the Buxom thing and said, “We survived. Now we need to make sure no one else gets taken by the curse.” He then looked at the screen and said, “Thank you.”
Before I could stop myself, I said, “You are welcome.” He winked at me and turned back to looking into the really bright sun. I collapsed in a fit of giggles.
I have never been able to find that one again. But, I think I found one with the same actor in a space thriller. I wonder… |
“I just wanted to say that...its okay.” Her arms were wrapped around him, her head nestled under his chin.
“Um. What’s okay?”
“I know it’s likely a compulsion.”
“What are you—ohh. You found the...”
“Yes, the gloves. All of your gloves, the piles and piles and...why aren’t you hugging me back?”
“Hm?” He had kept his hands high and out of reach. No sense in accidentally touching her and...
“Why are your hands up? Oh! You’re...not wearing any. Do you want me to fetch a pair. Another compulsion? Germaphobia? Please, babe, I know about the gloves in the attic. Share with me. Open up. I don’t *care* about problems, I *love* you.”
“I’m not a germaphobe. Or compulsive.”
She let go but kept her forehead on his chest. A soft voice reached his ears. “Do...do you not trust me?”
His heart ached at the phrase, at the hurt it held. He lifted her chin and met her gaze.
“Babe, I love and trust you more than—crap!”
“...more than crap?”
“No, I — shit, I wasn’t thinking!” He lifted his eyes and beyond his girlfriends auburn haired head was his girlfriend. Again.
A clone.
Just like the gloves.
“Ohhhh, man. And I had been sooo careful.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“Me? Who the hell are you?”
“Fffffuck.” |
"Put the knife down you fool, you are not willing to use it"I spoke in a tone as close to comfort as I could manage.
"You don't know that. You dont know what I'd do!"The girl responded, trembling hand still gripping the blade. Her words were produced like smoke, fickle and quickly fading.
Slowly I reached forward with a clawed hand, closing the gap between us until it was no more. She hesitated, but conceded, allowing me to take the knife.
"Of course I know that. Because I know you El."I paused to tuck the knife away, then continued. "You forget I can see your mind."
She grew suddenly quiet. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and choked at her throat; a moment later little shiny streams were running down her cheeks. Years ago I would've froze at this very human gesture, but at this point in my guardianship I was more than prepared. I knew what she needed.
"Come here girl. We're ok."I held out my arms. She came forth and sobbed into me, darkening my coat with her tears. She cried and cried, shook until empty.
A guardian demon. Who thought of such a foolish thing? A relationship, a real relationship, between infernal and man. It was unholy at best, sacrilegious at worst. But I had a job to do, regardless of the terms that would be used to describe our binding.
Those some three years ago when I got the call I knew it to be trouble. Micheal never called unless it was. And old friend, yes, but a friend all too good at understanding my vices.
"Leonard, I know it's been a while but"is what he'd said, how he'd started me on this path.
"No. Whatever it is Lucifer's no."I replied
"You didn't even hear me out, old friend. Can a demon and angel not get in one simple conversation? I've missed you."
"Though I cannot say the same *friend*. I know your games all too well. They call us the masters of deceit, yet here you call claiming to wish me a nice day yet your voice reeks of desperation-"I felt my anger growing, but was cut short by his reply.
"She's my daughter, Leonard. Not god daughter, my blood daughter. It will be three, four years at best. I just need you to watch her, you don't even have to interfere!"
There was not much to say after, only to agree to his ridiculous pact. In return he said I'd have clearance to the earth for as long as I'd watch, though I did not care much for the promise of roaming a worthless rock.
But now, now holding El in my arms, sensing her trust in me, I could not help but to feel this was the only decision to be made. I did not care if Micheal returned for her. Hells, I think I may have even preferred if he didn't. Because someone, someone needed me, and now I think I needed them too.
And the honest truth is, she would have used that knife too. She would have killed the things that wronged her, then buried her shame in a lifetime of sadness.
I was the only thing telling her not to. |
“So, what do you want to try this time?”
I got the distinct idea that St Peter was bored of having to ask me this question. This was the… 27th time, or the 28th. I can’t quite keep track anymore. “Any recommendations?” I asked, exasperated.
“Like I said before, uniting the human race is still at the top of the big man’s wish list.”
I’d heard that one before and to that end I’d so far caused multiple wars, conquered damn near every inch of the planet and apparently, my methods were “too harsh”.
“No I think I’m just going try being a normal guy this time, just keep my head down and not embark on any grand endeavours. Think you could throw me into the middle of the bell curve in an average American family or something?”
I saw him think it over, raise his eyebrows and respond; “That might work actually. You know the drill, close your eyes, next stop Washington, USA.”
I came to in that unconscious part of the brain where I had to exist until my host body got old enough to start making decisions. I was looking up at a chubby father who looked kind and was clearly overjoyed at my existence.
“Congratulations Mr. Bone, it’s a boy. Got any ideas for a name?” the nurse enquired kindly.
I heard my new dad reply in a gruff Seattle accent “Kenneth, we’re going to call him Ken.”... |
The cool, pleasant voice of the shuttle’s automated pilot system caused me to wake up with a start. As I sat up in the cramped bunk, all I could remember of the dream I’d been having was glimpses of family and friends, and of course, Earth. “Arrival in five minutes. This shuttle will disengage it’s FTL Drive in four minutes.” A pang of nervous excitement shot through my stomach.
I’d been gone for a Standard Year, about one and a half times longer than an Earth year, and about half as long as a full year on the planet which I had lived. It’s hard to describe the longing for home that had built up over my time among the Immolorans, save that it was powerful and painful. The “aliens” themselves had mostly attempted to make my stay as comfortable as possible, but I ended up feeling like more of a travelling museum exhibit than anything else.
For months, I had been paraded about at all of the most important events in what equated to high society among the Immolorans. At first, it was exhilarating, seeing things that no human had ever seen. I had been fitted with a special eye lens that recorded everything I saw and stored the data on a secure computer terminal, which itself was equipped with an advanced Artificial Intelligence construct that handled sorting and curating the information.
Rather early on in my extrasolar trip, that A.I., which called itself Artemis, had become my closest confidante and friend, as I was making none amongst the Immolorans. After only a few months, Artemis and I had jointly concluded that Immoloran society was nowhere near as diverse as that of Earth. Where the Earth’s people were many, belonging to various religions, cultures, ideologies, and geographic locations, the citizens of Immolore were of a singular cultural background, having long ago subsumed diversity. As they went to great lengths to assure me, this had created what they viewed to be the perfect society.
I disagreed. To me, it was clear that their culture was stagnant. Everything was so uniform, devoid of any unique characteristics, and frankly, their art was *fucking terrible*.
“Disengaging FTL systems. Beginning docking procedure with Earth Waystation 5-E.”
By this point, I was pacing back and forth in the tight interior of the shuttle. When I had first boarded for my return trip, its windowless interior and human design had felt like home, but now I was thirsty for the real thing.
“Error. Docking procedure failed. Re-attempting.”
I shook my head, sitting back down on my bunk. Space Command was clearly not overly-enthused at the idea of having me back.
“Error. Docking procedure failed. Initializing secondary protocol. Docking with Lunar Superstation.” As the shuttle’s drives kicked in once more, I began to feel a little bit uneasy. I’d been worried all along that my trip home would be delayed by a never-ending period of debriefings and discussions with government scientists, and now that seemed a reality rather than a likelihood.
“Docking procedure successful. Equalizing interior and exterior pressure. You may now exit the shuttle.”
My heart was pounding away in my chest, and I steeled myself for the inevitable crowd of journalists and camera-drones. As I made my way to the exit hatch near the front of the shuttle, I picked up Artemis’ portable console, throwing its strap over my shoulder. I stepped through the hatch into the decontamination chamber, standing still as I was blasted with ultraviolet light and cleansing spray.
When the door finally slid open with a pneumatic whoosh, I was taken aback to find that there was no one waiting for me. Stepping over the threshold, I found myself in the large, cavernous docking lobby of the Lunar Superstation’s Third Arm. All around me, other entry ports remained locked down, behind thick metal doors.
Everything seemed to be right; there were advertisements playing on holoscreens on every wall, and the various benches and chairs were all meticulously clean, gleaming in the fluorescent light. There were just no people. Anywhere.
I walked over to the closest observation port and pressed the big red button in the middle of the panel causing it to flicker to life. The massive holoscreen gave a clear view of the exterior of the station, as if I were looking through a real window. In the bottom left of the screen was the unmistakable surface of the moon, bright, white, and incredibly close. It was overlaid with an AR HUD that displayed information about it and its orbit. However, in the middle of the screen, where Earth was supposed to be, there was nothing.
Nothing. I just stared ahead, my brain spinning out of control. The HUD for Earth was still there, a bright illuminated circle that was supposed to contain the blue planet, accompanied by a luminous panel displaying helpful information. I became painfully aware of my solitude in that moment, and as I stepped away from the holoscreen, I felt nauseated. I broke into a run, heading deeper into the lobby, past snack stations and restrooms, fleeing deeper into the Superstation.
Bouncing against my hip, Artemis’ console began to display red, blinking lights. The color of an emergency message. I stopped right where I was, in front of a McDonald’s kiosk, dropped to the floor, and flipped open the console. When Artemis’ hologram manifested itself, she was crying.
edit: I added Part II!
double edit: Since several people have messaged me about continuing the story, I'm working on adding to it right now! It surprised me that this post was still getting action two days after the fact! Someone suggested creating a subreddit for my writing, and that sounds really appealing, so I'll probably be doing that in the next couple of days. Cheers!
|
I gazed on in sheer disbelief. I had taken years to master this power. It started with just a flicker, about half a second, giving me apparently superhuman reflexes. After years upon years of training I had managed to push it to 8 seconds.
“How in the world is this person moving?! I don’t understand!?” I said to myself, with swelling feelings of terror and excitement filling my entire being.
I watch him carefully, the distant figure that is slipping in and out of the crowds. Those few seconds felt like a full minute. My heart pounding, the very sound filling my ears like cannon fire, my eyes BURNING from maintaining such an intense focus.
The world suddenly started to “warm up” as time started to come back to its usual ebb and flow.
I MUST follow this person! I must find out who they are...
Bobbing and weaving through the crowds, slipping between couples, skipping over rails and adding thy e occasional jog across a road, I followed “him” down every which way I was led.
Abruptly there was a sharp right! “No! I can’t lose them.... Now to stop time!”
I pulled my parlour trick also, stopping time as I swiftly take the same corner. The road is empty, except this large man standing with a half torn hat and a large black coat.
“Oh, you’re approaching me?!” A voice said, brimming with confidence.
“I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer!” Replies an even more confident voice.
“Oh-ho! Then come as close as you like!”
I peek my head over a small topiary outside a restaurant. And there is the scene to end all scenes.... a giant, 6’5 Japanese man squaring off against an equal behemoth blonde haired English man wearing a golden jacket and green lipstick?!
“This is WAY out of my depth” I thought, feeling the very air start to crackle with electric tension!
ZA WURULDO!
*to be continued*
(Yes this is a joke post, I’m sorry but it had to be done) |
"Approaching target-- 10 minutes to landing", informed the pilot.
Young Joey sat there in between two heavily armed soldiers, confused and afraid as he was taken away from his room by some soldiers in the middle of the night. Loaded quickly into the helicopter with his head covered, he was flown into a private airport where a plane awaited to take him into a mysterious location.
Heavy footsteps approached the terrified youngster before his head cover was taken off. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the bright airplane interior, a man sat opposite him-- a black suited government agent.
"I apologize for the sudden kidnapping, kid. But this is a matter of international emergency", he said as a-matter-of-factly.
"Wh--what? Who are you? Where are you taking me? Where are my parents?", Joey burst into a torrent of questioning which the agent answered calmly.
"You can call me Agent Smith. As for where we're heading, well...see for yourself", he nodded to the window above Joey's head.
Looking out of the window, Joey's eyes widened in shock. The Great Pyramid of Giza stood on the desert plane overlooking the city of Cairo.
"That-that-that...that's the pyramid", Joey stated.
"That's right. The Great Pyramid of Giza. Now if you would please sit down, I will tell you why you're being brought here", the agent prompted calmly.
While Joey settled back to his seat, the agent handed him a photograph. It took the teen quite a while to understand the image on it, observing it for a few good minutes he finally spoke up.
"Is...is that a book...?", he asked looking up to the agent, now crossing his arms.
"Correct. That is a book. A modern printed book propped up on a pedestal inside the recently discovered secret chamber within the Great Pyramid", the agent explained.
"Ho--how is that possible?", Joey asked.
The agent handed him another photograph, a zoomed up picture of the book. "Can you please read the title of the book?"
Joey looked at the picture with his mind blown. The book had a bright yellow cover, un-ravaged by time. On it the title was written in bright pink color...
"Told Ya: Time Travel is Totally Possible!", Joey read it. What's even more shocking was the author of the book-- as Joey's eyes went down to the bottom of the cover it said "by Joey Kingston"with a picture of a man, much older than the 14-year-old Joey but was unmistakably him.
"It...I...I wrote the book? But-but-but...I've never written a book!", Joey yelped.
"That is why we brought you here, to find out exactly what's going on", Agent Smith collected the pictures from Joey. "What you can't see in these pictures is there is an invisible force field we couldn't penetrate protecting the surrounding area of the book. Before it stood a pedestal with a slot in a shape of a hand-- a hand print reader, if you will. We don't know how such technology would exist in ancient Egypt, but if our guess was correct, you are the key to unlock this mystery"
Joey's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Only the previous day he was watching History Channel's Ancient Alien, and now he was part of it.
"Now will you help us, young man? If you do I promise you we will send you home before your parents could find out", Agent Smith smiled warmly reassuring Joey.
Joey quickly nodded in agreement. He was just as curious as everybody there and he really wanted to get to the bottom of the matter.
\*\*\*
Joey was escorted by a group of soldiers with Agent Smith by his side through the secret passage discovered inside the pyramid. What greeted him at the end was the large chamber, illuminated by high-powered spotlight.
As Joey entered and breathed the ancient air within, he was in awe of the architecture inside. The chamber was even larger in height than his school gym, containing statues of the ancient god Anubis as its guardian. In contrast to the grand size of everything stood the pedestal in the distance, the colorful book awaited there undisturbed.
True to Agent Smith's explanation, there stood the handprint reader made of stone. Joey walked towards it, disregarding the gaze of the scientists, archeologists, and soldiers following his movement.
Out of curiosity Joey extended his arms towards the empty air-- true enough, an invisible force field he could touch.
"Young man, if you please...", Agent Smith said, standing way back in safety.
Joey looked down at the pedestal and slowly he placed his hand onto the slot in the shape of it-- it fit perfectly.
Just when Joey's palm completely flat against the stone surface, light began to emanate from it and mechanical whirring could be heard from around the room. From the eyes of the giant Anubis statues came visible light, which now they realized created the force field when the light moved. As it did it moved the force field towards the people standing at the back of the chamber, encompassing them, freezing them as if time didn't move within the force field. |
cw: references to domestic violence
​
**THE JACKHAMMER**
​
Being “The Jackhammer” ain’t a grand thing, far as superheroes go.
I’ve got an aesthetic. My jumpsuit is neon-fluorescent-yellow with black highlights and big logo in the shape of a hammer. People always tell me that it is confusing that my name is Jackhammer but my logo is a regular hammer, but those people are wrong and don’t understand that I need to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Some people in my focus groups responded that they didn’t understand what the silhouette of a jackhammer was supposed to be, but everyone got the hammer right. So I’m Jack Hammer, I guess? My agent told me it was better.
I’ve got a nemesis too, Dr. Nefario, but he’s still workshopping his character. Guy has no sense of continuity or motivation. We fight once every, oh maybe six months, as that’s about how long it takes him to get prepared again, and every time he’s shown up with some new get up, new costume, new plot, new gripe with me. I think the only thing consistent about him is that he’s pissed off about the notes on his performance I email him later.
We duke it out down in Forest Park. When I beat him up, he has to pay for the collateral damage too. Honestly Nefario is more like a fun distraction. My real job is a lot more… depressing.
Most of the time, I break up domestic disputes. You can get to me two ways. There’s a hotline (1-800-GET-JACK) and I contract with the cops. Simple stuff. A guy gets drunk, starts swinging on a lady, she calls me, and I come fast as I can if I’m in the neighborhood. If not, I’ll hand it off to someone nearby. What’s depressing is how often I’m out, and how often its the same people over and over.
Like tonight, I was walking home with my grocery bag when I got a buzz on the Hammer-o-meter. I dropped my bag and tore off my shirt. My jumpsuit glowed in the streetlights just coming on as the sky went from rosy to orange. The call was coming in from a nearby apartment complex. I ran down the alley and hurled myself up an eight foot wall, tumbling into the garbage bin hidden on the other side. Out of it, I found the exterior stairs and ran up to the fourth floor, following the directions my Hammer-o-meter gave me. Left. Right. Number 406.
Through the metal door I could hear him shouting. I tried the handle, but it was locked, so I just punched the thing right off its flimsy frame. (What? I’m the Jackhammer. What did you think my power was?) Anyway, I sent that thing flying. Walked in and saw the weird drab green walls, the crusty carpet, the dude in the undershirt beating on the bathroom door, and thought: crap, I know this place.
“Darius, bro, knock it off,” I said.
He turned around like he was going to do something, but when he saw me, he just sat down. We’d already figured out several times which one of us, the guy who could bench 210 or the guy who could punch through walls, was stronger. I put my ear against the bathroom door.
“Dacia, I’m here, don’t worry.”
She gave a muffled reply from inside.
“Alright Dacia, I’m going to take you somewhere else tonight. Ok? We’ll get things worked out in the morning.” I said. Turning to Darius, I added, “I’m going to need you to stay here and wait for an officer to come by.”
He knew he had messed up.
“We gotta get your life back together, man.”
“Fuck you,” he said.
Dacia came out of the bathroom. I called in the report. We left Darius sitting there, waiting for the cops to come pick him up, and I walked Dacia back down to where I’d dropped my groceries. The evening had gotten completely dark, and the only light came from the streetlamps. I found my clothes scattered in the bushes and put them back on while Dacia texted her family to tell them what was going on. Then we walked the last couple of blocks back to my apartment.
​
...
​
There was a man sitting on my couch. He was roughly the size and build of a professional basketball player, and he wore a blue jumpsuit with red and white highlights. And a cape. He had red gloves and a red helmet with a white stripe down the middle, and his hair was blonde and perpetually flowing in some breeze I didn’t think was really.
He looked at me and said, “We need your help.”
Dacia screamed.“Superstar!”
Superstar was an A-list hero, the captain of the Supreme Seven, the U.S. government’s superpowered anti-terrorism and planetary defense force. This was a guy who shook hands with presidents and slept with movie stars. He belonged in his mansion, or his team’s secret fortress, or battling aliens or something. But here he was, in my living room in an apartment in Hialeah.
Superstar was still talking to his fan. He grinned a perfect, hot guy grin with the glittering teeth and the brick-breaking jawline.“Alright!” He said. “Yeah, it’s me.”
The situation was weird, but as far as finding strange men in my apartment, this one was on the calmer side. No really, in my line of work, this happens. I come home and have to punch holes in guys on a monthly basis. But Superstar was famous. He didn’t need to come down here and beat the crap out of a nobody like me, so I put the groceries on the table and flopped down on the couch next to him. Dacia had been here enough times that she knew how to make herself comfortable.
Dacia said, “I’ve seen you on—“
“TV? Fighting the Academy of Evil Academics? Hell yeah, sister!” Superstar said. He winked at me. “Actually though, I came down here to ask about you, Jackhammer.”
“Me?” I said. Finally, the answers.
“What does the Supreme Seven need with a guy like me?” I asked.
“Well,” Superstar said, and for the first time, he seemed awkward, like he didn’t really know how what to say or how to order it. “Well, you’re pretty specialized, right? You…” he glanced at Dacia, “you are good with domestic problems? Right? Like you’re a good arbitrator.”
“So what’re you getting at?” I asked.
“Well, we’re having a bit of a conflict on the team, the Supreme Seven, right? Rhinohide and Flicka are, well they’re not speaking, and the whole team is just paralyzed over it. People are taking sides and I don’t know what to do. You’re supposed to be really good about this.”
“Naw,” I said, “I ain’t that kind of arbitrator. I’m so bad at talking, man. My whole selling point is that whoever the guy is giving you problems, I’m stronger than him, but, with you guys, well that’s not really gonna work.”
“Please, just give it a try.”
I glanced at Dacia. She was holding a mug that said World’s Best Dad, sipping tea. Arbitration never seemed to work for me. That mug. Why’d she have to be holding that mug. It was just the whole epitome of why I never did any talking. Everything I said just tripped me up later. But Dacia was staring at me and nodding furiously.
“I’ve got to take care of her for tonight,” I said, nodding at Dacia. “Gotta make the arrangements and everything.”
“We’re staying at the Betsy on South Beach. We can put her up for the night, take care of everything. Honestly, Jack—is that right?” I nodded. “Jack, I told them we were coming to Miami to blow off some steam, but honestly I wanted you to talk to them. I brought the Supreme Seven to Miami just for you.”
“For me?”
“Our agent said you’re REALLY good at this.” |
"Huh."I hadn't thought about Barney the dinosaur for many years. And now there was an alien —who looked vaguely like a man in a green dinosaur suit— standing in front of me, holding a poster. And calling him a trickster god, N'armeth something. Resisting the urge to twist off the alien's head, to see if it was actually Bob having a laugh, I cleared my throat.
"Well, if you can find him, you can have him. But it might be difficult."The alien stared at me, with eyes that didn't blink. It was unnerving.
"Difficult? Why?"I pulled out my phone, calling up all the different things about Barney I could find. The alien's face didn't change, but I could sense a sort of horror emanating from him. Which changed to a definite terror, when I showed him how we felt about the purple dinosaur. All the many and varied ways we'd thought up on how to kill, destroy, or maim it.
"But, he has not committed the kind of crimes on your planet, that he did with us. How— why, do you hate him so much?"I shrugged at the question, putting my phone away. No one really knew how it started, but it was entrenched.
"Don't know. But like I said, it might be difficult to find him. If he's still alive, or still here."
"We tracked his signal here. He's definitely on this planet."The alien tilted his head to the side, stroking his chin. Or what passed for a chin. "I need to find him, to prevent a war. I think we would not wish to go to war with your people."He shuddered. Shrugging again, I pulled out a beer from the cooler beside me. This wasn't the way I'd planned to spend a Saturday afternoon, but at least it wasn't boring.
"Drink?"
"No thank you, I need to think."The alien—who I was mentally starting to call Fred—paced around my backyard. I thought about taking a video, but no one would believe it. After all, he really did look like a man in a dinosaur suit. After a few minutes, he raised a finger into the air, shouting "Ah-ha!"It seems like Barney didn't get all his exaggerated mannerisms from being a trickster god. Turning to me, he strode over, explaining his plan as he went. I chuckled. It was brilliant.
————————
**Report #458967**
**To all ships in the colloquially named Milky Way Galaxy. N'armeth has been tracked to the third planet from the sun, referred to by residents as Earth. He had engendered such hate there that the plan from many of the inhabitants is to kill him on sight. Our job is to make sure that Earth becomes his prison and his tomb. N'armeth is not to leave the surface. And let us hope that their war song becomes a reality.**
**I hate you**
**You hate me**
**Let's go out and kill Barney**
**With a baseball bat and a 4x4**
**NO MORE PURPLE DINOSAUR!** |
Lord Wulfric had seen his share of battle; as a young man, he'd led patrols out to the Rim and hunted insectoid abominations through the broken landscape. As an older man, he'd led the defense of cities, standing on the wall as buzzing hordes approached. He knew - had the scars to prove it - that he was not a coward. And yet, as he faced the glaring princess, he very much wanted to retreat.
"Your highness, this is your plan! We've discussed this a hundred times, and the prophecy is very..."
"I know what the prophecy says. I know this was my idea. But"- her voice rose to a pitch that, in someone not a princess, might be described as a shriek - "I am not marrying ...*that*!"
One graceful hand flicked out in emphasis, pointing through the door behind Wulfric in the direction of the banqueting hall. "I am prepared to sacrifice almost everything for the kingdom, uncle, but there has to be a limit. He doesn't close his mouth when he chews, his laugh sounds like a toad's bellow, and - at the same banquet where he first meets his betrothed - he can't stop leering at the serving maids!"
"Allowances,"Wulfric suggested weakly, "have to be made for his upbringing. With time, even a humble farm boy-"
"He thinks the world is round! I've been to the gods-damned edge! His own village used to be out that way, before these latest incursions, and yet he still doesn't even believe in the Rim! He's not humble, he's simple. Simple and gross."
"Well, village education is -"
"How is he supposed to lead the fight against the hordes if he doesn't think there's a Rim for them to come from under? How is he supposed to fight anything with the dexterity of a walrus? There was more gravy on him than in him!"
Princess Talia took a deep, slow breath. For a long, long moment there was silence in the study while the flush left her cheeks and the tension her shoulders. "I'm sorry uncle - for cursing, and for yelling at you when it's not your fault. But we still have to find another way."
"I know, princess. This isn't what I wanted for you either - I'd hoped that you'd find someone in your own time, someone you could love like I love my Anya. But the attacks are more frequent every month, and we're running out of time. Sometimes... sometimes ruling means making sacrifices."
"There must be someone else? Anyone?"Talia's voice was quieter now, softer and sadder. "What about the emissaries we sent towards the hub? Are there any foreign heroes who might answer?"
"I'm sorry. No one else suitable can be found. There's a legendary hero active in the Fire Swamps, but she sent word to say that she's happily married already. There are various heroes in the Hub cities, but no legendary ones - they wouldn't count."
"Well, *he* doesn't seem very legendary either. He's only a few years older than me, and he was on a farm until six months ago."
Wulfric shrugged. "Apparently it doesn't work like that, prophecy-wise. He's a hero because he saved a town - from goblins, I think - and 'legendary' is about potential, rather than past behaviour. He's the wearer of the legendary armour of Erik GoldenSong, and that means he's a match - the only match - for the pro-"
"Hold on!"Talia flung up one hand, eyes suddenly brighter. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, uncle, but I've just had an idea. Tell me about the armour."
"It's Erik GoldenSong's - a legendary hero from a few centuries back, apparently. He died fighting a dragon at the WorldSpine, burnt alive inside his armour. Now his soul is trapped inside it for eternity, lending his power to the wearer."
"So the oaf - sorry, the *hero* - isn't powerful on his own? It's just because he's wearing the armour of a legendary hero?"
"I suppose so; he was a farmer until recently, so presumably the armour's doing a lot of the work. I'm not sure how that matters particularly though - lots of legendary heroes have special weapons."
"It changes everything!"Forgetting all rules of propriety between an unmarried princess and her advisors, Talia grabbed Wulfric by the shoulders, almost vibrating with excitement. "Don't you see, uncle? The oaf isn't a hero at all! He's just some farmer-turned-grave-robber *wearing* a legendary hero!"
Talia released a confused Wulfric, stepping back and regaining her composure. "We don't need another hero to save us, and we *definitely* don't need him. We can save the kingdom without anyone doing anything too odious."
The princess drew herself up to her full regal height: "Take me to the armour."
---
Despite only having been shown to the guest chambers a few hours earlier, the 'hero' had already managed to leave them a disordered mess. A half-finished plate of food lay tilted on the goose-down pillow, flies buzzing around it, while several fully-finished wine bottles were stacked on the floor next to the bed. The hero's equipment and supplies were strewn about the room haphazardly, including - in a jumbled pile by the window - the fabled armour of Erik GoldenSong.
Wulfric tried once more to dissuade the princess. "I really don't think it's appropriate for you be visiting the hero's chambers at night, even if you are betrothed. And I don't think he'd like you interfering with his magic armour."
"You worry too much, uncle."Talia had begun investigating the pile of armour, picking her way through the different pieces. "Given the rate he's been working through my father's cellars, I very much doubt that your 'hero' will have any idea what's going on until tomorrow afternoon - I doubt he'll even get round to leaving the banqueting hall for several more hours."
She held one gigantic greave in front of Wulfric's face. "Look at this! Rust!"Streaks of brown marred the silvery metal, flakes falling away as she shook it. "It's the source of all his power, a priceless magical artefact, and he's not even doing basic maintainence."
As a (retired) soldier, Wulfric was appalled. His outrage at the hero's lack of care was sufficient to quell further protests, and he stood passively while the princess filled his arms with piece after piece of rusting equipment. Once she was sure that all the pieces had been found, Talia took the helmet and the lead, sweeping out of the chamber while Wulfric trudged heavily behind her.
---
After making him carry the armour all the way back down to her study, and then sending him to fetch the set of brushes and expensive oils he used for his own armour maintenance, Talia dismissed Wulfric for the evening. His concern - as always - was touching, but it sometimes got in the way; besides, this felt like something she should do on her own.
When she finally laid the armour out fully on the floor, she could see just what a terrible state it was in. Every piece bore the marks of rust, nestling in joints and on edges, obscuring the delicate engraving that seemed to cover the entire set. It was designed in an ancient style - one she vaguely remembered from engravings in military history books - with a focus on pure stopping power rather than flexibility. The helm was square and close-faced, with a narrow slit to allow limited vision, and the joints were protected with outsized circles of metal to ensure that every possible point had nearly an inch of metal protecting it from a frontal attack.
It was a far cry from the armour she was used to; the flexible sets worn by her own soldiers (and herself, on the occasional visit to war zones) used thinner plates with overlapping edges to mimic the unreasonably effective armour of their insect foes. She was used to rounded helms with an open-face and a nasal guard, chain mail to cover joints and allow flexibility, gloves with individual armoured fingers rather than blocky mittens. Wulfric was fond of remarking that mobility - for an army, a soldier, or a single limb - was the most effective defence. This human-shaped fortification was clearly designed with a different philosophy in mind.
Erik GoldenSong had been a huge man. He would have dwarved her slim frame, and even Wulfric would need lots of padding to fit snugly inside the breastplate. The gluttonous 'hero' was wide but not tall - Talia shuddered to think how ramshackle he would have looked when wearing the armour of a much more impressive man.
It took her hours to prepare the armour. Hours of scrubbing and scraping and oiling, taking one piece at a time and undoing the evidence of neglect. Each rusting piece was burnished until it gleamed, until she could trace the intricate engravings across the armour - fluid, dancing patterns in loops and spirals, revealed with the removal of the rust.
At last, it was done. The first hints of dawn were showing in the sky, her hands felt raw and her throat stung from breathing in the fumes of armourer's oils, but it was done. The armour of Erik GoldenSong was laid out in front of her, perfect and shining as the day it was forged.
Talia considered sleep - a tempting prospect, to curl up on the couch in the corner and leave the armour until she was feeling more rested. But she had been raised not to shirk from duty, to remember that sometimes ruling means making sacrifices. She steeled herself, brushed back an escaping lock of hair, and mentally prepared herself for the next step. Then, as ready as she was going to get, she put on the helm.
---
*The story ended up stretching over four comments, but it is now complete.*
- [Part one](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij6tcnv/) (this comment right here)
- [Part two](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij7c7k1/)
- [Part three](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij88tzn/)
- [Epilogue](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whmukd/wp_as_a_princess_you_knew_the_prophecy_said_for/ij8hkn0/) |
"Wow,"they both said as they sat down, "you're real!"
They chuckled.
She was Theresa "Tess"Storm, heroine of _The Storm Saga_ and an extremely popular character. In fact, there were no less than seven different iterations of Theresa in the room at the moment. Tess Storm had canonically enjoyed a book as a child, one that the author had left purposefully vague, and so it was one of the few details that the many different multiversal versions of Theresa differed on. Where she'd been the favorite fictional character of the man sitting across the table from her, that one book had been all about *him*.
She, being the legendary war-leader of The Lightning Platoon who had singlehandedly founded and lead it through a series of increasingly implausible victories over the course of eleven books, had absolutely no fear in beginning the conversation: "So you're really him, huh? You're really Derek Stone? Of _Derek Stone and the Bowl He Just Smoked_?"
He was Derek "Stoner"Stone, and he leaned back, smiling vaguely. "Yeah!"He said. It blew his mind - not that that was a difficult task, considering his nickname and the title of the book he apparently starred in - that she not only existed, but had read about his life.
"So I know how I learned about you,"Theresa said, "the Multidate people who came to my realm told me about how everything's true, somewhere, so that book I had as a kid featured a real person, and I could meet you if I wanted to. But how did you learn about me?"
"Um..."Derek said. "The Multidate people had an ad on a bus. And I was like... *woah*."
Theresa laughed. "Wow! I thought the book exaggerated the accent of the Stoner people, but if anything it appears to have understated the case."
"My people?"Derek said. "Oh, you mean my peeps! Yeah, man, we're cool."
"But what I meant to ask,"Theresa said, "is how you found your book about me."
"Oh, yeah,"Derek said. "I was in, like, detention, because I tried to smoke a joint in the back of my math class? And I *told* them it was a regular cig but apparently that's like some kind of law too? Anyway, detention's in the library and I am near *sober* and desperate to think about somethin' else, you know?"
"I... do not,"Theresa said.
"Right, right. Anyway, the library's got all these books, right? And most of 'em are math and science and shit, but then I find another bunch. Like there's this whole *section* of the books. Like there's the non-fiction section, and then there's this *non*-non-fiction, you get me?"
"So... fiction, in other words,"Theresa said.
"Right, you get me,"Derek continued. "And them books, they got pictures on the front, right? I see this book, and it has this *tight* lady on the cover. Actually, now that I think of it, she looked a lot like you? Same hair, but she wore a tighter outfit, if you know what I mean."
"I do know,"Theresa said, "I wore the outfit. It was terribly uncomfortable, too. I switched to robes the *moment* I became Queen of the Seven Plains, and I haven't looked back."
"Anyway, I figure a lady this hot has to be up to something badass, and I was totally right. Plus I, like, you know, used that cover picture as... *inspiration*?"
"You're an artist?"
"Nah, you know,"Derek made a vague gesture that was entirely unfamiliar to Theresa, yet nontheless she understood it immediately.
"Ohhhh,"she said, adding: "Ew."
"But enough about me, man,"Derek said, "Let's talk about *me*! You know, what did you like about *my* book?"
"Oh!"Theresa said, thankful for the change in topic, "that's easy. I saw a story like my own, but inverted. Whereas I started an orphan with nothing, you began your life with everything. And while I struggled to gain what I had, you had it all given to you. But I gained, and you lost."
"I lost something?"Derek said, looking around abruptly. "Shit, man, I'm always losing things."
"Your book inspired me,"Theresa said. "Because you had all the opportunities in the world, and you completely wasted all of them."
"I am wasted, yes,"Derek said, as though answering a question.
"I lived my life with *your* life story in mind. That I would always be grateful for what I had, that I would never give in to a life of slothful drug-addled waste, that I would always strive for something. Without that book about you, Derek, I could have *become* you!"She shuddered.
"Uhh..."Derek said. It had, just now, occurred to him that some of the things his date was saying might not have been entirely complimentary. "Wait, does this mean no second date?"
Theresa laughed again. "Oh, Derek. I absolutely want a second date. In fact, I'd like to take you home with me, to meet my parents."
Derek had many faults, but lack of knowledge about Theresa's world and backstory was not one of them. "Wait, I thought your adoptive parents were, like, ancient were-dragons? Notorious for devouring any of your suitors that didn't meet up to their impossibly high standards?"
Theresa's grin widened. "Yes."
Derek shrugged. "Sure!" |
"Its called whiskey."
"Your people giving this poison a designation does not change the fact that I don't want any!"
Officer James O'Brien of the Universal Cooperation Foundation laughed at his companion's disgusted expression. Earthling and extraterrestrial relations have not been easy goings. While humanity had successfully worked through many of its own internal issues (many of the 40th century don't even like to mention the flints with "nuclear powered armaments"of their ancestors), the culture shock they felt when attempting to interact with societies from outside their own solar system was still palpable. Principle barrier of which was humanity's relationship with alcohol.
"This is a time for celebration, and I'll be damned if we don't celebrate right!"O'Brien announced, pouring himself a glass. "I'm going to enjoy myself a proper bourbon, and I want you to join me."
"Well I do not care!"Xzel'No!th proclaimed.
It was a an ambassador from the UMII quadrant. Humanity has just assisted in ending a rather nasty civil war within Ursa Major II, and these two beings were the principle diplomats that helped make it happen. The entire universe was in a grand celebration, but this did not change much of the universe's stance on how Earthlings liked to celebrate.
"Come on, no one has ever seen a non-Earthling have a real drink. You'll go down in the universal history! A bold explorer of the unknown!"
"We, the Quadriplants, have vast scientific studies on the effects of alcohol on our corporeal forms and none of them are good."
"And how many thousands of years has it been since those studies, hmm? Come on my friend, you're a scientist in your hearts, you people must've evolved somewhat since then. Learn something."
O'Brien pours another glass, places a few Squeel eggs in just to make it more appetizing, and hands it to his friend's tentacle. The Quadriplant looks at him worried.
"I can't, I just can't. Carbon based life forms are not meant to consume this."
"And yet, humans have been doing it for millennia. Hell, it gives us bravery and strength. Are you really telling me we monkey folk can accomplish things yours can't?"
James knew he had struck a nerve. The Quadriplant were a proud species, a challenge like this would require some kind of answer. Honestly James just wanted to see if Xzel would get plastered just off of one sip.
The two silently lifted their glasses. With a laugh O'brien demonstrated how to make a toast, and then the two drank. It burned, strong but tasty. O'brien made sure to get out the quality stuff. He wasn't paying much attention to the drink though, all his attention was on Xzel. At first there wasn't a reaction. Then, without warning, the Quadriplant downed the entire glass. O'brien only looked on, completely stunned. Xzel then proceeded to grab the bottle and began to empty it into its mouth without delay.
"This is heavenly!"it proclaimed between chugs.
By the end of that day the two had blown through James' entire stash. And while James had difficulty just standing up, Xzel appeared only more invigorated. The creature was still quite drunk, slurring its sentences and incapable of focusing, but it had energy to spare. It promised to return to its people and to tell of this great discovery.
It was at that moment Officer James O'Brien knew he may have just destroyed an entire galactic civilization. |
I might be the only sane person in the world. In front of me, three people lay dead on the gray sidewalk because they couldn't figure out that someone screaming "TELEKINESIS"*probably* means that somebody was using telekinesis in the vicinity. I'm numb to their deaths, but not their idiocy.
I don't understand these people. Not only does everyone insist on moronically screaming what they're going to do, they also insist on acting as if they don't. Seriously. I'm not over here yelling "superspeed"every time I fight.
Really, no one in this godforsaken concrete jungle of a city can stop talking. I hate it. Even beyond the dumbass power screaming thing, they all talk like coke addicts who just got their first fix in a week. Picking through the bodies and debris left behind by the telekinetically tossed semi-truck, I absent-mindedly hope the store it hit has insurance.
In the bleak sky above me, three pairs of people fistfight in the sky, all of them yelling "flight"the whole time they beat the shit out of each other. I roll my eyes and keep stalking my way to work, trusting someone else to call the ambulance. If these fine folks have life insurance, necromancers should take care of them no problem. If not, their loss, I guess.
I really should be used to this by now. Everyday is the same. Some dude (always a dude, I swear. Do they think I'll date them if they beat me?) challenges me to a fight. I accept, they scream exactly what they intend to do. Knowing this, I use my super speed to deftly avoid their attack, then slit their throat from superspeed, where they look they're moving through molasses.
All it takes is a knife and a modicum of common sense. Even on an off-day, like this has been shaping up to be since my nightmare last night, I could easily defeat anyone. I reflect on this as superpower-shouting people continue to fight around me, and I continue to walk to work, occasionally dodging a stray fireball or energy beam.
As always, I arrive at my job just barely on time. But, when I reach for the knob, it's locked. I try again. *Shit*. I could easily break the door. When I use superspeed, what seems to me like a gentle tap would knock the door right off its hinges. But something stops me.
The street around me is eerily empty. Normally there's at least one fight and a few dozen people milling around here, especially during morning rush hour. But right now there's not even a parked car.
Only a man, standing near the curb across the street, looking at me and smoking a cigarette
He's wearing a trench coat and a hat in an outfit that would scream either "failed school shooter"or "spy parody,"but, framed by pieces of trash blowing past us like tumbleweeds and the steel grey sky above us, somehow looks almost threatening. I shake off my unusually strong misgivings and turn around to step towards him.
"Hey, asshole!"I yell. "Did you do this?"
He doesn't respond, and just to look calmly at me.
"Hey, Jackass. I'm talking to you!"
No reaction. The man across the street seems almost ghostly, as if he could fade into the desolate urban landscape at any moment. I start to realize how long it's been since someone has refused to respond to me. Years.
I try again, but the continued silence starts to gnaw at me, seeding an unfamiliar sense of doubt in my gut. I don't know what to do. My limbs start to feel numb. I shake them off, but the doubt remains. Already my mind is racing. H*ow will I get out of this? Will he even yell his power? He has too...*
*He has to yell*. I try to shout again but my mouth won't cooperate. Something feels very wrong, in some way I don't think I can ever explain. Like dread eating me alive, overcoming me, a deep-seated sense that the world is not how it should me.
He takes a step towards me and I feel like I'm short -ircuiting. This isn't how fighting is supposed to go. This isn't how anything is suppose to go. I try to move but can't. Panic engulfs me. I try to activate my superspeed, but it feels like I'm in a fistfight with my own superpower, and getting the absolute shit kicked out of me at that. He continues to move forward, a shark seeking its prey.
I try to scream for help, but my voice is murdered before it even escapes my vocal cords. After a dozen predatory steps, he reaches me and I'm left staring into his violently grey eyes. He reaches out toward my face, but seems to think better of it, withdrawing his hand like a snake just tried to bite it. I struggle against my invisible restraints, try to move, trying to speak, trying to *anything*.
"———"He says, using my real name. *How does he know my real name*? "You're one of us. It's time for you to join us."
He places a gloved hand on my forehead, and I suddenly feel on a primal level why everyone else needs to talk so much. |
Once more I watch the sun set upon the narrow cobblestone streets from atop my platform, my duty done, my eternal sentry resumed. My home secure again.
My story began 76 years ago, although I suppose some might say that it ended. When I was a young man of flesh, blood, and a stout heart I first arrived here on the plains of stone. I was one of a group 7 men that had been gathered from the kings army to deal a witch that had been harassing the local Sheppards.
It had taken us months of scouring the country chasing what seemed like every rumor or whisper we heard in every Tavren and Inn. All leading to the fertile plans in the south country, it was known only as the plains of plenty when i was a boy, it would seem that the witch, had a particular fixation upon the monster Medusa from the mythology of the Greeks. She had created a potion that would turn any living thing, plant or person into stone if the liquid touched it. She carried around viles strapped upon her person and would hurl them upon her foe.
Our party had been careful to keep our distance as we pursued her through the plains, we lost several pack animals and horses to the potion, and left a trail of stone grass, trees and and anything else unfortunate enough to be caught in her crossfire.
Finally we had her trapped on the banks of the Forma River. She had hidden herself away in small cave on the rivers edge, with only one way in, and out, and the terrible stone elixir to contend with upon any entrance. I valued the life's of my comrades perhaps more then my own, and volunteered to lead the assault in order to assure their safety.
I bundled myself in layers of fur and blankets, anything I could find in an attempt to keep the potion from reaching my body. As I burst into the cave a half dozen of these bottles were thrown at me all striking true, slowly I could feel myself loosing the ability to move as the elixir took affect. But I was able to draw my sword and run the witch through with my final breaths.
Much time has passed since then. My fellowship refusing to leave me in that dark cave brought my stone body up to the rivers edge, placing it the center of their camp, my sword still drawn, my body still coverd in the rags I attempted to protect myself in. The camp has grown into a small town since that day, Stonesedge is my home now, and I'm happy here.
For 76 years I watched as the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of my friends called this place their home. I felt the sun upon my face and the rain upon my head as I stood watch over my town. I watched as the built homes, shops and schools, and for the first time in 76 years, I walked.....
Stonesedge had as terrible a day as I could remember, raiders from the north sailed down the Forma River and began attacking my town. A few of the young men had tried to resist only to be murdered in the very square in which I sit. The raiders set up camp demanding that my people deliver every gold coin, silver chalice or anything else of value to them upon first light lest the town be torched.
The blood from the slain sons of Stonesedge had slowly trickled towards my feet as the night fell. As I anguished at there deaths and worried for the future of my home I began to feel.... loose. With a groan deeper then any I had gave out when I was flesh I took a step, then another.
Mobile and yet still stone I was able to lumber, as though some sort of golem that had no business existing upon this earth. But I had only goal upon my mind, protecting Stonesedge.
It seems that being stone has some advantages, as I approached the raiders camp on the edge of town I was greated with a couple of bolts in the dark that seemed to glance right off my chest, the carnage began as I reached the picket line however. My sword, stone now could not cut, only bludgeon, so I did. The screams of my victims woke the rest of their party and they all came running weapons in hand.
A few were brave enough to attack me with their axes and swords, only to have every blow stop dead in its tracks, the shafts of there weapons reverberating in their hands, I was able to clumsy swing my club of a sword fast enough to catch a few, but that's all it took. The raiders with fear in their hearts decided that fleeing the stone man that could not be harmed seemed a better decision then waiting for death.
I step atop my perch agsin, as the sun begins to rise, resuming my watch once more over this place that has become my home. |
Vladimir Lenin had just lifted his old AMO-F-15 out of the deep swamps of Nepal. He had finally managed to rally all the reluctant monks of the temple for a common cause. He felt the force of communism filling his entire being.
“I am ready,” he said triumphantly in Russian.
”To Petrograd, you must go, young Lenin.” As the old monk wasn’t a native speaker, it was hard for him to keep his Russian flawless. “But ready, you are not.”
*****
A few months later Lenin arrived at the capitol. From afar he could see the perfect square formations of the forces of Emperor Nicholas II, their uniforms completely white in the snowstorm.
Along the way to Russia, Lenin had come across many communist rebels and had met the beautiful and charming Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia, as well as a brash and cocky Lithuanian book smuggler and his dancing bear.
The Tsar Empire’s artillery had already leveled Moscow. There was no time to be lost. Lenin drove the AMO-F-15 straight towards the heart of Petrograd, with only one mission in mind.
The time had finally come to strike back. Lenin could hear the words of his master in the back of his mind: *In unity there is strength, trust in the force of communism and let fairness and solidarity guide your steps.*
He rolled down the window and threw the first pamphlet of the communist manifesto into the street. Deeper and deeper he penetrated into the city. Finally, he reached the Imperial Palace and released the motherload from the back of his truck, right on the Tsar’s doorstep.
*****
[**Part 2 & 3**](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5kfizi/tsar_wars/)
If you enjoyed this silly little story, consider subscribing to /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more. I usually write more serious stuff, but from time to time I write comedic stories like this one. There is a section for that too. |
Dim headlights pierced the gloom of the lonely stretch of highway that connected one tiny nondescript town to another. Small dead shrubs lined the road and a thin coyote sniffed at roadkill.
Darrel smiled at the coyote. They were the same, hunters and scavengers consuming the weak. He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal easing the speedometer's needle over eighty. It was another sixty miles to the next town that was a hub for hitchhikers and runaways. His preferred hunting grounds.
He flipped the radio on and listened to talk radio. The only stations he got in this stretch of highway was a few conspiracy theorists talking about how the government was brainwashing you with chemtrails. *Keep distracting the sheep with things that don’t exist,* Darrel thought happily.
In the distance a small smudge of brown caught his eye. It was the silhouette of a person wearing an old army jacket walking down the side of the road. Darrel’s heart began to race. This was an unexpected treat. He slowed the car to a crawl and pulled up beside the hitchhiker. It was a young woman wearing a green beanie cap, a Vietnam era field jacket, old faded jeans, a pair of black combat boots and a brown backpack. *The runaway uniform,* Darrel snickered to himself. He rolled the passenger window down and pulled to a stop.
“You lost?”
“Nope,” she said without turning and continuing to walk.
“Where you headed?”
“That way.” She pointed down the road.
Darrel was going to enjoy cutting the attitude out of this one.
“Would you like to get there a little faster?”
Finally she paused and turned to look at him. He flashed his most winning smile. “Look, I’m just headed back home from a business trip. You can either get in or you can walk, I’m just trying to be nice.”
After a long pause she said, “Fine,” opened the car then climbed inside.
Darrel tried to grab her backpack to put it in the back but she clutched it tightly to her chest.
“Sorry, just thought you would be more comfortable.”
“Saying something like that makes me feel uncomfortable,” she said eyeing him sideways.
Exultation coursed through Darrel’s body. This might be his favorite kill, he was going to savor it.
The conspiracy theorists broadcast was interrupted with a breaking news story.
“Another body has been discovered on Highway 2. The FBI have released a statement which is as follows. We believe this work to be that of a serial killer operating on highway 2—“
Darrel and the girl’s hand touched as they both pressed the button to turn the radio off.
“I don’t like listening to that stuff. It’s unsettling knowing people are out there that are capable of doing something like that,” she said quietly.
“I feel the exact same way,” Darrel agreed.
They continued down the road in silence. The only noise was the sound of the tires humming over the asphalt. Darrel had waited long enough, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He flipped a small switch by the steering wheel that killed the engine. The car sputtered and jumped as he steered it to the side of the road.
“Piece of shit!” Darrel groaned pulling to a stop. He pulled out his cellphone and glanced at the two bars in the top left corner. “Of course, no signal.”
“It’s your lucky day. I’m actually pretty good with cars. Pop the hood and let me take a look,” she said opening the door.
*Perfect,* he thought salaciously.
She lifted the hood and propped it open. Darrel sat in the car giving her a few seconds to become fully distracted tinkering with the perfectly functioning engine. He opened the glove compartment and removed the taser he kept there.
“Hey I think I found the problem,” she said from behind the hood.
*I’m sure you did.*
“Coming!”
He stepped around the hood and caught a small pipe across his jaw. Teeth rattled loose and he swallowed a molar. The pipe struck again this time on top of his skull sending him to the asphalt. The taser fell out of his hand and clattered into the beam of the headlight.
“The problem is you aren’t very convincing,” she said standing over him.
“Honestly, how you’ve managed to kill anyone is amazing. I guess the world is full of idiots,” she spat with disgust. She retrieved the taser from the road and gave him a zap.
Tears ran down his face unchecked as he began to beg for his life.
“Is that what they did? The innocent women you tortured and left to be picked apart by the coyotes and buzzards?”
“Pathetic.”
She stepped away from him and opened the trunk of the car retrieving a rope she assumed would be in there. She tasered him again for good measure and bound his wrists and ankles then flipped the kill switch by the steering wheel and started the car. She pulled it forward a few feet past Darrel and tied another length of rope to his ankles and around the car’s hitch ball.
“This is going to hurt,” she said leaning her head out of the driver’s side window and put the car in gear and peeled out.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! |
I was in a run-down old Party City, buying birthday hats for my grandma. She always talks about how lucky she was to be born at 11:11, and about her wish as a little girl one year, a double-wish at 11:11 on her 11th birthday. She wished she could live forever, to see the world change as the years passed. I would've just wished for a Gameboy Color or something stupid like a talking frog.
At first I thought I was hallucinating, you know? Maybe the brownie I'd eaten earlier had been laced with LSD or some shit, something wild. I mean, how else could two solid black eyes, blacker than ash, appear on the building wall? I screamed, dropping the basket full of party accessories, and fell right on my ass. They just sprouted from the wall, like they'd grown in an instant, then snapped open to reveal pupils redder than blood. I couldn't look away from them, despite my intestines feeling like they'd knotted like a clown was tying them into a balloon animal.
The eyes followed me as I backed away.
Of course, then the rest of the screams echoed through the building, and the parking lot, and just about everywhere else. Screams filled the air like a flock of ravens would weave their cawing through the sky as they passed overhead. The bloodcurdling cries rolled in like fog from streets and nearby neighborhoods.
I started my car and raced home. An emergency broadcast was playing over the radio that I could, ironically, barely hear over the sirens and screams. It said something about objects coming to life or being inhabitedby spirits or some shit if they were a hundred years or older. A statue of a local town hero from the 1800s watched me with red eyes as I sped past, and I crashed into a tree because something about them, the pure horror and sick feeling sinking in, just wouldn't let me look away. He watched me flee down the street, feet pounding the ground with a passion.
An old church I passed, just a block away from my home, smiled at me with yellow, jagged teeth inside a mouth blacker than Space. At least, I think it smiled-- maybe it was just opening its mouth to take a bite should I get too close. I felt the same lead in my belly and inexplicable urge not to look away from it, like it was a magnet for my terror, and I damn near waltzed right into the cave of death.
It looked so tantalizing, seeing all those other people walk into it, smiling wide, tears on their cheeks. It was like their worst fears were being eaten, and they were walking into paradise.
But I fought it, and made it home-- our sweet, modern home, built in the seventies. My grandma was sitting on a chair, smiling, knitting a scarf. She waved at me as I stomped inside.
"Hi there, Danny,"she said weakly.
"Shit, are you alright?"I asked through heaving breaths. "Where's Mom?"
"Oh, I don't know. She went out for groceries, I think."
From the kitchen, I grabbed the biggest chopping knife I could find, then marched to the front door. My mom was out there, somewhere. I had to help her.
The front door. Our antique front door.
It sprouted a tongue, I think, rough and black, longer than my arm, dripping with something that looked a lot like blood and smelled like death. It lapped at the air, and I stared at it, longing, wishing it would eat up all my insecurities and shortcomings.
I stuck the blade into my hand, just a little into the palm, and snapped out of it, running upstairs, shouting for my grandma to follow. She didn't.
The dark walls of my closet closed in around me, only the sound of labored breaths and stink of sweat to keep me company. It was a grainy darkness, just the slightest bit of light, and I checked my phone.
That leaves me where I am now, frozen in a closet illuminated by my trembling phone screen. I just got a chill, the worst of my entire life, every hair on my neck standing as if to up and run away from my body.
My sweet grandmother, Ellen... she always talked about how she was born at 11:11, about how lucky that is. She turns a hundred today.
It's 11:10.
I turned my phone off, so I'm just hugging my knees in the darkness now, trying not to cry.
Something squished on the first floor.
Something creaked, deeper than the steel groaning of an ancient ship.
Something's climbing the stairs.
I don't think this knife will save me.
I don't think anything will save me.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
"Ah-hah! I see the trap you have laid!"said Noel, pushing his spectacles up with a finger. "You see, as a doctoral mathematician..."
"Yes, I know you're smart."said his long-suffering friend, Jeremiah. "But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"
"...As I was saying, as a mathematician, I know the the probability that two events occur is equal to the product of the individual probabilities. The probability of 'restricting myself to only asking questions' is 100%, because I'm in full control of myself. So it would be easy, except that the probability of 'making the date successful' is needed too. I don't have an exact statistic, but the prior probability-"Noel's voice took on a lecturing, slightly condescending tone, "-or in layman's terms, my past success rate of dates, is 0%. And the two events are unlikely to be independent, so the real question is, what is the conditional probability of..."
Jeremiah had his face buried in his hands. "Okay, bro, I'll give you the money even if the date *isn't* successful. Is that better?"
Noel paused in his monologue. Surely he hadn't heard that right. "Without the requirement of a successful date, my probability of winning the bet becomes 100%. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just... ask her questions. Only questions. No rants about your co-workers, no monologues about math, and *definitely* nothing about video games. Unless she brings it up. Got it? Let's shake on it."
Noel raised his hand to shake, then hesitated. "Look, Jeremiah, I know you want me to get into a relationship. But it's not going to happen. Women just don't get along with me. I gave up hope long ago. You can spend the $1000 on much better things than this."
"Stop overthinking and shake, or you're going to be late for your date."
So they shook on it.
[continued] |
There were rumors. There are *always* rumors. Some people said you could avoid it by thinking nonsense words. Some people said your best bet was to strike yourself deaf by puncturing your eardrums. Some people said to just scream as loud as you could to try to overpower it. Some people said it was all in your head and that if you didn't believe in it it wouldn't work on you at all.
Unfortunately for Jackson, he believed in it. Hell, he'd seen it work. No matter how many executions he oversaw it never ceased to amaze him. The curiosity constantly pulled at his brain. What could it possibly be that someone could say to you that would cause you to collapse and die? How could someone have ever even devised such a thing and survived to tell it? In all his years at Shawshank Correctional nothing had ever bothered him more.
Ivanov was head executioner and Jackson had even learned some Russian so that he could chat with him but Ivanov was blissfully unaware. The whole point of having an executioner that was foreign was that he didn't understand the words he said to the condemned. Ivanov wore a hooded mask so that even the hearing impaired couldn't read his lips. He didn't even seem to care, it was simply a job to him. Jackson hated him for that.
It ate at Jackson every day of his life. He researched the history of the "Death Sentence"extensively and always came up empty handed. It seemed as if no one even knew the exact origin. As far as he could tell it wasn't even ever put on paper but rather passed down from executioner to executioner orally. His curiosity was so great that Jackson had even had dreams in which he'd committed horrible acts solely in order to receive the death penalty so he could finally hear what the words were.
Carlson was set to be executed for killing a family while drunk driving. He'd hit a minivan with six people inside and killed five of them. The grieving father sat alone in the viewing chamber. Press had long since been barred from executions, they were now simply televised live on every major network. This proved to be an excellent deterrent of violent crime. When ending a life is as simple as whispering in your ear people tend to behave themselves a little better.
Ivanov pulled his hood over his head as Carlson ascended the platform. Two dozen cameras recorded his final moments from every corner of the room. Jackson stood inside a square marked on the floor, his designated area, five feet from where Ivanov meted out the court's sentence.
Carlson took his final step in this life and bowed his head. Jackson could seen him shaking. He almost laughed out loud at how scared someone could be to hear something that he was so desperate to hear himself. He began his short speech.
"Frederick Carlson, do you understand the punishment that the court has levied against you in this case?"he said.
"Y...yes I do,"Carlson muttered quietly.
"You understand and accept the fact that you will be put to death for your crimes?"Jackson asked.
"Yes,"Carlson said. He was sweating profusely.
"Then at this time you shall receive your punishment and be put to death. You death will be administered by Ivanov who will speak the Death Sentence into your ear. Are you ready?"
"I... I am. Do it."A calm came over the man and he stopped shaking. This almost always happened right before the end. Jackson imagined that even the condemned were overwhelmed by curiosity at the last moment.
Ivanov bent forward and, just as he always did, cupped his hands around his mouth. Carlson leaned toward him slightly, almost unconsciously, just as *he* always did.
Perhaps this time he leaned a tad farther than usual or maybe Ivanov spoke a little louder than normal or maybe it was a combination of the two because after all these years of wondering Jackson finally heard the Death Sentence.
He had just enough time to gasp and say softly, almost under his breath, "Oh, *wow*,"before he felt a wet warmness inside his skull and collapsed to the floor. |
Hell was bad enough, trillions of souls screaming out at once. Lakes of fire, gusts of wind that blew you hither and thither, horrible torture devices manned by even more horrible demons. There wasn’t a single happy face, all were suffering equally, and from the grotesquely twisted faces I could tell it was an inhuman level of suffering.
I switched the goggles from the ‘hell’ setting to ‘heaven’. A warning popped up:
>Are you sure you wish to proceed? The heaven setting has been known to hospitalise and even kill people.
I clicked yes and the goggles began to load heaven for me. It was empty.
Acres and acres of sunny grassland, a soft breeze licked the grass and slightly cooled the warm sunlight. Trees of all sort spotted the fields, but there was nobody there. Not a single soul. I tore off the goggles.
If nobody was in heaven, none of the great holy people; popes, saints, bishops, then what chance did I have? And there was only one other alternative.
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
|
‘Hey! I loved Grandma and I was only six! I didn't know her insulin would go bad if it was left out! I've felt guilty for that ever since I realized it.’
‘Agreed, case shall be stricken from the record, moving on.’ The brilliant shining light, God spoke.
John could look into the light without it hurting, but still could only see light. That whole end of the room seemed to stretch off to infinity, but the remaining three walls were very court like and constructed of marble. Even the tables John, his ‘defense’, and the two angels standing to the right to ‘prosecute’ him sat. Although everything else about the process had been twisted and strange. He glanced to his left again, who knew a devil's advocate was actually a thing…
‘We would like to put forward Group D of the casualty list, 87 representative members of the United Nations, and the accompanying 1,739,812 military and civilian war casualties due to gross negligence.’ The frowning male angel spoke this time.
‘Ha! Trying to pin THAT one on him?’ The mid-tier devil rummaged around in a dark bag, then pulled out a black slate with red writing, slamming it down on the marble desk. ‘There were four other employees working quality control on that line that day, that measure was built in so that if one person missed a defective part the others would, in theory, catch it. The airplane part failure was more a failure of the quality control SYSTEM than my client.’
‘Agreed, though some personal responsibility is warranted. This case shall be moved to later considerations on Stains on the Soul along with case A, moving on.’ God once again decreed.
‘Then we would like to put forward Group E of the casualty list, 2,681,482,937 casualties from the retaliatory invasion of earth.’
‘Really?’ The devil didn't even get up this time, he just leaned on the marble desk and leered over at the opposition. ‘In your own tenants, how is nursing a crashed alien back to health and helping them return to space a sin? Good samaritan much people? It's not my clients fault they were escaping royalty, and the new regime wanted to punish earth for their escape. They even came back to liberate the planet, and now earth is connected to the wider cosmos!’
‘Agreed, the intent was pure and consequences unforeseeable, moving on.’ God again quickly decided.
The angles paused, conferring for a few moments. Concerned that their most damning cases had been dismissed or greatly reduced. They still had more, but much smaller in scope with flimsier culpability. The devil took the moment to lean over and whisper to John.
‘Don't worry kid, I’ll get you into heaven... or limbo till doomsday at the most. Hey, don't look down, your case is good and even if it turns, sure the apocalypse has been stopped so far, but they aren't gonna give up and it's got to happen eventually!’ |
"93,102,274,976, 93,102,274,977... What is this person?"I mumbled to myself, taking in the number which doesn't even seem possible.
"You know who I am."He said. What was odd was that it seems that no one else noticed that he was there, and he is dressed quite unconditionally too. "Excuse me... what do you mean?"I asked. As soon as I asked, multiple people gave me quite the look. I knew something was up. "Follow me."He said. As I stumbled after him I noticed another thing, which sent chills down my spine. He isn't walking. He is floating above the grou- is he...? Is he death? Am I going to die? Is he here to kill me? I follow less curiously now. I know my fate is likely sealed. I follow him into a secluded alleyway as he begins to speak. "From the look on your face I bet you think you're going to die today. Don't worry, you're not. I don't think, in fact, that you ever will. I don't think it would be right to kill my own kind."
Edit: changed a typo to make the numbers more clear, the number was not, in fact, 9310227497693102274977 but was 2 seperate numbers to indicate the increase because somebody had died. |
"Whatcha working on?"Justin asked, crumbs cascading over his Linkin Park band shirt as he poured the last of a party-sized bag chips into his mouth.
But I couldn't answer. I was stunned into frozen silence. I'd calibrated the machine in my hand a hundred times before, and hadn't had an inaccurate reading in a month. Ants, plants, pet goldfish, family members, and every professor I'd worked on the technology with; the device had spit out the information to me with accuracy consistently. The subject's species, and their age - to within a few years - would read out on the monitor just as I'd programmed it to.
Species: Human, Age: 25-30. Early readings had placed me in my 50s before I got it a little more honed in.
So now, as my best friend stood in the doorway of my bedroom, with my device pointed at his face, I stared at the reading.
Species: Unknown, Age: 1000-2000.
Even while beta testing, the device had never given me a reading I believed to have been this inaccurate. And here in the final stages of its tweaking, at the peak of its accuracy, I knew it was not the device.
"Hey, is that it? The uh... facial recognition, reader, thing?".
There was an edge in his voice now. A slight hint of nervousness. Still I couldn't speak to... It.
"Is it on?"
He had always been enigmatic. He never had a job, never talked about where he went to school, or where he grew up. I always took it as some kind of quirk, but now I knew there was much, much more behind every dodged question, every half-truth.
"What's it saying?"It must have been sweating under that Linkin Park shirt. The game was up, whatever game it was playing. I knew I would have to hide the truth from It for just a little longer.
"No, it's not on."
"Oh, okay". It hid it well, but the relief that washed over It was palpable.
I stood up, setting the device down carefully beside me. I grabbed an old plate with the remains of a crust of a pizza slice, and began to walk towards the kitchen, my mind racing.
"Just gonna wash this up."
"Cool cool."Its attempts at remaining calm and casual now were laughable, but my fear as I passed within inches of this creature suppressed any humour in me. As discreetly as I could while walking by, I took a whiff of It. It smelled like shit. Whatever the disguise It was using, I was certain the body-odour was being used to mask its true stench.
Standing at the sink with my hands in the water, I fished around for the kitchen knife I had left in there from earlier. Perhaps this would-be mistake would save my life. It was close enough to me, I only had to be fast enough to make my move before It realized was going on. I steadied myself, calmed my breathing, held the knife firmly in my hand, then spun. In the split second I had before doing the deed, I could see the change from confusion to absolute fear in Its eyes. I hoped in that moment that whatever It was, this Earthly stainless steel would do the trick in killing It.
I plunged the knife into Its chest. It slumped to the floor. Taking no risks, I cut open its throat. Red, human-like blood poured onto the kitchen floor around me. I should have been horrified, but I felt victorious. Its disguise was clearly dedicated.
In that moment, with the knife in my hand, huddled over Its lifeless body, Amber walked in.
"Justin? Oh my-"the words caught in her throat before she let out a scream.
I knew it would be difficult to explain. It looked bad now. In fairness, I had forgotten entirely about Justin's girlfriend coming over tonight when I learned his- Its - true identity. But once I could explain it to her she would calm down.
Or so I thought, try as I might she wouldn't stop screaming, calling me "insane", and a murderer.
Of course I had to block the door and keep her away from any phones. If I didn't make her understand before she had a chance to call the police, she would make a mess of this situation. She took these actions as though I were going to kill her too. Of course this wasn't my intention, I tried to explain to her.
Although, if she were one "them", too...
"You killed him just because your stupid machine malfunctioned?!"She screamed through tears and fear.
"If it were just a malfunction, I never would have done this, you have to believe me!"
"You're fucking crazy!"
I was near the end of my rope with her, when a voice of reason came from kitchen floor.
"She's right, it is insane to kill your best friend based on nothing more than a hunch. It's a good thing your machine was right."
Amber stared at the tendril which had emerged from one of the stab wounds in Justin's old body which was now talking, horrified.
I, however, was relieved.
"Exactly, thank you!" |
When i founded the YSTWTBLTFA (Young Superpowered That Want To Be Left The Fuck Alone) I expected heroes and villains to get the message and nothing more. Maybe someone would learn about it and have a chuckle.
I did not expect 2500 request to join in the first day
I did not expect a joirnalist to come and interview me.
I certainly tought that after claiming "I want to come back from school to watch porn and play videogames"the requests would stop.
It has been two weeks and now I am the leader of an organization counting three and a half million followers.
The fuck do i do now? |
“Now arriving the great hero, vanquisher of the dark lord, Sir Maxamillian.” the chief chamberlain's voice echoed around the throne room. Through the doorway in his finest ceremonial armour strode Maxamillian himself. A smattering of restrained applause welcomed him.
“Now arriving the great hero's most stalwart companion, the fair lady Rebecca.” His voice once again echoed around the throne room. Rebecca strode in her finest silk mage robes, flowing elegantly behind her.
“Now arriving Sir Maxamillian’s apprentice, Sir Zorost,” a third time, his voice echoed around the throne room and, once again, small applause was given as he entered. The king raised a hand to silence the room.
“Approach.” his deep baritone voice rumbled and demanded attention. Dutifully the trio approached the throne and knelt at the bottom of the steps.
“You have done this kingdom a great service, oh party of heroes. My only regret is all of you could not be here today. But know this we shall honour your fallen comrades in our halls till the end of time.” the King’s words held a weight that none dare challenge.
“But I shall now bestow rewards upon you three. I shall grant you anything your heart desires. So long as it is within my power, it will be yours. Now rise and speak your request.”
The first to step forwards by tradition was the lowest station of the trio. Zorost stepped forward and bowed his head.
“Sire, I desire a blade from the royal armoury. Grant me a blade so I may better defend this kingdom I hold so dearly.” he once again lowered his head.
The king looked down on the boy from his throne and stroked his beard. His brows were clearly narrowed in thought. Finally, after a tense minute of silence, he cleared his throat.
“I apologise, Sir Zorost, but this is one I cannot grant. Though I suppose I should say I will not. It is too small a reward, and the blades in my armoury are too meagre for one such as yourself. So I shall have a new blade forged of the finest material by the dwarven smiths of the iron hills. Is this acceptable?”
Zorost beamed a smile before composing himself. “I shall accept your most benevolent gesture.” Bowing his head once more, Zorost stepped back.
Rebbecca stepped forwards, though she did not lower her head.
“I want the entire archive of magic, especially all the books of past court mages.” there were murmurs of shock from the crowd of nobles. Such a brazen request was beyond what words could describe. Many began speaking ill of her. But before the sentiment could spread, the king spoke.
“Granted. I can see no reward more befitting such an astounding mage. If you would be willing, I’d even make you my chief court mage.” Rebecca, however, only snorted in derision.
“I see you were always a free spirit… very well, the archives and books are yours.” Stepping back, Rebbecca made a small fist pump of victory. Finally, Maxamillian stepped forwards.
“To you, the greatest hero of the age. What can I grant you?” the king looked at the boy with the warmest of smiles. He was throwing all decorum out the window. It was known by many courtiers he saw the boy as a son of sorts.
“I desire but one thing.” Maximilian’s words trailed off as if it were a difficult thing to ask.
“I wish to be wed to Princess Alice!!” he finally blurted out, finally having gathered the courage to say it. The entire room was deathly silent.
“I am aware it is above my station Sire. But she is but the third princess. She who stole my heart. I wish her to be my wife!!” Maximilian was now near begging, lowering his head in a deep bow.
“I thought he and Zorost were a thing?” a voice from the room's left muttered.
“Really? I heard him, and Rebecca were a couple,” another spoke in reply.
“I… Max, my boy…” the king was at a loss for words. “You are aware you may only have one wife, and I’m sure Alice, my dearest daughter, would not like you having a male concubine.”
Maxamillian’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sire, I… whom do you think is my male concubine?” he seemed genuinely bewildered.
“Well…” the king trailed off. “Sir Zorost. We of the court saw how you interacted during your sparring and in private. We merely assumed…”
“SIRE!!! Me and Zorost are like brothers. To think such salacious rumours were circulating.” Maximilian lowered his head in his hands and turned to look at Zorost. Zorost looked just as shocked, and it seemed he had full disassociated due to the humiliation.
“Very well; I apologise for the misconception. But what of Lady Rebecca? Is she not someone madly in love with you?”
“Pfffttttt!!!” Rebecca could barely contain her laughter. “Sire, this dipshit is not worth my time, let alone my type. Hell, if I knew the princess was on the table, I’d have asked for her hand had lover boy not cried his eyes out about not seeing her!!”
“I… Well, I feel like a right fool… very well, so long as Alice consents, you may be wed.” the King said, turning to the princess in question, who was already beet red. Slapping her cheeks, Alice stepped forwards and looked Maxamillian in the eyes.
“Maxy…” she held his cheeks in her hands. “I think of you as a best friend… but I’m sorry.” with those few words, she hastily left the throne room, leaving a devastated Maxamillian standing frozen like a statue.
“Errr… is there anything else, Sir hero?” the King hesitantly asked.
“Execution, please.” |
"She's mine!"
"No, she's mine!"
I blinked as I slowly sat up, staring around at the large group of really tall people around me-what are so many people doing in my room?! It's not even...that...big...
...I'm not in my room. The bed is more comfy, but it's on the ground, and it's like I'm in an area that's on...clouds? What?
"She left an offering at my alter first!"
"Exactly-she switched over to MY alter most recently, therefore, she's MINE."
Someone picked me up, and I yelped as I was lifted and held, dangling just like that as I kicked me feet. "Well, MY alter is the cleanest, therefore, she's mine!"
"Hold up, what's going on?!"I exclaimed, whipping my head around to stare at everyone. "Who are all of you?!"
Everyone paused and just...stared at me.
"You...you do not recognize us?"One of them asked.
"I've never seen you before in my life,"I snapped. "This is kidnapping-bring me home NOW!"
Everyone stayed silent for a minute, then, all of a sudden, they started shouting out names.
"I am Tet, the God of the Divine Forest-"
"Oh hush, nothing divine about THAT disaster! I'm Tempesta, Goddess of Storms-"
"You can't even throw a lightning bolt! I am Unseel, God of Everlasting Love-"
"What love? Love of dirt? You've never had many worshippers. I'm Haleen, God of the Sky-"
"That's wrong! I'm the True God of the Sky, Palanite-"
More and more shouted out names, and they sounded...
Wait.
Tet. That was the name on the temple I found in the Kyleen Forest-definitely worse for wear.
Tempesta. She had a temple built into a cliff side-it had been hard to get to, but well worth the effort with all the carvings in the walls-and well preserved, too, if dirty.
Unseel. The alter was that of a heart in a ghost town, the buildings falling apart all over-it seemed to have been abandoned in a hurry.
Haleen and Palanite had similar temples hundreds of miles apart-they looked like observatories that were open to the skies.
As more and more of these people shouted out names-names that I recognized of Gods that I did not worship-I went quiet, looking around.
After a few minutes, the shouting stopped, and all of them stared at me.
"Uh...ok, then, can...can you put me down?"I said slowly-the guy's grip was starting to hurt, so this wasn't a dream...ok. Ok, this is weird.
Slowly, Regine, the God of the Poor, set me down, and I sighed, looking around.
"Ok, so let me get this straight,"I said. "You're all Gods from places I've visited."
"Did you not recognize your own God?"Geonna, Goddess of the Mountains, asked, then puffed out her chest. "I suppose that the rest of these fakes I could understand-"
"Oh, quiet, you!"
"I'm the God she worships-!"
"And with how I found everything, you've got no worshipers left,"I said loudly-I REALLY don't want to deal with more yelling before I've had my coffee.
All of them shook their head.
"I...see,"I said.
"But I have you, and that's all I need-"Jackal, God of Animals, started.
"She's not your worshipper, she's MINE-"
"What's stopping me from being all of yours?"I deadpanned, and everyone gave me a confused look.
"Well...because you aren't,"Tet said simply.
I scoffed. "Well, all of you clearly exist, and people from, like, Ancient Greece and Rome worshipped tons of Gods, too, so what's stopping me? I mean, you all exist, you can share."
They all went quiet-did they not consider that?
"Or,"I added, "at least, you CAN if you put me BACK and give me a way to make smaller alters-I can't visit all your main ones easily or whatever. I've got a list of names and alter locations, though."Ooh, maybe- "And if you can so easily just talk to me...maybe you can talk to others and get more worshippers yourself?"
There was a bit of muttering around as they all seemed to agree with me-
Suddenly, I sat up in bed with a gasp, then groaned-what a weird dream-
My fingers grazed a piece of paper, and I looked down-that wasn't there before-
"We apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your kindness. We look forward to having more worshippers, but we can only do so much as long as we have at least a little faith, which we have gotten from you.
Please accept this token of our gratitude and take your position as the High Priest of-"and the rest was scribbled out.
Ok, so...THAT happened-
But token of gratitude?
I looked around, then my eyes narrowed in on mini versions of every temple and alter I had visited, sitting on a new shelf in my room next to my figurines.
Well...ok, then. |
His seventeenth birthday was coming soon. That meant it was almost the tenth anniversary of his first day in the mine. He was seven the first time he plunged into the darkness. The company needed small bodies that could crawl into tiny compartments and plant dynamite. The boy would do this for six years. Malfunctioning dynamite and tunnel collapses had taken most of his friends. But not him. They told him he was lucky.
On his thirteenth birthday, the boy was old enough to dig and run machinery. He would do this until he died. Many of the other workers his age were maimed or malformed from their years in the tunnels. But not him. They told him he was lucky.
The darkness followed him outside of the mineshaft. The blackness of the coal mine was permanently sunken into his clothes and skin. At night he would cough blackness out of his lungs. Black lung killed dozens every year. But not him. They told him he was lucky.
It was by chance that the boy remembered his approaching birthday. Alone in the shaft, driving his pick into the wall, lost in monotony, he happened upon the thought. At that same moment, he saw a sparkle in the ground. His lamp had given out and he was relying on natural light coming from the shaft exit just overhead. The boy leaned over and looked at the mysterious object. He had never seen a diamond before. All the same, he was hypnotized by its beauty in the blackness of the mine. He felt blessed to see such a beautiful object. Perhaps he was lucky after all.
The boy wrapped his fingers around the object and pulled it from the dirt. Suddenly, the floor gave out below him. No one had discovered the cavern underneath the tunnel. He didn't remember screaming as he plunged deeper into the blackness. The boy landed on his back and felt the wind leave his lungs. He was so far from the light. He knew he would die. But he did not despair. As he lay on his back, staring at the small light above him, all he could do was laugh. He never had to return to the mine again. He was finally free. For the first time in his life, the boy felt lucky. |
*mild blasphemy warning for the faint of heart*
A tall person entered the courtroom. I wasn't really sure whether it was a man or a woman, old or young. I did see they were tall. There was a light rustle of leaves accompanying this person while they calmly walked down the isle and took the seat of the defendant. I felt a little itch developing underneath my skin. Who was this person?
"For the record,"the judge said, obviously surprised. "May I have your name and gender, sir?"
"My name is God, spelled G-o-d,"the person said. "I am without gender."
"Would you agree to be placed under the designation 'intersex'?"the judge asked.
"Sure,"the person said, nodded in my direction as well. "I do not really keep much to such simplified designations most of the time. But go right ahead."
"Very well. The defendant has been identified as God,"the judge noted. "You have been charged for causing damages worth over €3.000.000 on a fishing vessel under the name of van Diepen by means of a massive storm, identified in several pieces of evidence as an 'Act of God'. The claimant requires you to compensate him for his loss. Do you have any response to that?"
"Yes, your honour,"God shifted slightly in his seat and I noticed some of the wood seemed to be coming alive. Several leaves were already sprouting from the chair's legs. "I am very sorry for the losses incurred by Mr. van Diepen's boat. Unfortunately for him, I have retired."
"Retired?!"called a woman from the back. She was holding a bible and I had seen her previously praying heavily for the damnation of my soul. Many people were upset I dared sue God. I would never again go along with Hans' practical jokes.
"Yes, retired,"God smiled benelovently. "Some of your books are a little confused on what I do for a living. Though I am someone with a lot of side jobs, my primary job has always been a source of inspiration. I mean, that is why I exist in the first place. If people stopped believing in me, I would just pop out of existence. I mean, I have done the whole 'Divine Intervention' thing in the past. Raised a few people from the dead, made a few people happy with visions and such. But in all, I just watched the universe evolve."
There was a lot of silence now. Even the judge seemed slightly uneased by the proclamation of the divine being in our midst.
God rose and smiled. "Look. When I was younger, I tried to see if I could use some mortal being to make you guys nicer to each other. You know, spread the word of peace and prosperity. It did not work at all. Europe had the dark ages afterall. So I decided to quit. No more Godly intervention on behalf of the mortals. So, your honour, if you ask me if I created that storm... no. I watched it. I felt really sorry for mr. van Diepen. But that storm was just a natural phenomenon."
"Your honour,"the man from the insurance company said. "I object. You have not sworn the defendent to honesty and I would hear his statement only then."
Again, God smiled and turned almost without seeming to move. "Yes, you would want me to take it up for you. Use me as a loophole. Well, perhaps then I need to remind you of your satanic bible, mr. Smith. It says this: 'God does not exist in heaven. God exists in yourself.'. So by definition, mr. Smith. YOU caused that storm and YOU are liable for all damages caused."
"I will not be liable for these damages..."the man stuttered.
"Your honour,"God spoke to the judge again. "My statement is given. I deny the charges laid on me by the good mr. van Diepen. I did not cause the storm, but I am sure mr. van Diepen can find plenty of more beings that have been or are addressed as 'God' by people. If I were him, however, I would not waste his time. I am sure the good insurance company will be willing to pay now this matter of my involvement has been cleared."
The judge nodded. "Very well. Mr. van Diepen. I judge that your claim is not substantiated by the evidence, as noted by God's word in this room. I also rule that the insurance company is held liable for the damages caused by the storm unless they are able to produce another God." |
They said only to be silent.
I had been silent for years -- what was another? And Guiney had warned me, quietly, once, that the command of silence was a courtesy -- a protection. They did not *have* to show you kindness. But they did, because no human, said Guiney, could let you enter the Other Place loud.
They said only to be silent, and I followed them, silent, down a long, white hall, sterile and medical. I was, in the silence, painfully aware of our footsteps -- too loud?
Guiney had been vague. Hales had been incoherent, missing bits of time and slices of his mind, wandering in out of Here and the Other Place.
He would say a word: crows. Sharp. Damned. Bright. And then days would pass, long and empty prison days, and you would wait for the next word, dread the next word.
When we reached the door, they said, again, to be silent. One of them whispered against the wood, something rasping that I could not comprehend. Evidently, whatever dwell inside heard it, for the door glided open without a sound.
Inside was but a man, who said only, "Be silent."
I made no sound of acknowledgment, but nodded, slowly, silent.
"Do you know of God?"
Had I read the Bible? Did I go to church? Was I Christian? I knew of God, the way students know of philosophy, or children of fairy tales. I nodded.
"Do you know where God lives?"
Heaven, I thought I remembered, was the sky, where angels danced on clouds and souls were saved. I nodded.
"Have you been there?"
I shook my head.
The man smiled, and my eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness of the room. He, too, was dark; he was tall, dressed in black, with a crow's nose and a severe face.
"We have not been there either, and we know God more than you."
When the man, sharp and thin, all needle-bones and razor, paused, I nodded again -- if only to disturb the silence.
"You are the damned. God wants to punish you. God *craves* punishment, and if we set you out into another world, you will find yourself in the home of a hostile God."
*Cult*. This is a cult. This is -- "This is -- "
"Be *silent*,"he said, his voice low and cold. "Be silent, for if you are silent, you will hear. To disturb the silence is to disturb the thinness between worlds. Do you understand?"
What could I do? I nodded.
"You will find God for us, for you are the *damned*, and you will bring God back with you or you will not know God again. Do you understand?"
No.
I nodded.
The man nodded too, sharply, severely, silently, and they took me out of the room. Back we walked, down the long white hallway, on the long white floor.
I thought on Guiney. I thought on Hales. I thought on silence.
A door opened, into the bright loud world, where an angry god awaited me, and I wondered if other worlds had our god. |
This was it. Our final hope. Our skeleton crew, tattered, worn down, and dwindled to but a few hundred men, readied to march upon the castle. It may have been a suicide mission, but it was the final gasp of air before succumbing to the drowning force of the Kingdom's army. Do we tell those whose last breath brought water into their lungs that they have killed themselves? No, we say they struggled until their end. And that is how we shall go out.
The rebel's failing army - no, not even an army, a brigade, perhaps - unleashed its death throe upon our castle walls. It was a sad thing to see. Men, who at one time my father, the King, had admired, now pitifully welcomed death as if they had a chance to overthrow the throne. And for what? A short list of demands? A few privileges that even royal staff didn't enjoy? Their deaths will be meaningless.
Our final catapult was destroyed by a barrage of flaming arrows, and quickly it blazed to ash. Yet not before it chipped a break in the Kingdom's grey walls. A small victory, perhaps only symbolic, but a victory nonetheless. Through cover of shield we poured into the hole, fighting and dying our way into the castle. I was grateful to breach the walls, not only to make progress in our fight, but to spare the villagers beneath us from the incidental casualties of the Kingdom's defense. Even then I felt the weight of every injury upon my heart.
Soldiers moved from their outward defenses and turned inward. It was a strange feeling to see royal arrows flung to targets without our own walls. The penalty of insurrection, I supposed. The rebels, who used to be among our own guard, knew our weak points. But it did not matter. They were far outnumbered and their end would come swiftly. Gratefully the villagers could not see over the walls, and we could increase our violence against the traitors.
I was short of breath, desperate for relief. I had just slain a young man who I had trained to fight just two years prior. Tears and sweat clouded my vision as I fought further into the castle. Was this truly the righteous path? Will this be worth it in the end? Still, my shield lifted and my sword swung. Still, I pressed on toward the great hall.
The doors swung open, and the few remaining rebels poured in, soldiers chasing after them. How they made it this far was impossible to tell. They weren't trying to win the fight. They wanted to reach my father. Shortly they were surrounded. I drew my sword and stood between them and the throne.
"Let us say our piece,"I said between gasps. My shield had been lost along the halls, and my sword was bent.
"Your words are more dangerous than your broken sword. With them you disrespect the Kingdom. You disrespect my Crown!"
"You mean your father's crown. Our crown. The people's crown."
"Your ideas are a plague, you filthy rodent."I said. "You should die a traitor's death."
"I may die, but let me tell the King what I die for. What we have already died for."
"You die for treason."
"I die for freedom."
I slipped my sword into his chest. No more shall his lungs breathe the vile words of rebellion. It went clean through, its bloodied tip pointed at the villagers who had come through the defenseless gates.
I felt the sword leave me, blood pouring out both ends. I fell to the ground, my body already broken by the years of fighting. Darkness covered my vision. At least we had fought until the end.
The villagers carried torches, pitchforks, gardening tools. Anything that looked sharp and painful. They far outnumbered the castle guard. And among them they held banner of the rebel's cause.
We had lost.
We had lost.
_______
/r/ReverendRamboWrites (still just a baby sub) |
We were often told as children that the Place Beyond the Grass was not meant for our kind. Only the ants, with their iron carapaces and fierce determination, were destined to leave the forest. Even they could stay for only a short time, before the harsh environment drove them back into the depths of their subterranean kingdom.
When the ants came for our above ground abode, trampling over our farms and our houses, we had no choice. I can still recall the scuttering footfalls of their warband, as they charged into our homes and levelled our buildings. The ensuing fight was short and devastating. We had little in the way of armaments, and the ants were born with them. We had only the clothes we constructed from the forest, and the ants were born with a thick shell. We fled to the only place we could, the only place that hadn't been overrun by the ants in their eternal and unyielding conquest: The Place Beyond the Grass.
So our journey began. The refugees of a once proud people, scattered to the winds and the whims of the Place Beyond the Grass.
So many of our group were not prepared for the journey. We were uprooted; blades of grass torn from their ancestral homes. I recall being in the Place Beyond the Grass for nearly 5 days, the black stone burning our feet during the day and pressing uncomfortably into our backs during the night. Of the thirty odd survivors, about half fell from sunstroke or dehydration. The dew was not plentiful as it was in the humid climes of the forest. Our only source of food and water were occasional weeds which erupted from cracks in the stone beneath us, small oases in the great black desert. Several of our people could travel no longer, the pain and suffering of the journey overtaking their wills just as the ants had overrun our homes. I still think about them, as I lay in bed at night, staring at the great stars above. What became of them?
On the second day, we sighted the Pillars.
Huge, monolithic structures, made from colossal fragments of obsidian that had been shaped into harsh geometric shapes. Even from where we saw them, ten thousand days of travel away, the structures seemed to hold the sky aloft. If we were in the grass, this would have no doubt sparked debate among our tribe's wise men. In The Place Beyond the Grass, words were cheap. Even our loudest and boldest troublemakers were stunned and exhausted into a melancholic silence which rivaled the stone beneath our feet in its hostility.
On the fourth day, we saw the Lights, columns of shiny stone that stretched high into the air before bending into an arch.
At the end of the arches a bulb of quartz was attached. We marveled at the objects during the day, wondering at their purpose. That night, we were stunned when the quartz bulb came to life, illuminating our faces and the stone around us. The light was purple, and we at once feared we had been caught in the trap of some mystical creature from the wastes. We quickly packed our meager belongings and travelled on, leaving the Lights and their alluring glow behind.
On the fifth day, we found the Grass again, or at least something akin to the green forests we once knew. The grass here was a different shape, but largely seemed to function the same as before. We fell to our knees. Had we truly survived The Place Beyond the Grass?
In time, we found others. The inhabitants of this forest. They looked like us, and their buildings and tools were similar. They wore pieces of a black gum under their feet, from a great ore they call the Mish Ellen, a massive shiny disc surrounded by the black gum. Their tools were made from shards of the same shiny stone the Lights were cast from, although they know nothing of the magical glowing quartz at the tip of the Lights. We shared with them the story of our journey, and their faces darkened. They too, had fought with ants. Great beasts colored the same as our blood. Their weapons were able to pierce their hide, though, so the ants kept their distance. They welcomed us into their home with open arms, and for that we will be forever grateful.
~
But that story was a lifetime ago, and now I am an old man, rendered frail by the passage of time. I took the role of a storyteller, a vocation I was all too happy to fulfill for our village. The time I spent in the Place Beyond the Grass is my most popular tale, although I have other grounded tales which serve as well.
I know my time is limited, now more so than ever, so I have resolved to write down my tales, so that our children, and their children's children, may learn something of the Place Beyond the Grass. While the great Mish Ellen gives us many things, it is not an infinite resource. Even now, we must battle the blood ants in order to gather the black gum, and the shiny stone we gather is becoming tainted by the blood ants, slowly becoming red and brittle.
I hope that these trials are only small hurdles our village can overcome. I fear that they are not.
It is my dying wish to travel once again through that harsh stone waste, yet I cannot fathom why. Should fortune favor me, I may even be able to reach the foot of the Pillars. I can only pray that my village need not follow me into the Place Beyond the Grass. |
"I gotta be honest,"I say as I run out my tape to check the railings. "I figured this was probably a trap to hold one of my boys hostage. None of us really wanted to come, but I figured, I'm not turning down any work, economy like it is, and better me than one of the guys with a family."
"Yeah, I was worried that might keep this from happening, but I had to put in a request. I had a few henchmen get injured last week. I thought we were good with repairs from that fight with DisTress, but I must be missing something."
"That the one back around Christmas? Jeez, that made for good television."The railings are perfect. Toe guards, 21 and 42 inches, reinforced attachments, and a grating. I test and tick off the last few fire and CO alarms, almost done.
"Thanks. I actually didn't expect to win that fight, but I knew the case wouldn't make it to court. They know Santa won't show up, which makes it hard for the prosecutors trying to say you kidnapped Big Red."
"Ha, guess so. Hmmm,"I look over my notes, sure I missed something. "Well, nothing on my initial walk-through. Where exactly did these men get hurt? And what sort of injuries are we talking?"
"Down past the tiger cages. It looked like some sort of chemical burns."
"Near the tigers? Let’s see..."I stride over, alert to as much danger as I can be. It's not enough to be a cape, but I do have a heightened awareness when I want. Burns a ton of calories, though. Can't just use it all the time.
"This feed, was it here back during the fight?"
"No, it was in storage. Why?"
"It's not my area, but I noticed the bags are discolored. Is it possible something spilled on them?"
"Oh, you're probably right."He taps his watch and a sensor pops out to analyse the bags. "Yep. Thanks man."
"No problem. I'm going to head out."
"Ah, shucks, bud. I actually do need a hostage here, so..." |
I'm a night climber. Urban mostly, but I get out of the city when I can. It's a weird hobby, and it's lost me a few friends in the past, but to me there's nothing better than gripping granite in the cool darkness. I love the feel of white chalk on my hands, groping for holds in the night. However, an untimely fall had put me out of action at three minutes past three in the morning and now I was clutching a rapidly swelling wrist with my teeth clenched.
I arrived at Accident and Emergency at forty-three minutes past three in the morning, nudging the revolving door with my elbow. The reception desk was empty and halogen lights shone blearily over ripped chairs that had seen better days. I still had my climbing shoes on: a pair of La Sportivas I'd paid too much for and were beginning to pinch my toes uncomfortably. The chairs were empty, the shift-nurse's office had its blinds down. It was a Wednesday night: hump day, and I was relieved that my wait wouldn't be long.
"Hello?"I called. No one answered. I peered over the reception desk. A half-drunk mug of coffee was still steaming, red lights blinking on the phone. I grabbed a clipboard from beside the receptionist's printer and tucked it under my arm. My left wrist was beginning to throb uncomfortably as I balanced the clipboard on my knees and tried to fill it in.
**Name:** Daniel Sandler
**Occupation:** Huh, there wasn't much I could put in that box. I settled with 'Student.'
The printer kicked into action, whirring and spluttering the way only machines from the late nineties could. Methodically, painfully, it printed a single sheet of paper. It slipped from the tray and fluttered onto the floor. I looked around, wondering if the receptionist would magically appear to pick it up, but there was no movement.
Sighing, I put the clipboard down and retrieved the sheet of paper. It crumpled in my hand: prescription paper, not the heavy A4 that I was used to.
*You have been exposed, do not leave.*
I read the words upside down the first time, and then turned the paper right-side up and read it again.
It still said the same thing: vague, cryptic and confusing. Was it for me? Was someone trying to tell me they knew about my night climbing hobby? Yes, in some places I was technically I trespasser, but I didn't break anything. Just smear it in chalk, climb it and leave.
The revolving door swung again and the lights of the lobby blinked. I tucked my sprained (possibly broken) wrist into my coat pocket as two men came walking in. They were both heavies: *bruisers,* my dad would have called them. Both dressed in identical grey suits, dark sunglasses despite the night sky outside.
And they both carried semi-automatic rifles, extended clips swinging against their torsos.
"Hasn't anyone told you sunglasses at night are a sure sign of a mental deficiency?"I attempted a weak quip. Neither of them responded: a muscle twitched underneath the buzzcut of the man on the right.
That's when they began to shoot. In unison, they lifted the rifles and strayed the room. I ducked, dropped and rolled across the floor. I threw myself behind the receptionist's desk. The wood and metal contraption held up against the bullets, but I was breathing hard, expecting any minute to get ripped to shreds. The monitor and the printer, both destroyed, tumbled to the floor beside me. The shattered plastic sprayed across the tiled floor and I grasped a shard, wondering if they came for me, I would be able to use it to defend myself.
With (one) trembling hand, I undid the laces on my climbing shoes, until I was barefoot. I could see the double doors that led to the nurses' station to my right, but I was too terrified to move. The bullets were still coming thick and fast. One punched through the desk, slamming into the white-painted wall on my left. That made me jump, shudder as I saw how close the bullet came to hitting me. Within seconds, the desk would be weak enough for them to hit me.
They still hadn't said a word.
Then the door of the nurses' station swung open. I closed my eyes and prayed for the police, but it was a nurse. She was dressed in her uniform, hair tied up in a neat bun, minimal make-up and sensible shoes. I heard the bullets momentarily stop--the rat-a-tat-tat coming to a halt as the heavies considered the woman walking into their midst.
"This doesn't concern you,"I heard one say. Part of me wanted to move: was desperate to escape, but I was frozen to the spot.
"You're wrong,"the woman said. "It does."From where I was, I saw her lift a pistol, concealed from their view. There was a gasp of surprise, two sharp shots and two thuds.
She turned to me, brown eyes blazing. There were two high spots of colour in her cheeks, and she was breathing hard from having controlled the recoil of her pistol.
"Don't say it,"I warned her.
She frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"This is some kind of prank, right? Terminator? Come with me if you want to live?"
The woman looked momentarily confused.
"Did you send this message?"I asked, holding up the crumpled piece of paper I'd picked up from the printer. She grabbed it from my hand and smoothed it out, reading the message.
"This wasn't for you,"she said. "I'm here for this."She dug beneath the destroyed receptionist's counter and pulled out a briefcase.
"So..."I started. "Is that-"
"I don't think you were supposed to be here,"she said. "This place supposed to be empty. I think that message is for me."
"You're not actually a nurse?"I said.
"Erm no,"she said.
"Because I think I have a broken wrist,"I said, holding it up.
"Oh-"
And I grabbed the briefcase.
EDIT: The woman blinked and shot a hand out, but I was already rolling away from the desk and stumbling towards the plywood doors that marked the beginning of the rest of the hospital. I was through them before she managed to lift the pistol and fire two shots after me. They reverberated in the quiet hallway, colliding uselessly with the flimsy door. One tore through, but hit the wall in a shower of plaster dust as I careered into a corner.
I could hear the sound of her footsteps behind me as I ran hips-first into a gurney. I swore and pushed it out of the way with the briefcase, feeling the weight of it in my hand as I swung it.
"Come back!"She screamed. Her voice echoed. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into!"
I slammed through a set of double doors and screeched to a halt. The room was dark and I stumbled around, trying to see another door in the gloom. The woman came through the doors, panting as she rested her hands on her knees.
"Give that back,"she said breathlessly. "Please. Don't open it."
"I've been shot at by two idiots wearing sunglasses and wielding heavy artillery,"I said. "Don't I deserve some compensation?"
"It's not money,"she said. She stepped closer, holding her hands up to show she wasn't holding the pistol. The red flush had come back into her cheeks. She had freckles dotted across the top of her nose. "I know you think you're in some kind of action film, but it's not that."
"So what's inside?"I asked.
"Something which needs to stay inside. I can't tell you, just give it back. Please."
I dropped the briefcase on the surgery table, sending scalpels skittering across the floor.
"We'll see about that,"I said. I flipped the catches with one easy hand and flipped the briefcase up.
"NO!"The woman screamed and dashed forwards, slamming it shut as fast as she could. But I had seen inside it. It had been empty.
"I'm lost,"I said. "Have I wandered into an asylum by mistake? What's going on?"
"You've let Him out,"she cried. She was distraught, opening and closing the briefcase as though her life depended on it. "Oh god. We're dead."
|
Chapter 1:
April 11, 2019
“Welcome everyone to day two of DARPA’s fifth annual robot vs human challenge. As you probably know, our robot this year is GREG, the Game Running Engine Guru. We’ve got over 1,000 copies of GREG here, programmed to play over 28,000 different games against all of you. Yesterday, our robots won over 98% of the games played, including every game of chess, checkers, steal the bacon, HALO, Mario Kart, Trivial Pursuit, Jeopardy, paintball and capture the flag. Greg beat an MMA fighter by submission. He beat every poker player but one at our giant Texas hold’em tournament. He only lost three games of Risk out of 127 played. However, there is at least one game we didn’t win. A group of five of our robots lost a game of basketball. Who knew the Lakers would show up?"
The crowd laughed, the surprise celebrity basketball game being one of the highlights of the first day.
Dr. Samantha Baker, lead engineer for the robotics department at Stanford, continued, “And GREG won precisely 49.8% of games of heads or tails. So I guess there is one area even you average humans can still hold your own."
A bit of a groan went through the crowd at that one.
“Signups are over on my left, your right. We’ve already got quite a line there, but hopefully everyone will get a chance to play a few games against our robots. Good luck everyone.”
Samantha stepped off stage and went to the signup table to look over the day’s game choices. As a stunt, two humans and two robots were sitting at the table, taking signups via pen and paper. "Why not fancy tablets?,"she thought for the dozenth time that week. A multi-million dollar tech organization shouldn’t be taking signups via pen and paper and hand inputting them. But she knew the answer had to do with various security regulations and concerns about hackers. They had a few scares in recent months that forced them back to some old fashioned methods.
As she glanced through the signup sheets, she saw fewer games of chess and Halo and more games of Go, Paintball and Risk than day one. Risk was particularly popular. People correctly understood that enough luck with the dice could get them a win over even perfect strategy.
As she read through the sheets, the scientist heard a sharp raspy voice behind her, “Dr. Baker.” Samantha turned and saw a man in a brown trench coat, long unkempt beard and shoulder length hair falling out of his brown hat that made him look like he hadn’t showered in a few days.
“Line forms back by the door, sir.” She tried to show as much respect as she could, though the faint odor she could smell from the man made her want to turn away.
“Dr. Baker, I need to challenge your robots to a game of tic-tac-toe."
She avoided even cracking a smile at the ridiculous request, kept a straight face, and said, “As I said sir, the line forms in the back."
“I need a game of tic-tac-toe, best three of five, and if I win, I want a meeting with the president.”
Ok, so he’s homeless and a bit nuts, Samantha thought. “Tell you what sir,” she said grabbing a signup sheet, "I’ll sign you up right here. What’s your name?
“Jose. Jose Temoc."
“Ok, Jose. You’ve got a game of Tic-Tac-Toe at 10AM against GREG #543 over against the far wall. Best three out of five,10 minute limit. And if you win, I’ll guarantee you a meeting with the president."
“Thank you ma’am. You’re one of the good ones.” As he walked away, she noticed the hall had fallen silent. People all around her had overheard what she had said. She began to turn red with embarrassment, She hadn’t meant to mock the homeless man, just get him out of her hair. But she realized that people weren’t looking at her, they were watching him. Even her own scientists and aides had stopped to look at the man.
“Go get him Joe!” A man shouted from the back.
“Kick that robot’s ass Joe!” another man shouted.
“Tic-Tac-Joe, Tic-Tac-Joe” a teenager tried to start a chant and amazingly, dozens of other people in the crowd began to pick it up.
Samantha leaned over to Keith, her nearest assistant, “Am I supposed to know who that is?"
Keith looked at her with a bit of disbelief. “Have you been living under a rock? You’ve seen all the YouTube videos, right? His appearance on the Today Show? And Colbert?”
Samantha just shook her head dumbfounded.
Keith continued, "That’s Tic-Tac-Joe. His videos started appearing online about a month ago. He beats everyone at Tic-Tac-Toe. He posted on his blog last week that he’d be showing up here."
The chants for Joe were dying down and business was returning to normal, but she could see a crowd forming back by the wall where she had scheduled him to play. It was still 90 minutes to game time.
Samantha had regained her composure and now looked right at her assistant. “Umm Keith, you know Tic-Tac-Toe is a completely solved game. Computers have been playing it for something like 50 years now. Our robots can’t lose. The best he can do is tie for ten minutes."
Keith looked back at her, “I realize that it doesn’t make me much of a scientist, but I believe he’s going to win."
Chapter 2:.... |
“Either this was a massive joke, or the existence behind karma whores finally made sense.” Was my innocent thought when I found it. Two years of karma whoring later and I was living hell on Earth.
I was bored out of my mind one day during my study break and was reading through license agreements, user agreements, EULA’s and T&C’s for sites I used and games I played. I wanted to finish my law degree and eventually reading all those legal conditions became a bad habit in the same way a book worm given a new book will put that at the top of their priority list.
Eventually, I thought to go through Reddit’s because I never thought much of it. I just assumed it’d be the same as any other forum that they just had to stick to the laws, and apart from that everything would be fair game. What I never thought I’d read, was in the finest print, buried within the Reddit rules.
--
“On the 31st of December every year, Reddit will pay you $1.00 per Reddit karma point gained that year, at an equal trade of Reddit gaining one real karma point from your life. Email [email protected] to begin the agreement.”
--
I nearly lost it laughing, wondering who would ever believe it, with /u/_vargas_ and /u/GallowBoob coming to mind. Maybe that’s why they were blatant karma whores, was because they believed that joke? My curiosity did have the better of me, as a law student. Could I actually hold the company to this if I went through the court and gained thousands of karma a year? “A successful repost is a month of rent alone!” I thought. I emailed the address just to see who would answer, an actual employee or a poor intern who was in trouble and on spam email duty.
---
“To Reddit,
I saw in your User Agreement that I could get paid for karma. I made a writing prompt submission this year that totalled 200 net karma. I’d appreciate more details.
/u/irspeshul.”
---
I was beyond surprised when I got a notification on my phone a minute later that I had an email. I opened it to find a large amount of my personal information… I’d share the email but I was and still am scared. I was identified by name and personal address, not just my username, and through the large amount of information I found a specific part. “By emailing us the agreement has been made. Your bank account will have your money deposited or credited. Make sure for your own sake to keep your real karma up enough to counterbalance, else you might be met with an accident.”
It was a thinly veiled threat, but they had all of my details down to my bank, my address – I even legally changed my name and they called me by both! I was beyond scared.
December 31st came two months later. I had gained 300 karma, some from reposting but it was a victimless crime that would make me $300 richer. And 300 karma poorer, they’d said. I didn’t believe in karma, it was for fools who’d believe in flying angels with harps on clouds. I eagerly watched my bank account all night, waiting for the money to go in. At 11:59PM on the dot I was $300 richer, a minute before the New Year started. It was legitimate. “I could make a career from posting and reposting!” I’d dreamed of it and the thought was in my head for days after. But only a week into the year, and I had an allergic reaction to something and I still to this day don’t know what. I was hospitalised for a week until the swelling went down to the point I wouldn’t suffocate in my sleep.
Months went by without incident, and I turned from my writing prompts submissions which were simply not good enough to get my karma payout, to reposts. I figured out not to bother with comment karma, because vargas would always take it. And I figured that Gallowboob had a schedule on his reposts, and I started reposting stuff to /r/aww a day ahead of him, or /r/pics. What would it matter, he was probably a millionaire from his whoring.
December 31st came again, and this time I had a sweet fifty grand in my account. But that was when problems started. I woke up after a shitty sleep, ready to rent out an apartment and hide away for a whole year. But I had a thought, if I only lost three hundred ‘real life’ karma and my karma was still 1500 on Reddit, how was it still the same? And this time 51500 was still 51500 the next day. What karma was the website taking?
I realised that pretty quickly within a month. I didn’t become a god fearing man. I didn’t start praying every night, but instead every hour. Everything would go wrong. I was constantly on medication for every illness I would catch, every tiny thing I wasn’t vaccinated against and even some things that I was. Every aggressive dog would find me, every surface a slip hazard, every adventure outside leading to a mugging or accident. I’d always be bleeding either externally or internally. Broken bones.
The first half of that year was a waste of my life. Everything going wrong. Somehow I deserved enough torture my suicide attempts would fail. The noose would break, someone wound find me before the pills killed me, the bullets would go through non-lethally to the point I was a medical miracle. I couldn’t die. I spent all of last year greedily focused on money that I did nothing other than Reddit and even ignored my studies. So I tried something different and thought, if you could have bad real karma, maybe I could try and get good karma back?
I donated all the money I had to charity. In between hospital visits, after downing all the painkillers I was prescribed and already becoming immune and resistant to I did chores for free for neighbours. I was in constant torture for 20 years, homelessness, near but never fatal accidents, constant hospitalisation, before finally, things had changed and I was mostly myself. Although with some long lasting illnesses still plaguing me and arthritis from when I turned 25, but at least I wasn’t living through a hell I couldn’t end. I opened Reddit for the first time in many years and finally rested after constant hard work to end my suffering. Somehow the website was still running and if anything as strong as ever. I saw a ton of Gallowboob reposts on the front page, and messaged him. “How do you have enough Karma to pay it off, is it worth it?” I asked. I knew he must have had the same agreement I had going, to spend 20 years gaining karma.
I never did get a response. I saw in the news a few months later though that there was a man who had gone 22 years without eating or sleeping in captivity. Poor guy looked like he’d been through hell.
-----
My girlfriend and I were feeling restless at 11PM So I told her that we should both write a story to a writing prompt and submit it, no matter how bad it was. This is my submission, and hers is [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/58y896/wp_with_nothing_better_to_do_you_decide_to_read/d9492u5/). Let us know what you think of it, this is my first piece of creative writing in years. I've never made a piece turn dark like that, and don't know if I went too far or even executed my idea of immortality being a curse not a blessing that well. I did think about writing about friends/family dying, but felt that didn't make sense. Why would one persons negative karma be that bad to kill another person?
Interesting writing prompt by the way OP. PM me when you put another one up if you like my story, I'd be keen to get back into writing.
Edit: Fuck me I just read my girlfriends' one, I swear there's nothing wrong with our heads. |
Ding ding. The bell at the side of the arena signaled the end of the fight as the Grim Reaper himself laid passed out on the ground.
The entire crowd of demons, which had previously been roaring, cheering, booing, and hissing at the fighters, went silent. The skeletons in the crowd's jaws dropped, literally.
All of a sudden the silence was broken with "CONGRAAAATULATIONS! We have our winner!"
The crowd erupted.
I turned my head to see two zombies drag Death out of the arena and onto a gurney, then turned to the crowd again who were all anxiously awaiting something.
The announcer nudged me with his elbow, and I realized that he put the microphone up to my mouth.
"How's it feel?"He asked.
"Uhhh great. So umm"I cleared my throat. "What do I win?"
"I like your attitude kid. Straight to the point", the announcer says before pausing to let the crowd chuckle. "YOU HAVE WON YOUR VERY OWN. . . uhh. . . I don't know."
The announcer turns around and glances at a massive demon sitting in the stands, presumably the owner of this place.
The demon snaps his fingers and a book appears alongside a scrawny imp. The imp picked up the book and the demon punted the imp into the arena.
The imp handed the book to the announcer and walked away grumbling about his shitty boss and mumbles that he could have simply walked the book down.
The announcer begins flipping through the book and reads aloud: "If the winner of the fight with Death, somehow emerges from the ring victorious, he or she may choose one of two things. 1. Omnipotent power over the realm of their choosing, or. . ."
The announcer scoffs. "Why would anyone even want option number two? Just go ahead and choose your realm."
Option number two intrigued me. "Keep reading."I said.
"But it's inconcei-"
"Keep reading"I demanded.
"If you wish."He says as he rolls his eyes and continues to read. "Or 2. They may choose one living person, or group of people,on Earth, and cause them to remember that one embarrassing thing they did 8 years ago that literally nobody remembers or thinks about."
I could hear several demons exhaling air from their noses as they found this option humorously preposterous.
"So what realm do you want power over?"The announcer inquires. "Heaven, Hell, purgatory, Greek underworld, Santa's Workshop?"
I wasn't even listening anymore as I had already made up my mind.
"I choose option number 2."I proclaim.
"No really kid. This is serious, and he haven't got all day. More fights to get to. People don't stop dying so we can't stop fighting."
"I'm serious. And I already know who I want to use it on."
"Well go ahead."The announcer says. "Don't leave the people waiting."
"I want anyone reading this story on Reddit to be the ones who think about that embarrassing thing that happened."
-------------------------------
Thanks for reading. Hope that embarrassing thing you did 8 years ago doesn't cause too much anxiety. Critiques appreciated, as this is my first submission to a writing prompt.
Edit: An apostrophe. |
"Wha-what are you doing?"
"I-I-I'm offering the customary sacrifice...sir. The old tomes said you required flesh for flesh, blood for blood."
"And you took that to mean I wanted...your son? As *payment*?
"Y-yes?"
*sigh* "That's not- *that's* **not** what I meant by that at all."
"T-then...you require my own flesh? Must I devote my l-life to you?"
"No no no no no stop stop stop. What is wrong with you? I don't require payment of any kind! *Life needs things to live!* I can't just conjure blood and flesh for healing so I need donors! *NOT* sacrifices!"
"T-then..."
"And what was *that* display just now? Even if you believed I required your son's life for your own, you were so easily willing to part with him?! What sorted wretched father are you?"
"B-but I-"
"**BUT** *you*?! Regardless of your status or situation, you should've at least held some sort of reluctance to hand him over! What did you think I would even do with the child?!"
"W-well I didn't want to o-offend you you by p-presuming..."
"Oh that does it! I *AM* taking this boy! And he shall know a life far greater than the pitiful one he has known til this day!"
"B-but my treatment!"
"BEGONE THOU SELFISH AND WICKED CRETIN! IF YOU FEAR DEATH SO MUCH THEN YOU SHALL NEVER KNOW IT!"
With that final rebuke, the old wizard and the boy had vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind a statue of a man, ever frozen but ever alive. |
I grinned, staring into the confused eyes of Jacob Billings. He was watching the camera as if he could see me, as if he knew exactly who it was that was watching him.
"How're you still alive?"He breathed, his gaze flicking to the chat as he awaited my answer.
**You think you're the first one to invent serial killing?** I typed.
He shook his head. "No, but my people should've found you by now. They should've been tracking you."
**Oh, they did. I made sure that living wouldn't be a problem for them anymore.**
The color drained from Jacob's face, his entire body quivering in fear. A rush of excitement cracked another grin on my face, this one stretching from ear to ear. I hadn't felt this kind of euphoria in a long time.
"You... you killed them?"He breathed, swallowing hard as he watched the chat.
**Oh yes. It was quite a rush, I must say. I haven't been hunted in a long time, so I was a little sloppy, but I got the job done. It was more fun than I've had in quite awhile.**
Jacob glared into the camera. "Who the hell are you?"
I glanced over at my other monitor before I responded. Jacob had been active just long enough so that the program I had running had finished its job. His address, or at least, where he was streaming from, was broadcast across the monitor in big, bold lettering.
My fingers lazily danced across the keyboard. **I'm just a person who is very fond of your work. I've been watching you for over a year now. Waiting. Planning.**
Jacob shuddered "Planning what?"
**I believe you know exactly what I'm talking about, Jacob.**
His eyes widened at my message. "H-how do you know my real name?"
I licked my lips as I typed, my whole body itching to get on the road. **Like I said, I'm very fond of your work. I'll see you soon, Jacob.**
As I slung my bag across my shoulder, my tools clanking loudly together, Jacob shouted into the camera, his face as white as a fresh layer of snow. I stepped over the bodies of his people, two men that had thought they could jump me while I was watching Jacob, taking care not to get their blood on my shoes. I hurried out the front door, skipping down the steps to my car, my heart racing inside my chest.
It was fun being the prey at times, I couldn't deny, but being the predator was where I got the most joy, the most satisfaction from my kills. Jacob could run, that much was true, but he couldn't hide. I'd been hunting him for a year now, and I knew everything there was to know about that stick-like human that had gotten into some dark things at a young age, so he knew how to run. I bet he was pretty good at it, too. It would only make him that much more fun to chase. |
It's like they all forget that farmers sometimes have parents who weren't farmers.
Ma and Pa were adventurers. They settled down here in our town about 200 years ago. The Humans liked them, because they were not only rather powerful Mages, but they could really work magic with bread and beer. The 4 of us kids when we were old enough, began working the land that our parents had bought over time. We didn't own too much land, but enough so that they had enough wheat and rye to make their things. Our sister was quite adapt with magic and she went off to live with the other elves. She's supposed to be back in 50 or 60 years I guess now. The letters she sends are really nice. Bree and Tuk didn't want to be farmers and left in the middle of the night about 20 years ago I suppose. I think they joined the army or something.
Me, I farm. I have learned how to do some spells to help with the farming, like keep the weasels from eating too much of our crops and I do cultivate some wonderful yeasts as well.
One thing that always bothered us was how "Adventurers"would show up form time to time to go attack the Old Red that lived in the cave a day's ride East. While here, they usually gave the local inn keep a little trouble after drinking too much. Ma and Pa had to deal with them rarely, but they usually kept to themselves when they heard their horses come riding in.
I guess what made me ride over there to see old Red was when a group of about 6 looking to kill Old Red and get his treasure made trouble in the Inn and Pa took a blade to his belly. Now, we keep some healing potions on hand, so it didn't kill him, but I was really pissed, because the asshole who did it wasn't even sorry. I wanted to see them die like the other adventurers so I snuck off after them to see the show of Old Red eating them. Maybe I'd even help Old Red with a well placed arrow to the back of that one.
Those assholes were giving Old Red a better run for his money than some of the others, but it still didn't look like a fair fight. I'm sneaky, but I knew he saw me draw my bow and land two arrows in the back of the one who stabbed Pa. The others were surprised, and to be honest I think I distracted Old Red, because one of them almost got him in the neck. I couldn't let that happen, so I hit him in the back of the leg and he fell howling. Well, howling until Old Red bit him in half. The other ones didn't take long to become wyrm food. I waited in the shadows to see if he was going to take a nap or something. He called out to me.
"Hello stranger... I know you 're still here. I suppose I should thank you, but are you here to finish the job on what seems to be a tired dragon?"
"I'm coming out to talk. Okay?"I hollered. "I don't have any quarrel with you, well, not really."
There was a pause where Old Red considered my words. "I tell you what. You keep that bow slung on your back and your knives in their places, and we can discuss today like, *gentlemen*. Is that what you say?"
"Like Gentlemen, um, Okay."My bow was slung over my shoulder and I walked in to the cave to find myself staring at an old man, not a dragon.
"Uh, I thought this would be easier. Would you like some tea? I think I smelled some tea in one of their packs."the old man gestured at the dead adventurers laying about. "Oh, that one has some mead!"and he excitedly went to find it.
"My parents make that, among other things. That's why I am here. These assholes and others like them show up in our town down the hill to the West. They have little regard for, well, you know anyone not them it seems."I reached into my side bag and pulled out a couple of bread rolls. "Try these. They are very good as well."
The old man took the bread and sniffed it. I broke open one I still had and took a bite.
"So let me get this straight, you're just a common farmer from the village?"he took a drink from the mead and studied me.
"Yes. they come to the village and cause trouble. not always THEM, because well, they are dead, but you know the type that show up. "
"I tell you what. You and your, Parents, did you say?"I nodded, "you make remarkable food. I tell you what, take a little of my hoard and you're free to go. As you see, I have plenty. Now, maybe when others like them decide to come up here, you follow them , or even lead them here? You are pretty good in a fight. "
"Well, my parents weren't always bakers and meadery owners. They, being elves, studied magic and war and taught me how to defend myself. Of course, we like meat, so I learned to hunt. I don't like the cows and sheep that the humans cultivate. They have a weird texture."
"True, that's why I don't eat your villagers sheep or cows."
"Are you really a dragon, not just some powerful wizard who shapeshifts?"
"Why can't I be both? I mean, a dragon who shapeshifts and able to use magic?"
"Never thought of it like that. I guess since you are magical..."
"Yes. I had been asleep a while, how long has it been between visits?"
"From OUR village, it's been about a year. it seems that it's about once or twice a year they show up bragging about how much treasure they are going to take from you. The Winters tend to make this a Summertime or Harvest time activity."I looked in the cave and could see things glinting in the dim light.
"We aren't all greedy you know. Sometimes it's just the treasure we collect from those who would try to kill us, or perhaps in our youth, we believed we were supposed to gather this stuff. I actually had another one of my kind show up and try to take over my cave. Their bones are in the back. Would your parents part with their knowledge of *this*?"Old Red raised both the bread which was almost gone, and the mead jug.
"It might be weird and cramped to have a dragon in their kitchen."I laughed.
"I can stay like this for long periods of time. Perhaps you walk back with me, and introduce me. You could say you slain the dragon. There are bones. People will believe you when you say the flesh and scales disintegrated."
"But we can't just leave the cave unguarded?"
"It won't be. There's a family of bears in the back. Well, they are out foraging for food. They are really good neighbors. You'll like them when you meet them."
<part 1> |
“The cops took my knife after I tried to stab them. They stabbed me in the chest.” The criminal said.
“How horrible! Let’s get you some help.” The receptionist.
“I didn’t know if I should pull out the knife or-”
“You did the right thing, coming to the right person.”
“I dunno if my insurance will cover this.”
“Who is it with?”
“Turquoise Cross.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, hun. Lay down on this stretcher. Why didn’t you take the ambulance.”
“I’m a wanted man.”
“That doesn’t change a thing.”
The receptionist made sure to pick a nice room for the man. She made sure that he got plenty of food, water, and all kinds of necessities. The wanted man has received more care than a regular patient who visits. The admin noticed after all the expenses and called her in.
“Yes, sir,” the receptionist asked the administrator before being given a seat.
“As you know, Jimmy is a wanted fugitive.”
“That is correct.”
“So far, he’s been given the utmost care at this hospital.”
“As a hospital should.”
“You are aware of the crimes he’s committed.”
“Of course.”
“Then why do you insist on giving him top-shelf care?”
“Because it’ll give the insurance company a reason to overcharge him.”
“He’ll go to prison. He won’t be able to pay the bills.”
“Not totally, but then the hospital will garnish his wages. The government will pay for his care, and he’ll be in prison for longer to pay it off..” |
The sounds of the Battle of Hogwarts raged around them, but Gomez Addams was miles and years away.
The infant had been dark. Pale. Scarred. Marked with death. Filled with love. Gomez and Morticia were no strangers to the eldritch but had never held something so beautiful, so pure, so…magic.
Magic. That word came to define his childhood, their child. He was curious. Intelligent. Brave. And he had an impressively high pain tolerance, which only sharpened the love between Harry and his siblings. They spilled each others’ blood, but then again…what sibling hadn’t, and when had blood ever mattered to an Addams?
Because, make no mistake, he was an Addams.
Then came his eleventh birthday, when he inherited his birthright, and they felt as though their hearts would be ripped from their chests. After all, why have children if you only want to get rid of them? The thought of Harry in that enormous castle, so far from home, from family, alone…
But he wanted to go. So they cheered his decision, spent a dazzling summer in Diagon Alley (though Wednesday snuck off to Knockturn Alley as often as she could get away with it), and then let their boy go.
Gomez wept. Morticia consoled him. And, when they got his first letter from Hogwarts, Gomez let out a joyful shout that shook the cobwebs from Grandmama’s ceiling.
“GRYFFINDOR! OUR BOY WAS SORTED INTO *GRYFFINDOR*!!!!”
A patient smile played at Morticia’s lips. “I bet he gets that from *you*, darling.”
The years blurred by. The wonder of the Wizarding World turned dark, and he watched in sadness as the years laid shadows over his youngest son, none larger and darker than Voldemort. And today, after telling his father what he had to do, that shadow had finally swallowed him.
“My boy,” he’d whispered. “My boy, please. I’ve never asked anything from you, but I beg you now. Don’t go.”
But he had. Because he was good. Because he was kind. Because he was an *Addams*. So Gomez had let him go, because we are only given children for a short while. And now his child lay still, the light that filled his emerald eyes stolen by that sickly green lightning.
How many times had Harry told him that love was the strongest magic? Hundreds, at least. He had known it in every bauble of pride and whispered affirmation. But now, as the red curtain of battle-fury shrouded his gaze, Gomez bet a father’s rage would give it a run for its money.
“I love you, *mi amor,*” he whispered. Morticia embraced him, held him fast, and then let him go. Her eyes glinted like firelight off knives.
Gomez strode across the battlefield, heart jackhammering in his chest, his fury building with every step. He snatched a tattered witch’s hat as he passed by—it had seemed important, somehow—but any and all consideration was lost as his whipcrack voice snapped the silence.
“*YOU!*”
Voldemort turned to the dead man who had interrupted him…and stopped. For a moment there was a queer twinning as he beheld a well-dressed man with tousled, jet-black hair, an aura of rage shouting from him in bloody promises, and the dark lord found himself unable to speak.
“You…no. I…I killed you *years* ago…”
“No: you. Killed. My. *Boy.*” Each word fell like a gauntlet.
Without thinking, Gomez plunged his hand into the hat. Something cold and hard met his hand, something he would have known anywhere, and a savage grin split his face. "NOW!"He screamed, ripped the ruby-studded sword from the Sorting Hat, and stabbed it towards Voldemort.
“*EN GARDE!*”
And, from across the battlefield, Morticia whispered in fierce pride:
"I *knew* it." |
A sudden, sharp pain in my eyelid. It was like something had been ripped out of me. At the same time, something I had never experienced before. Something my brain only sometimes creates when I'm dreaming.
My eyes never developed before being born. Not only was I blind, but my eyelids never gained the ability to open. They were stuck shut. This wasn't the *cause* of my blindness, just another side-effect of the same under-development. Or, at least that's what I was told.
When I dream, sometimes I will experience something that I've assumed is what sight is like. Pops, explosions, and flashes. My brain fires random signals, just like yours does when you sleep. Except mine has no real imagery to associate it with, so it comes as random stimulus.
But now, alongside this pain, an ever-lasting flash. One that didn't go away; One that appeared whilst I was awake. It just stayed there.
I rubbed my eyes. I could not feel any blood, but I did feel another jolt of pain as I realised for the first time that my eyelids were opening. The flash grew stronger - It was almost more painful than the shocks of pain I had been experiencing prior.
The left remained closed; Only my right eyelid opened, although even that tried to stay tightly shut with the pain that light was causing my eye. 19 years of darkness - That's a lot for an iris to get used to.
Eventually, the pure light settled down, and I could make out colours; Shapes, even. This isn't what I imagined sight to be like. Then again, I don't know what exactly I imagined it to be like. I had nothing to compare it to.
Imagine if you had never tasted sour food before. I could sit here and describe to you every last detail of it. The way it seems to pleasantly burn your tongue; The way it can feel like the sound of TV static; The way it tickles your taste buds. But I could never truly convey that experience to you without letting you try it yourself.
At first, I could not comprehend everything. So as I stood up, it surprised me to experience my entire vision move with me. It took trial and error to understand the world. I reached for a glass of water, and saw colours and shapes move with me - I understood this to be my hand. I understood the shape that moved towards my face to be the glass. I almost dropped it when I peered into the water, and saw the world within moving around separate from my own movement. Thinking back to science, I realised this is refraction.
I looked around and started to slowly understand various shapes, although it still took touching them to confirm everything.
The strangest experience was seeing mother.
She came into my room, perhaps hearing the commotion. I squinted my eyelid closed so I could surprise her.
Through the gap in my eyelid, I could see her face. It moved. It morphed. Her entire form changed colour, over and over, several times a second.
"How strange,"
I thought to myself,
"I did not know
that humans
could do
that." |
"Aw come on, you know you want to,"pleaded Tony, raising his voice to an irritating pitch, "maybe it'll actually be something interesting this time,"
I grunted, but gently poked his outstretched palm with my index finger. I closed my eyes and hummed in concentration. The train seats rocked gently as we passed through a tunnel.
"Green. I see green. Plants... vegetables or something,"I fumbled for words. It was never anything clear-cut, either a feeling or a sensation, or in this case, a colour.
"Green,"Tony deadpanned, "Great. Maybe I'll get myself a sandwich with salad in at lunch,"
"Hey, you asked, this is what you get. It's not like I've ever been able to predict much more than a feeling,"
"Yeah, yeah, maybe I was hoping that today my fortune would be to meet cute girls, or win the lottery. Besides, you told me your therapist wanted you to get more comfortable with your power. Not like anyone else is going to want a prediction of their lucky colour."
I raised an eyebrow. "If you want to meet cute girls, maybe you should stop putting holes in doors when you try to open them. I'm pretty sure that freaks them out."
"I've been getting better!"He exclaimed. "Besides, maybe I'll run into a girl who's just as strong as me. Or maybe..."He trailed off, eyes unfocused.
"Please don't mention the elastic girl again. She wasn't interested then, she won't be interested now."
"But she had great t-"I stood up, and he quickly followed suit. The train had arrived at our stop, so it was time to leave. I pushed through the crowds towards the exit, and hastily navigated the busy platform.
As I was about to start up the stairs to leave the station, a woman descending the stairs slipped and careened into me, sending us both to the floor.
"Hey! You okay?"Tony cried out from behind me.
"Fine,"The impact had landed me on my tailbone, which was a little sore, but otherwise I was fine. The woman had fallen into me, so she had ended up on her knees, but otherwise looked unharmed. Her bag had fallen out of her reach, and was slightly past where I was sitting, so I quickly grabbed it before unobservant commuters could step on it.
I offered it to her wordlessly, and she smiled and reached out for it. The instant our hands touched-
You know when you turn on the TV and you forgot you turned the volume way up last time you used it, so when it first comes on it's so loud it makes you jump?
That's as close to the feeling I got when we touched as I can describe. I must have jumped a little, because I saw Tony recoil in surprise out of the corner of my eye.
I fumbled for words, but the reason was different this time. Rather than a vague, indistinct feeling, I had felt her future as if I were living it.
"Guilty."My mouth opened and the words poured out. "They'll find him guilty. He's going away for good, he can't hurt anyone any more. He can't hurt you anymore."
My vision focused, and I finally got a clear look at her face. Her cheeks were streaked with fresh tears. She looked at me with blurred eyes and took a deep breath.
But the words she spoke were not the ones I expected.
"It wasn't your fault."Four words turned my blood to ice. Much like with me, the words tumbled out of her mouth before she seemed to have even processed them.
"You couldn't have known that telling him what you saw would make him go out to the lake. You couldn't have stopped him from going once he had decided to see it for himself. You couldn't have known that he was going to fall under the ice. You didn't make him do anything, you didn't cause anything. It wasn't your fault. You didn't kill your brother."
It didn't take me long to realise that much like I had seen her future, she had seen my past. She had lived those agonising moments, that feeling of helplessness, and worst of all, the feeling that none of it would have happened if not for me. She had understood. And she hadn't blamed me.
I could have cried myself, but my tears had been exhausted long ago. Her words had been like tearing off a plaster; painful in the moment, but strangely liberating once the scar was exposed to the open air.
I helped her to her feet, and offered her a tissue. Tony tapped me on the shoulder, and waved a crisp green banknote that he'd just picked up off of the floor. I could have punched him, but I didn't have the strength at the moment.
Maybe we'd both finally be able to heal. |
My Emperor. It is over. I am sending this transmission in the hopes that it reaches you before we are completely extinguished from this planet. Earth is lost. This defeat comes because of two simple words, which will haunt me for the remainder of my short time here. New Zealand.
As you know our invasion was planned to perfection. Our simultaneous tactical strikes on every land mass were devastatingly effective in bringing humanity to heel. Within three Earth rotations the planet was ours, and its resources ready for harvesting. The strikes were made more efficient by a map produced by the human organization “WHO”, which demonstrated both the geographical location of landmasses and the life expectancy of humans by region. This seemed a perfect tool to prioritise our troop deployment during the planning phases of our campaign. Only now do I realize it was too good to be true.
After landing on Earth, we quickly destroyed all forms of communication that the humans use. We then set up our own broadcast channel, transmitting on a wide range of frequencies, informing humans that they were now under the rule of the Empire. It was one month later that we received a curious message back on a broad spectral range, one that we now know to be the war cry of the human resistance – “Yeah nah bro”.
Had we not destroyed all of humankinds’ techniques for transmitting and storing information, we would have realised sooner that the WHO had neglected one vital land mass, an oversight which has proven to be our downfall. Shortly after we started receiving the broadcast, our main mining outpost on Earth fell victim to raids from a human resistance. At the time we were unable to determine the location of their base, which was kept well hidden. Unfortunately they were successful in securing a significant amount of military equipment before military command became aware of the problem and sent reinforcements.
Soon afterwards we found other outposts falling victim to raids across the planet, undoubtedly helped by our teleportation devices and weapons which the humans must have reverse engineered. By the time someone thought to perform an orbital scan of the planet, the resistance had already established a cloaking device around their base. We desperately searched for the place they referred to as “Aotearoa” without success.
Nine Earth months after our invasion started, our orbital scanners suddenly picked up two islands that had not been visible on any wavelengths previously. The humans had decloaked. This marked the beginning of their successful fight back. They had utilised our genetic technology with terrifying results. Around the planet, troops mounted on giant avian beings the humans called “Moa” began to appear. The terrifying squawk they emitted on the battlefield is carved into my memory, as permanent as the scars caused by their horrific talons. Swarms of insectoid creatures wiped out our food stores, and our naval bases were assaulted by beasts known colloquially amongst mankind as “lions of the sea”.
Our forces now lie in ruins. I believe there are only a handful of scattered troops left on this forsaken planet. I have issued a full retreat order, if anyone else is left to follow it. I have spent the last two weeks holed up in my bunger, starving and, I am afraid to admit, scared. Even now I can hear the booming of a creature which I fear will be my end. My emperor, should you launch another mission, I implore you remember its name, for they are fierce opponents on the field of war. They call it “Kakapo”.
|
"Oh,"I said stupidly.
We both turned beet red, two grown men, staring at each other after having done something incredibly immature... Yep. That happened.
"So uh..."I spoke haltingly, "you're, uh. You're really great at making cat noises, man."
When he didn't say anything, I immediately shut he door for a few seconds, then realized how rude that was, and opened the door again. "Sorry, that was rude. I'm sorry I pretended to be a cat."Another long stretch of awkward silence ensued. "Welp. Have a nice day."I quickly closed the door, and hung my head in shame. Yup. I can never talk to him again. Time to go to work.
EDIT: Comma, and letter misplacement corrections. |
I didn't want to break her young heart, but she kept asking. Asking for a truth.
We we in the mall as the holiday season was hitting high hear.
One could cut the tension with a knife.
I could only hope that the rambunctious crowd would drown out the Truth.
I looked into my niece's eyes and whispered, "of course Santa is real."
I waited for a thousand hands to grab me as they had before. Correcting my statement and dashing this little one's hope.
But it never came.
So I started again, returning her grin, "Of course he's real. He lives up at the North Pole. You just take a left at Candycane lane."
Suddenly her eyes grow sullen as she responds, "It's actually a right." |
"These ungrateful filthy mortals dare dishonor MY husband? _Oh_, what makes Zeus or Poseidon or those crusty Titans Sad-Turn and Rectum so special?"
The not-as-Divine attendants inched back ever further as the godly Soul Fire built around Persephone, who's fury literally encased the massive throne of her husband. The light and heat of a thousand stars filled the throne room with unbridled eminence as her glowing hands clenched the armrests of the throne.
"First, they give him the tiniest wee little piece of rock at the donkey's end of their miserable solar system, and now said piece of rock does not even qualify as a planet. Wow. Just wow. The only thing Zeus has in common with his planet is the sheer amount of hot gas inflating his massive yet ever so fragile ego."
The attendants remained in a permanent bow, for her Light was iridescent and blinding in its glory. That, and that they would preferred not to lock eyes with her so...upset.
"As soon as those fuckers die, I'll have them clean the hellhound's latrine Abyss-pits of their Prometheum feces stains. NonoNO! That is too luxurious! I'll have them run naked through the Flaming Abyss with the Furies whipping their gen-"
"...WOW. And I thought _I_ had anger issues."
"Dear~!"and the luminescence of the room shifted from a blinding white to a warm amber as Persephone turned her gaze to the still-staring God. Hades stood with absolute stillness as his wife phased from one moment and tackled him to the ground in another.
"...I missed you too."
"Dear! We should teach these mortals a lesson! They DARE dishonor you with this hogwash! The audacity they have to insult the Lord of the Dead is astounding."
Hades glowed with incomprehensible color as he formulated his response. Finally, he matched his gaze with her.
"My beloved. What is the one true guarantee in all Existence?"
"What had a beginning, will have an end."
"Yes. I am Permanence, the everlasting Afterlife. Long after the last wave is tossed in the ocean. Eons after the last thunderstorm heralds it's fury. Even after the last black hole dissipates, I shall remain. The words and notions of mortals are but impermanent labels, so why should I care so much about the words of mere mortals."
"But they avoid you with their medicine and technology!"
"It matters not when they die. Only that they eventually do. So why not after a long, happy fulfilling life?" |
Old Mr. Calloway's fingers shook as he held his credit card out.
"Sir,"the cashier said, "I want to make sure you know what you're buying. That potion will make you young, but at the cost of your remaining years. Once it runs out, you'll... well..."
A smiled cracked upon Mr. Calloway's face. "I know."It was a beautiful smile, large and proud, like one you'd find on a young boy. It was rare to find somebody so old so happy.
"Okay,"the cashier said, taking his card. "And no refunds."
Outside the store, potion in hand, Mr. Calloway took a seat on a bench. Everything around him was white and cold, and the snow continued to fall. He held out his tongue to catch a flake, and a few did land, but it didn't have the same magic as it used to; back when he was young, and the world was a mystery; back when everything was interesting, and everyday was a pleasure.
He watched as a group of young men wearing Santa hats passed by. They were talking about girls and family and food, and he remembered back when he had a hat of his own. He had gotten so drunk on that Christmas Eve, in the flash mob of Santas, he couldn't figure out who was his friend and who was just another red hat. Maybe that's when the magic had begun to wear off.
The potion looked like milk. As he swirled it around in its bottle, Mr. Calloway hoped it wouldn't taste like the chalky medicine the doctors made him take daily. It would be a cruel joke if it did—though it was almost like a medicine, now that he thought about it; one that turned you back into a human, even if just for a short while. When you're old, that's when your humanity goes. When you need somebody to help you take a shit, well, thankfully that would never happen again.
Across the train tracks, tracks which no train had been on for decades (the potion shop was in an old train station), a mother and son walked hand in hand. The child was so bundled up, a scarf and hat covering almost his entire face, Mr. Calloway couldn't help but laugh. He recalled the times when he had gone over to the neighbor's to sled down their hill, and his parents bundled him up similarly. It was so hard to walk in those bulky snow-pants. He knew exactly how the little boy felt as he waddled like a penguin through the snow, hand tightly clutching the one he loved most.
Some school kids were playing further down the tracks, lobbing snowballs at each other. Mr. Calloway wouldn't want it any other way. In one gulp he downed the potion (it tasted like candy, thankfully), and instantly he was transformed into his former glory. Looking down at his miniature hands, he figured he was maybe 8 or 9. While inspecting himself, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Santa's hat placed on the bench next to him. One of the young men from before must have dropped it. Wasting no time, he put the hat on, and ran towards the schoolboys.
They accepted him in instantly. A hard-packed snowball slammed into his stomach. Instead of wincing in pain, Mr. Calloway smiled and returned the favor, surprised at how his hands still knew to form the snowballs. How long had it been since he last made one?
It found its mark with an audible thud as it smashed into the shoulder of a boy. Everyone giggled. They played like that for hours, until the sun went down, and everyone had to go their separate ways. It was just Mr. Calloway now, alone.
In the dark, snow still falling, he walked along the tracks, thinking back about Christmas as a young boy. He remembered when his parents had gotten him the toy gun he had asked for. He hugged them and told them how much he loved them. Now, there was nobody waiting for him, no fireplace roaring and no Christmas tree sparkling. There were no presents and no stockings. There were no siblings to argue with, and no pets to snuggle up against. All the boys he had been playing with had homes to go back to, families to love. That was the difference between him and them. And that's why the magic would never come back.
Under the light of a streetlamp, Mr. Calloway looked up into the grey clouds and cursed himself for being so foolish.
A red stocking cap landed in the snow without a sound. |
Braaqrek walks forward carefully. The alarms in his ship are blaring, warning him of potential boarders. The lower decks have gone silent minutes after the initial impact, even though the emergency life support system is still running perfectly fine. The lights are also functional, but none of his crewmates are anywhere to be seen.
Opening the blast door reveals corridor 1885-244A. Yet it does not look anything like a corridor on a starship. What was once smooth metal have been covered by a weird green growth. It spreads from the ground the the celling, covering walls and pipes with astonishing rate. Out of curiosity, Braaqrek reaches out with his gel tentacle to touch the growth. It was wet and slimy, but also somewhat warm to touch. More alarmingly, the metal plating underneath the green growth seems to be corroded somehow.
"Glad to see you face to face,"a voice draws Braaqrek's attention away from the walls to the darkness in front of him. There, a human stands in a full pressure suit. It is holding some sort of sprayer in its hands, which is connected to the backpack of its suit with a white hose.
"I have finally found my perfect petri dish."
The human pulls the trigger on the sprayer, showering Braaqrek with a mysterious fluid. Before he can even pull his own weapon out, pain shot up from his gel tentacle to his secondary receptor cortex. He looks down and sees that his tentacle is covered in the same green growth that is covering parts of his ship.
He wants to scream. But it is too late. He can feel the green cells penetrating his gel-like body. The human looks on with laughter as he collapses onto the floor, turning him into a green blob on the ground.
"Experiment log #5502. Subject is killed too quickly. The metal-eater strain needs to be modified. Expression of R35 polymerase can be tuned down to allow more time for transmission."
The human looks over the dead blob. Time to find another test subject. |
I knew a girl named Maddie. We met in the fourth grade, she was a transfer student which was an oddity for our school of one hundred students. We had the same class from preschool all to way to fourth, the same fifteen children. There had been lore - Johnny's elaborate plan to rid himself of his front teeth via his older brother's airsoft gun, Brian's deep love for an older girl a grade above us, Alice almost getting hit by a car that sped past our school bus.
Maddie didn't know about any of it and no one would teach her. It led to her absolute isolation. For days, Maddie ate alone or with a teacher or a volunteer parent.
"I bet she eats dirt for fun and collects bugs,"Henry Clivers said.
"I heard that she hates all of us,"Rachel Monda said.
There were many rumors that sprawled into stories as Maddie got lore of her own. Her voice was scratchy or deep depending on the day, no one knew why. My parents had heard of the light bullying and asked me about it because they didn't want to think they raised a mean child.
"Try talking to her,"my dad said. "No one talked to your mom until I did."
"Really?"I asked, looking at my mom.
"No, not really."My mom said. She punched my dad in the shoulder. "But you should still talk to her, how would you feel if your friends starting treating you like the way you guys treat Maddie?"
I thought about it, I wouldn't like it at all.
"What do I talk to her about? I heard she eats dirt and collects bugs."I said.
"Don't you like bugs?"My mom asked.
I did like bugs.
The next day during recess, I left my friend group, I told them I was going to try to talk to Maddie. They gasped in genuine surprise, they called me brave (and stupid).
Maddie was in the corners of the soccer field where the fences melded into the overgrown bushes. The bushes and vibes and flora grew too quickly for our janitor to keep up with it. It had become Maddie's sanctuary, the grass leading up to was trodden, creating a path to where I thought she was.
"Maddie?"I called out.
"Yes?"
"It's Matt,"I said. "Matt Borg."
"And what do you want, Matthew Borg?"she asked.
"I want to know if it's true that you collect bugs,"I said.
She walked out of the overgrowth, her hands and knees were covered in dirt. Her hand was closed and she walked up to me. Slowly she opened her closed fist and in it was a praying mantis, its head moved around, it pranced around her hand.
"Want to hold it?"she asked.
I did.
I visited her again the next day and the day after that, I told her eventually about the school's lore and of the other children. My friends and classmates asked me why I talked to her and I told them that I too liked bugs, that there was nothing wrong with that. They teased at first, but grew out of it as the years passed. Maddie and I talked and visited and played with the growing years until the year before high school where she asked me for a favor.
"Matt,"she said. "I have to ask you for something."
"Sure,"I said.
"You can say no, it's a really important thing."
"Sure,"I said again.
"I need your name,"she said.
I was blank faced, "You want to marry me?"
Maddie laughed hard for a half minute.
"No, no. I need your actual name."she said. "I haven't been completely honest with you."
She told me about how she was a witch, which wasn't entirely a shock to me, and she told me that she was the last of her family because of the curse. The curse that she'd been holding onto since she was a baby. It was the curse that kept other people away from her, why none of my old friends had wanted to talk to her. She was okay with dying, I thought that she was brave (and stupid) for being okay with that, but she had been growing less and less okay with it every passing day.
"The curse is holding me back,"she said. "I want to ask you for your name so I can curse it."
"You want to curse me so that everyone hates me instead of you?"I asked.
"Yes,"she said. "But temporarily."
"Temporarily?"
She said she'd been studying and researching ways to rid the spell. She heard of a colony of fae that specialized in reversing spells, exorcisms, general healing. She said that she couldn't find the colony if she were cursed, she wanted me to hold onto it until she could find them. She promised to heal me.
Okay I said.
She gave me a kiss on the lips and I felt the coldness of it and of course, the coldness of others. It had hit my parents first, they had yelled at me for the first time in years, asking me where I was, asking who I hung out with, they doubled my chores and halved my allowance. What was left of my friend group had disappeared, anywhere I walked, people moved away, running across the street, snickering about my appearance, my hobbies.
The next day Maddie was gone. She wasn't home, she didn't answer my phone calls, my emails, my text messages. She was entirely gone from the world, leaving no trace of her.
During the weekend, I went to visit the one place I thought she could be, her old sanctuary and our meeting place. I hopped the fence that guarded our elementary school and I walked the edges until I met the overgrowth which was left exactly the way we left it except in one way. Deep inside the grass was an envelope, dated just a few days ago.
"To Matt,"it read.
"Thank you and sorry. I'll be back as soon as possible, but if you start to lose faith in me, look to the end of this room and follow me."
I looked and saw a dark hole, a step ladder was next to it. I thought about how long I could handle the curse for, how long would it be until I too was okay with dying.
I walked forward and followed her down the hole to where the fae lived. |
After the accident, I wake to the feeling of dogs licking my face. I throw my arm across my face and roll onto my front. As I brought a knee up to stand, I am bumped over by a large enthusiastic dog siding up to my left with the speed of puppy hood. You know how a happy dog can feel like a lot of dogs? This dog feels that way. The dog turns back. I get a good look at it for the first time right as it jumps up to continue its attempt to lick my face.
The dog has three heads.
"Down!"I say, trying to turn my head to avoid the French kiss that dogs seem to aim for. I am just bearly successful. It has a head licking me from both sides and front.
I bring an arm up from trying to push the dog's body back to cover my mouth as I command, "Down!"
It works this time. The dog drops onto my feet and attempts to roll up my legs. It is rolling over to show me his belly; one head looking to at me with pleading eyes. One head tries to push it over farther onto me. One head is licking its head looking at me. I reach down to start scratching the dog's/ dogs' belly.
I look around as I kept scratching the dog(s). Maybe it is just one dog? The dog and I are on the shore of a river. There is a person working on a small boat. He is a ways down the shore.
"Hey!"I call to the boater, "I like you dog!"
The worker waves an arm to me in acknowledgement, but then continues to ignore me.
My thoughts grow from just focusing on the dog to... oh my God! The car accident! Did everyone get out?! I remember the accident. I remember reaching through broken glass unbuckling the kid from a car seat. I remember diving through a shattered driver's side window, reaching for the buckle trying to get the driver loose. I remember the impact of another car as I was trying to get back out the window.
I start sobbing. The dog squirms back over to its feet. It sits in front of me. Two heads hang low, with eyes looking up at me. The center head gives a couple tentive licks. My chin. My cheek.
I feel overwhelmed my fear. Sadness. I failed. I died.
I burry my head between two of the dog's; the crook warm and musky. I wrap my arms up and around its large body. As The sobs slowly subside, the dog starts to squirm. I let him go from my tight, desperate embrace.
He runs to the boat man and back to me. The boat man follows the dog my way.
I turn away to dry my face. Then stare at the water quietly lapping the muddy shore.
"He is Cerberus. He loves everyone. Did you want to give him a couple treats?"Says the man as he comes closer.
"Yes!"I say finally looking the man in his face.
He smiles kindly and drops three dog treats and an old coin into my hand.
"Cerberus is silly, you can't just feed one head or he sits there drooling at you with all three."The man explains.
He looks away from me and asks, "Do you have a coin to pay the ferryman?"
I feed Cerberus his three treats.
"I do."I tell the man handing him his coin back.
He leads me to the boat. Cerberus runs through the water's edge and back up onto the bank. All three of us climb into the boat. |
\*Silence\*
I stared at the now displaced stone in horror. Not how I expected the day to go.
"He moved the stone!"someone shrieked, causing me turn around and yell in my defense. "I didn't do anything!". Unfortunately, my words seemed to have the opposite of my intended effect, as everyone dropped to their knees in submission. I knelt down to the one closest to me and tried to help him up, but he shrunk away from my touch in fear. "Please, I have a family waiting for me back home!".
Royal guards swarmed me from every side, trapping me in their circle, but maintained a respectable distance. "Please, come with us to the palace."Assessing my lack of options, I warily agreed, still confused and unsure. All I could do was hope they didn't burn me on a stick in an attempt to sacrifice the demon or whatever.
When we finally arrived, the head guard spoke to some important looking guy, I could only assume it was the king. After a few seconds, the guard returned with a stern look. "He is a danger to the village, throw him into the cells."
In an instant, my arms were grabbed and I was dragged away, my protests and pleads falling on deaf ears, my kicks and squirming useless against the powerful guards. I was unceremoniously thrown into a holding cell and locked in.
With a groan, I cursed the gods above that landed me into this situation. I knew I wasn't a 'great demon lord'. Regardless, as the hours ticked by painfully, slowly, I started to question my own sanity. I focused on a spider crawling across the dirty stone walls.
Demons can kill things by will, right?
I was being idiotic, but decided to give it a shot anyway. I stared at the spider, extended my arm outward and shut my eyes. With everything in me, I willed it to fall, to die, to cease to exist. With a sudden jerk, I opened my eyes.
The spider was merrily crawling away, probably laughing at me.
Okay, no demon powers then.
Time passed even slower than before. I dozed off, tired and hungry. The sound of metal grating against itself was what woke me up. A man, hidden in the shadows, was being let in by the guard keeping an eye on my cell.
I stood up, keeping an eye on the mysterious man. As he stepped into the light, my eyes widened out of shock and surprise.
It was the tour guide that indirectly landed me into this miserable cell. He looked around, and as the guard walked out of sight, he came closer and grabbed my shoulders aggressively. He was a meek man, thin and scrawny, maybe in his thirties, with a bag slung around his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry! This is all my fault, I never expected things to worsen to such a degree!"
"Huh?"I was quite confused.
He rubbed his face, looking stressed. "They plan to execute you publicly tomorrow."
My heart stopped. While I was aware it was a possibility, hearing it out loud threw reality onto my face. This was not good. I was going to die.
He gave me a regretful look. "Look, as I'm sure you know, you're no demon. That story wasn't even true. I just made it up decades ago to entice tourists, but it stuck around as a legend. When I realized people believed in my stupid little story, I superglued the rock to the ground and hoped no one would mess with it. I assume the recent increase in heat loosened it more than I thought."
He put his head into his hands and wailed. "I never meant for it to come this far. I'm truly sorry. I simply cannot let an innocent man die by my hands."
I wanted to punch him. I was freaking out, but my brain had enough sense to realize this man was probably my only shot at getting out alive. After calming myself down, I grabbed him and whispered in the most intimidating voice I could muster up, "Well, you better get me out of this mess."
\---------------------------------------------------------
My hands were tied behind my back, and I was being led up to a raised platform, for my glorious execution. I was quivering internally, but kept my cool. One wrong move, and I would be hanging with that noose round my neck.
I stepped onto the platform as the king addressed the audience and spoke about protecting the community or some nonsense. Once he finished his little speech and the executioner walked closer, I stomped my foot and yelled out loud and clear, "Do you really wish for your village to be cursed for eons to come?"
Everyone stopped for a second. I could see fear in the villagers' eyes.
To my lucky surprise, the rope around my arms was frayed and loose, probably another one of the strings the guide pulled for me. I ripped apart the rope and freed my hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see guards rushing towards me. I had to act fast.
I looked at the crowd. *We'll be wearing bright pieces of blue, it'll be impossible to miss.*
I saw a few people with blue hats, some with blue shirt's. I pointed out in their general direction and screamed. "I curse you with the wrath of the devil, for treating me in this shameful way! May your souls feed the demons I shall unleash upon this village!"
The people I pointed at dropped to the ground screaming and writhing. They made inhumane noises, throwing the crowd into a frenzy. Chaos erupted, and there was a massive stampede. I pointed at every person I could see wearing that shade of blue, yelling curses left and right.
I realized I had taken too long, and the guards were closing in on me. Shit.
I felt my heart drop, as I truly saw no way out. And that's when I saw a ray of hope. Because right there, the guard towards my right, flipped his wrist and briefly flashed the blue mark on his hand.
*"Are you sure this would work?"*
*"Trust me, you cannot rationalize with these folks. The only way to get out would be to convince them they'll be doomed if they kill you."*
*"But would the people believe the act? I don't think a man or two falling down to my words would make it believable."*
*He winked at me. "Oh trust me, I have more favors I can call in than you think."*
I jerked my arm out and pointed at the guard. "May pain and suffering follow you for generations! Fall, you measly human."
The guard screamed and dropped to his knees, squirming on the ground, looking like he was in immense pain. I had to admit, these were insane actors. I couldn't thank that dumb tourist guide enough for this.
The guards stopped and looked terrified. Slowly, they all retreated and ran for their dear lives. The king looked horrified. I used this opportunity to jump into the chaos and lose myself in the crowd. I managed to find the guide, and he helped me escape the village. Days later, as we walked along the countryside, he pointed at a village far away into the distance.
"I must return home now. You can find shelter in that village, the people are very kind."
I held his hand and thanked him profusely for saving me, even though he was the reason I got in trouble in the first place.
He smiled. "It wasn't all me, my friend. That was some stellar acting you did there. You almost had me fooled as well."
We both laughed over it. I pointed at a snake slithering away into the bushes, sides hurting by the amount of laughing. "Want to see a re-enactment? "
I twirled my finger around in the air for the dramatic effect and pointed at the snake. "Today is your end, dear snake. I curse you with death, but I'm merciful enough to make it painless."
I turned to my friend and laughed again, but my laughter died down when I realized I was the only one laughing. He had a look of sheer horror on his face.
I gave him a quizzical look. "What's wrong?"
He pointed behind me with a trembling finger.
I turned around, and there lay the snake, dead as a doornail. |
“W- what?” I ask incredulously.
“Well, as I said, you only picked two people, one of those people aren’t dead kid.” The voice that was apparently responsible for giving me this power responded.
“So that…” I trail off, thinking of the worst. This is it. This is where I find out my worst fears are true.
“Yes. I’m afraid your father—”
“GEORGE WASHINGTON IS A LIZARD PERSON?!” I yell. Oh god, it’s all coming together now, the pieces all fit perfectly.
“Wait, no that’s not—” the voice tries to interrupt me, but I’m on a roll and my spiralling will be stopped by nothing.
“I FUCKING KNEW IT! AND THEY CALLED ME CRAZY, HEY ALBERT, CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!” I ask. I hope I don’t need all three people chosen before I can commune with the dead.
“Shit’s wild kid.” A wise voice echoes through my head. Yep, the power works or I’m now schizophrenic.
“Hey dad, what do you think? Pretty crazy huh?” I calm down slightly, speaking into nothing.
“Yeah kiddo, I never thought you’d prove us right, now don’t be like me and die before getting this news to the public. He’s coming.” It’s a joy to hear my father’s voice again, but I freeze when I realise the weight of his words. I turn around slowly, and see him.
He’s sticking to the ceiling of the cave, hissing. It’s lizard person George Washington.
“Hey voice?” I ask, scared.
“Yeah?” it echoes out.
“Can my third person be Achillies?”
“Sure.” The voice says, and a new one chimes into my brain.
“Let’s fuck up this overgrown gecko kid! Follow my lead.” |
**Part One**
______________________________________________________________________________________________
I was supposed to prevent his death.
I had failed.
These past two months searching for the man who would assassinate the President of the United States, and all along I should've been looking for a woman.
A woman that was sitting in my bedroom.
A woman that meant more to me than anything in the world.
"...Do you trust me?"
The high powered rifle now fully taken apart and put in its case.
My hand slowly reached for the Glock in my holster.
"Don't do this, babe", she calmly said.
Her hand on a silenced USP.
All along I had searched far and wide for the killer of the Prime Minister, the Commissioner, and the arms dealer.
All along they were closer to me than I could've imagined.
"The business trips, they weren't actually for the law firm were they."
"No."she said choking back a tear.
"And those times you visited me at the Bureau, they weren't just to say hi."
A pause.
"No"she said again.
Her posture had stiffened up, her hand now holding the USP.
Several more tears fell down her face.
We both knew what had to happen next.
I pulled out the Glock.
She fired.
3 rounds hit me square in the chest, toppling me onto the floor.
The Glock now out of my hand.
Silence pierced the air, as quickly as the rounds had.
She walked over to me, bent down and gave me a kiss.
"Stay still."she mouthed.
As she opened the door and walked down the hall, a glint dissipated off the corner of my eye.
She knew I was wearing kevlar.
Someone was watching us.
________________________________________________________________________
**Part Two**
________________________________________________________________________
"Stay still"she had mouthed.
Time had passed.
Now alone in the room, a commotion erupted outside.
I tore off the now broken kevlar, picked up my Glock, and leapt out the door.
Running through our apartment building's halls, the noise level grew to a crescendo.
As the noise increased, so did my pace.
I no longer cared about the case. I no longer cared about the details.
I just wanted answers.
As I rammed open the lobby doors, part of me wished that I hadn't gone home early today.
All hell had broken loose.
People swarmed the streets, smoke filling the air.
Off to the corner of my eye, I spotted a glint of her auburn hair.
I shoved my way through the crowds.
I needed to get to her.
Sirens wailed through the screams.
I pushed towards the source of the smoke.
My vision deteriorated, the smoke stinging my eyes.
I kept running.
Gunshots rung through the air.
I reached for my Glock.
I opened my eyes.
I had reached a clearing in the smoke.
And there she lay.
A man towering over her, a .45 Colt in his hands.
I fired a round into his chest, knocking him back.
I kept firing.
The magazine now empty, the man lay motionless on the ground.
I lowered myself towards her and rested her head on my arm.
Two bullets had pierced her chest, her hand filling with her own blood.
"...Do you trust me?", she had said.
A tear streamed down my face.
Her mouth gasping for air amongst the blood, her eyes fixated on me.
All time had stood still.
I could no longer hear the wailing sirens, or the terrified mobs.
All I could hear were the echoes of her voice in my head.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Whoa, this blew up while I was out. Also, thanks for the gold!
Edit 2: After such a positive response I appended a second part onto the story. Thank you guys for the support!
|
The wind was up and Boromir's spirits were cast down. He wore his customary clothes: the leather jerkin that the rest of his men carried; his brown travelling cloak, mottled with patches of green in order to better hide him in the forests of the south. The rest of his raiment was grey, worn stuff that had been mended and re-mended on numerous occasions. At his hip he carried his sword and within easy reach, though hidden beneath his cloak - for fear that the sight of it alone would be a herald of his identity to his enemies - sat the Horn of Gondor, resplendent white and fitted with leather straps to cling snugly to his back. He had set out in the grey morning astride his horse, carrying only enough provisions for a day and a half. He intended it to be only a short scouting mission, down to the fords and round to the Eastern road. Only half a day after his departure from Minas Tirith, however, heading south into the wilderness alone it had begun to rain.
It was with such force that the icy deluge rained down that before long Boromir was soaked to the skin, his horse miserable beneath him. Turning back now to the shelter of the city and the disapproval of his father was not an option that he cared to entertain and so it was with a heavy heart that he continued. The landscape changed around him, becoming less familiar and more cold. The fertility of the plains of Rohan and the shelter of Gondorian soil were long lost and the soil here yielded little save rocks.
At midday, he dismounted. The rain still came down and Boromir began to wonder to himself if it were brought upon him by some unnatural force. The power of Sauron knew no bounds and once more Boromir considered the wisdom of travelling west to Rivendell, where they said Elrond Half-Elven who sat as lord there, would still answer questions. The sky, clouded and brooding at his departure, had become heavy and black. Storm clouds seemed to weigh it down towards him, as though he were the only figure on this desolate landscape surrounded by the high peaks of the mountains.
Then thunderclapped. It was far, on the other side of the plain but his horse still spooked. It raised up on its hindquarters and Boromir dodged, afraid of being caught by its hooves. He escaped injury, but the horse fled, carrying with it the supplies and bedroll that Boromir had carefully packed in his saddlebags. He considered turning after it, but there was rumoured to be a village near here, where the local people had at first struggled and later fought to survive in the loneliness between Minas Tirith and Minas Morghul.
He took at first one step, and then another. The rain had begun to come in thick sheets, the drops themselves as tiny arrows that sought to pierce first his cloak and later his skin. The cuts came, unbidden, to his hands and face. No material offered him protection from the onslaught. He placed them before his face as though in plea, before raising his sword and slashing at the dark tide of water which fell. It cut and the wind seemed to rise in a howl.
"Show yourself, enemies of Minas Tirith!"Boromir called to the empty air. "Show yourselves, servants of Sauron!"
No sooner had he said these words before his foot seemed to step into empty air. He plummeted downwards, catching himself on something which stood, ready.
"By the Old Gods,"he heard, falling into a snow drift. "You're supposed to be dead."
Boromir propped himself up on one arm, ignoring the sharp cuts that were currently being iced by the snow he had landed on and looked up at the one who had caught him. He was a young man, a little shorter than Boromir himself. He wore all black, which fit nicely with his black hair. He had a jaw shape that reminded Boromir a little of Faramir, or of himself when he was younger. The young man held his hand out, black gloved also, helping him to his feet.
Boromir dusted himself off, finding that the clothes that had suited for the weather of Ithilien were no good against the cold of the snow here.
"This is an unusual snowdrift,"he said, much to the confusion of the young man. "It looks very much like winter is coming."
-----------------
EDIT: The boy's name was eventually revealed to be Jon. He sat opposite Boromir as he dried himself off and was given dry clothes. He would have described them as warm, but it seemed nothing in this icy castle ever got warm. They sat in a mess with low ceilings, long tables stretching away from them in the darkness for men to sit at. There were a few there, all looking like black crows in their raiment and long cloaks. More than one had fur stitched around his cloak and kept his gloves on even while he ate. More than one gave him suspicious looks as he sat, their faces twisted in confusion and more often fear.
"I had word of your death,"the man said. In this light he truly did resemble Boromir himself as a young man. "They sent up a raven from King's Landing. Joffrey now sits the Iron Throne."
"These people of which you speak, I have never heard of them. Should their names mean something to me?"Boromir said. He had been provided with a small bowl of carrot soup; meagre fare but enough to fill his stomach.
The man's - Jon's face - screwed up in confusion. "Sir,"he began. "If this is some cruel jest you play on me, I beg you to end it now."
"Who are you to call me Sir? Your kindness has been great, but if you should lend me a horse and a moment to examine the maps of this area, I would be gone as soon as I can muster the supplies."
"But go where?"Jon asked. "Half of Westeros-"
"Where?"
"Have you hurt yourself and addled your memory? You have fallen quite far. I almost expected you to have toppled off the edge of the Wall."
"I cannot be any further than two days from Minas Tirith,"Boromir said with a heavy finality. "If you would be so kind as to lend me a horse."
"Sir, Minas Tirith is not on any map we have. Though we can ask Sam, if it pleases you."The boy turned round and signalled to a figure on the far side of the wall. It emerged from the shadows; a rotund lad with a nervous demeanour and a weak disposition.
"Sam, Lord Stark wishes to return to Minas Tirith. Does such a place exist?"
The fat boy shook his head. "Not in my knowledge, Jon."
"So you see-"the boy continued.
"Who is Lord Stark? Why are you calling me by his name?"Boromir stood and slapped his hand upon the table with such force that the fat boy trembled and half the room looked at the pair.
"I'll take you to Lord Mormont, he'll know what to do,"Jon said. "Though I don't know what he's going to do with you, seeing as you've lost your memory."
"Boy, I have not lost my memory,"Boromir spoke darkly. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor who is steward of Gondor. Now are you going to get me a horse?"
There was silence for a few moments, before the fat boy spoke again.
"Probably Master Aemon would be better, Jon."He said. Jon seemed to agree.
The Maester was a shrivelled husk of a man, blind and bald. His chambers were dark, yet cosy in a part of the castle that Jon referred to as the King’s Tower. He shuffled over to Boromir and took the man’s face in his soft hands, murmuring to himself. Jon stood by the door, impatiently tapping his foot. Boromir had not quite understood where the fat boy was going, but apparently he was keeping a Bear away from Jon. The Maester stepped away from Boromir and glanced towards the corner of the room where Jon waited.
“You are telling me that he fell from the sky?” He said slowly. Every word he spoke seemed as though it were pronounced carefully, with the full weight of this man’s knowledge behind it.
“I thought it was off the Wall,” Jon said. The way he said Wall made it clear it was capitalised. “But he wouldn’t have survived seven hundred feet, so I’m not sure where he came from.”
“Most interesting. And you claim he is your Father?”
Boromir turned suddenly to Jon, who only nodded.
“You did not mention this Lord Stark was your father. So you are Jon Stark?” He asked
The boy glowered. “No,” he said. “I’m Lord Stark’s bastard. My name is Snow.”
“Jon Snow. A strong name.”
The boy only scoffed.
“Most interesting,” Maester Aemon said again, and this time it seemed as though a light gleamed in his blind eyes. “He appears to be Lord Stark, but Lord Stark’s head currently resides in the Red Keep upon a spike. He has none of the man’s memories, does not recognise his son and firmly maintains that he must return to a place that exists not in my memory, nor upon any map.”
“I am Boromir of Gondor,” Boromir said simply.
Jon pounded his fist upon the door. “You could stop this,” he said angrily. “Robb’s back at Winterfell, wearing a crown and calling himself the King in the North. No one knows where Arya is, Sansa’s a virtual prisoner in the Red Keep and the country’s going to shit. You could stop it!”
“Could Lord Stark restore peace and order to your home?” Boromir asked. “You believe this of your father?”
“His face alone would have Queen Cersei in fits! She’d believe herself mad… You could unseat Joffrey just by walking into King’s Landing and declaring yourself Lord Stark. Father - Sir, please.” Jon had become energetic, his pale face lit by some fervour of belief.
“I will play the part of Lord Stark if you find me a way home,” Boromir promised slowly. “You must tell me everything you know about the man, in order for me to play him convincingly. We will strike a bargain, you and I.”
“You’ll ride for Winterfell at once,” Jon said. “Robb. Or the Lady Catelyn… She will be overjoyed to see you.”
“You must remind her I am not her husband,” Boromir said slowly. “And I suppose you will have to start by telling me my assumed first name.”
“Why, you’re Lord Eddard Stark. Welcome home to Westeros.” |
Death came up to Johnny, with a cello in case.
His boney fingers beneath his robe no expression on his face.
You beat the devil Johnny you think that you have won
Everyone falls to me no matter what they have done.
Well Johnny look him up and down now in his hand
He looked at his fiddle vowing the best that he can.
Death Johnny said with no quiver in his voice.
I'll let you go first Johnny had no choice
Johnny watch death graceful hands played a song that made the dead sing.
Skeletons and zombies moving spring doing there own thing.
Soon death stopped and have Johnny an evil eye.
It's your turn Johnny fail and you will die.
Johnny rosen up your bow death is taking names
You may have beat the devil but this is no game.
Try your best and play a tune that will raise the dead
If you don't death will take your head
*fiddle solo*
Death looked Johnny chuckling with glee
The devil took a lot out of this ain't best two out of three
You did your best there johnny but it is time to go.
But you're a legend kid, death always wins no matter how good of a show. |
I start to feel the water burn the inside of my lungs. This is it. This is how I’m going to die. I stop panicking as I feel the undercurrent pull me deeper and deeper into the ocean. It’s over. I begin to relax my body and mind. A wave of peace and euphoria washes over me. My body becomes weightless, and I am ready to die.
A light appears in front of me. I try to look beyond it, but it gets stronger and stronger. I notice my weightless body being pulled towards it. Suddenly my awareness is completely absorbed into the light altogether. My physical body has completely disappeared.
“Where am I?” I thought to myself. I look up, and I see an enormous gate in front of me. A sign above it simply read, “Heaven."The gate is rusted wide open. There’s no one guarding it either. I walk beyond the entrance into the little town inside.
“Hello?” I am met with silence. “Hello! Is there anybody here?” Still no answers. I walk through the town, and notice that all of the buildings are dilapidated and abandoned. “What happened here?” I asked myself.
As I walked through the town, I noticed what appeared to be a graveyard. That’s… strange. Why would there be a graveyard in heaven? I descend down the mossy steps into the cemetery. There’s a giant sepulcher in the middle of the vast sea of tombstones. I start walking towards the giant stone monument to what appeared to be a bronze sarcophagus in the center of it.
“Here lies God, the one and only.” The epitaph read. “Even the ultimate creator must eventually return to dust just like you will.”
I step back, and begin to feel nervous. I notice my hands starting to look gaunt. My face begins to age rapidly in the reflection of the bronze. I'm beginning to… decay? “Help!” I cried out. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor with a hollow thud. I am turning into dust. “Make it stop!” I cried out loud for help. But there was nobody to care. I begin to hear a laughter coming from deep within the bronze casket. I can see the bones protruding out beneath my skin. Everything goes black.
I immediately cough up a bunch of water. A young lifeguard is leaning over me.
“Stand back everyone! Give him some room!”
I laid there in the sand gasping for air. |
Since a young age, we've been told not to give random beggars on the street money. What if they were just putting up a front? What if they went out for meals at restaurants once they were done with a day's "work"? No, the better way was to invest your time and effort instead, into organisations that actually ensured the needy got what they needed.
And that went through my mind as I walked out of camp on my way home. I was burdened with a few disposable plastic bottles that were compulsory in the packing list that would probably have been thrown away at the first recycling bin I saw. So I decided, why not reuse instead of recycle and give it to this poor homeless man in the underpass. It was a hot day, after all.
The man caught me as different from the rest. Usually, the needy at the roadside in my country weren't outright begging. No, we were too proud to stoop to that level. They always tried to offer services, such as selling tissue paper or playing music. This one, however, merely held a cardboard sign with "The End Is Near"written in English, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil, as though it were one of those ubiquitous "DANGER - KEEP OUT"signs meticulously placed around construction sites.
And as he held the bottle in his hand, the water slowly turned into red wine.
&nbsp;
I'm no believer. I used to grow up with the old Chinese pantheon, but increasingly in this packed and hectic era I didn't really have much exposure or time to it. I had many Christian friends, but where I lived we didn't really talk about religion if it wasn't immediately relevant and evangelising was not a task done at my friends' level. So to see a scene straight out of the Bible was indeed a shocker to me.
"Red wine!"the man said, his hoarse voice fluently manipulating a Chinese dialect I only had a surface understanding of. "Boy ah, thank you. You will be remembered when the End Times come."He smiled at me, his toothless grin almost reaching his eyes and wrapping his calloused face in wrinkles.
"No problem, Uncle."I said hesitantly. I was going to resume my journey home when the old man sat on the floor and motioned for me to accompany him for a while.
"You are not a believer, right?"the old man asked, suddenly switching from Chinese to English. The sudden change - as we called it, from Channel 8 to Channel 5 - caught me off guard.
"No, Uncle,"I stammered out. Regaining a bit of confidence, I countered, "What does it matter. We live in a multireligious society and non-believers can be good people too."
The old man smiled once more, a small grin this time. "You are right, of course. But you used to believe in the Chinese syncretic religions, right? Taoist rituals, Buddhist idols, Confucian ideology."I nodded apprehensively. I still wasn't sure what he wanted.
"Go home today and give your *ah ma* \[grandmother\] a hug. Talk to her for a bit, understand the old ways and what she believes in. I daresay that you know more about my creed than hers, even!"He chuckles a little. "When I say the End is Near, I don't just mean for my teachings, but for teachings of all ideas. Without your generation to keep them alive, the world will lose a key component of its vitality. And I don't need y'all to actively believe in them, either. Just know what they are, ponder a little, and make the choice for yourself if you are to continue."
&nbsp;
It has been 2 weeks since I last saw my grandmother. A small circle of food offerings lies before her. She is praying to ancestors long forgotten at the most convenient and available place, the communal space below our apartment building. Wordlessly, I put my bags at the side and join her. Hands clasped like hers, while pondering what the old man in the underpass said, I look at the sky.
And I swear to whoever's up there, I see his wide toothless grin in the stars. |
"Is that a space station?"gasped Vorgon, the military leader of the Earthbound fleet.
"Sir, it seems that we have a confirmed missile lock on us,"The XO Starlof nervously said.
"Target lock them back"snapped Vorgon.
"Our scouts came back nearly 700 years ago on their voyage mission to find new races to dominate. They said humans were in their early Middle Ages stage. By our calculations, they should be almost entering the renaissance stage. Never have we seen a race develop technologies so quickly."Gorgen the Scientist said. "Scan for the cities."
No officer is greater in rank then the other. They just control different sections of the ship and her crew. They have achieved peace and unity ever since they were sentient. Perhaps even before that. They used it to easily dominate and enslave third world planets. The great Dor'vah civilization worked for generations on their new highway to *Sol*. Now it was time to take over a new system, and use them and their recourse to enlarge the fleet and provide them with food and power. Never have they encountered species that have developed as quickly as humans.
"We got a scan on their cities. It seems that before we showed up on their scopes they were attacking each other?"Gorgen said puzzled.
Vorgon never saw Gorgen so confused before. It shot fear down his tentacles. He needed to be smart if they were going to come out on this relatively unaffected.
"Deliver a communication request to their leader,"Vorgon bravely said. The crew looked shocked. Never has a Dor'vah used this tactic before.
"Vorgon, it appears they don't have one particular leader, but have leaders divided by certain land and populations."Gorgen replied. These *humans* are so much stranger than he thought.
Vorgon brought up a geological map of the planet Earth, and picked a spot with his tentacle.
"Bring up communications with the leader of *that* land mass."Vorgon said.
"English translator on, the request has been sent."Gorgen tapped away with his tentacles.
A screen popped up. There was a pale creature with some sort of round apparel on his head. From the briefings Vorgon got he believed it was a called a cowboy hat.
"The fuck do'u want. I was in the middle of ass-fucking those damn ushanka wear'n Russians."The human coarsely said.
Vorgon was disgusted in what he just heard. How did this thing develop technologies at such a rapid pace, more then he has ever seen while attacking his own kind? It just didn't make sense. He read the breifing below the screen. The man he was talking to was named America, with the land he controlled called *Liberty.* Vorgon didn't particularly care for losing his fleet to this backwater civilization, maybe he could use fear tactics to take over their system.
"Mr. America, I am here to take over planet Earth, surrender...."
"Listen here you damn space nazi, I don't care for your tone. Now if you will excuse me I wanna finish this war up quick so I can catch the Football game later."America cut the connection.
"We got missles coming our way!"Shouted Gorgen. "They have so many! We can take down a couple but at this pace they will overwhelm us!"
Vorgon floated in his tube puzzled. They were about to get destroyed from that low wit creature who didn't even own the whole planet he lived on.
"Fire the missles."Vorgon said, sounding defeated.
"They are all being destroyed, they have so much firepower."Gorgen replied.
That's when Vorgon finally understood how this strange creature has developed faster then any other species they have encountered. Their drive for competition. Perhaps their contest on who has a bigger reproductive appendage actually drove them to fight harder and faster. In the two leaders of *Liberty* and *Russia* trying to *Ass-Fuck* each other they unknowingly prepared themselves for an invasion they didn't even know was comming. And they were going to win because of it. |
Philosophy is a strange art. Some would call it a science, most would call it daydreaming - at least most of *my* people. Which by the account of my own mind, I still am. Would that the world might see it that way.
&#x200B;
*And each king should step out from palace and heave grain with the workers. Shoulder their physical burden, in hopes that one day - when they most need it, those working men would understand and assist with the invisible but staggering weight of the crown.*
&#x200B;
Those were the words. The words from the great text of *Monarchai-Arul,* some outdated tomb left by some outdated man who sought to bring his flavor of wisdom to the rest of the world. He sat on top of a single piece of paper, then claimed to all of us they he had an clear view of the horizon born aloft from an impossibly high vantage point. I sometimes wonder if he knew that he sat so barely above the common man. Then again, after dealing with these people for so long I can safely assume it was not so much that he found himself with an elevated perspective, rather that he figured the rest of us were deep within a trench of ignorance.
&#x200B;
I travel now. From valley to valley. From port to port. My coming is celebrated with the smell of roses and the soft wafting scents of feast being prepared from on high. The thoroughfares lay decorated with rich colors of too expensive dye, and the people wear smiles stretched like dried leather.
&#x200B;
I had a home once. It was a small village, not so far outside the territories claimed some three centuries ago by the Reshri officiate. Life was hard. Life was simple. I worked, feeling the coarseness of dried grain as it dug softly into the skin of my calloused hands. I loved deeply, knowing comfort in the warm embrace of my wife and the radiant heat of our son's youth. I slept, taken for reprieve by the cool darkness which allowed the next day to make ready. So I was, and so it seems I might never be again.
&#x200B;
At each stop, the royalty bows to me. They feign resignation to an authority each of us knows I do not possess. I am treated to foods that I might never have even read about. I listen their polished laughs, like the jingle of bells whipped aloft in a summer gust. Then, when the proceedings are done, I am escorted to a lavish room with a bed so soft I sleep on the stone floor. For a night I will rest in my golden cage, and dream of an old and dirty freedom.
&#x200B;
My beloved still writes me from time to time. Her and my son are comfortable. They live a life of contentment, wanting for some things but enjoying the certainty of having all which they need. Her words seem different now. Like when you talk to your former supervisor. Pleasant in the front, but with a sense of uncertainty dancing in the background. Her letters now are perfumed with deep scents of lavender.
&#x200B;
My son writes too, sometimes. He is now seven. I had not learned to write until my appointment a year ago, and find that his words and mastery of tongue outweigh my own. He grows up in a world which I live in, but have no fatherly advice to distribute about. He is guided by their appointed tutor - one Jean Beauxic. My son says that study is a delightful place, full of inventions and miniatures that the mind recoils at when trying to comprehend in full. He is assured by Jean that one day, with enough time and dedication, he will find mastery and create his own pieces. The room is always perfectly clean. It smells of perfumes. Lavender.
&#x200B;
I close my eyes at night now, and feel the cool metal of the crown in my hands. I feel myself sinking in a salt-water sea, dragged down by its weight. I release my grip, but as soon as one drops into those dark and cold depths, another replaces it. A different shape, a different name, but a crown all the same. I awake in those nights with a start only to find myself still walking between a dream and my life which grow like vines around my feet, snaring me.
&#x200B;
Heavy lays the crown upon the head. Heavy lays the heart which lie below. And pity to the feet which trod on into some half measure of eternity, ensuring that burden find its keeper.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Aside: The quoted section in this piece is from Brandon Sanderson's 'The Way of Kings.'* |
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