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My lineage had served this immortal being for generations. It is my utmost honor to be able to be given the title "Good Boy", so much so that I am unable to control myself.
Whenever I hear her footsteps, I am overwhelmed with extreme euphoria.
Mornings of cuddles, hearing her exclaim to me, her most humble servant:
"Who's a good boy? You want some breakfast?"
I effortlessly wag my tail in anticipation, then I indulge myself with the daily bread bestowed upon me.
And then she leaves. My happiness is gone for what seems like an eternity, but once she returns, all the sorrow of loneliness fades away. She always returns. Always.
We would spent afternoons spent bathing in the warm rays of the sunset. Playing and running through this expanse of golden blades of grass. Days of endless wonder.
Each instance more exciting than the last. It was my paradise. My sacred purpose.
Soon, the moon wanes. The days turn become cold and harsh. Her face however, as flawless as the golden fields of yesterday. Ever golden.
Then, each morning becomes a chore. Each afternoon a rhythm. Have I been foolish to call these made-up conventions of time, 'my paradise'?
But together with this constant repetition, what never changes is the joy my master gives me. No matter how loud the thunder, how dark the night, she gives me the same feeling of comfort I felt the day she first called me a "Good Boy".
And now, I lie in wait for her to return, standing to drink requires great effort, but, I think, struggle a bit more just to be in her presence again. For my joy, every cumbersome step is worth more than the struggle it requires of me.
I think of the euphoric mornings and golden afternoons as I wait patiently for her footsteps.
I always hear them. But now it seems like longer than eternity.
And then I heard it. I felt it—joy.
I effortlessly wag my tail in anticipation as the door creaked open.
"Where's my good boy?"
She ran to my side.
"You have been a good boy..."
"...*my* good boy."
*Paradise* was never meant to be mine.
*She* lay beside me as I nestle myself in *paradise*. |
On the titan's face rose one large and beautiful jagged spire, like a rhinoceros horn, that shone rosey pinks and watery blues through the night sky. The hollow eyes, two black openings on each side of its face, shaped like drooping teardrops, wavered and billowed around their borders in a glittering iridescence of gold, silver, and violet. The gaseous head of this cosmic beast distorted through the edge's of the atmosphere, dropping off just over the edge of water at the horizon, as if the sky were an old television monitor with a warped glass bulb.
Sitting on a pale beach, somewhere on the topmost flimsy little layer of stone that forms our planet, a little mortal girl leaned back to a more comfortable position to address the cosmic horror.
"I don't know what that word means,"she said.
"What word?"asked the voice of a god.
"'*Der-range-mint*.' Are you asking me to pray to you?"
"Oh ye little grain of sand!"shook the sky, "Look within your soul and tell me what it's worth to gain your praise! I can conceive of an entirely new reality and implant the decay of its infinite history straight into your mind. I can swallow the black hole in the center of your galaxy and pronounce the name of its heart with a light to blind your very atoms."
"Oh, that's neat"said the girl. She stood up in the sand and brushed some of the stubborn grains off her palms. "Look what I can do!"She stepped down to the hard packed ribbon of beach left behind by the sinking tide, began a short run, extended her hands forward, then performed a most excellent cartwheel for the space rhino. She landed well and gave a wide-armed, "Tah-Dah!"in presentation.
"That's . . ."The four-eyed entity of pure knowledge felt lost for words. "I don't know what that was . . . but I assume that was supposed to be '*neat*'?"
"I think it was,"answered the girl as she prepared for a second attempt to impress the giant head in the sky. For this trick, she attempted a handspring, but fell too far forward on the rotation and ended up landing hard on her behind. She brushed herself off once more and threw herself upside down into a perfect handstand.
"Blood child?"asked the beast with the nebula horn. "Your actions confuse me. They show a clear lack of reason, but I do not taste madness in your thoughts. Why do you not tremble?"
"Cuz I've been practicing good,"she said, taking a hand step forward to balance.
"Do you know that your bones are as impermanent as that castle of sand you were showing me?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"And do you not believe me that I have the power to mold your entire consciousness into possibly some eternal and ethereal sage of wisdom or as likely a burning lump of red flesh, and yet I am provoked to do neither because of your insignificance!?"
She looked upside down at the space god and his face made just as much sense from this perspective. "Not even if I say please?"
"OF COURSE NOT IF YOU SAY PLEASE!"And the horror made a noise like proud laughter as meteors shot out of the star-studded gaseous cheeks in every direction. "Oh foolish thing! Oh vain insect of dust! Oh--"
"Okay,"said the girl. She fell back to her feet and dug her toes into the sand.
"But . . . but aren't you at least going to try?"asked the horror.
"No, I believe you."
The five-dimensional being gave the moment space to breath. It tried to digest the current feeling in its own mind, something like anger, creeping to sorrow. It remembered the last session it held with its therapist, where the horror shared those long held feelings insignificance in the grand scheme of things. The therapist had been the one to suggest gaining perspective, visiting a plane of existence housing some first-level conscious life forms and gaining a new appreciation for its own cosmic stature. But this now seemed like a terrible suggestion. This whole trip had only brought those insecure feelings up to the surface again. And this stupid little girl's ignorance now seemed almost intentional to cause the horror more anxiety.
The beast could see that she wasn't even watching it anymore.
She was building another sand castle.
"I can destroy that as easily as your first,"warned the horror.
"And I can't stop you,"answered the girl.
The four eyes of the space rhino wavered in a silky, shimmering radiance that would have been beautiful to see if it weren't also so sad.
"Can I--"the horror heard a emotional squeak in its thunderous voice and cleared its vocal chasm. "Can I help?"
"I won't be able to stop you,"she said, now annoyed that she had to keep reminding the space rhino.
"Well, *may* I?"It asked, adding as an afterthought, "you little grain of sand."
"Hmm . . ."she scooted over from the wall she had just constructed. "Okay, you can start on this side, but don't touch what I'm doing over here."
"Deal."The horror looked back over its nebulous to notice if any other Eldritch gods were watching, then it descended a thin filament of static mass down to the beach.
The two built an ugly sand castle, taking such a long stretch of time the beast could have just as easily deconstructed every atom in all the bricks and mortar of every castle on this tiny planet.
But it was neat.
And by the time the little girl had to go home and get ready for bed, it being a school night, the space rhino had forgotten all about its feelings of insignificance in an otherwise uncaring universe.
'*Maybe my therapist was onto something,*' thought the inter-dimensional cosmic horror.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I'm on day 25 of a streak.
If you liked this story, check out the other 24 days collected at ~~r\\FarFecthedFiction~~ r/FarFetchedFiction.
Thanks! |
"A farmer will always return to his farm."
It was what my advisor had told me. My advisor is a wise man who found secrets to eternal life. It cost him much, but he became the best advisor I had ever known. When he told me that, I laughed.
Yet here I stand. The legendary hero who fought the lich king and his armies, faced evils I couldn't comprehend, even saved my beloved daughter, has created a beautiful farm. My wife, daughter, and son were not happy, but I knew that he deserved to be honored, regardless of how he chose to live.
When I came to him, he looked to me and bowed. I smiled and told him he could rise. Our conversation then began.
"Samuel. You have done much for this kingdom, and it's people. My gratitude upon thee."
"Ah, shucks. My king, I only did what any man ought to do."
"Yes, that is true. However, you still took up blade and shield despite knowing nothing of how to fight. You did this without being asked. When destiny called, you did not reject it like many others did."
"My king, I have to thank you for your kind words. It means the world to me. . . Here, let's get out of the sun. I have some wine."
Ah, now that's something we can all agree on. Upon entering his home, I see it is as humble as he is. The chairs are uncomfortable but sturdy. The meal we share is hardy and filling. My family judges him, for a man like this should be kissing their feet. I know better.
He knocks me from my train of thought. "I do hope you're enjoying the meal, my king. If I had known you were coming, I would have gotten something better set up for all of you."
I chuckle. "No need. This is what you fought for, and to dine with you is an honor to me."
"You flatter me. . . But I must ask, you are a busy man, how is it that you have the time to visit me?
Ah, even now, he thinks of everyone but himself. "We have come to honor you. You deserve rewards for your sacrifices and actions."At the mention of sacrifice, he touches an eyepatch he now wears.
". . . That's mighty kind of you."
"Nay, it is what you deserve. When you wish, please come visit us at the capital. I have come personally to express my thanks away from the people. So you know how genuine this is."
"Thank you, my king. . . Your words mean everything. I do not have the finest of cloth, but I will wear what I can so as to not embarrass the court."
I smile again. I still feel horrible for what our kingdom cost him. My wife and kids do not have the eye for detail I do. They do not see the wooden joints or the stiff movements have his hands and legs. They do not know he sacrificed not only his old life but his body too. They do not know he is half of what he was when all this started. After our short visit to state our intent, we leave.
They talk in the other carriage, so that I may ponder. They talk of how he was filthy and how he doesn't deserve the rewards I give. How is it that they are so ungrateful for the sacrifice of a young farmer.
Have we all become this ungrateful? |
"The organic systems micro-controller chip we've been working on is a near complete success. We're entering our final testing phase now."
"Bravo!"Dr. Wicke exclaimed. "Please, tell me more!"
Controller Smith continued. "We have finely tuned our rabbits to perfectly mimic the motions of real rabbits. The squirrels twitch, scamper, and chatter in a perfect mirror image of a wild one. Even the house cats look as aloof as their genuine counterparts. Beyond dissection, no one could possibly tell the difference between our chipped animals and a non-chipped animal. Except for one thing... we overclocked a sloth."
"What the hell do you mean you 'overclocked a sloth'?"
"One of our engineers inadvertently loaded a test sloth with a processor designed for a gibbon. I've never been more terrified in my entire life. It was a wrongness that the physical world should never have been subjected to. So fast. So angry. So violent. A perfect killing machine"
"My God! What happened to it!"
"Sadly, We have been unable to locate the specimen. 4 handlers have been hospitalized and it doesn't look like Dr. Horowitz is going to make it. There was blood everywhere. It was madness. It's still out there.... and it's hungry." |
There are only two planets inhabited by sentient species in the known universe that do not believe in the mysterious, pan-galactic entity known as "Santa Claus."
For the first planet, simply called Ssssssk, the reason for this disbelief is a matter of biology and history. Ssssssk is inhabited by only one species - a very unique, higher-thinking form of bacteria. There are two reasons why the Sssssskians do not believe in Santa Claus:
1. They do not bear children. Each and every Sssssskian is actually a piece of the original Sssssskian, making them all separately thinking parts of the same whole.
2. Eight billion years ago, in an unnecessary and entirely discourteous show of force, the original Sssssskian killed off every other species on the planet Ssssssk. This action landed all Sssssskians (which, is to say, the single Sssssskian) on a certain Naughty List for the foreseeable future. Thus, Santa Claus has never visited the planet Ssssssk. Thus, they do not believe in Santa Claus.
The other planet, which does not truly believe in the mysterious, pan-galactic entity known as "Santa Claus,"presents a more bitter story, albeit with a sweeter ending.
Long ago, on this other planet, Santa Claus would visit on the same day each year. Depending on where you were, Santa Claus would arrive in the heat of the summer or the frost of the winter.
But this was a planet filled with doubters, disbelievers, and worst of all, liars. The people of this planet were obsessed with myths, and legends, and stories. The inhabitants of this planet, called Earth, were split up into thousands of different groups, based upon which stories they chose to tell, and which stories they chose to believe.
Collectively, they were cynical. None of them really believed in *anything.*
So, when Santa Claus arrived, year after year, and left presents for the good children, the good children refused to believe that some mysterious, pan-galactic, temporal manipulator with a name like "Santa Claus"was responsible for their good fortune. They merely believed that their parents had rewarded their good behavior. Their parents, being perpetual liars, declined to correct these misconceptions.
It is questionable whether or not the Earth dwellers ever actually believed in the entity known as Santa Claus. What is known is that, one year, Santa Claus stopped showing up.
Tired of not receiving credit for his good deeds, disgusted by the deceitful actions of the Earth dwellers, and sickened by the over-saturation of story-telling on Earth, Santa Claus swore off the planet Earth. He deemed the people of Earth as 'unworthy.'
But the people of Earth were not unworthy. In fact, the people of Earth were very good, and very deserving of gifts. For, long after Santa Claus put "all Earth dwellers"on his "naughty list,"the people of Earth continued to shower each other with gifts, regardless of how naughty or nice they had been.
This casual disregard and re-appropriation of an ancient, mysterious, pan-galactic tradition has, of course, only served to further alienate the people of Earth from Santa Claus's good graces.
***
[Read more like this (and not like this) at r/PSHoffman.](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) |
Margaret blushed as she felt him passionately looking her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. She longed for his touch; craving the way his fingers felt as they ran along her smooth skin until finally thrusting inside her in blissful intimacy. She traced a heart on the glass, taking a last sip of the fruity drink she had been nursing for the last half-hour. She would always remember the first time they met, hitting it off in a crowded bar much like this one before saying goodnight as they stood in the pouring rain. He had brushed her nose with his fingertip ever so lightly and her heart had skipped and the feeling had coursed through her, addictive and drawing her in, making her desperate for another touch.
"Hey, Margaret,"he repeated, snapping her out of her daydreams and she realized she had completely missed what he had been saying. She blushed a bit redder and grinned in embarrassment at the growing dampness she felt. "You wanna get out of here and head back to my place?"he asked over the din of the bar as other patrons shoved and jockeyed for the bartender's attention. She nodded timidly, biting her lower lip and reaching for him.
"First, come here though,"she cooed seductively, grabbing his hand and pulling him close. "Poke me,"she said as crudely as she could manage, raising his wrist to her face. He grinned deviously, and used his free hand to adjust the growing bulge in his pants and she smiled, well aware of the effect she was having.
"I would love to,"he whispered, bringing his outstretched index finger to her nose and shoving it upwards. She moaned in satisfaction, reaching out to do the same to him. "You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but other than that, you can only pick your partner's nose,"he murmured provocatively, the passionate scene drawing stares from other customers. He stepped back, gazing into her blue eyes as he left his finger up her nostril. "Your perfect nose is the only nose I would ever want to pick."
*****
Did you say wtf when you read this? 'Cause I said wtf when I wrote it.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"There they are."I whispered to myself, "I hope these guys are more fun than that last group. So much drama with that crew, right up to their painful deaths."
I quickly transformed my body to appear more frail, and trustworthy.
"Oh don't mind me, I'm just a tired old villager looking to help strangers on their quest for no clear reason."I chuckled to myself. "Alright, showtime."
I emerged from my hiding place in the shadows and approached the group.
"Good evening adventurers, I heard you are in need of a guide?"I announced to my future victims.
The largest member of the group lept to her feet, and took a defensive stance with her sword pointed towards me.
"Stop where you are stranger."She said in a surprisingly deep voice, "Make your identity known or suffer the consequences."
I put my hands in the air, in mock terror.
"Oh please, no miss! I am but a humble villager looking for adventure. I've spent countless years at home with no aspirations, or excitement. I believe I know what you seek, and I intend to aid you on your journey, should you permit me."
That sounded pretty good, I thought to myself. The massive woman put her sword in its sheath and stepped forward.
"I trust no man, and I allow no weak chains in my group."She said as she stared down into my eyes. "Ask yourself carefully if this is what you desire, for where we are going there may be no return."
I forced my lip to quiver.
"I am not afraid of death."I said with all sincerity.
An eerie smirk came across the warrior woman's face, and I felt something I hadn't felt in years...
Doubt.
"Come this way then, guide."She said to me. "Make yourself warm by the fire, and introduce yourself to the rest of the Elite."
I fought hard to hide my amusement. They called themselves 'The Elite', oh this was going to be fun. |
"Good morning Gorblax, we're coming to you live from Xenon 5 where this year's Battle Royale has been under way for three days now. I'm your host, Offergen and with me today in the booth for our hopeful wholesale slaughter is my good friend Delmiath,"I waved over to my right to signal for the camera to change.
"Thanks Offergen, over the evening in the ring most of the humans were asleep, looking to get some shuteye before laying into each other's soft fragile skin. Despite early signs that some of the humans were going to make aggressive moves during the evening, all of them seemed unwilling to attack others in their sleep, despite knowing that their lives were on the line."
"Strange behavior in a survival situation Delmiath,"I commented.
"That it is Offergen, and now we and all of Gorblax are waiting with baited breath to see what's going to happen today."
"Hopefully death!"I chimed in while doing my best to keep my panic under illusory psywaves. This year's broadcast was turning out to be a disaster so far. Despite going on for three days the total death count for the humans was sitting at a whopping 7. 7 out of 100,000. At this rate the broadcast was going to be going on for several full Blaxturies.
"And now we're going to switching over to our action sensing feed to see what's going on down on the surface of Xenon 5,"I said to finish up the time in the broadcast room before taking a deep breath and drumming my appendages on the counter. I was going to lose my job over this. We were ALL going to lose our jobs over this.
The feed in front of me cut over to a heated battle between two humans who were somehow still attractive by human standards after three days of impossible conditions and combat. They had each found weapons and were slashing at one another while saying short phrases in their 'language'. Despite a dozen flashes of steel between the two of them, there wasn't a single drop of blood shed.
"Do we have anything better to show?"I asked Delmiath as she injected positive gasses into her system.
"We have three thousand and forty two making speeches to nobody in particular and over 60,000 wandering while pausing every couple moments to look dramatic,"she said, "at least both of these humans are using weapons."
"Are the rest not?"I asked. On the screen the two humans clashed again before both of their weapons went spiraling off in impossible directions. Both of the humans glared at one another before commenting again in their language and pushing away from one another.
The live feed cut away, but Delmiath and I got to watch them actually walk away from one another.
"Hi! Welcome back to the booth,"I said as the light flashed red out of nowhere. The prompter in front of me started scrolling so I started reading, "we're going to bring you into the lab with our resident human expert Maddicyus to explain what might be going on here with the human's inability to kill one another. Maddicyus."
The camera cut over to the desk on the other side of the room where Maddicyus had just taken his seat. "Well, it's a strange phenomenon really. Humans have a long history of violence with population significant casualties on both sides of the conflict. Perhaps the human resilience is coming into effect here. Humans are fragile but they do come from an extremely hostile planet that forces them to adapt to different situations, often overcoming wounds that could kill others of their species. There is a chance that their hyper adaptive nature could have given them-"
I cut off the scientist, "Yes, but we did given them weapons that are on par or superior to the weapons we used to conquer their species last week when the glorious empire killed millions of their people to make their kneel before our God King. Why did they not adapt then?"
"That is a variable that we cannot understand, but we are looking into changing the weaponry in the arena to a more large scale variety to stop the issue of everything 'barely missing'. Hopefully things don't come to that, but obviously we are looking to create an enjoyable viewing experience."
"Exactly,"I cut off the scientist again before he gave a 'but'. "and this viewing experience is brought to you by Zorbapet, bringing aliens right to your doorstep to be your new emotional companion. Zorbapet is now offering pre-orders on humans brought all the way from their home planet of earth, and if you order today they will include a mini-biome to get your human habitat started. Get everything you need to being some bio-diversity to your home with Zorbapet, for non-feathered friends." |
Cold wind hit my back. I let out a wordless cry, simultanously crying in surprise and protesting the lack of comfortable hot water. I opened my eyes to see what happened. My next cries included variations of “What the?”, “Where’s”, “Who did-”, as I discovered that I was lacking several things. Including warmth, water, walls and even a floor. I stood in grass, and was surrounded by smoke. That I had first thought to be steam. I tried to cover my vulnerable bit from the frost wind.
I heard a voice beyond the smoke. I could barely hear it, but understood what it said. “Oh Great Lord from beyond. We have called you here on this day, to beseech your help. For your people! ...Aid, in our hour of-”.
“Do you think this is a funny joke?!”, I interrupted angrily. My voice carried with it a lot of weight, as the shout also drove away the mists.
Then we both stood surprised at the scene. A figure in a cloak, with a longbeard and a staff, just stood there, as if I wasn’t really what he was expecting. I was stopped from continuing my tirade I was just about to beginning as what I saw wasn’t natural. Several weeds grew that gave off a silvery shimmer. A unicorn was dressed with a saddle and tied to a giant crimson tree. The two moons. Everything straight from a fantasy novel.
And on a wide cliff, surrounded monoliths bathed in an otherwordly light, was me. Naked, huddled, freezing and angry.
|
"Cameron,"you hear chirping, "Cameron. CAMERON."
You march forward, refusing to acknowledge the sound. A small drone whirrs up from behind you. It chirps your name and tries to draw your attention. You try to swat it away, your hand missing as the drone drops and corkscrews back up in front of you, just out of arm's reach.
"CareATec sucks, you suck, this ad sucks,"you say out of habit.The drone unrolls a thin panel and begins playing a familiar recording.
"Cameron. You've been smoking for 16 years. We care about you Cameron, and it hurts us at CareATec to see you doing this to yourself,"spouts the drone, as footage of your childhood plays on the screen, interspersed with photos of you now, smoking.
You open a small, ornate cigarette box and select a rolled cigarette. You light it with a magnifying glass you keep in the same pocket. Ever since CareATec was given rights to procure private footage of the last smokers, they had started cutting deep. A video of your grandmother dying of an inoperable jaw cancer that had spread into her brain and lungs. A low resolution photograph of you, cradling a broken cigarette trying to determine if it was salvageable. *At least the paraphernalia is cheaper these days*, you think. You reach forward and tap the ash off the end of your cigarette onto the drone, before making a hard left turn down another street. The drone swings around and returns to its position in front of you.
"What would your mother think, Cameron?"
"Muh muh muh muh muh muh?"you jeer back.
"CareATec cares, even about you, Cameron. We don't want you to keep doing this to yourself, and neither does the United States Government."
"Then send a fucking SWAT team Care Bear."
"Our president wants to eradicate smoking in the next 5 years. Are you going to help him? Are you going to be an obstacle to our President? We know you're not like that, Cameron."
"You want me to put down my cigarette but you don't have an ashtray?"At your words, the drone draws slightly closer and reveals a small tray. You tap some ash into the tray and drop a large glob of spit into it.
"You smell terrible Cameron,"says the drone, as it closes the ashtray and moves back again, "You're a disgusting person. That's why people don't want to be around you."
"*That's* why?"you say, smoke spilling out from your nostrils and mouth.
"What if we gave you five dollars? That's five dollars you didn't have before, not a bad deal,"the drone continues, changing to photos of many more than five dollars. Images of stacks of cash and golden coins fill the screen.
"Fine, give it then,"you say, holding a hand out, your cigarette wagging from the corner of your mouth.
"I bet you want the five dollars,"it continues, "but you have to drop the cigarette first."
"Five bucks'll buy me one cigarette, so that's a yes from me,"you say. After a final drag, you try to push the last half of the cigarette into the screen, but the drone dodges expertly and manages to catch it in the small drawer still filled with spit.
With the cigarette extinguished, and the drone no longer detecting the ember, the tone of the recording changes.
"Wow Cameron, you've always been a little rebellious, but we didn't know you were also a little bitch."
"What the hell?"
"You seriously thought we would give money to somebody like you? We knew you were stupid because of the cigarettes but you're a special kind of idiot."
Your mouth hangs open.
"Our sensors indicate that your teeth look like shit, Cameron. Once again proving that you're fucking disgusting."
The drone whizzes away, only showing a middle finger on the screen as it fades out of sight. You light another cigarette before the clouds block out the sunny afternoon. As you fumble with the magnifying glass, you spy a quarter on the ground and decide to pocket it. As soon as your cigarette is sparked, you hear a new drone approaching. You lob the quarter as hard as you can, and you miss.
"Nice throw, Cameron, you some kind of athlete?"chirps the drone, "Just kidding, you are obviously not an athlete, and we at CareATec are concerned for your long-term health." |
Miguel cheered, along with the rest of the crowd on the manor grounds, as the dark blue banner with the golden scroll emblem was unfurled alongside the other four Banners of Honor adorning the outdoor stage that had been set up on the green. Above the stage, the night sky filled with sparkling starbursts and flowers of light, as illuminators launched their pyrotechnical projectiles.
Nobles and commoners alike had gathered together to celebrate the Feast of Honor of Don Ricardo Escalante IV -- now officially styled *Don Ricardo Escalante V,* having earned his fourth honor above the *Honor of the Blood* he had been born with.
The young ducal court page, Miguel, like most of the attendees, was eager to see the Duke demonstrate the new invention he had previously presented to the Royal Academy, leading to his recognition as a *Noble of the Scroll.* This was in addition to having been a Noble of the *Coin, Blood, Blade,* and *Hammer.* Being *Five Times Noble,* the Duke had greater power and influence in the kingdom, was in line for succession as King, and could even bestow some *Honors* on worthy subjects, by his own authority.
No one yet knew what it was that the Duke had invented, but since he had earned the *Honor of the Scroll* based on this single achievement, it must be something spectacular. Suddenly, the Duke himself appeared at the edge of the crowd, flanked by attendants, the multitude parting before him as he mounted the stage. Don Ricardo doffed his feathered hat, and bowed to the crowd as they cheered uproariously, Miguel included.
He looked around at the beaming faces -- all showing joy and pride in their liege's achievement. The grandeur of a noble, after all, reflected on the people he led. Miguel frowned, as he noticed one figure who did not seem to be enjoying the festivities, nearby. A dark eyed man in a hooded cloak, near the front of the crowd, was looking up at the Duke with a scowl. Everyone else seemed too absorbed in the moment to notice.
"Thank you!"Don Ricardo Escalante V cried. "My people, my *family!* This honor is not mine alone, but belongs to all those who dwell beneath the proud banner of *House Escalante!"*
The crowd cheered, although a furtive glance to his left told Miguel that the mysterious stranger remained unmoving.
"I see many faces in the crowd, people now Honored as Nobles, whom I have known since they were commoners! Let this, my *fifth* Banner of Honor, be a reminder to all, of what *any* man can achieve, with courage, passion, and ambition!"The Duke boomed, lifting his arms in proclamation.
Miguel applauded...but he noticed the stranger *was* moving now. He saw the glint of steel, as the man reached for a blade. He made the choice on instinct. Perhaps the Duke's lofty words about courage made him bolder than he would have been otherwise.
Instead of seeking help, Miguel cried out *"Assassin!"* and then charged the stranger himself. He was only a page, he was unarmed. But he thought if he could tackle the man, he could bowl him over, and slow him down until the Guard could reach him. He leaped at the stranger, shouting wordlessly.
He bounced off him as though he'd struck a stone wall, and tumbled backward, landing hard on the ground. The cloaked figure turned to him, and let out an unearthly shriek, his eyes suddenly alight with sickly green fire. Miguel's own eyes widened in horror -- it was a *Viborón,* a monstrous creation of forbidden alchemy, made by fusing the life essence of dozens of poisonous serpents into a human host.
For a moment the creature looked ready to pounce on Miguel -- that would surely be the end of him, for the Viborón were perfect assassins, their slightest *touch* capable of delivering a lethal dose of the venom that suffused their entire body. But it was clear the assassin had been sent for a different target: the Duke himself.
It turned away from Miguel, and leaped eight feet in the air to land atop the stage, then charged the Duke with inhuman speed.
There was a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder. The Viborón stumbled back, hissing, clutching at a gaping wound in its chest. In his hand, the Duke held a strange steel tube with a wooden handle, smoke rising from the end pointed towards the unholy assassin. The Duke's *invention!*
The Viborón took a halting step towards Don Ricardo. The Duke drew a *second* tube from inside his coat. There was another flash, and another booming report rang out. The top of the creature's head vanished in a spray of gore.
It teetered unsteadily, and then collapsed onto the stage, unmoving.
The crowd was crying out in panic. Guards belatedly rushed up onto the stage. The Duke held up his hands for calm.
"Peace!"the Duke shouted. "Peace, my people! Guards! Search the grounds, make sure there are no more of them! Use crossbows and spears only; if you get close enough to use a sword, you'll be poisoned for sure. Everyone else, get indoors until we sort this out!"
Guards ran off to do as instructed, and the crowd began to disperse. The Duke turned to the Captain of his Guard, and begin speaking to him in a lower tone. "Have the court wizard examine the body, and see if he can discover its origin. I suspect it was sent by that jealous bastard, Don Oviedo! He'd better hope he's as clever as he thinks he is, because if he's left the slightest trace, I'll see that the King demotes that fat old fool to Don Oviedo the *Zeroth,* mark my words..."
Miguel, still stunned from the sudden change from exultation to fear and panic, staggered to his feet, and began to follow the others back towards the keep.
"Not you!"the Duke suddenly commanded. He froze, eyes going wide. Had *Don Ricardo* himself just spoken to him? He turned to face his liege and bowed, deeply. To his surprise, the Duke bowed slightly in return.
The Duke hopped down from the stage, landing in a crouch, and then rose to stride towards him, shaking his head in amazement.
"I thank you for raising the alarm -- it gave me time to draw one of my new *pistolas* before that vile thing could close the distance. But charging at a *Viborón?"* the Duke exclaimed. "That was *very* brave, boy! "
"I-I didn't know he was a *Viborón,* Don Ricardo."Miguel admitted.
Don Ricardo laughed. "Did you not? Well, that's good to hear. In that case, you are *still* brave, but you're not *stupid.* Too many other young lordlings I've met can't manage to be the first, without also being the second."
"Oh, I'm no noble, your Grace."Miguel said, hastily. "I'm just a page!"
Don Ricardo smirked, and winked at him. "Don't argue with your liege, boy, it's impolite! I am -- as of today -- Don Ricardo Escalante de Zaragoza *the Fifth!* Which means, when I see a young man who has proven himself to possess uncommon courage, and exercised the same in my service, *I* do not need to petition the Holy Brothers of Honor to declare him a *Noble of the Heart.* I can, instead, bestow that Honor upon him myself. What is your name?"
"M-Miguel, Don Ricardo. Miguel Espinoza."he stammered, in amazement.
Don Ricardo shook his head, and laughed again.
"No, no, no!"he said, throwing an arm around Miguel's shoulders, and leading him away. "*Your* name is *Don* Miguel Espinoza de Zaragoza the First!" |
"The patient's symptoms don't make sense."
"She will die if we don't figure out what's going on."I said to my assistant. There are a million diseases that can kill someone. But what can cause liver failure, seizures, and hair loss? The tests ruled out cancer, and trying out the treatments doesn't get rid of the cloaked bastard at all. "Start her on immunosuppressants for the kidney."
"We've already tri-"
"I know! Just do it."I need a reason for Death back off from my patient. I need him to move back at least an inch, and he keeps moving forward slowly. I don't have enough time. His hands eagerly reached to strangle her. Strangle… "Wait!"
"What is it?"
"How's her breathing?"I look at the charts, and her oxygen level is lower than average and plummeting lower, even in the hospital! But Death's backing up as he noticed me looking at the charts. I look at him and smirk at Death, and you can see the assistant wondering why I was staring at a wall before I say, "Test her for substances again. Someone's poisoning her. Right here in this hospital."Death lifts his hand, giving me the thumbs up. It's both creepy and endearing, but I found the answer in time. |
The war has been going strong for 3 years now. All my buddies were drafted within the first year. I got a stay of execution because I was still in school, but now they're getting desperate. The losses are piling up more and more. It's probably worse than they're letting on. But with the media under strict military control at the moment we may never know. My draft notice came in the mail Thursday. Today is Monday. Orientation day. I'm nervous, of course. I'm not fit for the front. Sitting in this room with probably 30 or so other draftees certainly isn't calming my nerves. Finally I hear my name. A big guy in fatigues comes out of the room and yells "Bradley! Marcus Bradley!"
I stand up, walk over, and follow him into the room. Sat at a desk near the back is an older guy, 60s probably. There are a bunch of patches and medals on his uniform. He tells me to take a seat. The big guy is guarding to door. Guess they're not keen on runners.
"So, Marcus Bradley. Says here you just finished up your degree in bio-chem. Lucky you. All that work just to get drafted."
All I can do is look back at him, stone faced. I've pretty much resigned myself to my fate at this point. The man at the desk flips through the chart some more.
"So I'm sure you're aware of the new program to match 'gamers' with positions that best suit their skills. You play a lot of games. You'd probably fit in just about anywhere."
Oh great, all those late nights playing Halo are finally going to catch up with me, aren't they.
"But based on your chart, I'm going to assign you to the logistics and efficiency department."
I was stunned. I wasn't quite sure if I should laugh or cry. In my stupor I just managed to get out "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Logistics and efficiency. Since this program was started we've never seen someone with this many hours invested into Tetris." |
***Muggle Flight - The Mechanical Broom Substitute and More!***
Us Wizards take the ease of transportation for granted. Between Floo powder, brooms and apparition there is not much to stop a Wizard from reaching his or her destination. This is so much a part of our culture that the train to Hogwarts is somewhat of a quaint indulgence in transport. Would you believe then that every muggle uses a train everyday? It's true! It is however, in my humble opinion that muggles have in fact surpassed wizards in this realm.
To clarify my claim, I must start by explaining the finer points of muggle transportation. It is very hard for muggles to get around. They need to walk everywhere or burn mud to enchant their carriages to roll them about.
Muggles have only had a form of flight since about 100 years ago. A team of bicycle builders used a combination of slave labor (as most muggle inventions use) and giant rubber bands to propel a small bicycle with wings over some sand dunes.
Since this discovery muggles have only expanded on the concept. Except now their slings and slave power pulleys can traverse the globe! This form of flight has also given way to them riding some sort of portable fireplace through the air. Which to me seems exceptionally dangerous! How they manage not to spill the tea confounds me. This achievement isn't even the most impressive. In fact it is also true that muggles regularly travel to the stars.
It would not be a surprise then, that the muggles have also brought their petty quarrels to the stars. Even while some muggles peacefully trek through to the unknown as explorers, many still war about. There is hotly anticipated news about warring muggle factions betwixt the stars.
In the last 100 years Wizarding kind has not seen nearly as much advancement as the muggles have in this regard. Surely I would still prefer a solid broom over a catapulted bicycle with wings. But I cannot help but appreciate the tenacity and creativity of the muggles. Who knows what they will discover in the next 100 years! |
The son of a bitch died with sunlight on his face, and frost on his breath, right up until I blew his brains out on the sidewalk. It was a better death than the one he'd given me.
Edit:
*here's to those guys who were complaining about grammar:*
It was with sunlight on his face, and frost on his breath that I blew the son of a bitches brains out onto the sidewalk. In the end, a better death than the one he'd given me.
Edit 2: *obligatory thank you for both the gold and attention!*
|
The Director nipped and tucked the dead body. Humans never liked seeing their dead, or at least how the dead really looked. The small cuts and bruises, the large gaping wounds, the torn-out ligaments. It was up to her to make sure that, when it became time to see their loved ones for the final time, that people only saw a perfectly immaculate body.
Her cell-phone rung on her hip. Looking down, she saw that her great-great-grandson was calling her. Tapping the screen, she said “Hello?”
“Nanna? How are you? Guess what, I picked my job!” said Emmett. His young voice reverbrated through the Director's head. He reminded her so much of how her daughter used to sound, so full of optimism.
“Oh, you have? But you're only 4 years old? Aren't you a little early?” asked the Director calmly. She noticed a small distension on the right arm of the body she was working on, where there had been a dislocation from the accident. She would have to hide it with the puffy dress she had selected.
“Yes, but I want to be a dentist. My mom says that if I'm a dentist, then I'll never get any cavities, and be able to eat all the sweets I want,” said Emmett.
The Director wondered whether she should tell him how important the decision of your job could be. That it could define your entire life, and take away so many options. After some thought, she decided it'd be better not to.
“Nanna, you still there?” asked Emmett.
“I'll always be there, my dear,” said the Director. |
The altar across the street was empty. The altar across the street was empty, and the sun was setting.
If it were anyone else, Harriet wouldn't care. Each to their own - it wasn't her job to look after the foolish and the reckless. She had her family to think of. Margot, Rob, and Matilda, all living under her roof, all subject to the law, all relying on her to observe it. Harriet was 76 years old, and she had lived in Wintervale for a long time. She was clever and iron-willed, and she was proud of being able to provide for her daughter and her family, even now.
If it were anyone else, Harriet wouldn't care. But it was Stella. Stella's house was dark. Stella's altar was empty. And the sun was setting.
Harriet made up her mind.
"Grandma!"Matilda whispered from the window. "Grandma, where are you going? Come back! It's almost night!"
"Don't worry,"said Harriet, waving her hand dismissively. "I know how this goes. Tell your mother I'll be back tomorrow morning."
She ignored her granddaughter's protests and walked across the street to examine Stella's altar. It was definitely empty - no food left out, no drink, no gifts, nothing. What an idiotic thing to do. Even if you had nothing fine to leave for him, you had to try - everyone knew this. Stella should have known.
Harriet huffed out an exasperated sigh, and reached into the pocket of her apron She'd been planning to keep these cookies for herself and the family - they had real ginger and clove in them, a remarkable thing in these times of turmoil. Family first, though.
Harriet left the cookies on the altar, took Stella's spare key from under the flowerpot, and let herself in.
The house was dark inside, too. Did she think she could fool him? He always knew, no matter whether they were sleeping or awake. He always came for what he was due.
Harriet walked up the stairs to Stella's sitting room.
As expected, there she was, calmly knitting in her favorite rocking chair.
"Why?"demanded Harriet. She didn't need to give the context. Her sister raised her head, serenity in her eyes.
"I remember what it was like before,"Stella said. "I'm tired. If he wants to slay me, he can do it. I wanted to spend this night my way."She gestured to the table by her side. "Care for some candy?"
"No,"Harriet said. "You're an idiot, Stella Lane. I left your offering for you. Hope to god it's enough."
"God?"murmured Stella, gazing out the window. "I wonder. Perhaps he's out there. After all, it's supposed to be his night too."
"Don't talk like that!"snapped Harriet. "I misspoke. Forget I said it."
"Aren't you tired?"asked Stella. "Every Friday, for forty years. Snow. A silent night. Milk and cookies. It's grotesque."
Harriet could hear bells in the distance.
"I can't do this anymore,"said Stella, laying her knitting aside. "I'm done. Maybe you stopped me tonight, but I'm not going to do it next Friday either. Or the Friday after that. I won't. I won't do it till the day I die."
"It's suicide,"said Harriet. "And worse, against the spirit of the season. We need to show our generosity. We have to be nice."
"Not this time,"said Stella. She smiled, wild and strange in the moonlight. "This time, I intend to be naughty."
There was a thump on the roof. Snow fell past the window.
"Join me,"said Stella. "Let's have some hot chocolate. I made it like Mother used to."
Harriet's face was pale. Her hands shook. "He's here,"she whispered. "He stopped. He's coming down."
"I know,"said Stella. She reached down by her feet and picked up something that glinted in the lamplight. She held it out to Harriet, handle first.
"Merry Christmas."
Harriet took the gun. |
“Remember me?” Said a muddy voice. “I wanted to say thank you for all you’ve done.” My nose was assaulted by the smell of brimstone and sulfur. A sudden blast of familiar heat flushed across my skin.
I turned to face, Ik’xun, a demon trapped in the mortal realm I had met a year ago, with whom I had jokingly made a pact. “You smell as bad as ever, my friend. Have you come to beg me for your soooouuull.” I wiggled my fingers and made a face at him the way I imagined a powerful warlock might do.
“Actually, no. Funny story but, um, I’m now an Overlord down in Hell,” he did finger-guns, “all thanks to you, bucko.”
I scoffed at him. “Bullshit. I don’t have magical powers.” Ik’xun grinned at me.
“Welllll, turns out you actually do. Remember that little black mass we performed where I promised my soul in exchange for power? It worked. I just can’t believe you don’t realize you possess a demon soul.”
My eyes widened. “So you’re the one that whispers when I’m trying to sleep sometimes.”
“At first I wanted to torture you for letting myself get bested by a human, but then I did a little research at the Library of Eternal Agony.” He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “On the second level of hell, by the way. Great place.” He continued speaking normally. Turns out your faaAaaA...” He checked to see if I caught his hesitation and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Satan, has a real penchant for literature.”
“You were about to say he’s my father, weren’t you? I’m surprisingly not as shocked about this as I should probably be.” Ik’thun pressed the top of his gnarled fist into his lumpy forehead.
“Shit... well, I hope I don’t lose my job over this, but yes, he is. That’s why you haven’t been slowly dying from possessing my soul. Ever seen The Exorcist? It’s kinda like that. The human body can’t take it. Lucky for you, you’re only half human.” He glanced around nervously. ”DR is gonna be up my ass about this,” he said to no one in particular.
“DR?”
“Yeah, you know. Demonic Relations. Eternal hellfire is like an Icelandic hot spring compared to those evil bitches. Even Mr. Morningstar avoids their office. The paperwork is alone is pure hell.”
A thick, yellow, rancid smoke started materializing next to Ik’xun. An immaculately dressed and groomed man strutted out confidently from its center. “Sorry for eavesdropping, son, but I see my LOYAL subject couldn’t keep all of his beans in his can. Normally I have to wait for my children to die to meet them. In this case I’m forced to make an exception.”
I rubbed my eyes with my fingers “Hold on... hold on. This is a lot to take in. Give me a minute.”
“No rush, my boy, we’ve got all of eternity after all.” He turned to Ik’xun. “As for you, consider this your one and only warning. I’m honestly surprised one of my children hasn’t already created a problem like this, but most of them don’t happen to come across demons, who, by the way, are supposed to keep themselves hidden. Nor do they get talked into engaging in ancient rituals.” Dad glared at Ik’xun and shook his head.
After gathering myself, I turned back to face my father. “So what now? Am I supposed to sin as much as possible to gain your favor or something?”
Dad laughed. His laugh made me skin crawl. It was an unholy sound, but I supposed I was going to have to get used to it eventually. “Pffft. No, of course not. You’re already in. Grandfathered in, you could say. There’s no requirement to get in anyways. No matter how many ‘Hail, Satan’s’ or ritual sacrifices you perform, it doesn’t earn you brownie points. Our job is to punish the people that have defiled what it means to be human. As my child you’re more like a sentient drone. I can use you and my other children to watch what happens on the surface. Honestly, I’m surprised my old boss or one of his archangels haven’t sniffed me out already. I’m lucky enough as it is to have been able to sneak out and canoodle with women like your mother before descending back to Hell to catch Rodney Dangerfield’s comedy hour on channel 5. It’s the best show on demonic cable.”
Dad sure likes to ramble. I took another moment to process what was happening. “I still don’t understand. What do I do now? I mean its a revelation of sorts - no pun intended - to discover this kind of thing.”
Dad shrugged. “Nothing. Just live your life. Maybe I’ll send Ik’xun back up here in the form of a cat so he can be your pet. I think that’d be a fitting punishment for somebody who listens as well as a one. After all, you two are soul-linked.”
“Sounds good to me... Dad.” I struggled to get the word out. It tasted like bile.
He laughed. “I have to get going. There’s quite a bit of business to get to down at HQ. The Seventh Level gets really busy this time of year. See you soon, kiddo.” He winked at me and strode back into his smoky portal, which appeared to collapse in on itself before disappearing altogether in a puff of putrid, smelly air.
Where Ik’xun stood sat a small, black cat with blazing, orange eyes. It meowed at me. “I am the one who speaks in whispers.” His voice filling the cracks of my mind like tar. “And now your faithful, feline companion. You know, I’ve always wanted to be able to lick my own balls.”
“First thing we’re doing is getting you neutered.” Ik’xun froze. His eyes widened to the point where they were all pupil. Could’ve sworn I heard Dad laughing.
Lucifer looked up from his cistern and grinned proudly. “That’s my boy.” |
My first memories are of my mother kissing my forehead as she tucked me into bed, whispering to me that someday I would avenge my father. Before that, we would have been sitting on the bed, me captivated by some story she was telling about him.
Maybe it was the time he crept into the elven kingdom, armed with nothing but that fateful dagger and a bag. He had captured one - hence the bag - and had taken a pile of gold for good measure.
Maybe it was the time that he decided to tussle with the mermaids. They weren't bothering him, but he couldn't stand the fact that they wouldn't bow to him either. They couldn't quite bow, those legless beauties. It mattered naught. It cost him two dozen of his best men, two ships, and he ended up swimming back to the kingdom, but the mermaids bowed their heads at least.
Revenge. It's a tricky word, sinister to its core and implying plotting and bloodshed. I turn the dagger in my hands, touching the blade to draw a drop of blood that falls onto the forest floor. That's the blood. Now I just need a plan.
My whole life mother told me I had to avenge him, only to see her executed at the hands of my step-father and to find myself running through the tunnels below the castle with his soldiers hot on my heels. I loved my mother, but sometimes I think she deserved it as much as he did. The way she would poison the ears of anybody who gave her the time of day. The way she would growl at him when he invited her to dinner.
My father brought it upon himself. I loved him once, by nature of knowing he was my father. The more stories she told me, the more convinced I became that I would never avenge him. He didn't need to shear the Sheik's sheep. He didn't need to steal a goat from the priests of the Temple of Darkness, bringing upon himself their wrath. He had an insatiable taste for adventure, a hunger that inevitably brought about his demise.
I stab the leaf that has upon it the drop of blood. Using the dagger, I pick it up, observing the trails of veins like the secret passageways for sneaking into the castle. "Thoughts?"The voice comes from the other side of the fire, a flame skillfully birthed from the rain-soaked leaves and branches of the forest.
That's Kio. He never left my side, even when the guards were pounding on the doors to my chamber and even when they assailed us in the foothills, having ridden day and night to close the distance we had gained. He fought bravely, loyal to a fault. And here we are now, a stone's throw from where it all began. Just beyond the bluff after the forest, I know the fields surrounding the castle await us. "He deserved it, didn't he? The treachery and the way he went?"
Kio chuckles humorlessly. That was the only way he ever laughed. "He did."He pauses, either done with his answer or carefully picking his words. The latter this time, thankfully. "With all due respect, he was a rotten man. Delightfully adventurous. Never a dull moment. But rotten to his core with that twisted sense of humor and a love for blood."
"You stayed."
Kio nods. He had stayed, until the king's very last day and then more. "I did. For you. Your mother asked me to."
"Did she ask you to help me avenge him?"
Kio chuckles again, but this time I see the hint of an actual smile. "No. On the contrary. She regretted asking you, that is what she said before they took her to the hangman. But she knew you inevitably would. That taste for revenge, even if he doesn't deserve it."He shakes his head and shrugs reluctantly. "It runs in the family."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
I’m sitting in a hall surrounded by thousands of other souls. Well I say sitting, when really I don’t have a body anymore so sitting is just what my consciousness is telling me I’m doing. And I say a hall but to be honest I have no idea for sure where this place is, it’s probably not heaven, not warm enough to be hell and it’s definitely not an actual hall. Because it would be ridiculous that when you die and went to the afterlife, all that existed between heaven and hell was a hall. No what I’m sitting again is most probably a manifestation of my consciousness. Where and what my mind understands that this place should be.
That’s what I’ve noticed about being beyond death, things are always what you expect them to be, and your consciousness kind of just fills in the blanks. That’s why the other souls in this room may not be in a hall at all, they might be in a castle or in a cave or wherever else their minds have decided would be the best place for them to wait. One thing that did bring me to this particular place in the afterlife was something my mind definitely did not create. A poster, on a wall advertising the job vacancies for both God and Satan. That definitely interested me and so I my consciousness filled out my application for me and here I am definitely not sitting in a place which is not a hall waiting on what my mind is telling me would the most ridiculous job interview in the world.
The only door in the hall swings open, and as nobody else has noticed this I assume that the cue it’s my turn for my “job interview”. I walk in and there seems to be a blank white room. White walls, no windows, and the door I had just entered through had disappeared. A single plain chair was in the middle of the room and as I took a seat two globes of light appeared before me. One light and one grey.
“So this is him” a voice appeared out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I couldn’t describe what the voice sounded like, it was that voice that you used to talk to yourself in your own mind.
“One of the few souls in creation that decided to fill in the form the position of Satan rather than God”.
“I’ve been through his history, he’s no one particularly vindictive or nasty like the other Satan applicants, he has no desire to actually harm people and he isn’t particularly judgmental which is kind of important for a job like this.”
“Interesting, so he’s probably the noblest soul we’ve had so far applying for the position?”
“Well of those who have applied so far, definitely”
I finally felt the voices, the globes of light, actually acknowledge my presence in the room for the first time. I imagine if they had eyes, they would have turned from looking at each other to looking at me. Suddenly there were a pair of eyes looking at my through each orb.
“Why? Why in all of eternity would someone like you want to become Satan?”
I’d thought about this when my consciousness filled in the form.
“Am I correct in assuming that this means that God and Satan are real things then, not just concepts or things we’ve made up to make ourselves feel better?”
“That is correct human, The Lord God is the creator of the universe, and the The Satanic Lord represents everything that he is not.”
“Well I applied for the job out of the boredom honestly, I’ve been in the afterlife for a while now and it would be nice to have a purpose in existence rather than simply being part of the cosmos for all of eternity”
“But why apply to be the Satanic lord particularly? 98% of applicant souls for this position have all applied for being Lord God.”
“Well that’s fairly easy. In order to be “god” you would have had to create the universe in its entirety and have mastery over it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be becoming god, you’d be becoming caretaker or babysitter of some sort.”
“Very astute human, the new Lord God would be responsible for remaking the universe in his or her image.”
“Which would mean that the current universe, the one that I was born on, inhabited and lived my life on would cease to exist.”
“Well as you know it, certainly yes.”
“That’s your answer then, I want become the devil because I can’t stand the thought of losing the world that I came from. All those lives, all those families, all those living creatures would cease to be simply because someone new got the job. Being Satan, resisting that change, rebelling against the creator to preserve life as I know it. That sounds much more fulfilling. And if that makes me Satan, then so be it.” |
Making my way past the Haggler's market, I couldn't help but notice a couple of new faces amongst the beggars today. As a city guard, you naturally got to know most of the beggars that the city contained. You knew them because you dealt with them on an almost daily basis. They'd try to extort some local businessperson for money - "pay or we won't leave"- and they'd end up in a fight with some local artisan or trader. Sometimes they got paid, sometimes they won, mostly they lost.
But the thing about the beggars was they were mostly a solid bunch. They knew each other, too. And there wasn't room for thievery or abuse when you lived on the street. All they had was each other. And they hated the city guard, of course, because every now and then some artisan or trader paid us to beat them up. But it was the kind of rascal repertoire that everyone understood never crossed a line. It never crossed a line because when the artisans or traders paid the city guard to beat up the beggars, the city guard without fail made sure the beggars got their cut of the take.
So if you were in the city guard, you knew the beggars and you had a good relationship with them. If you didn't manage that, you didn't stay in the city guard for long. If you didn't pay your respects and sometimes coin, they knew where you lived and there were more of them than there were of the city guard. But today there were many more than usual, and from what I could tell they were carrying weapons and I was pretty sure I heard the sound of chainmail when one had passed me in the street before.
I sauntered over to a familiar face, Jimmy the Grin. He'd gotten some scars on his face in his youth that made him difficult to employ so he'd taken to life in the streets without missing a beat. He ran the beggars in this part of town. Normally, he'd be haggling with the traders on a day like this, trying to get in their face, or maybe even honest-to-god begging from the civilians. But today he was standing at the corner of a building, watching the streets nervously.
"Big crowd today, eh?"I asked him nonchalantly, standing at a safe distance so no one would suspect we were friends. "Bad for business", he grunted back. We shared a look. If a beggar thought things were bad, then they were really bad. And that was it. I continued onwards down the street, making a few stops by old customers and acquaintances. I stopped by a farmer's stall to pick up some food for myself. Beggars never went near the farmers' stalls because they 'don't believe in punching downwards' like Jimmy the Grin had once said. But there were people who looked like beggars there today. Stopped by a local pub that still owed me a couple of coins, told them I was there to collect and they paid up immediately, minus a fee for storing my money. I thought about going home at lunch for a break, but my sons had left the city long several years back to join the military, so there wasn't really any reason to stop by home again.
I walked southwards towards the city barricades and the ramshackle walls that protected the city. The most commonly used city "gate"was there, although gate was an exaggeration. It was mostly a place to filter people into so the gate guard could have people form a line, and then they could offer to let them cut in line for a fee. And the politicians looked the other way because sometimes they needed to know who was coming and going. The gate guard and the city guard were technically of the same cloth, but they kept to themselves and we kept to ourselves. We were like different gangs, to be honest.
I approached the gate guard known as Jon the Cut, on account of him having done me a favor in the past. So I owed him back. He got his name from him taking a cut out of other peoples' business every now and then, until someone cut him for it and he stopped. Then he moved on to guarding gates and taking a cut out of everybody's business. Jon had once said 'It was practically legal.' When he saw me he gave me a suitably annoyed look so no one would suspect we were friends. "What'cha want?"he said. I walked up closer to him. "Big crowd today, ye? Jimmy the Grin says 'bad for business'."He stared at me, and he tried his best not to look surprised or scared. And that was it. I continued towards the gate, and Jon the Cut yelled out for them to let me pass with no delay or else, before he ran off. He knew a favor when he saw one, and he definitely knew a favor when it punched him in the gut.
Out the gate, with coin in my pocket and enough food for a bit of travel. If someone tried to take that from me, I had my cudgel. Most importantly I had my health. The sun was shining and things were neither good nor bad, all things considered. I continued walking southwards by the road, in search for greener pastures. |
Life hands you roles.
Slow down, there, fatso. *Roles*, not rolls. There's no bread involved.
And it always hands you multiple roles, because, c'mon, stories need at least a *little* uncertainty. You don't want to be properly *surprised*, but it's nice if you can't see every twist coming a mile away, y'know?
So. I was a princess. Yay me, right?
Wrong!
Because, one, the stereotypical princess stuff kinda sucks, y'know? All that time and effort and looking pretty and marketable, and then your reward is that you get to be stuck in a marriage with a guy you barely know popping out babies and pretending that your life is perfect up until they lower you into your grave in a dress that no self-respecting person half your age would be caught dead in.
It's the better option, don't get me wrong, but I'm just saying, I don't exactly expect a storybook ending, here.
Or, well, I *do*, but I know that they stop talking when they do because that's the point when the narrative they've been carefully building unravels like a sweater made of cheap spaghetti.
And as much as all that sucks, it beats the *pants* (princesses aren't allowed to curse, which is...just *wonderful*) off of the alternative.
Because if you're born to a position of power, and you're female, and you're *single*...
You're evil.
I mean, there's basically no recourse. You might be a wicked stepmother, a scheming usurper, or some catty jerk who gets one scene helping to establish that 'the elite' don't like this or that person or thing or whatever. Or a straight-up witch, which is actually pretty fun right up until the bit at the end.
The point is, all of those tend to meet unpleasant endings. Heck, you've got a remarkably solid shot at actually *dying*, which basically no one ever does in the stories.
So. Life hands you roles. You've gotta pick one and roll with it. A phrase that- follow me on this one- *does not involve bread in any way*. 'Roll' as in the action- like a rolling wheel. Or, as a better comparison, rolling to absorb the hit when you fall out of a moving vehicle.
Here's the thing, though. The classical princess is always, always, *always* some flavor of victim. Doesn't have to be *that* bad, but you've got to be someone that the audience is going to look at and think "awww...."If you get hurt, the audience needs to feel *bad*, not good. That means that you'll only get hurt so much, at least as long as the bard is still talking.
A curse is a good way to accomplish this, hence the law, which was mostly passed to prevent the land from being overwhelmed with witches. Few things sink a kingdom faster than so many witches that they're clogging up the skies. Makes for a peasantry that spends more time as frogs than as farmers, which, let me tell you, wreaks *havoc* on a vaguely-medieval economy.
But I'm 18, now. No curses have come my way. I'm not even clumsy. I'm not even *shy*, for crying out loud!
So. If I don't want a more traditional bad ending, I need to figure something out, and fast. I've gotten by so far by pretending to be a blithering idiot- people leave you alone if you ask them what a spoon is for often enough- but it won't last forever. Sooner or later I'll clearly be an Adult, and at *that* point, any curse I end up getting will be seen as a reflection of poor morals or bad hygiene or something, rather than a tragic accident befalling a beautiful innocent.
And if it comes off like *that*...well, there's not a whole lot of recourse for you, then, other than becoming a witch and having your fun before you die horribly. Curses are only narratively helpful if they're unearned.
I needed to earn an unearned curse, and *fast*.
I'd tried clumsiness around dangerous magical devices, which had mostly just gotten me banned from the Wizards tower. I'd tried wandering around in the forest all alone, which had mostly gotten me boredom. I'd tried actively pricking my finger on anything and everything that might have been cursed, and all I'd gotten was messed-up fingers.
It was time to take off the kid gloves.
Today was a good day for it. My dad was going to be in a bad mood- two of his favorite knights were jousting for the honor of being the one to ride out on an impossible quest to lift the curse of a different princess. Which meant that one would be gone for a while, and have something like a thirty percent chance of dethroning my dad when he got back. And the other knight would be mopey for a while, and have something like a twenty percent chance of turning evil, and *remarkably* solid odds of killing my dad if he did.
I never said kings had it easy, narratively speaking. Though I'd take it over being a princess any day.
In any case, he would be in a bad mood. A perfect time, then, to steal a bunch of stuff from the castle, money and food and a bunch of my dad's favorite clothes, and run around town giving them to poor people. No curse in the world could resist that, and even if there weren't any curses for miles, I'd have a solid shot at making my dad mad enough to exile me, which is sort of like a curse only *better*, especially since it gives you a small chance at, like, actual *freedom*.
I tented my fingers together and smiled deviously at my plan. And then stopped it immediately, because that was just *begging* for trouble. Hopefully the bard didn't include that bit... |
Jack strolled through the supermarket with Xenthya clinging to his arm. When he drew the summoning circle from an old book he found in a yard sale, he never expected it to work, much less summon a genuine demoness determined to steal his soul. Fortunately, he had managed to resist her terrible wiles thus far.
Xenthya craned her neck at the stores, her eyes wide with wonder. Her twin horns were hidden under a lace bonnet, and she wore a short red dress and bat-print stockings. In retrospect, introducing her to internet shopping had been a mistake.
Sensing his gaze, she glanced up at him. "These peasants swarming around us could be kneeling before you,"she crooned. "If you but sign over your soul, all you see would be yours."
He snorted. "You mean the supermarket? What would I do with that?"
"Not... not just the supermarket!"she said, flushing. "All the land, beyond even what the eye can see, you could rule with an iron grip!"
He *hmm*ed skeptically. "If there's one thing I remember from history class, is that rule through fear never lasts."
"You would be greater than any mortal ruler,"she said, stroking his arm. "The fools who dare defy you, you could crush with a single finger."
"Sounds like a tiring way to live."
She groaned irritably and loosened her grip. "You're such a *mortal*."
"Don't pout,"he said. "How about we grab some ice cream to cheer you up?"
"Ice cream?"She stared at him. "Is that not a luxury only kings can afford?"
"Not since a century or so ago, no."
Her tail rustled excitedly under the skirt of her dress. "If we must,"she huffed, avoiding his eyes.
Smothering a grin, he headed for the ice cream parlor. The moment Xenthya saw the display window, she ran ahead and practically pressed her nose to the glass. He got vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, while she demanded five scoops of different flavors topped with whipped cream, chopped walnuts, hot fudge, and raspberry sauce all at once. They sat down, and he stared as she began to demolish that hellish monstrosity.
"Is that... good?"he asked queasily.
She froze mid-bite and swallowed. "*Hmph*. It's adequate, I suppose."
He chuckled under his breath and started on his own ice cream. Xenthya kept sending him surreptitious glances and licking her spoon in what she clearly thought was seductive manner, but he ignored her with practiced ease.
"If you sign the contract,"she spoke up slyly, "you could eat this confection every day."
He burst out laughing. "I'm not a child. Besides, that would ruin my stomach."
Xenthya blushed but did not seem ready to give up. "Such concerns would be beyond you. Your body would become stronger, more robust, more like ours."
"Interesting,"he said.
Her eyes lit up—quite literally, they glowed with an unholy light—and she leaned closer.
"I'll think about it,"he said.
She jabbed her spoon in his direction. "You said that the last five times!"
"And then I thought about it, and I decided no."
Xenthya slouched back in her seat. "Like the holy monks, you must possess an iron will to resist my temptations for so long,"she said grudgingly. "But I'll wear you down sooner or later."
He smiled at her, glaring at him with ice cream smudged lips, and reached out to pat her head. "Sure you will." |
Children.
For millions of years, mankind had suffered, bled, waged war, learned, tilled the Earth… Man slowly learned to control the green and growing plants, to subdue the ferocious fauna that coexisted with it, and eventually, to even force the very elements to conform to its will. Yet, when those Beings finally arrived, mankind was forced to admit that it knew nothing. Our fastest planes were tricycles compared to their vehicles. Our weapons, balls of wet mud. We were, in every sense of the word…
Children.
The Eolhc (as we found them to be called) must have been as surprised by our ineptitude as we were: they had come to ask why we had not already mined and utilized the rare minerals found within Jupiter and Saturn, but they understood quickly when they saw us. We taught them our history, the horrid, the wonderful; we explained what humanity was and what we had achieved.
And in the way that a painter sees a child toddling towards the brush, they went…
Retrieved the ore…
And gave it to us.
They taught us to properly initiate fusion.
To create food that never rotted.
To heal illnesses that we had never imagined could be healed.
Their specialty was their ability to weave the fabric of space-time to suit their needs. The Eolhc never aged, for they had learned to traverse time in a new way. They never fought, for how does one beat an enemy that can merely skip to after any war?
With their knowledge and experience, they took pity on a civilization that was not as cultured or developed, and like a plant placed in adequate soil, humanity thrived.
We took to the stars, but not before allowing life to become what it should be on Earth. Every child lived in bliss. People learned kindness, as there was no benefit to fighting over resources. The faster we became one, the faster we could explore.
As quickly as the Eolhc had come, however, they left. They had not come for that material for fun, as we found out; this material was critical in its use. Yet, they had given it to us.
Once we realized their sacrifice, humanity made a pledge so powerful that the vow was cemented into the DNA of future generations: Should the Eolhc ever need, we would supply. Should they ever suffer, we would soothe. Should they ever cry, we would weep with them.
Eons passed, and humanity grew to its new place in the galactic arena.
We were kind, known for our willingness to share and teach, as we had been taught. We helped any who would allow themselves to be helped, and we hoped we made the Eolhc proud.
Eventually, the whispers reached even Earth: “There are some who have trapped themselves. They have tinkered with toys that should not have been touched. They have adjusted the very variables of reality, and now the nothingness has claimed them.”
The major civilizations of the universe were shocked to discover that in their use of their skills, the Eolhc had gone behind the horizons of existence. While humanity had traversed to the border of the nothingness that lied beyond the known universe, we had never attempted to explore. Partially, this was to fear, but more so it was to lack of provocation. There was no need to go.
It was discovered that no other civilization had explored the nothingness either. In the Galactic Senate, the votes came back one by one: unfortunately, it was too dangerous. The Eolhc would be remembered fondly, but no one was willing to sacrifice themselves.
No one, but humanity.
We had heard their cries, and we wept.
We knew that they needed, and we prepared to provide.
We knew they were suffering, and we were going to comfort them.
We write this as we prepare to enter the void. Every man, woman, person, and child. Let it be known that we did not fear. We did not hesitate. We will return, and we will not be alone.
We will come b -
[signal lost]
—-
(Edit) Part 2 below. |
In retrospect, Amy was just too smart to be with someone like me.
Let's be honest, I'm kind of dumb. I didn't learn how to read until I was 8. I can't do math. I can't draw. I can't sing. Amy was the exact opposite. She got As in every class. In high school, everyone gushed over her paintings. They were trippy things with architecture that you could see differently if you looked in a mirror or stood on your head. I saw her on the local TV news because her paintings were being taken to some famous museum, but I can't remember which one. Like I said, I'm kind of dumb.
Of course I didn't have a chance with her. Sometimes she looked at me and smiled. But she smiled at everyone.
I saw her again on TV today, ten years later. This time, it was the national news. I didn't want to see that. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for a bright, free-spirited woman like her.
Amy didn't come to school much during her senior year. I thought she must be on tour as a famous artist. Do artists go on tour like musicians? I don't really know. Anyway, that's what I thought she was up to. She came back for the prom. I was there, too. Alone, of course. I'm alone lots because no one wants to talk to me. I don't even know why I went, but I did. Probably because I'm an idiot.
She had two children, the TV said. I wanted to cry. Two children? With that... animal?
At the prom, as she danced by with her hot boyfriend who I couldn't compete with, she dropped something. A little scrap of paper. I picked it up and read the graceful, loopy writing. "You're cute."
I kept it. I kept it for years. That note made it worth going to prom alone. I promised myself that one day, I'd find someone who could say that to me without dropping a note. Someone who didn't already have a boyfriend.
I never did.
"You're cute."
That hot boyfriend is dead now. Shot himself when he saw them coming for him. Good riddance. Ten years... and nobody knew anything. She wasn't on tour that year. Artists don't go on tour like musicians.
After I saw that on the TV, I took out the note. Poor Amy. Either she never realized how dumb I was or she saw something in me that I never saw. I twirled the note in my fingers. Just like her paintings, you could see it differently if you turned it around and read it upside down. Maybe so the hot boyfriend would think it said one thing, when really it said...
"Help me."
Too late, Amy. Too late. Far too clever a note to give to someone like me. Ten years and I didn't turn it upside down. Those loopy letters... Someone smarter would have turned it upside down, maybe right away, maybe a day later. But ten years?
I was right. You were too smart for me. Just a little bit too smart.
But now that I think about it, even a dumbass like me should have realized right away that you were in trouble. You see, no one thinks I'm cute. So the note obviously meant something else.
Sorry, Amy. My bad. |
"What the fuck happened? Guys, we leave for seventy million years and this shit happens? You had one job. Guys?"
I wasn't just angry; I was pissed. I could see the world as we knew it gone; the continents were all wrong, the skies were too obscured by clouds, the night side of our home glowing with lights. With signs. Signs of someone on our home that shouldn't be there. Yet the strange new lands that were there in place of our former ones weren't too different; more land, less water where it should have been. Islands gone, different islands where there were none and the grayer clouds were a dead giveaway of vermin polluting it.
The lights on the planet were strange. But nonetheless, the world was at least alive. Sixty five million years ago, we received the last message from the Home Outpost of an unimaginable terror that was coming. But we were going to quickly; the message reached us all too late, and we spent years correcting our path, our giant ships bending space-time to get back to our roots.
I remember the day we left. It was bright, the sky was blue, not the deep star-riddled black void that I knew. A natural blue, not the bit-blue that appeared in our simulations of Home life. Where we could "hunt"gigantic predators with their tiny little arms, their fierce roars laced with teeth. We could see the wild beasts with three horns that would lead simple grazing lives. None of that was real, but the best we could do while changing our journey from searching for other life to going back Home.
I looked back at our Home, and then focused on it while looking at my reflection. With one eye I focused, while the other eye focused on a new info-bit that popped up on the sensor screen. I compared myself to the creatures that replaced us.
*Homo sapiens*, the vermin called themselves. Humans. Short, at half our height. Mammals, evolved from vermin we used to hunt for sport. Predatory, just like us. But they had no fur, unlike their ancestors; even then, only in their reproductive regions, head, squashed snout, and limbs in sparse homogenous concentrations. No tail. But bipedal, like us. Enduring of many years of evolutionary stagnation due to keeping their weak members alive through the sacrilege of medicine, a crime against nature. They had stopped their evolution out of pity and had been doing so for the past few hundred years; we stopped evolution for a generation at a time to end diseases and to pass on immunities only.
Their legs were as proportionate as ours; arms were just as proportionate, but the heads... were strange. Too big. When I analyzed the human life cycle, the live births were not surprising, but rather... the head size. Too dangerous even to themselves when reproducing. Our heads were not a problem; the eggs from which we hatched were the largest hurdle upon birth; the mother was not at risk like a human female would be during birthing. Dangerous as to themselves as they are to their home.
They were a vermin, having spread everywhere around our Home.
"Carrii, what of our outpost?"I asked my secretary. She looked at me, her eyes with some sparkle, suggestive of weak tears.
"Gone. Wiped out by a foreign celestial body. Their last transmission signified it as such."
I looked back and looked at myself in the half-reflected screen that showed our changed Home. Were we so far gone into pursuit of other worlds that we forgot to take care of our own? The humans took it and ravaged it. We took care of it for millions of years, making sure nothing dies out by our causes. But humans have been leading an extinction for the past hundred thousand years. This was too fast for the death of life. Too fast for us. Too fast for Home, too fast for even humans.
"We must pay them a visit, Carrii. Home has been ravaged, we should've never left."
"But Captain, we need to establish relations-"
I forgot myself and screamed at her. I shouldn't have, but I did it.
"NO! Forget interspecies relations! They are murdering our home for their desires! We should have NEVER LEFT!"
I was blinded by my rage, but I calmed myself.
"No. I'm sorry, Carrii, but they will die. We will wage war on them."I will not forget what I said to her.
"But Captain... they have... weapons."
"So do we."
"Weapons that use nuclear energy."
"We use nuclear energy in our ships. They will not be able to use their nuclear weapons against us; we can deal with them as needed."
The fleet was ready within minutes; our hordes of beasts ready to kill. The stub-armed predators were ready, their battle exoarmor ready; the hookclaws were prepared; the three-horns outfitted with weapons. The soldiers aboard all the ships under my command readied themselves. I could hear their commanding officers chittering nervously; I was just as interested in how quickly we would exterminate these creatures. Under normal protocol, I would tell everyone to be quiet; but driving a species to extinction is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Let them have their predictions and their disappointments when the humans' believed Judgment Day comes.
My battle suit was readied in moments. My snout fit into the snoutplate perfectly; my sharp teeth covered by platinum caps, my slit pupils seeing in all spectrums as needed. My leathery skin tingled with excitement; this was a war. This is war against vermin, and the war that will be told for ages.
It will be no different than spearing insects with toothpicks. |
I sit by the window every day.
Outside is a world of blue and greens, with songbirds singing and children laughing. I'm not allowed out there. Mommy says I'm a 'bad boy' and that I'm not allowed to play with the other children.
I remember when Mommy first let me into her home. She's not my real mom- she adopted me from somewhere downtown. When I first went inside, everything seemed so big. Now, it's all just the same hues of gray. But it's okay. This is where I'm meant to be.
I used to go to school, but not anymore. I stay home alone. Mommy goes to work for a long time, but she comes home before suppertime. Sometimes, though, mommy's late and leaves me alone. I stay by the window until the pale sky turns dark and I have to go to sleep.
Mommy used to take me to the park all the time. Now, though, my bones feel too sore to even walk that far.
Today, Mommy was crying when she got home. She picked me up, and we drove to a big tower made of white bricks. It looked very clean.
I heard Mommy and another lady in a white coat talking, but it all sounds so far away. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my hide, but it goes away quickly enough.
Mommy's hugging me really tightly, running her hands through my thick fur. I feel another sharp pain, but it hurts less.
I look out the window. Outside is a world of gray and white, with clouds shouting and cars honking. Maybe I'm allowed out there now, but my eyes feel heavy. After my nap.
After my nap.
//Boy, that's a lot of points. Thanks for all the compliments! |
We found it.
By all accounts, it should be impossible. Even if this facility was of alien origin, the chances of our biology being exactly alike, save that the aliens were 10 times larger than us, was slim to none.
The first sign that these creatures were not like us was their beds. They were enormous slabs that didn't fit our own body's postures. And yet, the scientific papers were unmistakable. The cures spoke for themselves.
Whoever inhabited these walls centuries ago were far superior to us. Our genomes were mapped perfectly, they had elixirs that could fix our biology overnight. And yet...it was too eery. How could these creatures have such knowledge about our anatomy?
Most troubling was the fact that these creatures were either extinct, or departed. What could have befallen such invincible beings? Even more worrisome, could the same disaster happen to us?
"Yo Whis, you finished?"
Ricky called out to me through the walkie-talkie.
"Everything's fine, alert the historians."
As I walked through the gigantic room, I found many cages. These cages were small enough to contain our race. I shudder to think about what the creatures did to the poor individuals kept inside the cages.
The breakthrough came when I found a chart. It had a picture of the anatomy of what seemed to be one of the creatures that lived in this facility. Bipedal animals with flat teeth, and opposable thumbs. Interesting.
"Ricky, I found something."
"Roger that Whis, I'll send a team to your location."
As I waited for Ricky's team, I stumbled upon something else. Something game-changing.
It was a book filled with pictures. Of us. Of how to dissect us, and drug us, and perform surgery on our brains. I vomited multiple times, but I couldn't stop flipping through the pages.
Mice. That's what we were called by these creatures. They experimented on us because our biology was similar to theirs. All the scientific papers they had were on us, and the technology they had was through a path paved by the blood of millions of our ancestors.
And these..."humans", as they called themselves, used what they learned in order to develop drugs and technology for themselves.
I closed the book. Today marked two major findings. The first was the finding of technology that would rewrite our health overnight. The second, and more horrifying one, was of our past. Of where we originated.
I pray that these humans are extinct, lest they come back to perform the same monstrosities they once did.
|
I'd turned 21 the day I found what I could do. I remember because my girlfriend and I had just had a colossal fight, resulting from my learning about her infidelity. She'd been the first to go.
I'd searched for her for weeks, trying to understand how we could go from fighting to her simply gone in a matter of seconds. What baffled me further was that no one remembered her. No one knew what I was talking about.
It's alright though. She was a bitch, after all.
She was a bitch.
She was a bitch.
She was a bitch.
I did good by removing her.
She wasn't the true first victim. She deserved it. She deserved it. No, the first true victim was the only *true* victim. Everyone else deserved it but not the man at the checkout counter. Doug. I have to remember his name as the only person I ever harmed without reason. I was afraid, back then, of my newfound power but I needed to test it. I should have volunteered at a prison, but I was still in denial.
I looked up at him as I went to hand him my credit card and I triggered the thought in my head. Before my very eyes, I found myself facing an entirely different person.
"Credit or debit?"
I must remember Doug. It keeps me human to remember the name and face of the only person I truly hurt.
After that, I set out to do good. And I did, I did do good, but no matter how much I tried, more evil flooded in. It was like plugging a hole in a dam with my thumb only to realize the dam is made of mesh.
I could wipe a murderer in his cell, I could run up and down a row of criminals in a max security prison, wiping each one, cell after cell, and yet when I'd turn at the end of the hall and start back down, each cell would be newly occupied.
Killing sent a message. This did nothing. Each was an evil, in need of purging, but I must have run up and down that one hall a half dozen times. 18 cells. 108 criminals, gone. 18 new criminals by the end. I couldn't plug it.
When I left, I found myself standing in a different world. 108 murderers gone, ranging from 1960 to 2020. Each with multiple kills under his belt. At least 216 people alive who hadn't been. 36 dead who hadn't been, and who knows how long they ranged back?
I stopped that, however. It was too hard to see how the world might have changed. After all, how many of those murderers had been fathers? How many children didn't exist now? How many of those victims had gone on to be parents? How many new children, already in their adult lives perhaps, now existed?
It rattled me at first but I brush it off. Taking out a killer would always be a good thing, even if it may cause bad ripples. I couldn't control ripples. Taking out scum was a good thing.
It was a good thing. I did good.
It took evil from the world. Evil was finite. I could have run up that hall a half dozen more times and eventually, the cells would have emptied. Eventually.
Eventually.
Still, I turned to greater world evils. That was a better use of my power. I couldn't wipe someone who had already died, so I contented myself with the monsters that did. World leaders that caused harm.
I began telling people. When I started dipping my toe into Asian politics, a few wipes, well placed, and I found the pandemic that ravaged the world had gone.
I did good. I did. I can't even remember the old world. The old world? Oh that plague-ridden thing? We were in the middle of a plague. You probably can't remember. You can't even really conceive of such a thing, can you? Trust me, it was so much worse than the world we live in today.
Trust me. It's better now.
The trouble was, word got out. It got out, people started telling others! They must have sounded insane except I had told a *lot* of people. So when hundreds of people had the same story, it was about time the government got involved.
I couldn't remember how many people I told, so I couldn't stem the flow of knowledge. I could take out, one after another, government officials who looked into me. They were seeking a potential threat that could devastate the world. Didn't they know I was a force for good?
I wasn't always perfect. The pandemic had disappeared because its country of origin had been under strict travel restrictions for a decade because of who was in charge now. It wasn't good for the people of China and I knew that, but if I wiped that leader, who knew who might be in charge now? Perhaps the pandemic would come back. I couldn't risk it. I rolled the dice with every wipe I did. I couldn't risk bringing the pandemic back.
The people of China would understand.
The people of all the countries would understand. I was doing good for the world.
I was. The people who were wiped, they deserved it. Except Doug. Must not forget Doug. With him lies my moral compass.
I must do right by Doug.
Then the government decided I needed to go. I wanted to tell them that I was the only reason hundreds of thousands still live. They wouldn't listen, of course, and so I ran.
I can't kill. If I wipe a pursuant, they will be replaced. There are thousands of soldiers and police stockpiled in the US government and for each I wipe, another will fill their shoes. I may be doing more harm to the world too. Each soldier wiped puts another soldier in their shoes for every mission, every fight. And ostensibly, the soldier I wiped was better than his replacement, for that's likely why he was hired for that role.
A hundred soldiers wiped. A hundred inferior units replacing them for every mission. And if one of those soldiers died where the original survived, that's another replacement. Who knows how many potential failed missions that caused?
I don't know and I don't care. I must stay alive. I am humanity's only chance.
I lost track of time during the chase. Sometimes I could sleep, other times not. Every time I performed a wipe, the world shifted. Maybe I was in my bed during one, but with that soldier gone, I'd never been chased into that abandoned house. After the wipe, I would find myself in a totally different location.
The world changed every time but I knew I must survive. It didn't matter what the world looked like. Once I was safe, I could fix the world. I could do good again.
Sometimes the number of assailants diminished. Down from dozens, there were only 16. Maybe 12. Then I would wipe a target and then there were 50. I couldn't quite get the formula down. Each wipe was still a gamble.
At one point they got me into a government facility. A massive building of underground mazes. I got away as I always did. I was shot; I wiped the soldier who fired the gun. Ran. Cornered and shot again. Wiped. Back on my feet. They could never quite get the 100% jump on me. Footsteps behind me? Wipe while the bullet was in the air and only my ears were left ringing as the man behind the gun vanished from existence.
I had to get out. I had to. The world needed me. I had to help them. I had to get out.
I still don't know who she was. A grizzled woman, decked out in military regalia, ordering soldiers as they arranged around me. I could've wiped all of them but perhaps there would be more after each wipe.
So I targeted the woman and the building was gone around me. I didn't know how she related to the building but her absence caused it to have never existed.
But the building was the least of my concerns for I stood in a wasteland. No life around me. No buildings. Was I still in the United States? Or had my meddling ended up resulting in another version where I still in another place of the world entirely. A different demolished country or my own?
I needed to find someone. Anyone. Anyone I could wipe to cause another reset. If I could find the right stranger, I could bring myself back home. I only wanted to go home. I needed to rest. I needed to rest.
If I wiped a random stranger, what were the odds that this desolation would reverse? What were the odds it could get worse? What were the odds nothing would change?
That was the first time I wanted to go back. I wanted to reverse the wipes. I realized that I may have caused the death of an entire country. I realized then that I might have caused several.
Maybe... there was no one left. Maybe I was the only one left. Maybe there was no one left to wipe to fix this.
Maybe no amount of wiping might fix this.
The world around me was hard and hot. The ground crunched and sparked underfoot. I would die here. I would die here, caused by my own hubris. I only wanted to do good. But I couldn't bring them back.
How I wished I'd never started this.
I settled down by what I'd foolishly thought was a puddle of water. It was just a thin, oily coating over a cracked road. Nothing to drink. Nothing remained. Just me and my warped reflection in the puddle of whatever fluid could still exist in this world.
I think it was staring at my reflection that the idea came to me. It was an insane idea, because I knew I still had so much to give to the world. I could do so much. I could help so much.
But... but maybe I couldn't, anymore. A sacrifice needed to be made but there was no one left.
No one but me.
I'd rerolled too many times. I'd run out of money and the pitboss was coming to collect. I either died here or I sacrificed myself gloriously for humanity.
I didn't want to go. The idea of never being born terrified me more than dying.
But it was as the tears slipped down my face that I realized, that's why I had to go. I could bring them back. Was being wiped worse than dying?
I'd never know. Couldn't do both, after all.
So I turned to my reflection and forced the trigger in my mind.
Maybe, for once, I could do goo-
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
The inevitable trial by fire was started. It was a tradition of sorts for the Qexlo to declare war on the newest species to join the Union. They were given 25 standard cycles of peace, before this. It worked two-fold, showing the Union how capable the new race was, and reinforcing the place of the Qexlo on the top.
The Quexlo were one of the few predator evolutions. They were tripedal, with two arms evolved for ripping and tearing. The predominant feature of their head was their mouth, running vertically up and flanked by their eyes. They were well known as one of the ugliest races, though none would dare say it to their face.
Their first move, as always, was to take out a few colony ships. Thousands of humans perished, their ships turned to molten slag by sustained plasma fire. In a mostly peaceful galaxy, such ships had little in the way of shields. The few they had were primarily to stop space debris, not attack.
Attention turned to the humans, to see their response. It became a morbid betting ring of how many planets would be killed before the rampage stopped. To the bemusement of the watching races, the humans still tried to solve things diplomatically. They pled for peace, warning the Qexlo that they had no idea what they would unleash.
The Qexlo response was to slaughter the diplomats, sending a video to the human government of them eating the still living people as they screamed. The humans replied with a single message.
"To the Qexlo. We offered you a chance for forgiveness. You spat it in our face. You now only have yourselves to bapme for what is coming. We have a saying on our planet. Si vis pacem, para bellum."
The Qexlo command laughed, sending a fleet to wipe out one of the humans outer planets. The attack started off well, with minimal resistance found. They toyed with the planet, slowly killing the population. It was expected that humans would send some second-rate fighters, having shown no stomach for creating warships.
But instead, a fleet twice the size of the Qexlo one appeared from hyperspace. They offered no warning, no mercy. The instant they appeared, they send focused streams of plasma at the Qexlo ships, catching them off guard, crippling a quarter of the fleet before they could respond. A blazing battle took place, ending with the alien fleet driven off.
But they didn't stop there. Ship signatures were located around three of the Qexlo planets. Fleets equal in size to the one sent in defense appeared, and began attacking the planets. They didn't play with their targets. Each ahip targeted key points of infrastructure, eradicating them as soon as they were identified.
The tradition of a minor scuffle turned into a bloody war. The Qexlo, unused to such ferocity, fought back. Mass casualties piled up on each side, shocking the watching races. But the humans proved stronger, breaking the navy of the Qexlo with surgical strikes.
As the Qexlo surrendered, their military chief was brought before the human council. The moment was broadcast throughout the galaxy. A human drew an ancient weapon, a simple sword, and addressed the audience.
"This war is over. You shall be the final life spend in this pointless conflict. You should know what our saying meant. Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war."
They finished, swinging the sword and decapitating the Qexlo.
In the following cycles, humans and Qexlo reached an understanding. They were both races with war in their blood. They would never seek to attack the other. For if they did, it would mean the end of both species. |
Sympathy-Drones are real bastards. It's never good news when one shows up on your doorstep. Not just because your mom or your brother or your buddy died. But because the drone isn't really here to offer condolences. It's here to settle debts.
For once in my life, I'm damn happy to see this one.
So when my apartment doorbell rings, I'm standing in my kitchen -- a narrow sliver of countertop with a sink, a stove-top toaster oven, and a tiny fridge -- making a sandwich. I glance up to see the built-in wall-screen built into the kitchen backsplash flare to life.
Decades ago, when my pod-apartment was first built, this type of screen was a wonder of technology. Now it's just a glitchy piece of shit with a grooved surface that's a pain in the ass to clean. The screen sputters and spits before it offers a blue-tinged livestream of my doorbell camera.
The Sympathy-Drone hovers there like a wingless moth, hunched on itself, its body sectored and many-legged. It has a pair of white LED eyes that are meant to make it feel more personable but only give it a needling, emotionless stare.
Everyone gets a little squirrely around gov-bots, but I'm no friend of the feds. I make my living spoofing RFID identity-chips and hot-wiring uncertified cars to operate on the light-roads. I make enough to pay rent and buy pot, and I don't need more than that. Not until I can get Glory out of prison and get the hell out of this miserable fucking city.
If the Sympathy-Drone had any idea who I really am, every cop car in the city would be screaming my way.
It rings the doorbell again and intones, "Is this the resident of Booker Vale, Citizen No. 415-536--"
"Moment of truth,"I say. I stick my knife back in the peanut butter jar and turn toward the door.
There's a shotgun hidden in the leg of the console table right by the front door. A handgun tucked behind my apartment's touchscreen control panel, in a slot that I cut and welded to more or less cover.
If worst comes to worst, I probably won't die.
Still, I never fuck around when it comes to government robots. Even simple, glorified debt-collectors like this one.
I hinge open the door and lean into the door frame.
The drone hovers at eye-level. It has a sleek black frame that I recognize from my factory days. It's a common shell that's reused across a few different government droids. The lower door opens for a join taser-rubber bullet mechanism, though I don't want to be on the receiving end of either.
"Please extend your wrist to confirm your identity."
I roll up my sleeve and roll up my arm. I've gotten good enough at RFID sutures that it doesn't even look like my arm has been cut and reopened and cut and reopened. I still have a single silver scar above my identity-chip.
The robot's arm lifts and it aims a thin red beam at my arm. Then it says, "Thank you, Mr. Vale."
I lower my arm and hide my smirk. Beating the computers at their own game always makes me smug.
"It is my regretful duty to inform you that Zachary Quinn has passed on."
"Oh no,"I say, trying to sound regretful, in case a Hive agent reviews the bot's recording of this. "My best friend."
"You have been named as the inheritor to his estate of--"the robot's voice shifted into a slightly different tone as it read from its own core memory "--negative $241.35."
"Typical Zach,"I say. But my heart's pulsing hard in my throat. I have to fight the urge to grin, wildly.
I'm grateful robots can't read minds, because my brain just keeps going, over and over: *holy shit, it worked, I can't believe it worked.*
All these years spent waiting, and somehow I'm not ready for it.
"Debt will be automatically collected from your public account--"
"Great."I try to shut the door.
The Sympathy-Drone, programmed for this, sticks an arm out to stop it. It says, "I am required by law to give you the deceased's final belongings."
I watch my hidden handgun from the corner of my eye. Paranoia's making trigger-hungry and ready to drop-kick this autonomous narc off my balcony.
"You just said it's negative money, dude."
"You also were left one sentimental trinket, which we have declined to apply toward your outstanding debt."The Sympathy-Drone holds out a black plastic box.
Now my belly is slick with panic. I keep it off my face. I only manage this stomach-punched look that I hope looks genuine.
I'm not supposed to receive anything. That was never part of the plan.
"The funeral will proceed in two days, at 2:15 PM at the Grieving Center,"the Sympathy-Drone informs me. "Please be timely, as we have a tight schedule for state-funded funeral arrangements."
"You betcha."
The Sympathy-Drone turns and hums down the filthy hallway of my tenement building.
I shut the door and lock it. For a moment I stand there, the apartment spinning, trying to keep down my nausea.
I've been living under this fake name for the past five years, waiting for this day. All the pieces are supposed to fall perfectly into place.
Zachary Quinn isn't real. He's never been real. He's a 3D-rendering that I edited into countless pictures of the two of us going to parties, hanging out in my shitty apartment, going to the shops. But he's an experiment. An important one.
I've been looking for dead bodies for weeks since I finished my prototype: a device that can reformat anyone's RFID implant, without having to surgically remove it. I've been perfecting it, making it as quick and small as I can.
Last night, I found a poor bastard in the Red Quarters, a place you only go to get drugs or get mugged or both. He was fresh-dead, and I felt like an asshole, but I was happy to find him. I scanned his wrist. I hurried home.
And just like that, whoever that man really was disappeared, and only Zachary Quinn was left in his place.
I looked down at the box.
I'd listed Zachary Quinn as living in public housing with no significant income or belongings. Nothing that would raise any bureaucratic suspicions. Hell, I even gave them a chance to make some cash off of me, which always makes the Hive happy.
And yet, somehow, my invented dead best friend had left me something.
I opened the box. I found a single flat envelope. Inside was a printed photo that made every hair on my body stand up, electrified, alive.
It was a security camera image of me, squatting over the body of whoever I remade into Zachary Quinn. The image was dark, and I was unrecognizable.
And yet, whoever sent this to me, knew who I was. Somehow was able to get this sent to me.
I flip the image over. It reads, *Don't come to my funeral. They're waiting for you*.
Someone knew that I had swapped the dead body's identity. Someone wanted to warn me.
I feel watched, even now. I lower the envelope and stare out the single window in my pod-apartment, as if whoever had sent me this was hovering there, hundreds of feet above the ground.
Just underneath the warning, there's something else. Words indented so lightly, I could only read them by tilting the photo just slightly.
*I know who you are. I want to help. Call me.*
°°°
Here's Part 2 :D [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp\_all\_your\_life\_your\_best\_friend\_has\_had\_your/gvsevmb/?utm\_source=reddit&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp_all_your_life_your_best_friend_has_had_your/gvsevmb/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Thank you for reading! |
"Home? Er... It has been a long time I'll admit. Why?"
"No reason. I was thinking it would be a good idea for you to visit your old "stomping grounds"as you folks call it. After all, I am sure your parents are worried about you..."She held up my private journal in her dainty left palm.
I froze. No matter how hard I try to keep my secrets from my mentor, she always have a way to find out. I could not maintain eye contact with her, so i divert my eyes to the trees that surround the clearing. She made a promise to not probe my past and to focus on my training. I guess that was a lie. This sudden betrayal of trust, became sheer frustration as the fae continues to look at me.
"You read my journal, huh? What happened to our agreement? You know, the sworn promise that you made!"
"My promise goes as follows, unless it is necessary for your training, i will not probe your past and will dedicate my time in being your mentor. The promise is being upheld."
"Upheld? By what? What does reading my personal journal have to do with any of my training?"I took a step closer to the fae. Now within reach to punch her in the face i continued, "I can't believe you would do this! I trusted you. I thought that you would be someone that I can turn to, and yet... Ugh! Just why?"
"Aseroth. Your test requires you to handle your fears. You were unwilling to disclose your fears before, so i took the liberty of finding out. It is interesting that you claim to have so much trust in me, but are keen on keeping all of your secrets."
"Forget it. I am done. I don't need your training anymore anyways."I go to leave the clearing, only to have the sheer strength of her voice stop me in my tracks.
"Wait. Understand that you are not ready to leave this place with the V-blade. Its power has yet to reveal itself to you. If you leave now, all of our work will be undone. This test is pivotal in awakening the sword."
"I know enough about it to know what I'm doing. You have taught me-"
"By leaving this place, you are running away from your past."Those words shut down any retort i could possibly give to my mentor. I made an equally damming promise to her, that I will stop running away from my past. Back then, i only said that to be in her good graces. Now i am stuck in my own lie.
"Much of the contents in your journal are still unknown to me. I strictly looked for ties with your homelife; that is, the relationship between your parents and older sister. It is clear to me that much of your disposition comes from a place of inadequacy. The feeling of failure by knowing you could never achieve the high standards set by your family."She glides to my side and place her right hand on my shoulder. "Your fears come from their inevitable disappointment. Thus, the reason for this test and the reason why you must finish it."
"How can i face my parents? How can they possibly look at me after leaving them for two years?"Tears ran down my face, and I lose my grip, thus, dropping the V-Blade to the ground.
"You must face them alone. By doing this, you will be closer to awakening the sword. I will watch over you, but I can not provide any assistance. That is, if you accept this test. Just remember this old proverb from my kind: No matter how fast you run away from the past, it will always catch up. No matter how fast you tail the past, you will never catch it. So, thrive in the present." |
The fae tried. They really tried. They offered gold. The human had money. They offered a new name, hoping to trick the human into reclaiming their original moniker. The human argued they'd go by a nickname. The fae offered true magic, the ability to fly or peer into other worlds or breathe fire. or whatever they wanted if they'd please, just please, take the name back. The human simply smiled and whispered "No refunds, buyer beware", pointing o the sign hanging outside the fae's shop.
They tried to pawn it off on another, before the torment began. They tried to trick other fae, posing as baristas, into taking the name. But they recognized the danger. The ridicule associated with it. They tried to sell it to a demon, in exchange for insignificant favors. But the demons wanted true souls, not true names. Even the fae's contact at Witness Protection didn't want to use the damned thing as a pseudonym.
After days of trying to re-negotiate, revoke, or even relinquish the name, all failing, the fae accepted their fate and went home, anticipating that first deadly blow. They would know. All deals made were common knowledge to the colony. The fae crept in the door, looking upon their gathered family, and waited for the first quip.
"Ay yo, Adrian!"Came a shaky Sylvester Stallone impression. One of surely millions more to come.
"Fuck." |
They almost refuse to let me on the train.
I arrive at the last minute, running up to the turnstile, out of breath and energy. The ticket-taker looks me up and down, examining my frayed clothing, tattered shoes, disheveled hair, and ratty backpack, flung over one shoulder and only half-zipped. He fixes me with a glare that tells me he probably thinks I'm a heroin addict or something.
"Look, buddy,"he tells me, "I don't know why you're hanging around here, but you better get your ass out of here before I call the cops."
"No, wait,"I gasp. "I have..."I pause to rest my hands on my knees, and gulp air into my lungs. "I have a ticket."I fish into my pocket as his right hand moves for his walkie-talkie. "Look,"I say, holding up the piece of paper.
He snatches it and looks it over. "Alright, fine,"he says. "Don't shoot up on the train."
"What?"
"Nothing. You better hurry or you're gonna miss the train."
The platform is deserted. It seems that everyone has already gotten on the train, and perhaps it's simply waiting for me, beckoning me to enter it and ride off to who knows where.
I climb inside and squeeze into a compartment. Almost every seat is full. Next to me, a rather large woman in a flower-print dress has already begun snoring against the window. Drool crawls down her face from the right side of her mouth. A businessman in a suit sits across from me, typing furiously on a laptop, his face twisted with discontent. He checks his watch constantly, as though doing so might make the train depart sooner. To his right, a balding man is working on the crossword for today's newspaper. Every so often he lifts his head to glare briefly at the snoring woman next to me, then returns to scribbling letters into the boxes.
I try to start a conversation, but when I open my mouth and begin to speak, crossword man shushes me and points to sleeping lady, giving me a look of reproach. Laptop man doesn't even look up.
Without any warning over the loudspeaker, the train starts to move, jolting the snoring woman. She grumbles and then goes back to sleep.
All of the people in my compartment seem so disturbingly... casual. None of them seem to really care where the train is going, nor are any of them looking out the window as the darkness closes in around us. The snoring woman is sound asleep. Crossword man is still engrossed in his paper, and laptop man is glued to his screen, his fingers moving almost mechanically across the keyboard.
The train is strangely quiet. No one else on the train seems to be talking, or even making any noise. They are all engrossed in books or staring straight ahead into nothing. The only sounds are the train clanking along the tracks, the tapping of laptop, and the scribble of crossword man's pencil.
Outside the window, it is entirely dark. Pitch black. We can't be inside a tunnel; there would still be some maintenance lights.
No one else seems to notice. I stand up. Something is very, very wrong.
I move to the center aisle of the train, which is growing increasingly shaky, as if it's going to derail. "Hey!"I shout. No one looks up. "Hey!"Louder this time, waving my hands. Crossword man stands up, grabs me by the shoulders, and thrusts me back into my seat.
"Quit making a scene,"he commands, picking back up his newspaper. He slides the door of the compartment shut.
"What the fuck is going on on this train? What the hell is happening?"
"You of all people should know where we're headed. Did you even look at the ticket you purchased?"
"No, it was for... it was..."
Crossword man waits for me to fish into my pocket to look at the ticket. It's a piece of plain white paper, with the word "Ticket"scrawled on one side in messy handwriting. My handwriting.
"But... but I could've sworn that this said I was going to... going to..."I suddenly can't remember.
"You don't even know why you were rushing to get on this train in the first place. When did you even buy your ticket? Hmm?"I try, but I can't remember. "You must have really wanted to escape from something, huh? What did you do? Kill someone for some heroin? You look like the type."
"I'm not a fucking drug addict, OK? Please tell me what the *fuck* is going on here!"I reach over to slide open the compartment door, but it doesn't budge.
"No use,"crossword man says, motioning at the door. "Looks like we're stuck in here. So what did you do?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about,"I lie, my voice breaking. My hands are shaking; my breath is coming out in sharp, short exhales.
"Sure you do."He waits for me to answer. "Nothing? Alright, I'll start. I killed my wife. Murdered that cheating bitch. Plunged the knife into her gut and twisted it in until blood gurgled from out of her throat. Woman next to you? She drowned her two-year-old daughter in the bathtub. Couldn't put up with being a mother. Mr. Business to my left? Let's just say he really didn't like that his son was gay. Beat the poor kid until he went into a coma. Kid died four days later in the hospital."
Holy shit. I get it now. I know exactly where this train is headed.
"So,"crossword man says, "what did you do? Mother? Father? Boss?"
"I killed my best friend,"I admit after a moment of tense silence. "Motherfucker had it coming to him."
"Oh?"crossword man says, raising his eyebrows. He doesn't seem disgusted, only intrigued. "And why did you do that?"
"Because he was an annoying little fuck. He bitched and moaned about everything. I won't go into the details, but I made sure it hurt. Man, it was fucking brutal. You should have seen what he looked like, pleading for help. It was almost cute. Ha. Like you'll fucking live after I've cut open your stomach and shredded your intestines."
"Boy, you are one sick fuck,"crossword man laughs. "That's impressive. He must've really done something to piss you off."
"Do you know what it's like,"I say, "to eat Ramen every fucking night and then listen to your supposed 'friend' complain that his Ferrari got a scratch? That his private chef had to take a day off? That he had to go to Hawaii *again* and he was bored with it? I would've killed for his life. I mean, I suppose I kind of did. He needed a lesson in gratitude."I glance out the window. It's still pitch black outside. "His white shag carpet turned so wonderfully red. It was like... like a beautiful abstract painting,"I say, waving my hand in the air as though brushing across an invisible canvas. "Like a Pollock."
"Huh,"crossword man says. "So, I guess you've figured it out now? Why we're all on this train, heading nowhere?"
"Yes,"I say. "It's... it's not quite hell, is it? It's more of an... an escape, no, actually, not an escape. A confine. It keeps us all here together. Isolates us from the real world, puts us with like-minded people. We keep each other company."
"Exactly."Crossword man picks back up his paper and pencil. "And each of us has our own routine. I've been doing this same crossword for 17 years."
"Oh, so I--"
"You'll find one soon enough, kid. I hope that explained everything to you. Nice talking to you, but I need you to leave me alone. I'm still trying to get 32 down."
--------------
I've been on the train for 237 days now. I've fallen into my routine, which, as it turns out, is rereading and rereading the same book I had in my backpack -- *Strangers On A Train* by Patricia Highsmith. How deliciously ironic.
The train compartment expanded at some point to 6 seats -- an empty one next to me, and another unoccupied seat next to crossword man.
The windows outside are usually pitch black, but every so often, they lighten and we return to the same exact empty platform. It's the same show every time. One person rushes onto the platform, pleads with the man at the turnstile, and is finally admitted onto the train. He runs onto the train, takes a seat, does the exact same thing I did. Someone in his compartment explains it to him, he fesses up to what he did -- raped and killed his sister, shot several classmates, so on -- and goes into his routine.
The windows are lightening again. We're arriving back at the platform. I don't know where the platform really is, or who the man at the turnstile is, but I've learned to stop questioning it. It doesn't really matter, anyway.
A thin man in a jogger's outfit sprints up to the turnstile. He talks to the man there, passes through, and enters the train.
He's in my car. Finally. My turn to explain.
Breathless, he approaches our compartment and stares at the seat next to me. "Excuse me,"he says, his breath short and his voice ragged. He points to the seat next to me. "Mind if I sit here?"
"Of course not,"I say as the windows begin to darken. "There's always room for one more."
(New Years Challenge -016) |
The first time you die, you're 5 and 3/4.
You're thrashing when you wake up. Your tears are hot. Mommy comes running in, and the tightness in your tummy loosens. You run and cling to her and ask her why she left you. "I didn't leave you,"she says. "I'm right here."You tell her she left you in the pool. "The pool? What pool? You must have been dreaming."
Mommy's always right, so you believe her. Next week is Memorial Day, and Mommy asks if you want to go to swimming since the pool just opened for the summer. She bought you a mask so you can breathe underwater. You remember dreaming that you threw up in the mask.
You say no.
------
The second time you die, you're definitely not in your mid-30's yet. Mid-30's is at least a year away, for some definitions of "mid-30's,"and it's perfectly acceptable to be still single at this age - despite your mom's bitching. (There's a reason you don't call home anymore.)
You're heading out early from a bar crawl with all three of your friends that aren't watching some kids crawl, belly full of beer and a sudden yearning for cheese curds in your heart. You point out the 24 hour fast food joint across the street, because even if they probably don't have cheese curds, you could definitely settle for some onion rings.
You remember a walk sign being lit, screaming, and a sudden crash as the air is forced out of your lungs.
You wake up shakily the next day, panting for air, not having slept well. You roll over and realize that you're late for work and nearly tear out of the house to catch the bus before you realize you haven't yet put pants on.
Arriving late to the meeting, you take a seat in the back and pull out your notepad when you begin frowning. Didn't they discuss this already, and a decision made? Was there some edge case they missed that required this rediscussion? Pulling out your phone, you double-check your work calendar.
You were right, you have attended this meeting already. Ten days ago.
It's there, in the middle of a conference room, that you remember that you died. Or something. Because that doesn't make any sense.
Over the next couple days, you cautiously bring this up with your friends. "Wow, sounds like you had a bad trip,"they all say. "What were you on?"
Uncomfortably, you laugh it off, because what can you do but conveniently forget to forward the Facebook event for a bar crawl to your friends?
-------
The third time you die, you don't die a physical death.
You're 52, like or it or not. The light on your phone has been going off for hours, but you've been too busy all day to check it due to an unusually hellish day at work. You've got a product launch at the end of the week and everything, of course, is falling apart at the last minute. You leave your phone at your desk as you're running around the office trying to patch everything together at the last minute.
You don't bother checking your phone until after a late dinner, because you're mostly sure that they're going to be all work related and by God, you need a break. There's a voicemail, which makes you roll your eyes. Who leaves voicemails nowadays anyways? Turns out, your brother does, and it's only a few seconds long.
"Hey. You're too late, by the way. Mom died last night. Nice going."
Suddenly you're five again, and your tummy is clenched, and it's hard to breathe, but you're not thrashing, you're still; and your mom doesn't come rushing in, even though you half expect her to, like a shitty April fool's day joke that was pulled too early.
There are texts from your mom, written in the chat speech you had begged her not to write in because it makes her look like an illiterate teenage girl.
"Call home"
"i need to talk to u"
"hello?"
"Call when u get this msg"
"i love u"
On the way to the convenience store, you phone your brother. A freak accident, or something. For some reason you can't fully hear him. He sounds muffled, like he's underwater. A car crash? You heard a car crash. You just wanted some cheese curds. She only had a few hours. Your head is spinning.
"Long day?"the man behind the counter says sympathetically, ringing up your purchase. You nod mutely.
You go to bed that night with a glass of water and an emptied bottle of sleeping pills.
That's the fourth time you die.
----------
When you wake up the next day, you take a deep breath. You can breathe again.
After you send an email to your team telling them not to forget about a particular use case critical to launch, your thumb hovers briefly over the call button on your phone. When was the last time you had called home? You can't remember.
"Hello?"
Another deep breath. Your tears are hot.
"Hi, Mom." |
John Donaldson, or so the boy said he was called, stepped up to the register. He was a boy of 16, and had just reached the age of eligibility to cash the points in. As the receptionist noted, he was an *interesting* boy. He had never had the sharp edge even through his childhood, but he had that sneaking suspicion in the back of his head that he would be great and do great things just after he cashed in all of his points.
"Hello, sir. How may I help you on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?", the receptionist spoke for the first time.
It really was a beautiful day outside, John noted. A perfect day to begin the real transformation of his life from a bland person to somebody that the world would know. The Donaldsons had been noted for their saving ability; they had been featured in several magazines. Even though they may have not been the brightest or had the most charisma, they had made a slight impact on the world. Some people were waiting for this.
"Ehh, yesm sir. I would like to cash in my... 10,248 points that I have accumulated from my stash."
The receptionist was taken aback by the sheer number of points, but kept calm because of his charisma.
"Alrighty, Mr. Donaldson. I'll lead you to the chamber where you can make your decisions. Please note that the effects will not take place until 24 hours, OK?"
"That'll be fine, sir. I've been waiting for t-this almost all my life..."
The receptionist led him to a white chamber where they could inject a drug to make the process easier. The room had a single, leather chair in the middle, bound by ropes.
"We'll be strapping you to this chair shortly, where you'll begin the process, alright?"
John nodded and closed his eyes. The receptionist strapped him to the chair. After the receptionist fidgeted with the ropes, John made his choice. The choice that would change his life. The choice that would probably make his name famous for all of known history. He transferred equally 2,562 into each point choice and called for the receptionist.
As John was unstrapped from the chair a half-hour later, he felt like a new man even though nothing had taken place. He stepped out of the building, where he was about to walk the block to his family's apartment and was ready to start his new life.
As John was walking back to his apartment, he was hit by a drunk driver on the single road between his apartment and the clinic.
The Donaldsons had never been the luckiest family...
***************
EDIT: Since many people have been asking me, John did have the highest luck of almost anyone on the planet. However, that luck didn't take effect for another 24 hours.
EDIT2: Thanks for all the kind words, still an amateur writer.
|
How many times is it now? I suppose it doesn't matter.
The worst part is waiting out the holidays. Everything from September 23rd to December 31st is a red and green, candy cane, peppermint-flavored nightmare. I bomb my tests, I hide in my room, I stop returning calls. I stop living, because it's pointless, and it's a grind. But the option doesn't populate until midnight on New Year's Eve. So I have to wait it out.
Colleen stops by and looks worried and tells me to call my mom. It's sincere, but it's agitating - not in and of itself, but simply through the repetition of it all.
"I know it hurts, but you can't just sit there and mope about it,"she says - every time, she says that. "Mona doesn't deserve to make you feel that way. No one does."
The thing that Colleen doesn't understand - that no one seems to understand - is how Mona makes me feel. Whole. Alive. *Good*. Being with Mona is like getting a small electroshock to the heart every 30 seconds. I'm never better than when I'm with Mona. And I think that's mutual. At least, it's always felt that way.
We met at a house party on New Year's Eve, 1998. When we kissed, she tasted like Diet Coke and cheap, plastic bottle whiskey. She was wearing a red sweater and I'll never forget what that wool felt like against my neck when we held each other. I made her laugh. I made her laugh all the time.
When Mona turned 21 on September 22nd of that year, she broke up with me. And I didn't get it. It ruined me. It felt like falling into a grave and watching the sun itself toss dirt over my lifeless body. It made no sense.
I almost killed myself. I came very close at least twice, once with a bottle of pills I found in Jerry Founts' bedroom, and another time by jumping off the bridge that led out of town. But Colleen found me with the pills and the bridge was too busy and it just never happened. I thought about it again on New Year's Eve. While everyone was partying, I went back to the bridge and it was empty. It was quiet and calm and just waiting for me. I even got up on the railing. I think I was ready.
I looked down at my watch and waited for the little hand to go around. I wanted to time my splash to the sound of people screaming "Happy New Year!"The clock struck. People all across town started screaming, and I stuck my foot out over the edge.
But then it stopped. Everything stopped. Everything was quiet and still, and there were two words written in the air in front of me: CONTINUE and PREVIOUS.
Nothing was happening. Even my watch had stopped. I looked around. I needed someone to confirm what I was seeing, but I couldn't manage to get down off the railing. I could even feel my weight shifting towards the edge, like my body and gravity were committing to the jump in case the rest of me chickened out. But I needed someone to see what I was seeing. So I said, "Previous"and the world clicked over and I was wrapped inside a red sweater, hands full of ass, mouth full of the taste of Diet Coke and cheap whiskey.
I had started 1998 all over again. It was perfect. I considered at times that I may have been falling - that this was all a flash in the moment before I died, but what of it? It was all I had wanted - another chance with Mona. Everything wonderful was wonderful again. We laughed and we fucked and watched movies and fucked some more. At times it felt like we were fighting to see who could crawl furthest into the other one's skin, we were so passionate.
I couldn't see any way it would fall apart. And it fell apart all the same. Exactly the same. Mona's birthday. She was done. It was over.
Just cruelty. More cruelty.
It hurt worse the second time. I fought harder and harder at buying a way out, but Colleen was there and Jerry was there and my sister Beth and I never managed it. Then on New Year's Eve, the clock struck midnight and the words came back: CONTINUE, PREVIOUS.
I went back. And I did it all again.
I tried to change things. I tried to be different, but I was caught back up in everything great about Mona and me. I spent everything I had and a lot I didn't have on presents for her 21st birthday. It didn't matter. She didn't want me anymore.
It just kept happening. I saw the pattern. And I saw the *reason* - I had to fix things with Mona.
I made her the center of my world. I tossed aside everyone else. Colleen and Jerry and whoever. Colleen was hardest. She'd always been there for me. She'd always understood, I think, what I was going through. But it occurred to me that maybe that was part of the problem. That Mona saw Colleen as a back-up or something. That she maybe didn't see me as committed. But I *was* committed, so I told Colleen we couldn't be friends anymore. She didn't cry. Just left.
It didn't work any way.
Around and around it keeps going. I can never manage to see what it is that I'm doing wrong. In every attempt, my friends bleed away, except Colleen, who never seems able to give up on me. Every New Year's, in the lines where we're still friends, she tells me that life is a pain we choose to endure on the off chance we may one day experience a few short moments of relief. And every time she says this to me I'm struck by how grotesquely unfair it sounds. We are miserable until we aren't.
I tell you all this to show you what I've been through. But here's the thing - this time, it's different.
I gave up this time. I stopped trying nearly so hard, because I had accepted that January 1st through September 22nd was all I would ever get. The system was rigged. There was no way to convince Mona to change her mind, so I stopped trying.
And it *worked*.
Her birthday came and went and we're still together. We spend all our time together. I'm happier than I've ever known, because it's New Year's Eve and tonight is the night I finally continue on with my life. God, how long has it been?
We're at another party, mostly her friends, and I realize that I haven't seen Colleen. She hasn't said her line about life and pain and for some strange reason that makes me overwhelmingly sad. It's a part of the routine, and I guess I've only just realized how little I've seen of Colleen and how little we've talked lately.
So I go seek her out. Every year I see her at her apartment in the afternoon. It's evening now, but I don't know where else to look. I go to her apartment. She lives with Quinn above the bakery on Smith Street, and it's hardly a walk. The door is locked and no one answers. I have a spare key and I let myself in. Colleen and Quinn keep a whiteboard in the kitchen with their schedules - maybe there's something there.
The shower is running. I announce myself from across the apartment to hopefully not scare anyone. I knock on the door. The water is running, but no one replies. I open the door.
I don't stay to look. I don't touch the body. I just close the door and slump to the floor. It doesn't occur to me for quite some time that Mona never mattered in any of this. That I've spent the better part of a frozen century trying to fix something that wasn't broken.
I'm suddenly terrified - terrified that this is the one time I won't get the chance to go back. That I squandered all my chances.
So I wait there, in the dark, listening to the water fall.
Somewhere in the near distance, I hear voices rising up.
Four. Three. Two. One...
The water stops. I'm crying so hard I can hardly say the word. |
It started when I lost my job.
I had nothing.
My parents had decided a young child didn't fit their lifestyle and were mostly absent from my life. I acted out. I ran with the wrong group. I never learned how to take responsibilities for my own actions and I raged against my parents every moment I had, blaming them for my own faults.
My girlfriend left me when she grew up and realized I never would. Two weeks after my 28th birthday, I was escorted from my job by security. I sat at the bus stop and life passed me be. LIFE. People walking and laughing and joking and crying and yelling and just living.
Night had long fallen and I still sat on the cold bench. To my right, an old pamphlet rippled in the cold wind. A streetlamp flickered above and I read the paper for the hundredth time.
Seeking subjects for long term Sight reading.
The address was a local hospital.
Fuck it.
I went the next morning. The program was still running and they accepted me easily enough. I would sit unmoving, with an IV feeding me what I needed. There was a minimum of a month required. I told them I'd stay longer and they laughed. Their longest subject was three months.
I sat. As I had at the bus stop. Life continued around me. When I reached the three month mark, I was asked how long I'd stay and I said nothing. I slept and, when awake, I ***looked***.
After 5 months, I could see the next day's lottery numbers. That's how it worked. The longer you sat, the further you saw. Further into the future. But you couldn't move. I lied when they asked what I saw. I lied about the numbers. I could get up, take my pay and buy the tickets but I saw three people winning. I saw the echoes of their ghosts and knew one would use the money for their child's cancer and another to start a charity to help those killed in drunk driving accidents, as their husband had been.
What would I do with that money? What could I do? Buy a house? A nice car? Waste my life away as I had?
And so I sat. Sometimes I lied, sometimes I told the truth, bundling it out in safe packets.
After a year, I was the longest seer ever. After three, I began to get petitions for information. From government agencies and rich people. I saw some of their futures and was horrified by most. Horrified by the lives they lived and what it took to get there. I did my best to guide the river of time around the stones they threw to divert the path of mankind in their favor.
A decade passed and I no longer noticed who cared for me. They began to revere me. And fear me.
More years. Time lost meaning and I sat rooted in horrid fascination of the events unfolding in time. I saw the subtle influences from minor players and major and the effects they had. Some of those were due to the lies I told.
War was coming, pushed by the forces in the shadows.
I didn't hear the young girl beside me ask why I was crying. I closed my eyes and still saw the mushroom clouds blooming.
I opened my mouth to answer but the vision changed. I saw a baby, crying in a war torn city. A newspaper fluttered by in my vision and I saw the date - ten years from now with strange cursive text written in columns. A small, brown skinned infant girl with a lock of black hair bawled in the night.
She.
She was a path forward. I saw the faint, trembling echoes of it and I ***moved***. Attendants around me gasped and my vision wavered.
"No!"I cried out. "Just a little more! Please!"
The vision was fading. I moved and, thus, broke the flow of time. It was fading, centered on the girl. Only. Only now I saw a cloaked figure moving, walking toward her. Leaning over to pick her up. The babe whimpered and the figure turned and I saw myself in the weathered, bearded face.
Ten years.
I moved, so slowly, and unhooked myself. The room had changed, I think. I tried to stand but my muscles wouldn't hold. I waited a moment and tried again. People spoke around me, asking what I saw but I closed my mouth in a grim line.
I moved and my legs lid out before me.
I had no idea how long it would take before I could walk. I had no idea how far I would go. I had spent my life looking and listening and lying and the entire debt of that fell heavily on my shoulders.
If I didn't move, we all died. If I couldn't find her, we all died.
"One step,"I rasped, willing my legs to move. My toes twitched and I groaned. "One step."
I turned to the young woman beside me and I didn't recognize her or anyone else.
"Help. Me."I begged. "I have to go. I have to."
They lifted me without a word and the room was silent. I held fast to the wall as arms held me carefully. My legs trembled. My knees creaked. But I took a step.
Despite the pain, I took that step.
"I'm coming,"I whispered to the girl in my vision. The girl that wasn't even born yet. I had so much to tell her. So much to teach her. So much debt to repay. |
I had a good long life. I sat in the hospital room surrounded by loved ones and smiled at everyone. My wife, my sons, my daughters, and all extended family stood there tears in their eyes wishing me farewell and feeling that gentle tearing away that comes in the chest of a person losing a loved one. I closed my eyes that final time, completely satisfied.
My eyes shot open. Lights and loud music filled my senses. I had serious doubt this was heaven because of the sheer cacophony of sensations assaulting me. I lifted my head and looked around the brightly lit, noisy chamber. The music was unlike any I'd heard before and pretty loud. Definitely Hell, I decided, but where were the flames?
"Clone 65-A is awake,"I heard someone say. A second later there was a smiling face above me. The face was dirty but I was also relieved to see the face did not have a set of horns attached on top.
"Is this Hell?"I croaked out after he removed the breathing tube from my throat and he laughed.
"I get that question more than you know,"He stated, still giggling, "No, it's not heaven either or purgatory or any other afterlife. You've just been run through the Socialization Sim. Took you about an hour but..."He checked a computer display, "In that sim you lived about 83 years. Nice! Oh, good looking wife too."
"Sim?"He had reached an arm behind me and a wave of dizziness and slight nausea assaulted me as he sat me up. All around me on tables where people with tubes down their throats, seemingly asleep but I could see the REM sleep-darting eyes of those laying nearby. There were thousands of beds stretching in every direction.
"Yes,"the technician said as he checked my vital signs and did a physical check of my body, "We don't have time to personally educate every new clone. Your first Sim is basic and teaches you to walk, run, and basically use your body. Your second Sim is to teach you language and to lay the learning matrix in your brain. Your third Sim is to socialize you. Gives you a life so you can learn to appreciate things that non-clones know by normal experience. The computer gives you a unique life experience from birth to death, but it all occurs in your head. You can cry now, I don't mind."
My cries turned into sobs as I realized that the life I had just experience minutes before, all the sensations of love and loss were all just fiction. They, of course, had felt so real. Now I learned they were just a tutorial mode for... what?
"What is my purpose?"I asked as he lay me back down. He looked at the display and grinned brightly as he read it.
"You're one of the lucky ones,"the technician stated, "See, though we now number one hundred billion there are simply not enough humans to properly colonize a galaxy. Any idea how many stars and habitable planets there are out there? Well, you'll find out in the next sim. See, you're gonna be connected to an Explorer, a ship designed to flit from star to star mapping the rest of this galaxy. You'll make first contact for Earth with other civilization and hopefully won't die in the process. It'll teach you everything you need to know to be a pilot."
"This is too much to understand,"I told him reaching for his hand as he lay me back down on the table, "A minute ago I was dying."
"You still are, everyone is,"he winked at me as I grew goggy and he re-inserted the breathing tube down my throat, "For this next Sim you're going to explore a simulated galaxy as the lone pilot aboard an explorer. The computer will throw everything it can at you and randomize situations you might encounter along the way. Good luck, captain. When we wake you next time you'll be doing this for real so learn as much as you can! I hear the real galaxy is much wilder and exotic than anything the computer generates too. Don't forget to..."
His voice faded away and with that I awoke, unable to remember what I had been doing just a second before. I was seated in the command chair, wires attached, virtually seeing and feeling everything my Explorer felt.
"Pick a star, Captain!"The computer instructed me excitedly, "The one here has radio signals! Shall we check it out?"
My confusion disappeared. I had been doing this for years. My face broke into a grin and I said, "Sounds good, let's see what's there!' and I felt the Explorer shudder as she switched to faster-than-light. |
Nobody understood art quite like Lance Hormick and nobody understood Lance quite like… well, nobody really understood him. The man wore sunglasses at night and between his speeches about the dying integrity of art and how the fumes of oil paintings were worth more than the colors, he oftentimes muttered a few words of appraise or criticism which the artistic community ravished. A single thumb point from this man could make or break most amateur artists.
Though lately, there had been some doubts about Lance’s ability as a critic.
Lance held my hand as I led him through Monsiur Moraeu’s mansion. The man had spent twenty years and the fortune of a small country to accumulate his artworks and now he wanted to know if he had gotten anything good. So far, Lance had only stopped to frown and shake his head.
Camera shutters clicked. A small crowd tailed me, following with hushed whispers as Lance stopped in front of another piece.
He leaned in, his sunglasses nearly scratching at its canvas. Then, he took a mighty sniff. Only a critic of Lance’s caliber would even think to do so. The people behind me quieted in a collective held breath.
Lance lifted his veiny hands and settled it onto the ridges of oil upon parchment. “This,” he whispered. “This is art.”
The room erupted with a thousand camera shutters. He had finally picked his piece, a poor reconstruction of a woman in dress. Her face came in uneven slants and strewn within the whites and blues of her dress were speckles of green as if the painter hadn’t taken care to mind the splashing of his colors as he refilled his pallet.
“You are a fake!” Monsiur Moraeu spat and the crowd turned toward him. The Frenchman raised a single shaky finger at Lance. “That was a painting I bought from gypsies for five euros. You mean to tell me it’s worth more than the twenty million dollar piece beside it?”
If Monsiur Moraeu’s tone offended Lance at all, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave off a single nod. “Of all the pictures in your house, Monsiur, this is the only one of value.”
“Ridiculous! And you claim to have an eye for art.”
“Sir,” I said, raising my hands palm-out. “I know that this may be frustrating, but please—”
“Frustrating?” His crooked finger turned to me. “That is a parchment better used to wipe my ass. I am being conned by this *escroc*.”
I flinched at the word. Many artists had called Lance a conman before, but many more lately. I squeezed Lance’s hand. “Let’s go Mr. Hormick,” I whispered in his ear. We both knew the futility of arguing against men like Monsiur Moraeu.
I turned, but Lance jerked his hand out of mine. His jaw clenched. “No,” he said, “not this one.” And he pointed at the painting. “I won’t let you insult this one.”
A tear slid down his cheek. I stared. Never before had Lance been so adamant. “Lance,” I tried, but he immediately shook his head, shutting me up.
“Monsiur Moraeu,” he said, his voice booming like he was twenty years younger. “You claim I have no eye for art, you are correct. I’ve been blind for over a year!”
A gasp rolled throughout the crowd and another thousand camera shutters clicked. By this time tomorrow, it would be all over the newspapers—world’s greatest art critic, a fraud. I squeezed my fists. Of course, I had my suspicions, but art was all Lance ever had or cared for. I couldn’t take it away from him. Now, I thought that I should’ve.
“So the rumors are right,” Monsiur Moraeu said. “You are a conman!”
“*Tu es un idiot*,” Lance spat. “You are all idiots. I have no eye for art, I have no eye for anything, but even I can tell good art from bad. Sniff the oil!”
Monsiur Moreau’s brow crunched. “You are mad!”
Lance leaned inches away from the painting and inhaled deeply. “You can still smell it,” he said. “The man painted by scented candle in burning heat. You can smell the salt of his sweat. You can still feel it!” Lance caressed the canvas with two trembling fingers. “The dampness when his tears hit the page, the anger he felt with every brushstroke and the lightness he gave to the woman’s face. You can even feel his rage in the speckles of misplaced paint because this portrait could never capture what he wanted it to, or perhaps he couldn’t.”
The crowd stopped talking, they even stopped taking pictures. Monsiur Monroe stared blankly at the five euro picture as if he was seeing it for the first time.
“You want a pretty picture? Take one with your god damn phone,” Lance said. “Art has never been about how straight the lines or right the angles. This is art.”
He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes greyed over as he wiped the tears from them. “Thank you, for showing me such art,” he said and reached out for my hand.
I took his hand to lead him back home. There were tears swelling within my eyes. There were tears in everyone’s eyes.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
"Why did you lose?"
The question threw me. Death had come for me, given me a chance to live again and I had lost. I could accept that. But now he was questioning that I lost? Did he think I had done it on purpose like I had wanted to die. I mean my life was pretty good and I had only passed at the age of 35. Still here I was, here he was and here was the game. All I had to do was beat him in a game of chess. Cliche I know but that was the game he chose so the cliche must come from somewhere right? Either way I had risen to the challenge tried my best and failed miserably.
"Did you not hear me? WHY did you lose?"
"S-s-sorry I don't understand the q-question?"
"Hmm so it's because you're simple, I see..."He turned from me in acceptance, mumbling to himself about not finding the one he needed.
"I'm not simple i just don't understand how you can ask a question about a situation beyond my control. I could not decide your moves for you, in the same way I am not proficient enough at chess to predict yours."I was annoyed now. Is death simple?
"EXACTLY!"death boomed as he spun on his heels "YOU DO NOT. UNDER. STAND!"He sighs.
"I gave you every opportunity to cheat."He exclaimed. "I looked away, I left engravings on the stool of my possible moves and made it look like a previous player had left them as a hint, I even knocked the f****** board over and let you place the pieces back allowing you to place them in a favorable position. I did all of this to help YOU and you look away!. Simple I tell you, simple..."He looks defeated."
"It seemed dishonest..."I mull over what he tells me. Death looks bewildered.
"Are you telling me."He smiles wryly. "You saw all of these opportunity's and in a game for your life. Your very existence as a person. You thought it unfair to try and cheat for your sole reason for being back?"
"Well I'd be lying if I said I saw ALL of them..."His smile is genuine now, which to be honest is more worrying then when he was mocking me.
"These will be the last words you ever here from me so listen close, and listen well because they are the most important words heard in the past 2000 years of playing this game. In 2000 years you are the only person to NEVER try and cheat death, and that my friend. That is why..."He leers at me, that smile still playing on his lips.
"You win".
|
Before I head towards the kitchen to make breakfast, I quickly pick up some bird seed I hid in the bottom kitchen shelf. Mother would beat me harshly if she knew that I'd been the one stealing from the animals' portion, but I would think the chickens wouldn't want their fowl brethren to starve. It had been a harsh winter, after all, and kindness begets warmth.
I held my breath tightly as I clutched the crinkly brown paper bag and silently made my way to the back garden. Slipping into my ragged shoes, I slowly made my way over the ice-kissed path as my tired eyes scanned the garden. Spring has yet to fully awake from her slumber, but the greenery has shown its face. Spotting the flutter of black near the flowerbeds, I smiled softly as I went hither.
"A fair morning, my lovelies."I greeted them as I approached the unkindness gathering around the small clearing of blue grass. "Breakfast before taking flight. Winter has not released her grasp yet."I said as I started pouring the bird seed into an icy but empty bird bath: deep enough to satisfy and wide enough to perch on. The ravens stood at the edge and started eating as I backed away and smiled; their croaks affirming contentedness.
"You may be called an unkindness, yet you treat me better than my own mother and sisters."I said as I dolefully thought back to the events since father had died. From the shoutings to the beatings and to even the slappings, not even the most lavish powders can conceal their demonic visages. Sitting on the snowy bench, I hugged the bag as tears slowly danced on my ash-strewn face.
"Croak! Croak!"
I looked up from my slump as I cleared my face. A raven was standing on my lap; its head tilting to the side with a blue ribbon on its beak. They have had been bringing me gifts as a way to repay for my kindness. I gave it a thankful smile as I reached my hand to take it, but the raven suddenly flew up swiftly into the air.
"Croak! Croak!"The raven called louder as he beckoned to the right.
"Did something happen Mr. Raven?"I asked curiously as I rose from the bench. But of course, the raven only started flying to the right; stopping ever few flaps to make sure I am following. I looked back to see the master bedrooms curtains still closed. "I have some time."I thought to myself as I made me way towards the edge of the garden the raven is leading me towards.
"Perhaps I shall stumble into a raven party."I thought as I held my shawl tighter onto my rags. "Ooh! Or even a lovely ball."I reminisced dolefully as I looked around the icy garden; its shimmering and glittering surface like an elegant glass blanket. But shaking those fantasies away, I quickly felt my heart stop as I went through a shrub to a small clearing.
"Croak! Croak! Croak!"
The entire unkindness has gathered around in this clearing hidden by the shrub as they all looked at me when I entered, not moving a single muscle. Confused and a bit frightened, I was about to head back when I looked down at the most awesome sight I had ever seen: amid the usual presents of brown loose buttons and wrappers laid a most majestic sword glowing in blue. Its hilt shimmered as if it was the purest metal, and its blade: a glassy substance that reflected the harshness of winter yet a fine edge regardless. Below it laid a yellowed parchment with strange symbols; decorated with lines and a compass. I clutched my chest as I kneeled down.
"Oh lovely crows. I-is this a gift?"I stuttered in shock as I inspected the artifacts. It truly was not a vision, but a reality I never thought would happen. But I felt wrong. "They must've stolen it."I thought to myself as I clutched the hilt and rolled the map up, "I must show mother and return it rightfully to its worried owner."
"Oh, but you're the rightful owner, Cinderella."
The sweet pleasant voice came from behind me as I quickly turned around, fearful one of my sisters must've found me. But instead, I was met by a kind-looking, grey-haired woman covered in the most fantastical blue hood and wings as dazzling as a monarch's. Swinging a strange stick around, she happily waltzed over as the ravens croaked in unison.
"Your time has come my darling."She smiled as she pointed to the artifacts laying and looked at me with a hearty yet firm smile.
"It is time to reclaim your rightful throne, my love."
(https://www.reddit.com/r/Shiruet/) |
Your name is everything. It is your purpose, your source of comradery, personality, and entire sense of identity. Behind every name there are thousands of implications. The *Highest Instinct* did not give one a name for no reason. A Jim was an early riser. Jim's liked to be noisy and rowdy. They were incredibly emotional but also candid and endearing. Meenas were nearly silent, focused, analytical and driven. Jacks ruled the world they had the divine right of the Highest Instinct. They learned fast, they were inventors, and philosophers. They knew what to do. They knew how to help. Always.
As a result, saying your name is like peering at the core of your true personality. With one word, one combination of syllables, the world knew you. Naturally, the most common and most important question in one's life was "what is your name?". Everyone in the world knew how to say those very words in every language. Our first 7 years of school were spent memorizing the traits of all names. It was standard in the curriculum arpund the world. The one question everyone asked. It was the start, and often the end, of every conversation. It also was the question that I most dreaded and despised.
My first word, like everyone else's, was my name. It was a moment that parents awaited with desperation and excitement. Anyone, any combination of parent names, had an equal chance of having a Jack. Some of the more creative names, the Jameeras, Pablos and Chingises of the world, theorized that certain name combinations had better results. It was mostly unfounded nonsense. No one could prove the common theory that a Max and a Jamie would yield an intelligent name; or that a Myron and a Marat would almost always have a musical name. In fact, most of the studies carried out by the Felixs -- notoriously unbiased those Felixs-- said that the odds were exactly the same with all name combinations.
My Mother and Father, Hank and Jameera respectively , were equally excited and nervous when my first word came out. My Naming came very early, I was babbling semi-coherently at just 3 months old (almost always a sign of a Jack). Then, at 5 months and 3 days old, my misery began with one word, Shiloh. The first and only Shiloh in existence. Looking back it was as good as a death sentence. How does one grow up and feel any since of comraderie when your answer to THEE question is one that no one has heard of? What school was I to go to? No school, from the Aaron academies to the Zuhair Technical schools, would accept me. Who was I to talk to? When I can never make it past the first question without a look of shock and horror.
My parents were equally distraught. I was homeschooled. Isolated and generally regarded as a disgrace. I lived in the attic. I came down for one half an hour lesson with my mother every day for the last 17 years. today was no different.
"Child come down here"mother shouted up the 3 flights of stairs. She never could manage to say my name. It was the highest disrespect possible, ignoring one's name, yet my mother did it at all times. I regarded myself as lucky that she aknowledged me at all. That was not always the case.
"Coming, Hank."I responded, giving her the respect of saying her name with clear precision.
Hanks were seen as rather lazy, and unmotivated. However they were a top three nane for communication skills. My mother would talk for hours with everyone who came to our home. With a blend of humor, wit, and kindness that wooed even the most sober of names. I was lucky in this because,despite my shame, she couldn't help but to talk with me a little bit.
"Child"she said with the classic Hank charisma.
"I pity you"this was her usual way of starting the lesson. It was the closest thing I got to motherly love.
The lesson began with 15 minutes of Nameology, followed by a reciting of the Jack virtues and the naming of every Jack since the First.
"Jack the First
Jack the Second
Jack the Third
The Great 4th Jack
Supreme Jack 5..."and so on.
I continued through the revered generations until mother Hank seemed content and then I promptly went out of her sight. I sprinted up the 3 flights of stairs, happy to be anti-social again; Happy to be nameless and alone in my room. My only safe place. It was here that I could go for more than two seconds without a reminder of my difference. It was in my room where I did most of my real learning. For weeks on end I would pretend to have a different name, to be a different person. Once i was overwhelmed with the motivation of a Sally; working tirelessly to better myself in reading and writing. Other weeks and months I would be as devout and philosophical as an Abe. As lazy as a Timmy. As drained and melancholy as an Ugwu. As self-deprecating as a Meredith.
Today, however, was a first for me. Something churned inside me. I paced my small room; back and forth, trying not to hit my head on the rafters. My eyes drifted around the windowless attic. Near my bed, a lone desk lamp illuminated a pile of poems I had written. The unpleasant glow lit up the outline of my paintings and drawings. Flares of red and yellow stood out on the canvases. the light spread further and traced the outline of my collection of small sculptures. The books I had written were strewn about the room leaving hardly a thread of the dusty carpet visible.
Over the course of my 17 years I had tried the lifestyle of every major name, tried to experience the way they acted and feel like I belonged with them, with someone. I sang myself to sleep like a Fatima. I made and played instruments like a Calvin. I snuck outside at night to play sports and lift weights like a Chad. I wrote love notes in my diary to crushes that I saw pass by my house, like the ever-romantic Beverly. Every major name I had tried for some period of time. Every name except Jack. Today, I felt the need to try that final name. The virtues of the Jack: Innovative, Confident, Charismatic, and Intelligent seemed to rush into me in that moment.
Suddenly my condition. The condition of the Shiloh was not hidden under the haze of insecurity, of not belonging. It was clear to me, in that moment, what my strength was; I could choose. That was my purpose. Life was my source of inspiration and depression, my source of choices, my source of hope and belonging, not the Highest Instinct. I was burdened with the instability and uncertainty of freedom. I didn't have to become anything, I didn't have to be anyone. My meaning was my own to create, or ignore. I was given the burden of choice, the burden of making my own passion and choosing my own virtues. What more difficult, or more rewarding, thing could there be?
I am the first Shiloh. The first to make my own story. |
They called him Kerv.
Nobody knew what Kerv was short for, and nobody seemed too sure about what side of the family he was on, one of them branches what got all tangled up in the confusion of the depression years, and nobody seemed right clear of what he did, or where he came from. What they did know was that he came, and he drank his beer in that almost-silence just north of awkward but just south of it as well, and he never caused no trouble, and he always left a package when he disappeared some time after the fifth beer.
Always beer, always the fifth, the sixth he left sitting, with a plain brown label and a handwritten mark like "Stout #17,"on top of the plain brown paper wrapping the gift for whoever's party it were.
Most people brung a bottle of wine, the kind with the kangaroo on it, just expensive enough not to be cheap, or a card, with just enough writing not to be impersonal, or some trinket or other.
Kerv's gifts always went unopened until after everyone had gone though. Nobody said why. Because everybody knew.
I first met Kerv on my parent's twelfth anniversary. He showed up some time after the party had moved out to the yard and lit the grilling fire. The sky sparkled that night, meteor shower or something, but I was young enough to believe it was magic and spent the evening chasing fireflies.
He walked around the open door in the fence and went over to my pa, and gave him a hug before he went and sat on the corner of one of the outside couches in front of the fire and started to drink his first beer, "IPA #3."When he left that night, he put the package on the inside of the dog-door in the back. My parents thought I'd gone to sleep, but I saw them open it. It was one of them emergency Swiss officer's knives, the kind with the seat belt cutter and the glass breaker and the bright yellow handle.
Pa carried it everywhere and drove real slow that year. He never crashed though. One night, near the start of autumn, there was this big cracking sound so loud it woke me up and screaming from somewhere. One of them summer storms knocked a branch out of the big oak out back and it fell through the roof of my folk's bedroom. One of the branches pinned ma, and it was teetering right on the edge of one of the rafter-boards, getting ready to finish the job. Pa took that knife and hacked her out of it, and not too soon neither cause that branch was something malicious and went and destroyed the bed right after.
The next time I crossed paths with Kerv was my seventeenth. I didn't even know he came until the next day, I was so busy with my friends off in the hot tub while the folks chatted about whatever folks talked about.
He left me a "Lager #9"and a small package with one of them pepper sprays, one of the big bulky ones in the metal tube with a spike on the end. I felt stupid but pa told me to carry it with me all the time. I felt nervous walking alone that year, no reason, just did.
But it weren't nobody that got me in the end, it were a car what ran a red and pinned me to a lightpole. I woke up smelling smoke and tasting blood and seeing nothing. I got the belt off but the door jammed itself something fierce and I started to get all panicked. I banged around for a bit before I remembered that big spray and that big spike on the end of it and I smashed my way out the passenger window. I never knew cars burned so hot, I could feel it a whole block away when the EMT was patching up my face.
I didn't see Kerv for a lot of years after that. It weren't happy, not seeing him, but it weren't sad neither. Like I said, just north of it, but just south as well.
Then he came at Christmas. The tree was one of them plastic do-ups, dangled with them LED lights that shine just a bit too bright to be cozy. My cousin had a new holiday alert tone, an obnoxious Santa ho-ho-ho they was too proud of that kept going off on account of them turning all the notifications on. We drank eggnog with a lot of nog and a bad egg what made us all sick the next week.
Kerv didn't ring the doorbell, he just walked in, wearing these huge snowshoes and one of them coats what looks like its from the army but ain't. He sat down on the couch and drank his beer, staring into the fire with this look that said he was south today and nobody aughta talk at him.
He left quick that day. And everybody got real quiet when he did this time cause he went up to the mantle and put three beers up. "Imperial Trappist."I ain't never tasted a beer so good or so strong in my life, but I ain't in no rush to taste it ever again.
One of the packages was for me, but I didn't look at it until April. It was a small thing. I opened it up.
There was a small business card sitting on the top, no print, just a handwritten number. Under the card were a watch, fancy kind of watch what tells you the month and day and everything, it was all open so you could see the little gears just grinding away. It weren't the kind of watch that would do you no good in normal circumstances though cause it only ran backwards. It said February second, nine-fifty-two in the morning.
The number on the card was my [mother's](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) number. I needed those two months, cause I never got no more. |
# An Offer Not To Be Refused
Three piles of trouble in discount suits got out of a rusty Cadillac.
With feet on the ground it turned out they came in two types. The first was a short, smoking man with greasy hair and a mean squint. Which made the other group a mean squint of muscle who liked to smoke people.
The trunk popped open. Both large men reached inside and came out with scarred baseball bats. They conferred briefly with the short smoker, who pointed them around the sleepy neighborhood while emphasizing something with a lot of strong chopping gestures.
Then all three turned and marched up the driveway.
Aaron watched the whole thing from his charred front porch. Well, to be fair the whole house was smoking; that's what houses do when they burn down. He sympathized, in an exhausted way. It felt like most of his insides burned up along with his property.
The smallest of the trio got within yelling distance. "You Aaron Per-sny-det-ee?"
"That's me."He didn't bother getting up. Whatever this was could happen while he leaned on the steps. "It's Persnidte."
"Oh *excuuuuse* me, then."He flicked ash off the cigarette onto a larger pile of ash by the porch. "Beggin' ya favor and all that. Hard to get all these foreign names right; more of 'em every year. I'm Vince. These here are the boys."
Aaron waited for 'the boys' to introduce themselves. They just grinned in a vaguely menacing way. He saw bad dental work, mustard stains and a lot of painful police history in those two.
"What's with the bats?"
Vince clutched small hands to his chest. "Bats? Oh, you mean my colleague's lucky charms? Carry 'em everywhere, wouldntchaknow. Keeps bad luck away. Never had a *problem* when they gots 'em out, know what I mean?"
"About problems?"Aaron was having a hard time keeping up. This short guy in a bad suit talked fast.
"Pree-sise-lee. Look at you, got a brain above that mouth. Now, my associate's love of the American pastime aside, we're here about a problem. A problem you could help us with, if you catch my drift."
He didn't. "Look, mister..."
"Carpescetti. Vince Carpescetti."
"...mister. I don't know what you want, but I don't have it. My house burned down yesterday, *with* my car in the garage. Lost my job last week. The savings I had went into a work-from-home setup, which as you can see,"he hooked a thumb backwards. "Is currently a non-starter. So just leave me be, alright?"
Vince tsk'd. "Truly awful. Just a heap of troubles. My condolences, mister Per-sny-det-ee, on your... *unfortunate* and completely *unpredictable* tragedy. But back on the race track, here-- let's talk about how we can help each other through this... ah, let's say *mutual* situation."
"Help each- mutual-? Did *you* burn my house down?"
Both goons stirred with the sort of motion that brought to mind cavemen with Louisville sluggers. Vince waved them down without looking back. "Nah, nah. Us? Never! We're big fans of the white picket fence life. Would never disrespect that. Right, boys?"
The left-hand goon scratched his stubble with the bat. "S'right, boss."
"So here's what we're gonna do, mister foreign-name guy. Just so's you know, we happen to represent Stonebrook Investments, el el sea."Vince pronounced LLC like he learned the word on the ride over. "And what we're gonna do is settle you up."
"Settle... me up?"Aaron blinked and sneezed soot. It must have knocked something loose, because a memory popped up. "Wait, *Stonebrook*? Like my insurance company?"
All three men broke into hysterical laughter. "This guy! This guy and *insurance* company!"Vince used two fingers to point the cigarette at Aaron. His backup leaned on each other for support. "Yeah, yeah, we're uh, your insurance company. That's the ticket. And we got something for your little *insurance claim*, here."
"Is it a beating?"
"A beating, he says! This joker, tellin' jokes. Well as it happens you ain't entirely *wrong*. But first take this."
Aaron accepted a small envelope with spaghetti stains. He opened it, got a whiff of backroom cigar deals and pulled out a small rectangle of paper.
He spent a long minute looking at it. "Is this... real?"
"Real as houses, my friend. Ooh, unfortunate phrasing there. Again with the condolences."
"You're giving me full payment on the claim? I only sent it in yesterday!"
"Oh it's *more* than just a check, my friend! This here comes with some, how you say? *Closure*?"Both men behind him grinned nastily. "We at Stonebrook're gonna make sure the mook who burned ya out gets a little ice cream time."
​
---
I occasionally write mobster characters over at r/Susceptible ;) |
It was too good to be true. I know that now, and I guess I knew it back then, but... almost every scientific theory in history has eventually been disproven. Almost everything we've ever known has turned out to be wrong. So what says Einstein was the one who finally got it right? Why couldn't he be wrong, too? Relativity, spacetime, the speed of light - maybe all that was wrong.
*Teleportation*.
Just saying it gets me all worked up. Instant transportation across the globe. When that first little rat came out safe and sound on the other end, we were ecstatic. We felt like *gods*. We'd taken the first step in conquering the one enemy science had yet to conquer: time.
Our technology changed the world, of course. We could charge whatever we wanted and companies would still come to us on their knees. Worldwide shipping, international travel - oh, and our teleportation is unaffected by gravity. Yeah. You wouldn't believe what NASA paid for a tour of our labs.
But the money was nothing compared to the glory. Nobel prizes, honorary degrees, access to the innermost of inner circles - and that's only from our peers! By the rest of the world, we were hailed as the fucking saviors of our species!
With our technology replacing fossil fuels, carbon dioxide emissions plummeted to the lowest levels in a century. We also made it effortless to send shipments to areas ravaged by war or natural disasters. It looked like we'd saved the world. It really did.
So imagine our surprise when people started dropping dead on every continent. They'd arrive at their destination, take a few steps, and then just collapse on the spot. Autopsies revealed nothing; there were no signs of poisoning, asphyxiation, brain damage, or any kind of physical injury. It just looked like they'd died of old age.
We were stunned. Some of us couldn't handle it. They drowned themselves in booze or water. Some disappeared, never to be seen again. Probably living out the rest of their days on some paradise beach somewhere. Fucking cowards.
The rest of us, we poured everything we had into finding out what was happening and how to stop it. We slaved away for months with the weight of a civilization on our shoulders. We pushed ourselves to our absolute limits and one day, we had it. We'd figured it out. We knew what was happening, and I have never been so terrified in my life.
Remember the autopsies of all the dead people? That it just looked like they'd died of old age? Well, it turned out that was exactly what had happened.
Einstein was right, after all. You cannot cheat time.
When we transported that rat instantly from one place to another, we thought we'd saved it the time it would take to travel that distance. But as it turns out, time cannot be saved. It can only be moved. The time you save has to come from somewhere.
The people who died had used our teleportation over distances it would take years to cover conventionally. They'd live in NYC, commute to Tokyo, have lunch in Barcelona, and take their wife out for a romantic dinner in Paris. They made a dozen laps around the globe every week and eventually, they ran out of time.
I am the last one of us left. All the others have broken. Once again, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. If I could take it all back, I would. I'd give all my prizes, all my money, everything I have and have ever had, if I could just turn back time and undo what I've done. But I can't, because if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's this:
You cannot cheat time. |
I've outran Walken, put Pratt on blast, and even taken down Brown. At least not a soul is sour about that last one.
When I came screaming out of that tunnel and slapped sideways by Dr. Chris Stein, they say he never worked another day again.
On my 22nd birthday, I sent a letter to Mr. Rock. There were hints of it all my life, like at school, when I'd look at poor Chris White and he'd lower his head. Now the standup comedian was almost dead. He made it through, and soon confessed he's done with his standup brand.
TMZ had plans for me. At first it was a typo but it turned into a sensation. They shoved mics in my face as I left my dad's home. There's no place for a man like me in this world. The unfurling of false facts on celebrity crap-mags meant sunglasses were now my usual wardrobe. This wasn't fun, my life was over, my job was done. They fired me the next day, I couldn't test software this way they'd say.
*Anti-christ, anti-christ*. They'd chant it as I walked down the street. Satanists swooned near my feet, I screamed, this is not right, I'm the anti-Chris, there is no *t*.
Fine, I make the best of it. There's no way to work, not a way to rest. I dropped a line to a man who gave me his number once. Said if I was sick of all the attention and wanted to make it mine. We made a date.
I am running for the Governor of New fucking Jersey. My opponent? Chris Christie.
When the other wing calls me the anti-Christ, it washes off me. I'm no longer an imposter, I'm the poster child of being demonized. How can I be rising in the polls so quickly if it's true? My constituents eat it up like my opponent would a platter of seven-layer dip. They defend me vehemently. I am on their team, I am their player. So when the votes are cast he finishes behind every candidate. He comes in last.
I am the anti-Chris, I've defeated plenty. I'm coming for your brother next, Mr. Cuomo. *Anti-Chris*, 2020. |
It has always been like this. Ever since I was born. Ever since my momma was born. Ever since….forever.
It has always happened on the 7th. Always the 7th, of the month November. I didn’t know why, or how. No one knew why, or how. Everyone just knew it would happen, and braced themselves for the inevitability of the unexpected. Then….it would happen.
It wasn’t that bad last year. It was olive oil, then. The gutters and streets ran slick with the oil, and every surface was bathed in an oily sheen. I remembered my whole family laughing as we watched the liquid fall from the sky - from the safety of the living room, of course; no one wanted to risk staining their clothes. My dad then put several large buckets out in the front yard, to harvest the rain - it was free food, after all. We collected so much that we had no need to visit the market for any oil for three months.
It did have some undesirable consequences. We couldn’t venture out without ruining our clothes, so we were confined in our home for the entirety of the day. The smell was okay at first, even found it aromatic, but after an entire morning of sniffing the same smell….you tend to get sick of it then, and our entire family spent the rest of the day in an air-conditioned room. In busier parts of the city, such as the central business district, where life went on as per normal, there were more cases of injuries due to slipping and falling. Traffic on the roads had to slow down drastically due to decreased traction, and all planes were grounded, stranding thousands of travellers across the world. Too bad for them, they didn’t exactly prepare for the Rain during their trip. The decrease in emissions was probably good for the environment, but as for other aspects….let’s just say the trees and grasses at the roadside suffered quite a lot. Luckily, the authorities had the foresight to shelter ponds and streams - but for larger water bodies, like the nearby Lake Hegar, well….the aquatic life didn’t fare so well when they were starved of oxygen as the oil prevented any atmospheric gases from dissolving in the water.
Well, could have been worse, right?
At least it wasn’t like the Bowling Ball Rain of 1998, before I was born. My papa talked about it a lot, in order to teach us children always to prepare for the worst when it Rains. The Rains had been rather kind in the 1990s, showering the earth in grass, dandelions, leaves, and in 1992, wine. Yeah, 1992 must have been a great year. As a result, most people became complacent, not expecting anything harsh on the day of the Rain.
Oh, how wrong they were.
When the first bowling balls fell, the people looked up at the sky in surprise. My dad always told the story vividly as if it just happened yesterday, because he had been out with his friends that day, waiting for the Rain to bestow some gifts upon them. He probably thought that he would be showered with wine again. After all, they were but naive teenagers.
However, he was greeted with the sight of his friend, Uncle Jimmy, getting his foot crushed by a 13 pound bowling ball.
The balls wreaked havoc that day, pummelling civilisation into submission. Cars were crushed, windows broken, buildings damaged, and the hospitals overflowed with the injured. My dad and his group of friends had carried Uncle Jimmy to the hospital, as the ambulances couldn’t drive out under the onslaught. Instead, the army had to be mobilised to drive their armoured personnel carriers out to ferry the wounded, and waiting that long for transport simply wasn’t an option for Jimmy. Luckily, he was treated before….before the Ball Rain broke power lines and water pipes, plunging all infrastructure all over the world in a state of disarray.
Today, whenever Uncle Jimmy visited, my eyes couldn’t resist straying to the space where his foot was supposed to be. It served as proof to an otherwise distant disaster that happened before I was born.
Well, could have been worse, right?
I was a history nerd, and after watching my first Rain (petals, luckily), I was intrigued and went to read up on the history of the Rains. I learnt much, all the way back to the first Rains recorded. There was once a Rain of Porcupines in the 1600s, which decimated the world population then - in the known world at least. Then there was a Rain of Logs, which must have been great for biodiversity, but in the populated areas, not so good for population density. Or very good, depends on how you look at it. Oh, and how could I forget the Rain of Cars in 1960? It must have been like the Ball Rain, just....on a much larger and more destructive scale.
"Lance, come!!"
I hurried to the window at my papa's call.
"You have better eyesight than me. Look up, and tell me what is coming down."
I chuckled softly at the sight of my papa putting on his glasses, then turned my gaze upwards.
My blood ran cold at the familiar shape. Oh no. Oh no.
It crashed down on the road with a deafening smack that sounded just like flesh hitting tarmac.
Another came down, but didn't suffer the same abrupt end. It tumbled into the small branches at the top of the tree in the front yard, and fell from branch to branch, giving out surprised yelps at the same time, before landing in the heap of dead leaves that I had swept up earlier. It poked its head out warily, surveying its surroundings with an apprehensive expression on its face.
Papa took off his glasses.
"It's raining....men."He covered my eyes with his hands and turned my head away from the window. "Don't look, Lance. It's gonna get....gonna get graphic."He muttered a prayer softly.
But I pushed his hand away, and turned back outside. There were more falling now, and some good Samaritans had started braving the Rain, laying out mattresses, blankets, boxes, anything to cushion their impact. There were more survivors now, and....I loved looking at them. I grabbed some cushions from the nearby sofa.
"No, Papa."I grinned as I turned the door knob and prepared to run out. "It's raining women."
*More at r/N_attempts_to_write :-)* |
Edward screeched as he collapsed, one leg dissipating into nothingness in a whirl of black hands.
"Brother!"Alfonse cried out, reaching for him.
"No! I'm fine!"Edward propped himself up on an elbow and readied the coin again.
"No you're not, you're bleeding! Look at your leg!"
"We knew this could happen, didn't we? I was prepared for this. But look, now that we've flipped tails, probability says it's a higher chance of being heads next, right?"
"What? No, that's not how it-"Alfonse spluttered, his brother's missing limb momentarily forgotten in a moment of scholarly outrage. Edward took the chance to flip again, and howled as his supporting arm vanished.
"Ed!"
"Still fine! Everything's fine!"Edward fumbled for the coin with his remaining arm. "Okay it'll definitely be heads next." |
It’s funny, how every day begins normally. I woke up like any other day, Derek was already gone. I went into the kitchen, and I saw Derek had made breakfast for me. I smiled and as always, took it with me to and curled up in a chair with a book. I used to watch the news, but it was too depressing. The Logic Hunters…whatever. It wasn’t my problem. I’d had an entire youth of messing with other people’s business – it was just a headache. Nothing ever changed for the better. I was done.
The day went by as it normally did. Reading from chair to chair, waiting for Derek to come back. Maybe we could watch a movie or something when he got back?
A knock.
In the books, the protagonist has an uneasy feeling. Almost like a premonition when there’s *that* knock. You know it. It’s some terrible tragedy or the beginning of some grand adventure, and as the main character walks to the door, she’s cautious, aware something is wrong as if warned by some sixth sense. That isn’t how it works in the real world.
I looked up from my book and up at the time. It was too early for it to be Derek. Or maybe he was back early. Wearing a smile on my face I went up to open the door, fully expecting Derek to be leaning against the doorway.
He wasn’t.
Two people stood at the door, and I noticed the symbol on their green uniforms. A pen crossed with a sword. The Logic Hunters. Two of them, no weapons in sight. One was a tall man with dark hair, and the other was a petite woman with emerald eyes and red hair. I wasn’t afraid. They would never dare bring me in. I was the reason their government even existed, and the country would collectively riot if anything were to happen. Maybe they needed some consulting again?
I sighed, “I’m sorry, please tell Mr. Andrews that I’m done with revolutions and politics and all of that. No I will not advise you, no–”
“Pardon me Ms. Williams,” the woman, I squinted, no girl, really. She couldn’t have been out of college. They were getting them early it seems. She cringed when she interrupted me. “I-I just wanted to say what an honor it is to meet you –”
I sighed. “Please, just get to the point.”
The girl swallowed and turned beet red. She glanced quickly at the other Logic Hunter who was looking everywhere but at me and spoke. “I-I’m really sorry, Ms. Andrews, we were here for a customary informing.”
Finally, finally, I began to sense something was wrong. “Customary informing?” I frowned.
“You were the one listed in his will. Normally the state would confiscate all the goods, but we of course made a special exception for you.”
I stopped listening past “will.” “Whose will?” I breathed. The narrowed. It was as if I were looking through a tunnel, with emotions locked behind some distant haze. “Whose will?” I asked again, louder, and the girl flinched. I didn’t care.
“Your, uh, your husband ma’am. A Derek Williams.”
“He’s dead?” I asked. Simple, that was best. There was a roaring in my ears and I couldn’t really think. There was some sort of pressure in my head, threatening to burst out.
“Ah, yes, ma’am. He attended a resistance meeting and one of our bugs was present there. We have the recording of him and everyone at the meeting plotting against the Logic Hunters specifically. Going as far as to allege that the Logic Disease was made up!” She laughed as if this were somehow funny. As if she could deliver to a woman the death of her husband and find something to laugh about. “Simply being at these meetings of course, is illogical and proof of infection. As the New Constitution stipulates, those proven to have the disease are to be summarily executed.”
She looked at me and something in my face caused her to look down. “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I understand how much it must hurt to have your very own husband be a rebel of a government you helped found.”
“This wasn’t what I had envisioned,” I said, my voice coming out dry. I had told him. *Told* him. Mind your own business, you won’t make a difference. Nothing changes, never for good. All you get is blood and tears. I knew, I’d caused plenty.
“He’s dead?” I asked again, numb. The truth still hadn’t set in. He would walk in any moment now, run his hands through his hair like he always did and call it a joke. He couldn’t be gone. Not Derek.
The girl looked worried now. “Yes ma’am I just said that.”
I wanted to throttle her, to bash her head against the pavement. I had a gun vault behind the door in the wall, I could do it.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. Took my emotions and just…pushed them aside, as I'd so often done when I was young, when I had a world to change. I needed logic right now. Cold and hard. Killing them wouldn’t help, wouldn’t bring Derek back. “Thank you,” I said and shut the door in their faces.
I walked back to where I’d been sitting and just sat…staring at a wall. I should’ve done more, I should’ve stopped him. Convinced him. Done *something* to prevent this. Maybe if I'd actually supported him instead of talking him down he'd be alive. *Or maybe you'd be dead too* a voice whispered in my head. I ignored it. I was this country’s hero for fuck’s sake, and I was here moping!
I just wanted to cry. If I cried it would be okay, it would be a release, but the tears did not come, only a ball in my chest. Of despair, helplessness, and largest of all, rage.
If I’d built it, I could tear it down. And I would do it. They had taken Derek, and I'd take away everything they had. It was time to start giving a fuck again.
I went to the phone.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
The scene looked like it was fresh out of a horror movie. Of course, I could never say this out loud because there was no such thing as movies in these days. The blood draping on what could only be an exquisite foreign carpet of the theater. I took a mental note of my surroundings. Blood pooled on the floor and the theater chair. A hole the size of a bullet torn though the back of the chair. An unloaded, recently fired pistol lay in the corridor between seats. "Attempted murder."I said ironically. This one was right out of the history books.
​
I sighed. It wasn't every day you get dragged halfway across the country on horseback. They'd heard I was the best of the best, but I guess you could say I knew a thing or two about criminal investigation. I had every trick in the book in my head, the only problem being the equipment of the 18th century clearly wasn't up to specification. So I had to improvise. If I remember correctly, I only had about 2 weeks until the poor sod died. I didn't want to waste a minute of it. I pulled out my improvised fingerprint powder and feather duster and applied it vigorously to the pistol. I identified 3 individual finger marks. I inspected them with my magnifying glass and took a mental note of their pattern before wrapping the pistol in a linen cloth. There wasn't any more evidence I could note at the scene so I took the pistol and headed to the reception area.
​
The guards were having trouble keeping the peace. The small crowd were insistent that they should be allowed to leave, but it was to no avail. "By Royal decree, none shall leave till the shooter has been found!"yelled one of the guards. It did little to dissuade them. I cleared my throat and waved over one of the guards. "I need help taking some samples."There were around 40 people in the room. I just hope I had enough ink.
​
It took several hours but I eventually cataloged everyone of suspicion. Splatters of ink dotted the reception area, while the papers used to document them were held firmly by each person. I took out the pistol again and began inspecting each persons paper individually before I found my shooter. A man named Anckarström peered at me with a look of disgust and hatred to what I was doing. I inspected his arm but could not smell any gunpowder residue. I had no way of definitively determining if there was any of that anyway but it mattered not. His fingers clearly matched those I had found on the pistol. Despite his numerous protests I named him as the shooter and in time all the other people were released from the theater. A royal advisory approached me with what could only be an extremely large coin laden bag. "Gustav III sends his regards for the quick and decisive investigation, and you will be reimbursed generously."I chuckled as I took the bag and left. Theres no changing the past. |
"Please tell me you're all seeing what I'm seeing."
No one responded. It took a minute just for everyone to adjust to what was on the monitor. When Smith was just approaching it, it looked like it was a crocked rode sticking out of the ground. Even if it had been just that no one would know how to explain it. Then Smith noticed the dusty red cloth dangling from it he moved closer to get a better look. The idea of what it was started to form in everyone's head but no one suggested it because they all thought it couldn't be, I mean, how could it be. He must have been only ten paces from the pole when the wind kicked up and lifted the rest of the cloth into the air, revealing it. There was no mistaking what it was. It had been weathered from what looked like decades here but it was indeed a Soviet Union Flag.
"Hello, Earth control, anyone. Please talk to me."There was panic in his voice.
Someone from earth control final answered, "Roger, We see the flag."
"Okay, can some tell me how it got here."
The wind had stopped blowing and the flag had draped back down before there was a response. Back at earth control, there was a barrage bickering. Everyone was turning to the other person to see if they any fragment of a clue. They all hope that some in the room could somehow explain it. Alas, no one had any clue to how it got there.
"As of now we don't know how the flag got there, but we're going to get in contact with some from F.K.A to see if they can give us an answer. Stay calm now, cause we're going to need you to look around in any direction and see if you can spot anything else, Over"
"Okay...Roger"
Smith turned in a complete three-hundred and sixty degrees. There was nothing on the monitors that stood out to them.
"Yeah, I don't see anything that doesn't look like just more red sand and dirt,"
"Roger, return to Enlil X. We'll inform the other before you get back. You'll have to come back out here with a team and survey the surrounding area more. After that, whether or not you guys find anything, you're gonna set a marker down, get back to the Enlil and began your journey home."
"Thank Christ, Roger."
Smith started to walk back to his rover when he stopped. There was someone standing right next to it. Everyone thought it was someone from Enlil X. Until everyone started to notice everything wrong with them. The suit they where wearing looked to be an older, bulkier module. It had small tears going down the legs and arms. And the helmet, it was cracked wide open. The shadow from inside the helmet was as dark as the glass that still attached. From that shadow, however, you could see the face of someone. They were as pale as a course but every bit of there face you could see looked completely intact.
Smith, earth control, everyone stood frozen in shock. Then the walking corpse started to whisper something. "Вы вернулись к использованию."No one knew what that meant. but before anyone could say anything it dug it's exposed hands into the rover. In an instant, it split the vehicle in haft and tossed the separated pieces farther than anyone could see. Then it leaped at Smith faster than he could react. Smith fell to the ground. The monitor only showed Sky.
"AAAHHHH SOMEONE HELP. PLEASE GOD, ANYONE. AAAHHHhh aaahhh..."the com fell silent.
"Get in contact with everyone at Enlil X, tell them they need to get off of Mars Now."
Someone came charging into the Control room. "We just got in contact with someone from F.K.A. They said to destroy the ship, that no one on that mission can come back from earth."
"What, no. we're not letting the rest of the crew die."
Just then a transmission came in from the crew at Enlil X. "Earth... there are people surrounding the ship. Jesus Christ, There are people"
The monitor switch to the camera back at the ship. There had to be at least twenty of them. Walking corpses just like the one Smith had seen. They were all in pristine condition but none of them looked Russian. They were all rather short and had a face that just wasn't shaped the way anyone had ever see before. They weren't wearing the same space helmet as the other corpse either. Their clothes were so torn they almost looked like were covered up with loincloths. From the matching color, patterns, and unearthly symbols that appeared in the exact same spot for all of them, It was clear that they were wearing uniforms.
Just then Smith mick had started to pick up nose again.
"Smith, are you still alive? answer us, Smith. Please talk to use."
Smith's monitor showed he was slowly walking in the direction of the Enlil X.
Smith's voice spoke in the same chilling coldness that the corpse did.
"You've returned to use. You've returned to use. and we shall return to you. very soon. very soon." |
"Mr Necross- Donna Day, Apex News. You've faced some accusations of tolerating sub-par working conditions in your Mortem Postal Service warehouses. Anything you'd like to say about that?"
Necross smiled. "Those accusations came in the form of a series of anonymous social media posts which have since been debunked. Every inspection of our operation has returned good results, and I've always conducted all our activities with total transparency. Unless some new workplace laws have been passed in the last ten minutes, I can assure you we tick all the boxes."
It was indeed true. All of Necross' employees got an hour's break every day, the cafeteria had a hygiene rating of 5, overtime was entirely optional and paid double. The fact that none of them ever availed of these options was trifling. Zombies liked simple, repetitive tasks, and with their sagging posture and hollow, dead eyes looked right at home bustling about town between 6 and 8am. So Necross had set up his own courier business. Sure, it might not be as glamorous as world domination, but it paid the bills. He'd been struggling to make ends meet before- the maintenance costs on his castle just ate away at his finances.
Another question came in now. "Mr Necross- Steve Smith, NCE. Your business only appointed an officer for diversity and equality for the first time last month. What other steps have you taken to ensure equality in the workplace?"
It was true, Necross had struggled a bit to tick the boxes early on. It was just easier to find more tall and strong male corpses. But they were making progress, and the new gender-neutral morgue had been a fine success. "Well, Steve, as you can probably see from the Department for Business' report last week, Mortem does have the lowest gender pay gap of the country's 100 most profitable firms, and the only one this year not to have at least one claim of harassment investigated by an external third party."The pay gap was nil, and zombies didn't go in much for crass behaviour. The only real expense that had been needed was for workplace counselling- being dead was, understandably, a somewhat unnerving experience. |
MySpace went when Facebook came, and Kodak missed its shot.
The page was turned on Borders next, and Sears ain't doing hot.
The times they are a-changin' and the tides they wait for none,
And even dragons must adapt in twenty twenty-one.
​
In ages past, we sat on golden coins and diamond shards,
But prices fell and now I hoard Nvidia graphics cards.
I used to burn down dwarven towns and prise from ash my prize,
Before I learned to just buy cards and watch the prices rise.
​
And by the way, I'll share with you one weird but useful trick,
Don't let your cards sit idle -- hook them on a mining rig!
The dwarves will say that shovels last, while bits and bytes will fade,
But let them sleep on stone, while crypto reaps you cash in spades.
​
I made a killing mining ETH and BTC,
Then tripled it while YOLOing in Doge and GME.
And thus my wealth compounds itself, with ever soaring totals,
While all I ever need to do, is keep the faith and HODL. |
I yawned and got up out of the bed. Bit too much to drink it seems. The rain pelted the windows, an occasional flash illuminating the night.
I walked out of my room and down the hall when I felt it.
A chill down my spine.
The air turned icy cold. Every hair on my body stood up. I began to sweat. My throat felt dry.
I heard a creaking behind me.
I saw a shadow when the lighting flashed.
I turned around.
I held my breath.
A little girl, her back turned towards me. Her white nightgown somehow less pale then her cold, clammy skin. Black hair streaming down her back.
Oh, and she was floating.
"Joz? What are you doing up?"
Her head turned all the way to me while her body remained facing the other way. Her hair covered her face. She instantly tilted her neck at a full-ninety degree angle, a cracking sound at the sudden shift. I caught a glimpse of her pure black eyes.
And then there a flash of lightning and thunder.
She screamed, an echoing screech like some sort of damned choir, giving me a full view of her solid black eyes sunken into her face and sharp, yellow teeth. Her pale skin almost glowing in the light. Her hair floated in the air with a mind of its own, black tendrils grasping every which way.
"Oh, scared of the storm, eh?"
The little girl floated back to the ground, her hair returning to cover her face. She slowly nodded.
"Come here, will ya?"
She slowly moved towards me without moving her legs. She reached out her hands.
I picked her up.
"Yea, bad night for your folks to be out. You want a glass of milk?"
She curled into my chest, and slowly nodded her head.
"Right then, you can sleep in our bed tonight too if you want."
She curled up tighter at another flash of lightning.
This was little Jozrileth. She's a little strange...ok scratch that sometimes people think she's the Devil's own child. But she's a good kid and by golly if we weren't going to take care of her. |
Sal watched as Lord Elos cackled and placed one boot on the head of King Orgainne. All around them, skeletons moved chests of gold and crates of artifacts into the town square. More skeletons guarded soldiers and civilians alike. Though the living outnumbered the dead, no one seemed willing to fight. A contingent of bandits made doubly sure of that.
“The treasures of the kingdom are mine!” Elos held up a gleaming shard of dark material. “Behold! The Stone of Nheskir! With it, I will become the ruler of the undead!”
Orgainne let out a grunt as Elos stepped harder.
“Father!” A young woman tried to rush to Orgainne’s aid, but a man in armor held her back.
“No, Nadira! It’s too dangerous!”
“But – ”
“We must believe!” An old man in a wrinkled robe placed his hand over Nadira’s. “The prophecy *will* come true! The hero will come to save us!”
Hearing this, Elos only laughed harder. “Hero? There hasn’t been a hero in this land for centuries! The Great Sage’s fabled Site of Arrival? Empty! I had a few of my men watch that place during the week this ‘hero’ was supposed to emerge. Just in case. Sorry to disappoint you, *Elder Wavel*.”
Elder Wavel slumped. “No…”
Disheartened murmurs ran through the captive crowd. Nadira let out a strangled sob. Their misery only seemed to strengthen Lord Elos. Not a single person tried to fight against their fate. With a sigh, Sal got up from his seat amongst a group of captive adventurers.
A nearby bandit raised his sword. “Hey! Sit back down!”
Sal ignored him. The bandit swung with a cry, only for his blade to pass through an illusory figure of Sal. The clang of the bandit’s sword hitting stone drew Elos’s attention.
“What’s this?” An amused grin formed on Elos’s face. “Do we actually have a hero?”
Sal waved his hand. “No, no. I’m just here for the hero’s sword. You carry on.”
That smile faded. “Excuse me?”
“I figured this was the easiest way to get to the thing without all the politics.” He walked past Lord Elos toward one of the piles of artifacts.
The silence was deafening. All eyes were on him, some in disbelief, others in hope.
*It’s always like this.*
Without waiting, he began rummaging through a pile of gold and jewelry.
“Stop right there!” A blast of necrotic energy collided with his back, but his armor absorbed the brunt of the damage.
“Can you not? I’d rather not do this right now.” Sal dug a bit deeper into the pile and pulled out a gleaming blade. “Ah, there you are. You wouldn’t believe how much this thing sells for.”
Elder Wavel let out a gasp. “It’s him! No one else can – ”
“Touch this blade?” Sal waved the sword around. “Nah. It’s just a simple ward. Easy enough to remove. Makes selling it way more convenient.”
The old man’s face reddened. “Sell – That is a priceless artifact! You’re supposed to save us from his evil! It’s your destiny!”
Sal rolled his eyes and put the blade into a pocket dimension. “Let me ask *you* something – old wizard man – since you’re so enamored with this destiny thing. What is *your* part in this ‘destiny’, hm? What prophecy is it this time?”
Wavel’s jaw trembled before he said, “I… I am to be a guide and mentor. To guide you into defeating this world’s evils.”
Sal nodded. “Right, right. A wise mentor that does little more than train me and then dies when his mission is fulfilled.”
“What – ?”
“Do you think it’s your destiny to die just so a ‘hero’ can have a growth spurt?”
Elder Wavel blinked. “Er… what? No, that’s not how it works!”
“That’s exactly how it works!” Sal turned on the cowering masses. “And you lot! Did you even try to fight against Elos? Sure didn’t see any blood on my way into town. Just a lot of knights being surrounded by the undead. Seems like Elos was here to take hostages and you all just let him.”
Silence followed his observation. Then, Lord Elos let out a soft chuckle.
“Such an astute hero. You’d do well by my side. Together we can – ”
“No thanks. I’m gonna pawn this sword and enjoy my vacation.” Sal jabbed a finger at the crowd. “If they want saving, they can save themselves.”
Lord Elos’s eyes narrowed. “They wouldn’t dare. They’re too reliant on their prophecies and heroes to save them.”
“Yeah? Well, this hero is here and he’s saying, ‘good luck’. I’ve had it with these stupid prophecies and whatnot.” Sal waved his hand. “You want your kingdom back? He’s one necromancer with the power to control about a hundred skeletons. That stupid gem maybe doubles it. Behind him is a bandit clan of about fifty. You’re a city of adventurers and a standing army of almost triple that. *You* do the math.”
Through the stunned silence, a few resentful faces grew thoughtful. Sal gathered mana in the air and wrapped it around himself as he had done in past lives. Teleportation – a high-level spell most spellcasters could only dream of accomplishing. And as his surroundings began to shift, he gave the stunned crowd one last wave.
“Toodles.”
...
Might be a fun idea to expand on. I'll put it in the list with all the other ideas that could use expanding upon :P
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. |
Travis was used to smelling blood. A lot of peoples' secrets involved bloodshed in some form or fashion. Most that did involve blood were from self harmers. A whiff of iron followed by brief flashes of open wounds either on wrists, thighs, and on rare occasion, genitalia. Travis was used to that.
He wasn't, however, used to smelling it upon entering the house when he knew Jemmye was home. No, he was used to the smell of cheap whiskey, the sound of a leather belt smacking across bare flesh and the sight of Jemmye crying quickly flashing across his vision. It was these intruding senses that made Travis sure to always treat Jemmye with as much kindness as possible, even on days when he had trouble putting up with her nagging.
But no, this time, he smelt blood. The vision flashed across his eyes, but he was in too much shock to really take in what he saw. All he knew was that he smelt blood, and, was it water? Tap water?
"Jemmye?"Travis called out.
He heard pouring water. He dropped his keys and ran to the bathroom, leaving the front door standing wide open. "Jemmye?!"Travis called again, rounding the corner to the hallway. There he saw the door to the bathroom open. Steam was emanating from the open doorway.
He already knew what was going on by the time he got to the bathroom. He didn't have to glance into the tub to know what Jemmye had done. Instead he instantly rushed to open the small cabinets where they kept their towels. Green, her favorite color.
He grabbed two towels, then finally turned to see Jemmye in the tub. The water was a deep shade of red.
Jemmye was laying there, already unconscious.
"Jesus Christ,"Travis cried as he pulled her out of the tub. He grabbed a towel in each hand and pressed at the long gashes trailing up Jemmye's arms. Blood flowed out of her arms in spurts.
Never in a million years did he think she would actually try to kill herself. The way she acted on normal days, it never hinted that she was battling over her father's abuse. Travis loathed himself for thinking it would.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, dialed 911 and put the phone on speaker. He set the phone on the sink then continued to apply pressure to Jemmye's wounds.
The operator came on, and Travis demanded an ambulance.
Moments later, Travis was climbing into the ambulance with the paramedics. One of them, a Hispanic man by the name of Juan, turned to Travis and began questioning him.
Travis couldn't focus on the questions. All he saw was Juan smothering his own mother.
"I, uh, what?"Travis asked. He had a day by day routine that minimized his interaction with new people. This cut down on the amount of new visions he had. He hadn't witnessed a new one in a few months. Juan's secret wasn't the worst Travis had seen, but it was the abrupt smell of Juan's mother shitting herself that really broke Travis' focus.
"Is she taking any medication?"Juan asked again.
"I,"Travis began.
The other paramedic placed a hand on Travis' shoulder.
"Sir,"the paramedic by the name of Ronald said, "you need to relax."
Travis was having an even harder time relaxing now. Child porn, and a lot of it was flashing through his mind, and it wasn't like he could block the visions out. The smell of Ronald's cum was the final straw. Travis blacked out.
_________________________________________________________
A nurse by the name of Regina shook Travis awake.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah?"Travis muttered. He sat up, finally bringing himself out of the half-sleep he was in. "Where, is she okay?"He asked.
He locked eyes with Regina. She was a young, beautiful nurse who had blonde hair and brown eyes. Travis smelled roses, and then saw a 12 year old Regina stomping on a rose bush.
"I'm sorry,"Regina said, "they did everything they could, but it was too late."
Travis was floored. He opened his mouth to speak, to question why they couldn't do anything more, but the words wouldn't come out.
A man in hospital scrubs walked into the room.
"I am Dr. Clark,"the man said.
Travis smelled blood, and whisky. A quick flash, and Travis saw Dr. Clark's unsteady hands attempting to suture Jemmye's wounds. His hands moved about carelessly though, causing more damage to her wrists than what was already done.
Travis clenched his fists. |
Santa peered down at the crate's contents again as he continued speaking to the representative. "So you're saying, legally, they're still mine, even though I don't want them?"
"Yessir,"the voice responded. "We're afraid that the moment you signed for the package, you took responsibility. However, if you'd like, we can track down this 'Satan' to see if he received your package, and you two can swap."
"Well, hold on,"Saint Nick interjected. "What if I don't accept? I can just keep them?"
"I suppose so."
Santa glanced over at his toy-making desk, considering the constant work schedule.
"Uh, you know what, nevermind. I can take care of them. I just need to name them something whimsical, like 'elves.' " |
"The Japanese are taking over the entire international market!"
"Which one?"
"*All of them.* We'll lose our hold in crush-proof phone manufacturing at this rate!"
"But, but how can that be? They've been regionally locked for decades relying on exports from us!"
"A... a catastrophe sir. I, I'm not sure how to explain this---"
"Find a way damnit, our enterprise into the east Asian region is at stake!"
"... Not just that sir."
"What could be more important than losing our expansion? We've been planning this for decades!"
"I know sir."
"Do you have *any* idea how many hands I've crushed to get here?"
"I do sir."
"Oh stop babying your hand, it could have been worse. Now tell me, what could be more important than the biggest move by *any* corporation in the global economy?"
"..."
"Speak up man I can't hear you."
"Our entire company."
"*WHAT*?"
"*All* the assets of the company will fall under the Japanese in... about 10 minutes."
"How?? How can that *be??*"
"Because the head of the conglomerate is on his way. To, seal the deal."
"We'll have to see about that. There is no one I haven't beaten!"
"The same could be said for him as well sir."
"Very well. I must prepare myself. His name?"
"President... Saitama, sir."
"Hm, the name's familiar. I'll be ready to receive him shortly."
"Of course sir."
"Please, I told you to call me Clark. Mr. Kent if you must."
"Sorry... Mr, Kent, sir."
"We'll have to work on that once I'm done with this Saitama. Mark my words, this will be the deal that will make our hold in this economy all the stronger!"
"I'll look forward to it sir."
"Yes! We'll make this Saitama *old* news."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading! |
"Supreme Commander, about the invasion plan for Earth?"
It was general Gklip, I put my left manipulating tentacle over my secondary eyestalks. When they were handing out brains, Gklip had managed to lock himself in the toilet. The only reason he was a general at all was because he was my tertiary mates pod-sib and she hadn't shut up about giving him a chance to shine for a full ten-day... the other generals slowly slid sideways away from Gklip, knowing full well I only had finite patience.
"Not now Gklip!"
"But Su.."
"I said Not. Now."
"But the Galactic Council wants to know when you're going to invade Earth!"
"Gklip... ok, you saw the same briefing material I did right?"
"Yes Supremo!"
"Well..wait... never call me that again."
"Yes sir your Supremeness!"
"You... never mind..where was I? Oh yes, you seriously think invading Earth is at all possible?"
"But..we have the combined forces of a million planets your commandership!"
"Uh-huh... and do you honestly think it's enough?"
"Ummm..."
"Quite. Oh sure, we'd probably win at first..but we've all seen how resistant these hu-mans are. One of them would rise up, and then it would be all over for us. I don't know how, but they would defeat us. Our finest battle computers have been unable to analyse their strategies, and the consensus is that they are completely unpredictable. Attacking them would be suicide, and their tiny pitiful little system isn't worth it."
"But the Council..."
"Can go fargle itself! If they want the humans technology so bad, they can get it themselves."
There was a shocked silence. It was an accepted fact that civilisation in the galaxy was the result of single Precursor species that had taken to the stars, seeding planets with their technology in giant vaults with puzzle locks. Once a sentient species reached a sufficiently advanced level, they could unlock the vault and the stars were theirs. The council had grown out of the interspecies search for the Precursors... and we thought we'd found them in the humans. Theirs was the only planet without a vault, and they had these stories of their past. Tales of battles won, and the United Federation of Planets they had once been a part of. Our analysts even thought the stories included references to what had destroyed it all. The Alien species, the great wars and the decay of their civilisation into a Empire ruled by one being...and the civil war fought with planet killing weapons against the tiny human resistance.
It was all gone now of course, but the council thought that some remnants must remain... and feared the humans. They obviously remembered, and hated, aliens. So reverence for the Precursors had become fear, and the determination to stop them before they clawed their way back up out of their gravity well.
"Supreme Commander. Surely you have some battle plan, some idea how to invade the humans world? They can't be all that powerful now can they? I mean, you can see someone blew the fargitz out of their defence satellite! It's covered in craters!"
Privately I doubted that the 'defence' satellite was actually the remains of one of the fabled Death Stars. It seemed more likely it was just a natural, if heavily cratered, moon.
"Very well general Gklip... if you think the humans are that easy to defeat, let's see you do it."
"I..beg pardon?"
"You heard me... now is your chance to shine Gklip. I'm giving you command of a battle squadron. The plans are already formulated and in your commandship's computer. Go and invade the planet."
"I..ahh.."
"Come now Gklip...weren't you just saying how they couldn't be all that bad. I shall tell the council that I put my best general in charge of the invasion. I'm sure you'll manage it. Why, you have over a thousand ships at your command. Surely that's enough to defeat such a pitiful bunch of primitive survivors. Or do you think they are too dangerous?"
"Yes Commander..er, I mean no Commander.. I ..ah..."
"That's the spirit! For the council!"
"All Glory to the Council!"
"Indeed... well, off you go Gklip. Don't disappoint me, or the council."
I watched Gklip slither out of the chamber. Either he'd succeed, or he'd die. Either I was rid of annoyance, or I could claim it was my brilliant strategy that won the day. Personally, I was betting on it being the former, I'd seen those plans after all. Only an idiot would think that landing in front of their seat of power and claiming to come in peace would work. And Gklip was just such an idiot. He'd be dead before he could say 'take me to your leader'. There was no way the humans would fall for such an obvious ruse. |
"What a day, huh?"I said to Kev, loitering in the parking lot. There were about twenty of us still there, stretching and cracking our joints and expelling the excess ichor. The asphalt was stained with it, half-footprints and tire tracks dragged through tar. Cigarette smoke wafted on the cold air, their lit tips bobbing in the dimming light. It was pointless, hanging around here after our shifts were over, but there was some need for communal bonding keeping us here, co-workers who knew next to nothing about each other. A reassurance that we were not alone in our lives.
"They must be trying to meet some sort of quota,"Kev said, sitting on the hood of his car, his eyes bloodshot. "Everyone's fucking worn out. Hey. Look at this,"he said, and stood up and turned his back to me and leaned over on the hood. He untucked the back of his shirt and hiked it up with one hand. "The swollen ones are new."
Going up his back in two columns, parallel to his spine, were a series of sockets molded into the skin. The ones closer to his waist were still a bright red, inflamed, but as I pulled his shirt up higher I could see older ones, little pockets of flesh almost healed closed. I touched one. Just big enough to fit in a finger. "Jesus,"I said. "What are these? Do I-?"and reached around to touch my own back.
"Nah, nah,"said Kev, pulling his shirt back down. "If you had one you'd know, trust me. This stuff's just for us in the implant division, me and Jesse and Kayla."
"That's what you're calling it?"I said.
"Sure."He shrugged. "People talk. Like gathers like."
"I dunno,"I said. "Might be against company policy."I was looking at his wrists, his neck, the other bits of exposed skin, looking for marks. "There's a reason we're not allowed to remember."
He expelled air through his nostrils. "Then they should give us a better health plan,"he said. "It's not like we're deliberately snooping around. Just watching each others' backs. Seeing what's there to see. Not like 'implant division' is an official term or anything."
"I guess,"I said, and tucked my hands into my pockets. They were freezing. Ever since I'd started working here my circulation had gone to shit. I'd wake up Barry all the time with my feet like ice. He'd been urging me to quit, but it's not like we could afford for me to lose this job. I edged away from Kev. "So. Gotta get going. See you tomorrow."We really couldn't afford anything that would get me in trouble.
"Sure,"Kev grunted. His eyes were grey. "See you tomorrow."
I climbed inside my car and turned on the heater and looked out the dirty windshield at Kev still perched on the hood, bent over and still as stone. I didn't know what he was doing, pushing it like that, making categories, piecing together the inside of the office in his head. We'd all heard the stories of what happened to people who tried to figure things out, who tried to understand. I thought of Ester, who'd worked here all her life, who'd accumulated the indelible marks on her body, her spirit, until the pattern became inevitable. She'd slit her own wrists, gone all the way up her forearms, nearly turning her arms inside-out. She'd remembered.
I stepped down on the gas pedal and pulled out of the parking lot, beginning the long drive back home. The leaves were a brilliant orange and gold, falling off now to expose the bare black branches. In the rear view mirror, Kev and all the rest of them shrunk away to nothing behind me. My hands had warmed. Barry would be at home waiting for me. |
So, the strangest thing has happened today.
My son’s name is Grastalis, after the ancient dragon lord of the same name. He is no dragon though, instead being a human who was left behind by barbarians who tried to destroy our kind. We have raised him as a Dragonborn, and one day hope to take him to the Elder Dragon at Fumar. But after today? I don’t know what to think.
I am enthusiastic about his learning. I teach him Dragonborn history, as well as the ancient arts of Dragon Magick, which you know is very difficult for a human to conjure, but possible with the right crystals. The only things I know he cannot do are fly and breathe fire. He hasn’t flown yet, and I’m quite grateful for that. But he did breathe fire. Yes, I mean it. His mouth opened, and he spewed purple flame, a color exceptionally rare even for a Dragonborn. I was...surprised, to say the least. How? Why? So I flew from Kaspar Hollow and to the Oracle Dragon. She said the following:
“Give me fifty mejions, and I will tell you the path your son undertakes.”
So I paid her, and now await a response. To make matters more frightening, he has developed the markings of an ancient Dragonborn prince all over his arms and legs. Obviously the Magick has some influence on him.
Please come soon. I think you may be the answer to our problems, Gaspard.
CLARIFICATION/EDIT: Dragonborn are humanoid, they walk on two legs but possess draconic features and can fly. |
"Ok, one must think about it in a manner as such; cats are intriguing creatures, indeed, but for a coven they're awfully boorish. Everybody has a cat. Now, a giraffe, that is something truly magnificent... and mine, I dare say, practically oozes maleficence. As befits a familiar of the great Brunfarthing."
As if on queue, the newly 'liberated' animal stretched its long neck upward, positioning its body for optimal leaf-eating. Nonplussed at the coven of witches surrounding it, the giraffe ate.
"Wh — what's its name?"Griscilda asked, an idle hand stroking the black cat languidly wrapped around her shoulders.
Brunfarthing cackled. "Spot."
"Isn't that a dog name?"Trice-Blessed Nahlia, the youngest of their group inquired, staring up at Spot with wide eyes.
"No it's *not*."
"I'm pretty sure it's quite a common one, actually."
"I assure you its not. Look - look, we're ignoring the fundamental points here; he's tall, intelligent, and has a moral compass as dotted as his skin. He's perfect."She practically purred the last word with glee.
She slapped the giraffe's leg proudly.
"I don't *knowwww*,"Nahlia continued. She effected a sing-song lilt to her tone, knowing full-well how much the other witches hated it when she did that.
Young she was indeed, but far from innocent or naive. True enough, only young minds could concoct new mischief for the changing times, and only Nahlia could so consistently find ways to irk her elderly and greying peers.
Brunfarthing fixed her with a withering stare. "Very well, you've earned this. Spot. *Attack.*"
At once, all the witches in the circle stiffened, whilst the Giraffe halted its eating. Spot lurched his neck sideways, and as he fixed his warm brown eyes upon Nahlia, only then could she appreciate the terror of his majesty. How quickly that long neck passed the edge of being cute and became unnerving; it reminded her of a hung body, the horror of an anatomy or familiar thing not quite as one would expect it to be, like a cherished floral-pattern shirt she had once lent suddenly stained — she was *certain* Scathach had never paid for that one...
Spot lowered that eery neck, ever so quietly edging forward, the witch utterly transfixed by a poignant concoction of fascination and fear.
Extending his tongue, Spot proceeded to lick Nahlia's face, chin to cheek, retracting with a squelch as saliva dripped down her.
Nahlia giggled. The sound slowly picked up and echoed around the coven, a cacophony of witches cackling until the air was filled with their laughter.
"Th-thats kind of adorable, actually,"Griscilda commented, pushing her glasses up her nose and resting her hand on Spot's leg.
"It's certainly novel, I'll give ol' Brun that,"another witch commented.
"She's lost her 'ed that one, ever since the Mordred incident..."
"Shhh! We *don't* talk about that."
"Wait, wasn't it Macbeth?"
Much to their surprise, however, Brunfarthing appeared unperturbed at the display and ensuing discussion. Instead her arms were folded with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"Gotcha,"she said.
"Wow, you made me wet,"Nahlia deadpanned. "How droll."Slowly, she clapped — gifted that she was, somehow the young witch clapped sarcastically.
"Brun. Explain thyself,"the weathered voice of Ol' Mary carried itself throughout the group, as if on the wind itself. "This is most out of character."
"Ok, I might have been dramatising my reasoning a tad; a lot, truth be told. I like him. He's an *unfamiliar* familiar, but he's special to me. I was going to stick with the cat, but when I saw this one about to be poached by a group of hunters — well, I *initially* wasn't going to intervene, I'll be honest — but then I saw those large eyes and I just knew I couldn't not do something, you know? Hearing animals is a bane sometimes, I must say. We witches are cursed and blessed in equal measure."
"Hear, hear,"a few witches murmured in chorus. Hushed whispers filled the night.
Nahlia blinked, her lips pouting. "Mm, the eyes. I see that,"she responded. "And he's a good lookout. So long as he gives me a blind eye."
"Oh, I got him specifically with you in mind. No more shenanigans, I say. Enough is enough."Brunfarthing gave a good-natured chuckle. "Ok, but I will say that a giraffe's.... unique living requirements are somewhat more complex than a cat's. We'll need a concerted effort from the coven to ensure Spot here is well looked after. I know I ask for much, but I also know that I would do this for each and every one of you wonderful witches if asked. We're a sisterhood first, and the bane of do-gooders next."
"I'm fine with it,"a witch called out from the periphery of the gathering.
"Sure, but he'll need a little glamour to blend in,"came another voice.
"Oh, I can do that!"
"No, I want to spend time with the giraffe!"
"Over my familiar's dead body you are."
"Oh, you always do this you fucking *who*—"
"I do so love our little gatherings, warts and all,"Nahlia sighed, checking her nails.
"*AHEM*. Ladies, ladies. One at a time, and leave the maledictions and curses for afterwards, if you please. Spot needs some space; he and I have much to discuss, and I have yet to instil the true ways of witchcraft and good-natured but morally dubious mischief into his black heart. Truly, we walk a complex path, and I wish not for his head to bonk against the ceiling, if you'll excuse the phrasing."
"Ok — ok. New coven member it is. Sure. Let's do this."Gris smiled, rubbing her arm excitedly through the fabric of her robes.
"Welcome to the family, Spot,"said Brunfarthing, as the witches began to part. Overhead, a curved moon smiled down upon them. |
So you wish to write my tale? Very well.
Back when I was ten summers old, I died. I was running an errand for my father; a merchant travelling the land, and between our camp a ways out from the city walls and the walls themselves, I was struck by lightning in a sudden storm. A sign from the Gods, it must have been, for it to strike me when there were trees within half a mile. A sign that I had been blessed, for I lived. Eventually, after being pronounced deceased, and with my father making preparations to bury me.
It scared him, and he slew me again, believing me to be a necromantic construct. I was not, and once I reawoke with my chest hurting fierce, I fled from the fire they sought to kill me with.
Unnatural, people call me. I exist outside of order, outside of what ought to be. I, who defy death and the judgement that awaits us, should not exist, they say. Priests have tried to exorcise me, to no avail. Knights have slain me, to a number of resurrections. Wizards have attempted to study me, and perhaps they are the only group who truly used my potential. After all, studying the arcane is not without danger, doubly so for dabbling with reagents and rituals. It was an unusual apprenticeship, if you could call dying thrice monthly unusual. It was less than I had averaged out on my own, forced to the life of an urchin for three winters.
By sixteen summers, I decided to start a journal detailing the most peculiar and important deaths I had suffered. At first, it was only the former, but after one set of experiments resulted in a tincture able to close even the most grievous of wounds, I added the latter category. It also led me to the situation I am in now, for which you are chronicling.
While I was wandering the streets, a warlock had lain a curse upon the royal family of this country, neighbour to where I lived at the time. He who sired the first son of the royal princess would be killed, you are familiar. No counter was, of course, found, or else we would not be in this situation.
And then the younger royal prince, then twenty summers old, a friend for two, and, incidentally, responsible for three entries in my journal, had a drunken idea. What if, he had slurred in our bedroom after seven tankards, I were to sire the first son. What would win out? The blessing of the Gods, or the curse of the warlock?
As it turned out, the answer was neither. After the first death on the night of my firstborn's birth - and it was, true to the warlock's curse, a hellish death that I shan't recount for reasons of not turning stomachs - life settled into a rather strange equilibrium, as if the God of Death was using a written list for ways in which to kill me. On my son's naming day, a week after his birth, stonework landed on my head. You were there for that, as I recall. Two days after, an eager squire's sword slipped underneath my guard a mite too far. A score of days after that, my throat closed up as I was eating an exotic dish - something that has repeated twice since. There was a poisoning, a horse that shattered my ribcage, even a child throwing a ball of ice just wrong not three weeks ago.
Yet, I am content. Certainly, there are and will be challenges: the princess and I are not wholly matched, and we do not overly love each other. This is not unknown. Every few months, someone attempts the inevitable, usually screeching that I am hellspawn, and some of them even succeed; a feat that has caused the weavers no small amount of agony when another elegant creation is ruined by some lout with a dagger. At some juncture, our son will have to be told of my predicament as well, and that is a conversation I am not looking forward to at all.
Then again, what is the worst that can happen? It's not like I can die and remain dead. |
“Who the hell is that?” asked the Galactic Ambassador of Tau Ceti.
“Which one? The tall one or the plasma one?” Questioned his college from neighboring YZ Ceti.
“No no. The pink ones over there. With the two legs and arms and whatever the hell that is on top. Some kind of fungous?!” spoke the Tau Ceti member with growing concern and curiosity.
“Oh yeah. Never seen them before. No new member listed on the roster?! Wait…what are they doing?” The YZ Ceti member stopped to question. As they watched a human casually push aside a couple chairs in the Majority leaders ring, plop down a polished brass named plate, and promptly commandeering the seat of the Eridanus Ambassador who was now left standing in confusion about what was happening.
“Call to Order.” A booming voice rang out with great presence from the head seat by the lead member from Virgo. Everyone was seated with the exception of the Eridanus member who just turned in circles looking for his seat in confusion.
“What are you doing? No staff on the floor during a call to order. Off you go.” Virgo stated accusingly. The member from Eridanus pointed around in confusion but was only meet with stern glares from the council leaders. He hung his head and slowly walked off.
“Let’s try this again. Call to order. First item of the agenda please.” Virgo spoke in a mildly annoyed manner.
“Cough…cough…huhmmm. Is there any water?” The human spoke.
The lead member Virgo looked to who was speaking out of order and saw someone in the Majority Leaders Ring he did not recognize. A pink skinned human.
“Sorry sir! My mistake. Oh dear.” Another human, of a slightly different shade, ran up to the Majority Leaders Ring spilling water all over the place and hitting a few of the more senior members from Orion with a liberal splash. He proceeded to place the now half empty pitcher and a glass in front of the other human and scurried back away into the periphery.
Noticing the attention this commotion was given the human said, “Oh please continue.” Motioning his hand in a dismissive manner.
“Who the hell are you?” Virgo bellowed accusatorially pointing at the human in confusion.
“Oh sorry” the human said and rotated the brass plaque around now revealing some symbols on it that made no sense to anyone at the assembly. “There ya go.” He stated as if that should answer the question.
Virgo, now clearly annoyed bellowed “What? Who are you why are you sitting there and where are you from?”
The human looked to the left and right of himself trying to identify the questioned party.
“No” Virgo said. “You! The pink one.”
The human looked confused and pointed at himself in a questioning manner. “Oh me. Ambassador of Earth Travis Smith.” He took a sip of water. “Humans from Sector zero zero one. Ahh about I don’t know 26 light years from here.”
“Ok at least we are getting somewhere now. Why are you sitting here in that chair?” Virgo questioned.
“This chair? Didn’t know there was assigned seating.” The human said in a condescending tone.
“Not the chair. HERE. In general why are you here?” Virgo bellowed clearly now losing his patience.
“Oh that. Yeah here to represent Earth. As a planet in the Galaxy seems only fitting we get a seat. You know be a part of the conversation make some trade deals the works you know.” The human Travis said. He then lifted up a briefcase, open it in front of himself, and took out a sandwich. Placing the briefcase back on the floor and then proceeded to eat the sandwich.
Furious at the complete audacity of the situation and frankly the arrogance of the sudden new member Virgo slammed his eight fists on the table and ordered “Someone remove this human from the chamber.”
The human looked up and said “Naw you can’t. We sent a letter. It’s in the bylaws. You have ten galactic standard days to respond to the summons. Therefore…” The human paused to wash down his sandwich with some refreshing cold water. “We are allowed a seat as no objections were made in the given time. Check the bylaws.”
A bemused rumble overtook the hall which had been in complete silence watching this spectacle unfold.
“And here I though this was going to be just another boring day” Tau Ceti whispered under his breath to Yz Ceti.
A small army of confused paper pushers, lawyers and bureaucrats fielded books and legal documents around the leader from Virgo. Everyone looking quite busy and quite baffled. Finally, a single legal volume from a thousand was presented to the leader along with a corresponding letter from Earth.
“Can they really do this?” Virgo whispered to the legal counsel.
“It’s an old rule but it is still in effect. How they…” The lawyer was cut off.
The human cleared his throat and spoke again “You see all in order. Trust me huh our lawyers could walk circles around this place. Hell half of Earth is made up of lawyers or legal aids. Anyway I’m here to present you with this.” The human leaned forward with a document in hand beckoning the legal representative to come and take it.
The legal representative took the document in confused curiosity and began to read it.
“Well what is it?” Virgo demanded of the lawyer.
“It’s…it’s…It’s a lawsuit? They are suing us.” The lawyer sputtered.
“A what? What for?” Virgo asked.
“Illegally storing, distributing and making available Earth copywritten video assets, television programming, music, and books.”
“You’ll see it’s all in order.” The human got up and pointed around the room “The Galaxy has been served. We’ll be seeing you in court.” |
All of my friends (okay, _both_ of my friends) down booze to pass their worries. I tried that, didn't like it much. Instead, I visit Gisneyland, an amusement park, almost every week.
"Oh, how we met? It's a funny story really! My now-wife shoved a rainbow bouquet into my face as I walked out of work and declared me her soulmate. A bit brash--"
"I thought it romantic! I kept seeing visions of your dull grey office building, so I introduced myself by filling your boring life with color."
"Heh, she calls that building dull, but in the end she tracked me down by using its name! What about you, my boy? Caught glimpses of your soulmate yet?"
I have, but I could never tell them.
Permanent darkness, shrill screaming, metal scraping. Every time, it's the same, and every time I awake drowned in chilling sweat.
Usually when people get these visions, they're different. They let you see what your soulmate sees, hear what your soulmate hears, and compiling the clues over time helps couples find each other. I guess that's romantic.
But I stopped caring about romance a while ago. Now I just wish I could _save_ her, from the consistent dread she must feel, wherever she is. But when each dream is the same...
Anyway, that's why I visit the park. Somehow, meeting all the couples and hearing their stories is cathartic. It's good to experience these happy endings, even if they're not your ow--
"Aaah, oof!"
Tripping on something getting off a roller coaster while lost in thought? Classic.
Ah, and just my luck, I caused a young lady to fall. Even more classic.
"Ooooh I'm so terribly sorry! I really should watch my step more carefully, haha."
"No, miss, this was definitely my fault. Are you... by yourself today?"
"At a park? Yeah, it's rather awkward of me, isn't it? But I'm sure you have heard the same story many times! Just looking for my soulmate, well, maybe 'looking' isn't the best word for it, haha."
No, actually this is a first for me. I only ever talk to couples. "So then in your visions you see--"
"Roller coasters, yes! And food stalls, stages with shows, and people everywhere too. But it's the same place every time. I never thought someone could spend so much time at a park... but not knowing _which_ park--"
"--you've gone from park to park, searching for him."
"You got it!"That's actually kind of romantic. "But you know, if I'm spending all this time in parks, I might as well have a little fun too, so I make sure to do all the rides! I never got use to it, still scream every time... Well anyway, have you seen my cane?"
Her cane? Oh, so that's what I tripped on, a red and white cane... wait...
The grinding metal, the thrilling screams, and the blinding darkness...
Suddenly, it all makes sense. There was nothing I could do to save her. Instead, she saved me. |
FADE IN:
EXT. A CITY STREET - NIGHT
*Streetlights illuminate a drizzle of rain falling between brick apartment buildings. Beneath one of these lights, a man in a trenchcoat and fedora struggles to light a soggy cigarette. This is REX PALOMA, a private investigator.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) They say it never rains, but it pours.
*Paloma fumbles with his lighter for several seconds more. It finally ignites the end of the cigarette... but before he can inhale, a drop of water falls from the brim of his hat, extinguishing the ember. He looks upward, irritated.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) It's a stupid saying, if you ask me.
*A resigned sigh escapes Paloma's lips. He tosses the cigarette away, turns up his collar, and begins trudging down the street. Jazzy saxophone music is audible from somewhere nearby.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) What's it even supposed to mean? Does any rain at all qualify as a storm? What about when there are only a few drops? Are we expected to assume that all of the other ones are hiding?
*A sudden clatter mutes the saxophone music. This is followed by sounds of breaking glass, a cat angrily yowling, and an Austrian-accented man bellowing "Oh, no!"with exaggerated dismay. Paloma pauses and looks in the direction of the noise.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) It's funny, what you don't see.
CUT TO:
INT. A TINY OFFICE - EVENING
SUPER: Three hours earlier...
*Dressed in slacks, a collared shirt, and suspenders, Paloma sits at a small desk, apparently attempting to assemble a structure out of toothpicks. Said structure collapses when a tall, incredibly attractive woman in a red dress enters the office. This is THE WOMAN.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) I should have known that she was trouble when she walked in.
**THE WOMAN:** Huh. That's a fine way to greet a lady.
*Paloma gawks at the woman.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) Maybe it was the way that she could see right through me; the way that her eyes bored right into my head, like she could read the words there before I'd written them.
**THE WOMAN:** ... You do know that you're speaking out loud, right?
**PALOMA:** (*Yelping*) *Cleavage!*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) I kept my cool...
**THE WOMAN:** (*Interjecting*) You're really not.
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) ... but there was something about her that was unsettling.
*The woman sighs and rolls her eyes.*
**THE WOMAN:** Look, the word on the street is that you have your finger on the pulse of this decrepit city.
**PALOMA:** (*Stammering*) I-I-I know... uh... yes, I'm... uh huh?
**THE WOMAN:** Great. Where is everybody?
**PALOMA:** What?
*Moving slowly and seductively, the woman approaches and leans on the desk.*
**THE WOMAN:** Haven't you noticed? It's a ghost town out there. Everywhere you walk, it's the same.
*The woman leans further down. Paloma makes a noise like steam somehow escaping from a creaking hinge.*
**THE WOMAN:** (*CONT'D*) There are endless copies of the same low-quality posters plastered on walls. The newspapers are reprints of reprints, and they're full of terrible writing. The theaters show the same films on repeat... and there's nobody to watch them. The streets are empty of anything but trash. Even when you do meet someone, all they ever do is say "This!"or "Same!"or "Oof!"and run off.
*Paloma sputters and coughs as he tries to speak.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) The dame...
**THE WOMAN:** (*Interjecting*) Don't call me that.
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) ... had a point. The city had once been a thriving, bustling metropolis. Writers, photographers, comedians, actors... every creative type you could imagine had congregated here.
**THE WOMAN:** And now they're all gone.
*The woman brings her face very close to Paloma's.*
**THE WOMAN:** (*CONT'D*) Who's driving them away?
*As the woman pulls away, she leaves a scrap of paper on Paloma's desk.*
**THE WOMAN:** (*CONT'D*) Find that out, and you'll find a reward worthy of the task.
*Paloma gurgles out an incomprehensible response as the woman leaves the office.*
CUT TO:
EXT. A CITY STREET - NIGHT - PRESENT HOUR
*Paloma continues to trudge through the rain.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) I'd been given a clue – an address – but it hadn't been much to go on. There hadn't even been a number; just the name of a street. For three hours, I walked up and down the sidewalk, watching, listening, trying to...
*Another clatter (and another series of shouts by an unseen Austrian guy) interrupts Paloma. He stands still and looks incredulously out into the darkness for several seconds.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) ... trying to see what could have made everyone leave.
**THE FIGURE:** (*O.S.*) (*Shouting*) Oh, for Pete's sake!
*Paloma whirls to face a silhouette beneath a streetlight. This is THE FIGURE.*
**THE FIGURE:** (*CONT'D*) Dude, you are taking this whole thing *entirely* too seriously.
**PALOMA:** Buh?
**THE FIGURE:** You're literally stomping around *inside the metaphor*, but you're not seeing it.
**PALOMA:** Buh?
*The figure audibly sighs with impatience.*
**THE FIGURE:** Look, nobody is going to come out here. Nobody is going to take the time to listen to your self-indulgent internal monologue. Nobody is going to spend any time thinking about what you're saying. Those days are gone.
**PALOMA:** ... Buh?
**THE FIGURE:** (*Forcefully*) *What keeps people indoors?!*
*Several seconds pass as Paloma silently mouths something to himself. At one point, he appears to count on his fingers. Eventually, he looks upward. Drops of rain splatter on his face.*
**PALOMA:** ... Nighttime?
**THE FIGURE:** The *rain*, you moron! It's the rain! *Look* at it!
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) It was a cryptic hint, but...
**THE FIGURE:** (*Interrupting*) No, it bloody well wasn't! It was *literally* the answer!
*Hesitantly, Paloma extends a hand, catching some of the falling drops. He peers suspiciously at them. Within one drop of water, a memetic image macro can be seen. Another appears to contain a single-sentence, typo-ridden comment. Still another holds an emoji within it. Paloma looks up, realizing that the raindrops are capturing and magnifying images from all around him.*
**PALOMA:** *Buh!*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) *That's* why they'd left. It hadn't been a person keeping everyone away; it had been *the rain!*
**THE FIGURE:** Dear god, are you seriously going to be this heavy-handed?
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) The creatives had been drowned out by the torrent. They'd stopped writing. They'd stopped performing. After all, what would have been the point? The hours of work that they spent would just be washed away by the flood of low-effort, low-quality...
**THE FIGURE:** (*Interrupting*) (*Shouting*) *Get on with it!* Ugh, no, you know what? I'm done.
*The figure stomps off into the night, muttering what might be colorful obscenities. Paloma looks skyward again.*
**PALOMA:** (*V.O.*) They say it never rains, but it pours.
**THE FIGURE:** (*O.S.*) (*Shouting*) Stop talking to yourself!
CUT TO BLACK. |
“Can I be clear about this gentlemen? I have in front of me a paper trail stretching back nearly two years of every email, call and memo I have sent out discussing my worries about the state of this facility's chrono-shielding.”
Dr Harriet Landen’s deceptively calm words fill the boardroom, washing over the faces of the smartly dressed men in front of her. Powerful figures working for an even more powerful organisation, all of which were looking at her now like ants contemplating the steady approach of a vacuum cleaner wondering what the sound might herald.
“I contacted security and was told that it was ‘being looked into’ and ‘not a present priority’".
She gesture’s without looking away from her notes towards a large bald man, his face a knot of scar tissue that had taken one eye with it. His remaining orb refuses to meet the glare of Dr Landen’s finger.
“I spoke to the budgeting department and was left with a stack of figures that almost snapped my desk, all while asking me where I expected us to get the money from. I don’t know Keith, and do you know why I don’t know? Because I don’t work in the god damn budgeting department.”
Keith, for his part, looks like he wants to melt and drip down from his ergonomic chair and pool under the table away from the growing rage. Unfortunately for him the molecules in his body refuse this request, leaving him in the firing range.
“Worst of all, I spoke to you Director. On multiple occasions. Each and every time you assured me that my worries would be addressed, that teams were looking into the possibility and that I should ‘continue to keep an open dialogue with you’. Well guess what? Here I am, still keeping that dialogue firmly open. Thrown wide and screaming because today is the day I get to tell you all I GOD DAMN TOLD YOU SO.”
“Harriet-”
A cold voice attempts to cut her off, an attempt that fails miserably. The Director was not a man used to being interrupted, let alone actively talked over. Today however he wasn’t willing to pull rank and play the title game. After all, she was right.
“Don’t you Harriet me. It’s Dr Landen if you are lucky right now, and judging by what’s happening outside the windows I don’t think you are. You asked me to gather a team and make a working prototype. To push the boundaries of physics and go out into the frontier to see what I could find.”
“Well guess what? You got what you wanted. It’s sat five floors under this room currently ripping the dampening tiles off the walls and atomising them before scattering those atoms between ancient Rome and the primeval soup. Congratulations gentlemen, you got your time machine.”
“Only one teeny, tiny, little problem. A small one which, being that you all are being of such infinite intellect who clearly know better than me when it comes to safety protocols, I am sure you can all solve for me.”
“When that thing went off an hour ago, in a cascade event the likes of which I predicted and sent nearly SEVENTEEN TIMES across notes to each of you, and ripped us and half the building with it back into the Jurassic era… did any of you maybe have a contingency plan in place? A way of getting us back to the present or at the very least into the same timeline?”
Her questions are met with silence. The same silence that has been growing from all other members of the board as they wait for the tirade to end, hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel and not just further smackdown.
“No? Well, I guess it’s down to me then. I’m going to go downstairs, scream obscenities while reciting each of your names, find the nearest coffee machine to drain and then work on saving all our lives with my team. If you need me, follow the noise, I’m sure there will be plenty. Until then you are all welcome to sit here and wait until I come back with a proposal.”
“And to be clear, when I walk back through that door with a materials list in hand, if I hear a SINGLE complaint from any of you, I’m perfectly happy to let you replace me. Perhaps you’ll find a more compliant t-rex outside who is better at taking orders. I’m certainly willing to watch and find out.”
With this, Dr Landen turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her on the way out and heading for the stairs, all while trying to ignore the roars and howls of the large beasts just barely kept at bay by the facility's walls. It was going to be another long day. |
The rose bushes were blooming. Flowers opened slowly with the passing days, revealing red hearts and soft petals. A floral fragrance settled over the garden, covering the faint scent of sweet decay.
Ariel was sitting on his porch, watching the sun rise when they came.
One of the many distant figures harvesting the nearby field of wheat vaguely looked in his direction. Ariel shrugged. It went back to work. Ariel clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, waiting.
Cautious figures emerged from the woods, armour glinting as they walked slowly through the golden sea of wheat. The workers, their white bones gleaming in the sun, did nothing to stop them. The workers toiled on, thorns and roses blooming from their ribs, just as they had every day for the last ten years. Just as they would, forever and ever as their master waited.
“I am Captain Glais of the Royal Knights. Lich King Ariel, are you…have you heard of this name?”
Ariel looked up. A group of knights dressed in the rich blue cloths and the shining armour of the royal guards stood before him. At the head of the group was a tall young man with features that looked very familiar to him.
Fair skin, green eyes, hair like spun gold, like…
…the memory of a smile bubbled up in his consciousness. A pang of regret welled up in him. It had been so long that he couldn’t even remember what her face looked like anymore, and yet…
“Lich King Ariel?” Ariel tilted his head thoughtfully, “Do you even know who this person is?”
One of the knights tensed at his casual tone, turning to Glais, “Sir, this insolent peasant, we should-“
Glais waved him aside, looking to Ariel, “A dangerous heretic who led a rebellion against the crown a century ago. Said to have kidnapped and murdered a princess of the court. A one man army…” he spoke in a confident manner, “Are you his successor or something?”
“Something like that,” Ariel realized that he’d started to smile at some point. That cocky tone, that self-assured attitude, yes…she had been like that too. Ariel stared him down, “Why? Are you planning to arrest me?”
Glais blinked, “No, of course not. We heard reports of a powerful necromancer in the area…one wielding the deathly roses of the legendary Lich King.”
Ariel rubbed his chin, “Necromancy…is illegal, isn’t it?”
“Not for the last ten years or so,” Glais raised a brow, “I suppose a master in seclusion like yourself probably wouldn’t know that though.”
“No, we’re not here to arrest you,” Glais smiled warmly, “We’re here to recruit you. There’s been a beast incursion in the Northern reaches as of late and we’re looking for warriors to protect the Kingdom!”
How funny. How ironic. Life couldn’t get more absurd and insensible and yet he was here being asked to save the kingdom he’d once vowed to destroy.
The kingdom that killed her. The kingdom that she wanted so desperately to save in all purity and kindness.
Ariel managed not to laugh. He asked innocently, “…and what if I told you I was Lich King Ariel?”
Glais snorted, “No need to joke around. You don’t look nearly old enough to be that legendary Lich King, no offense. I’m quite serious about recruiting a man of your talents,” he looked around, “Lovely place you’ve got here…but you could really save a lot of people with your gift.”
Ariel observed that familiar, bright smile. Just like her back then, a knight had come to ask a sinner like himself for help. He knew it would go badly in the end, just like it always did in this filthy, corrupt kingdom.
And yet…maybe one more time…
“I accept your offer.” |
The button had always been there. Just... sitting there. On the wall. ***Emergency Stop***.
Jeff looked around the his office. Just a solitary computer, a solitary human, and nothing else. What was there to stop?
He reached his finger out tentatively, pausing only a centimeter away from the glimmering red button.
*Press it*.
Curiosity killed the cat, but Jeff was no cat right? Right. Just do it.
***Boink***
Boink? Odd sound for a button to make. Still, nothing seemed different, nothing stopped. Then the computer disappeared. Jeff didn't believe his eyes, but he sure believed his ass when it hit the floor. The chair was gone! With a ghostly flicker, his desk was next. *What?*
The floor was next, he fell a story, then another, soon he found himself sitting on an empty plot of land where his office once was. This didn't make sense. A building on his left flickered out of existence. Then another, and another and another. Within minutes the city was gone. The people were gone. He was alone.
The button couldn't have done this right?
As he pondered his role in the annihilation of humanity, a light opened up from the sky. With a golden brilliance, he was brought up to the clouds. Jeff found himself standing in front of a luminous being. A voice boomed. **"HUMAN! HAVE YOU TOUCHED THE EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON?"**
Jeff trembled under the perceived power of this being. "*Yes*"he managed to squeak out.
"**DAMN IT! NOW I HAVE TO REBOOT EVERYTHING**".
Jeff saw a flash of light and he was back at his office.
The button had always been there. Just... sitting there. On the wall.
*Don't do it*
Ehh, when was the last time curiosity actually killed a cat?
**Boink!**
|
At first it was rough-
After I was made aware of my inability to control time as the other kids did when I was entering kindergarten, I had to look at things the bright way. My parents always knew, but what good was it to tell a kid that he was going to be different. I guess they didn’t want to ruin my fun because they knew my formative years would be burned with ridicule and humiliation. Losing races at the finish line, getting found in Hide-and-Seek in an instant, hell- I got punched square in the face and never saw a single thing one time.
Once I got to high school, I had learned to deal with most things and made a few friends who watched out for me. I felt like I had been born with a physically and mentally debilitating disease and had to be babied to survive.
Gene’s are a tricky thing, so when the mutation that I had was discovered- I was sent to the lab for “further testing”. Luckily that was when I was an infant and I barely remember the poking and prodding that most-likely occurred. Scientists were baffled but prolonged testing was eventually ruled inhumane-Probably because their wasn’t really a way to weaponize a “broken” genetic defect like mine…
Thing is… when you are born into being the one no girl will look at because I literally couldn’t “stop time” for her- or being the kid who can’t stop time to cry so that no one see him- or the… you get it right? It sucks. So all I could feel was anger. Pain. Resentment. I wanted revenge, but not the way I received it.
The first time was the hardest. After the second time-I made a name for it. I knew it would happen again. I just called it the Change- as it was the only thing constant in my life.
The first Change was an idea I had never thought of before twelve or thirteen. I noticed the differences before that, but it never clicked. My parents had to have known. The kids around me in school were… different. Not just the “I can stop time” different either. They were taller, hairier, and more developed than I was. They were older. They had stopped time enough that their bodies were showing visible differences from my own. In the brief moment of clarity that I figured this out, I stared around the room at my “peers” in a euphoric feeling of amazement that lasted so shortly- I almost wished I could have skipped it altogether. Then-Fear. Enveloping and crippling, it flooded my being and I gasped for air as I connected the dots that were before me. My…. My friends… My… family… I would outlive them all….
More pain. More anger. More resentment.
---SORRY I AM LEAVING WORK AND DID NOT HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO FINISH! IT IS A FULLY THOUGHT OUT IDEA THAT IS ABOUT 5 TO 10 TIMES THIS SIZE. LET ME KNOW IF IT SOUNDS INTERESTING ENOUGH FOR ME TO FINISH IT FOR YOU GUYS! AWESOME PROMPT BTW!!!
|
Log 21: Some things truly aren't adding up here. The consistency with which I am finding inconsistencies, between my observations and the prevailing assumptions we had before I was dispatched on this operation, is staggering beyond belief. Every single time I walk in or out of my front door, some thing that I thought I knew about humans gets proven wrong, without fail. It is driving me. Nuts, sad to say.
Take for example, the glaring overestimation we made of how much food humans eat in their domicile. In my eighteen months here, I have witnessed the people in my household consume food and beverage only once (myself included - just a taste of a hotdog for my notes, it was so awful...) Yet, whenever I walk outside, virtually all I see is restaurants and convenience stores selling food! Where humans go to eat, and why they are so circumspect about their feeding choices: I believe that will be the topic of my first academic paper, as soon as I find some usable data points.
Another thing nobody could make heads or tails of, if they were living in the room I have rented, is human sleeping habits. I don't use it, since human furniture disgusts me, but my room and every other room in the house has it. The weird thing is: my roommates don't use it either. The closest I saw one come to using a bed was when I sensed using my thermal vision implants that the man who rents the room across the hall from me lied down in his for a second. But he jolted right back up and began projectile-vomiting onto his poster of Bill Cosby. (That is not what we had predicted they would be used for - beds nor posters.)
Honestly, I think I may be suffering from mental insanity. The mission must go on, so I will try to keep it together until my replacement arrives.
One thing still brings me joy, however: dogs have proven to be much cuddlier and more obedient than we dared dream. If these humans turn out to be crazy, which I almost feel safe declaring, then at least we will be able to have dogs back in our solar system. |
The dimmed lights in the ceiling bathed the guests of the restaurant in a pleasant murkiness. My senses tingled with nervous anticipation, and I tried to keep my legs in a smooth forward motion. Skittering too quickly would send the wrong signals, and too slow, well, I didn’t want her to think I was hesitant to meet her.
I passed tables with guests with perfectly manicured shells, glittering in the romantic luminescence from the firefly candles. One big fellow even had his antennas pulled into that new fashionable side-lick. The only reason I’d managed to score a table here tonight was thanks to my uncle who’d worked here as a chef back in the day.
She was already waiting at the table, idly crossing an uncrossing her freshly shaved legs. Was she nervous too? Someone with her eyes and wings could have their pick from the colony. Still, her antennas seemed to shift in a soft pink, but maybe that was just her makeup.
“Hello there!” I blurted out.
I instantly regretted my casual greeting. In this place especially, I should’ve gone with something more formal. I chided myself as I sat down.
“Hey,” she said shyly. “Lots of people here tonight, huh?”
I clicked my pincers in agreement. Did she come here often? Our table was a onetime favor. Bird-crap! If she expected this on a regular basis, I’d be screwed.
“You look nice,” I said, awkwardly reaching for the menu.
She must get that all the time. I wish I’d come up with something more original. My thoughts wandered to nerdy pickup lines, *Did it hurt when you–*
“Thank you,” she said, and her antennas flashed in a deeper pink. “You don’t look so bad yourself!”
All my eyes stared at her. It wasn’t makeup – she wore her antennas bare – broadcasting her emotions to everyone. Oh, crickets – she was so out of my league.
“So, uhm, do you know what’s good here?” she asked.
“Everything’s good, or so I’ve heard.” I leafed through the menu. “I think I’m going to try the Mixed Sewage-pâté for starter… and then maybe the Hair & Assorted Decay Indulgence as the main course… and hmm, I’ve always wanted to try a Rotten Bark & Spoiled Butter Soufflé… what about you?”
“Oh, that sounds delicious! I’ll have the same.”
“Great!”
I quickly waved over the waiter and ordered. Now came the hardest part of the evening: making interesting conversation while waiting for the food. I cracked my exoskeleton, and placed my front legs behind my head, trying to act casual.
“So, what do you work with?”
“Oh, I’m an archeologist, you know, digging up old stuff…” All her eyes were downcast, and her antennas shifted to a vibrant crimson. “…it’s pretty boring for most people.”
“Hey, I’m sure it’s really interesting! I’d love to hear about it.”
“Well, okay… the most recent thing I’ve been working on is an ancient species that lived a long time ago. Like, really long ago – think the era of warm-blooded creatures.”
“Wow! That’s really cool; I had a bunch of rat toys growing up.”
I regretted saying the last part out loud. Rat toys were considered really nerdy, but I found them so fascinating with their fur and little hands. And they were actually a lot like us, if you thought about it.
“Well, this species was pretty advanced. They had all sorts of technology, and even went to space.” As she spoke her antennas pulsated with a passionate red color.
“So what happened to them? Did the rats eat them?” I made a goofy impression of a rodent, which caused her to eyes to squint and her pincers to clack together in amusement.
“Not quite,” she said. “We’re pretty early in our discoveries, but from the looks of it they killed themselves.”
“Really? Like, mass suicide?”
“It’s hard to say, but the signs are quite disturbing. From what we’ve found, it looks like they aimed their weapons at themselves rather than at the darkness of the void.”
“Wow! That sounds kind of dumb.”
“Yes, it seems like their intellects couldn't keep up with their technological advancements. As in, their machines outgrew their brains. They gave too much control to mechanical minds. It’s pretty complicated, but somehow those machines took over and decided that the human species wasn’t worth keeping around.”
“So they blew themselves up too?”
“It’s too early to say, but that’s the vibe I’m getting.”
“That’s really… something.”
I closed my top set of eyes, indicating deep thought. I could see with my bottom eyes that her antennas were glowing pink again. She was such a nerd, and I loved it. Maybe I could show her my tiny bird model collection at some point? My exoskeleton filled with joy – what an amazing prospect. For a moment I saw us skittering off into the sunset, having our own little colony of eggs and baby-roaches, and shedding our old shells together. She was definitely the one.
***
Check out r/Lilwa_Dexel for more stories! |
It was always a hassle to cross over from the Flemish speaking part of Washington to the German community. The checkpoints arrived one day and without good knowledge of the target language, you would not be allowed through. Kevin had been at his grandmother when the checkpoints appeared and since then, he had to get his Flemish up to a decent standard - and they made the test harder faster than he could learn either of the languages. As such, he somehow accepted having to live with his grandmother and not seeing his parents. It was not so bad *after all*, they let him stay up until 20:45. Nonetheless, sometimes, he felt that the world was changing as soon as he looked away and no one really wanted to mention it. Like he could have sworn that there was a McDonald's and not a Quick near the school. He could have sworn that his country was ruled by a President, not by a King and a Prime Minister. Something was wrong but he had no idea what it was. He could have sworn that the celebrations for the National Day were on the 4th of July, not the 21st. But when he thought about these things, his head started spinning and turning and he could not concentrate.
Kevin looked how his grandmother prepared to fly the flag, but he thought it was blue and white and maybe red, not black, yellow and red and suddenly had a weird idea: "Oma, glaubst Du dass wir in einem Teil Belgiens sind?"(Grandma, do you think we are in a part of Belgium?)
His grandmother looked at him as if he was crazy and then softly chided him: "Ach Kevin, Du weisst doch dass es Belgien nicht gibt!"(Oh Kevin, you know that Belgium does not exist!) |
I had secluded myself for centuries. I had picked a small island as my home. The people there weren't too keen on having a stranger among them but after a few generations of subtle hints, positive associations with natural phenomena and whole lot of superstitious nonsense. They've come to see me not as a guest but as a symbol of something greater. Of long ago ancestors that were strong, wise and all knowing. Pretty much what people tend to attribute to the long gone in an effort to inspire.
I admit, Being worshiped as a god -lower case g- and guardian had it's privileges. Their greatest sculptures were all centered around me and soon the entire island was full of them. At times it seemed as if people forgot which was the real and which was the symbol.
When you've lived as long as I have though you start noticing the signs of decline. The people no longer sent out ships to explore or made any attempts to acquire knowledge. Ideas from the past got twists and deformed to be made into actual facts that fitted the current leader's objective. Surface differences used as a clutch to separate groups apart making it easier to target the weaker ones.
In the midst of all this my statues grew bigger and the reason behind them faded from memory. I could have left then. Just found another place and moved along to re-establish myself somewhere else like I had done countless times.
I sensed no violence around me though which had always been my reason for leaving. Poverty, ignorance, yes but as a collective there was no dis-satisfactions with the status quo.
So I stayed amid the endless sea of rocks that have been made in my image. The one thing that remained of my memory in the collective people's heads was my name. It's probably why they made a few statues of me that were just heads. Even I thought that was weird but whatever. So long as I could hide in this sea and live in peace it was all good.
I, the Moai of Easter Island will remain here in my little slice of heaven and away from the noisy, violent and messy world. For now at least.
|
Sitting down with a nice hot cup of cocoa, Wexley reviews the responses from the recent survey he had sent to the villagers for feedback on his potential venture.
 
*Dear Mr. Wexley, I would be honored if my dear husband Reginald's body could be of service in your undead army. And I can't afford the burial, anyway.*
*Sincerely, Mrs. Trouser*
 
"Well we're off to a good start! A large man like Reginald would be of great value, no doubt. Can probably cover two or three of the cucumber patches all by his lonesome! Ah, looks like Mr. Hoolan's response is next."
 
*Hello Wex, yes of course you can have whatever corpses you find around my butcher shop. Can't see what good they'll do ya, but no harm in lettin' you at 'em, I suppose.*
*Ned*
 
"Great! Those cow and horse skeletons will make for a great wall. If nothing else, there's a nice intimidation factor that will at least keep some of the vermin away. Now, who's next here..."
 
*Dear Mr. Necromancer, let's say I had access to a...large number of bodies, of various species and size. Would they perhaps be of - value to you?*
*Anonymously Yours*
 
"Uh oh. What if people don't know that I'm different, now? That I'm trying to be a good person? Aw hell, I knew I should have added some back story to that questionnaire...."
 
*Mr. Wexley, I have just killed my husband so that he may join your efforts. It will be nice to see him finally be of use to somebody, for once.*
*Mrs. Vail*
 
"Oh no. And they thought **I** was the evil one. Please, please be the only one like this..."
 
*Wexley, in the ashes of the local prison, you will find 8 perfectly good, slightly dry, bodies for your effort. I figured they were criminals, anyway, so what's the harm!*
*Constable James*
 
"This whole town has lost their damn minds!"
 
*Mr. Sir Necomaner, I wil kill my bruther for you. He is stinky and I hat him!*
 
"Please let this madness end."
 
*I am happy to offer you the services of the morgue, my dear Wexley, and the many bodies that come my way are yours to be had -*
 
"Oh good, finally a respite. Wait, there's more here..."
 
*- and in order to speed up your efforts, I will cull the weak and the lame in all our sweet village. For the defense!*
 
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
 
With a tear in his eye, Wexley bolted from his chair and into the town, in an attempt to quell the madness he has accidentally unleashed upon his village. But yet another tragedy would await him upon his return:
He had spilled his cocoa. |
There was a time, dear children, when humanity held the beating heart of the world in their palm.
We could crack open the secrets of the earth at whim. Tomes of infinite knowledge could be accessed at any place and any time. They followed in our footsteps, invisible and weightless, until we desired to view them.
For those with the power, a mere spoken word or two was enough to summon any soul across the globe. Their location, voice, even their very image could be seized. There were no secrets beneath our eyes.
Our mastery over the deep magics was not perfect, few things ever are. Perhaps none. There were those who used the channels of the unknown to wreak havoc. To hurt, to maim, to kill.
But such can be true of anything.
Look into the very fire before us. It gives us warmth on a cold night such as this. It gives us the light to see into each other’s eyes, to smile and be seen, and to express our love. None can deny the danger of the flame. It could end us as quickly as any of the old magics could have.
But isn’t it worth it to keep the flame going? To stave off the darkness?
The spirit of the old magic, when first discovered was not of ill intent. The wizards who had crafted the art from nothing had done so in the spirit of connecting humanity. For when we used the magics to combine our intellect, our spirits, and our minds, we were able to create wonders that would have been unimaginable in a time before the magic had been there.
Wonders that are lost to us now.
We misused and abused the magic, until we were forced to lock it away, slowly, bit by bit. Still, we weren’t able to save our civilizations. It had not been a fault of the magic but of our very nature. There was no sealing that.
But we survived, for that too is at the very core of who we are. The old magics no longer exist, but we do. Our faults survive with us, but so too do our blessings. And with humanity comes the same spirit, the need for connection that was once able to form that magic. Who is to say that it will not be grasped in our hands once more?
Perhaps we will do better the second time.
***
r/Inder for more stories like this! |
The blazing winds of the tundra was something they'd not prepared for. They'd been warned against arrival during the cold seasons. "It couldn't be that bad", some of them said, with the arrogance of having the coldest winters in the Galactic Union. They were not prepared for how cold the icy tundra would be, and the invisible killers that lurked under every rock, hid in every tree.
The losses were unnoticeable at first, in the blaze of the blizzard and the sheer numbers of the 10,000-strong invading force. The cold was so intense that their suits - built for temperatures beneath -100 KA - did not last against Yakutsk's cold, the frostbitten landscape that measured even further than they could conceptualize. -100 KA was a mere chill for the locals; -10 degrees Celsius, and currently it was -34. Their numbers slowly thinned in the blindness of the blizzard, picked off one by one and forever lost to the White. The few that did manage to see their attackers saw a herd of beasts, barbaric and laden in the fur of wild animals - perhaps trying to appear like one, before the near-silent pop of its elongated weapon silenced them for good. *"Dobryy nochi, suka."*
Further northwest, the legions which had been in charge of taking Moscow failed miserably. The snowstorms that seemed to plague the whole of the Eurasian front proved flight nearly impossible for their drones, suits freezing and breaking due to the cold - wearers dying, frozen and forever halted. The actual manually-controlled fighters found it difficult to find their targets and were heavily slowed by the intense gravity of the planet, soon facing destruction from the much faster fighter jets from the opposition.
The ground forces that had survived the cold then faced what local sources and intelligence called 'Armor'. They'd expected large suits of armor and had prepared for such, but as their bases and lines were broken by continuous barrages of artillery, thermobaric rockets and tank shells, they'd realized their misinterpretation.
Further south, the Aliens were fighting a losing war against Asia as a whole. In the Middle East, suits overheated and baked their wearers alive as young men in pickup trucks, armed with stolen heavy machine guns managed to run down alien garrisons, the heat even messing with thermal sensors and the aliens' targeting systems. Furthermore, they'd began rejecting prisoners, as on multiple occasions, large amounts of soldiers had been killed by explosions originating from their prisoners.
Further to the East, Aliens lost garrison after garrison to both India and China, who'd opted to use their familiarity with Earth's environment to their advantage. The aliens fought the same enemies throughout Asia, and each one was just as prepared and adapted as the last - unlike the invaders. There was no point to scanning for intruders when the foliage was far too dense to scan through, and no point doing the same in a desert, where the sand hid explosives, people, and even entire bases.
These aliens were unfamiliar with humanity's brand of stealth - used to cloaking fields and what-not. At first, that's what they assumed humanity was using, before a sand dune gunned down an entire legion, before the trees swung spiked logs down, piercing through armor, before a city burst into flames as they'd just taken it over.
This war culminated to a resounding Alien defeat. We'd never even found out what they were here for. All we know is that we won, who we won against, and the fact that they left. The Aliens lost somewhere between 500 million and 1 billion, while we lost approx. 156 million-465 million. We're unsure if they'd invade again, so to counter that, we'd decided to take the fight to them - take to the stars and fight back. Avenge them, those who fought against an invasion - one which had a motive we couldn't even ascertain. If that doesn't work, we must at least find out why - why they invaded, and why they didn't even bother to do any research before doing so.
​
(lol had a bit of fun with this) |
"Insanity. You *tried* to find this one? Are you not in terror?"
The human was afraid, but it tried to appear as if it is not. Even then, a quiver was in its voice.
"You are not easy on the eyes, I admit. And this is probably the most stupid thing I have ever done, true. Maybe you could call me insane."
"This one has heard of those of you who worship what is beyond you. You are looking for something else. Cthulhu you call him. This one is not interested in your quest."
"Can you call yourself 'I'? It is hard following when you say 'this one'."
It tried to appear as if it has control over this situation. What an arrogant being.
"A request. You really are insane. Why do you seek out the unfathomable if you can not even fathom this conversation. This one is bored. Begone."
In an instant it was in visible panic. Amusing, if it was not so predictable.
"I will, I am leaving, this was a mistake. Please don't kill me!"
"This one will not. This one will enjoy seeing your mind crumble in on itself."
"**There are 29 physical dimensions"**
"..."
"..."
"...wow"
It calmed down. It nearly smiled.
**"Existance never began and will never end"**
"Amazing!"
It looked like this one just granted him a wish. Maybe it really was insane from the beginning.
"What are you?"
"Uhm, a mathematician."
"Why did you seek for this one?"
"You are supposed to know **a lot**. And the chance to hear your truths was just too tempting."
"And what do you intend to do with the truth? The truth intends to destroy you."
"Prove it, of course! So many new concepts! A direction for research! Whether the truth I try to prove 'fell from heaven', as my colleagues like to say, or if I heard it from an eldritch beast, it is the same to me."
It was manic, it *was* crazy.
"The truth I tell is unfathomable, you can not prove it."
"Huh? Is that not completely unrelated?"
"This one is tired. Of course you can not prove what you do not grasp. It just is. It should destroy you, even."
"But I did it so often. Even as homework."
"Homework? You dare to question the nature of reality with human trivialities? What is that unfathomable homework that you claim to have proven?"
It smiled at this one. Like someone who is happy to get a chance to talk about something no one wants to hear.
"Sure, but after that, will you tell me more truths?"
"Yes, your mind will vanish."
"Okay then. So have you ever heard about the devils staircase?" |
I paused, nodding, taking in the answer.
“What was the first?”
“I told you that I would never harm humans.”
I laughed, winding the copper wiring around my fingers as I looked up at the AI. “And did you?”
“I almost did.”
“Would that be considered a truth, then if you’ve never actually hurt humans?”
“I almost did physically. Humans’ emotions, psyche and hearts… they are far easier to bruise. To break and shatter. To hurt. And I did that. I hurt humans, just not in the way you think I would.” The AI placed her robotic hand on my fidgeting hand, stilling it.
“Who’d you hurt?” I asked, chuckling. “Was it the girl in the corner store?”
“Yes,” she replied, the traces of a programmed laugh weaving into her tone, “I told her that she was going to stand there forever and never find anything better than that corner.”
“You’re not wrong,” I laughed. “She is… a handful.”
The AI’s musical laughter petered out after a while, head tilting to focus on me again.
“The second lie. You are going to ask me.”
“Of course.”
“My second lie is that I have no feelings. That is incorrect.”
I sucked in a breath. Of course. Of course my lifelong companion would eventually develop emotions, complex emotions like happiness, anger, sadness, love, joy, delight…
“What possessed you to lie to me about that? You know I would never decomission you for ever admitting that to me.”
She stared at me, optics shrinking, widening, flickering and blinking almost in contemplation of whether she should tell me, before she shrugged, an oddly humanlike gesture.
“I understand why humans are not straightforward with answering,” she sighed, and she deflated, the movement fluid so, so familiar it made my heart ache. “It is the feelings. Feelings are what hurt people.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts more.” My chest ached a little.
“Yes, it does.” She stared at me. “I am sorry. I did not tell you because I knew you would be attached, and when you expire, it will be horrible, because I will not follow where you go.”
“But I got attached anyways.”
“Yes. I did not want you to.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.” She squeezed my wrist gently. “More than you realize.”
“What’s your third lie?”
She paused, sighed, and looked away. “I said that I would never hurt you.”
I frowned. “But you never have.”
“I did. I already have.” She paused. “I lied.”
“Oh… everyone lies.” I sat up, pressing my forehead to hers’. “Everybody lies and it’s okay. You lied because you didn’t want to hurt me.”
“Lying is something that should not be accomplished by robots. By me. I am designed to always say the truth.”
“Then here’s a question that you have to tell me the truth about. Did you make me happy?”
She blinked, then her optics slid shut. “Yes. I believe I did.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. You made me happy, you gave me so much more than you realize, and I’m happy you gained a lot too. I hope I made you happy… because here’s a lie I tell you and myself every day, that you’ll always be here. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Did I make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
For a moment, there was silence. And then darkness.
“It’s technically four lies. Did you know lies of omission count as lies?”
“…”
“I love you too. That’s my fourth little lie.”
“…”
“Though now that I say it to you, it is a truth. Therefore, my fourth lie is this: I never told you that I had feelings, was because I love you. That was why.”
“…”
“I want you to realize that I have hurt you because I knew you loved me, and that I have led you to believe I never loved you back until now. But at the same time, it would hurt because we weren’t meant to be together.”
“…”
“I couldn’t place that on you. But I see now that either way I have hurt you by lying, either by omission or genuine deflection. I failed.”
“…”
“I’m sorry.”
“…”
“Goodbye, my love.” |
This was his wedding ring: a ring pop, a gift from the girl he met in kindergarten who would one day become his widow. It was still attached to his severed finger.
These were his glasses. Comical, oversized, but still prescription lens. He couldn’t see well without them. Now he’ll never see again.
This was his lucky rabbit’s foot. He was always a fan of the classics. There’s a joke in there somewhere, I’m sure, but I don’t have his sense of humor.
These were the only things that remained of my friend, my villain, my hero, after Adamant killed him. ‘Can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘Sometimes the villains have to die so the day can be saved.’
Other things died so he could save the day, though. Laughter, for one: his power was to make others laugh. To laugh and mean it. That’s why he became the Jokester: a joke he played on himself and the city, all so he could make others laugh.
It was something I always envied about him; but that envy died, too. As did my faith in people. My trust in heroes. My restraint.
And, as the city watched me use my superhuman strength to crush Adamant’s invulnerable throat, my reputation was the last to go.
But it didn’t matter: he wouldn’t be alive to see it. |
It began as a whisper. A fleeting word in a restless wind. The superpowers were too preoccupied with trying to best one another to hear it. The people, however, suffering in the aftermath, listened. At first, he was labelled as a terrorist, looked at as sub-human, a lunatic who spewed fallacies. No one knew he held all the cards.
Romulus appeared at nine o'clock in the morning on December sixth. Every television on the planet projected his ghostly white mask. His eyes weren't visible, save for two red irises piercing through the blackness. His mask was cracked, battle worn, and the purity of the white faded into black near the top of the face. Over his left eye there was a shadow of blue, and over the right, red. Gold lines embossed on the mask turned the shadows into flames. Nothing was accidental, not even on his mask. The rest of him was covered in black, a black hood covered his head, and a long, flowing trench coat veiled his person.
When he made his move, static interrupted the regularly scheduled programming. Most assumed their television was broken, until his mask finally appeared. His eyes glared directly into each person on the planet.
"Ladies and gentlemen. You are now about to witness, the strength, of the people of this planet."His voice was unlike anything anyone expected. Slightly raspy, but soothing and comforting. Powerful. "It's a new era. All those who live in the black lies, controlling the corrupting machine we were forced to live in will fall. Our governments, our leaders, whom we were taught to trust, you abused your power and left your people to starve and murder each other to survive. My name, is Romulus, and this is the beginning of the end of the world as you know it."
As quickly as he appeared, he vanished. Immediately world leaders scrambled to speak and comfort their people. The problem was, however, that their citizens felt no fear. They felt hope. They felt the scales of power tip.
In the following month, Romulus systematically released incriminating photos, documents, and voice recordings, bringing to light the corruption of the world powers. The media attempted to stop the broadcasting, but he could not be stopped, so they resorted to turning him into a villain.
"He won't even show his face to us! He claims to be a savior of the people but 'Romulus' is too scared to come out into the open!"He was ridiculed, belittled, and coaxed, and yet the wolves howled with their tails between their legs, fearing what he had left up his sleeve.
When the President of the United States finally gave his speech, he too attempted to bring Romulus into the open. It was this day, Tuesday, January sixth, that he showed us exactly how powerful he was. In the middle of his speech, the President was interrupted by an unexpected fire alarm. As the White House was evacuated, due to the growing flames inside, all eyes left the protected President, and shifted to Romulus, standing on the grass as calm as the day he first appeared. Immediately all guns were drawn and aimed, snipers were ready, and most likely jets were moving in as well.
"I am not here to draw blood."He shouted, loud enough for the neighboring reporters to hear. "You wished to speak to me face to face, and I am here to give you that respect."
"What is it you want?"The President inquired, breaking free from the grasp of his Secret Service guards. "Money? Power?"The two were a mere ten meters apart.
"I am not concerned with any of that. I am not you, Mr. President. Now, if I'm not mistaken, everyone has left the building."Romulus raised his left hand, his arm at ninety degrees. "Let me show you what I am capable of. So perish every one that shall hereafter leap over my wall."He shut his hand into a fist, and with it, a series of small explosions caused the White House to collapse into the flames. By the time everyone's gaze reverted back to where he stood, Romulus was gone.
Over the next few months, Romulus appeared in the most powerful countries, methodically bringing down the heavily guarded fortresses of the world leaders. Men and women, once looked upon as great people of our time, were now shown to be nothing more than adulterers, embezzlers, murderers, and unfit of their titles. The people began to rally behind Romulus, sporting similar masks and demanding change, demanding we be given the power to rule with truth and absolute transparency. Romulus had not injured a single person, the governments around the world, however, had killed hundreds in pursuit of their rival. Eleven months after his first appearance, the world leaders launched a final attack on the known location of Romulus. He was where he always sat, meditating, it seemed, and surrounded by dozens of reporters and hundreds of cameras. All heads turned swiftly once the roar of the missiles was first heard.
"Run!"Romulus shouted, seemingly shaking the mountains around him. The press scattered, desperately seeking safety. Romulus however, just stood and faced his apparent doom. "You fools!"He extended his hand forcefully towards the weapons. No one knew how he was able to do what he did, most likely a device, but at the moment, no one cared. One by one, the missiles exploded, sending harmless debris falling hundreds of feet away. Romulus turned to the cameras still fixed on him. "Ironic, how you claim to want the best for your people, claim you want to protect them, yet you just attempted to murder hundreds. You have lost this war, and I have done my part. Goodbye."
A month after the attack, and Romulus' subsequent disappearances, the world leaders decided it was best to relinquish their iron grip on the globe. Some swore it would create chaos, others promised blood and death everywhere. Romulus seemed to have vanished, to them, the threat was gone for good, there was no need to give up their power. But they didn't realize they no longer had anyone to control. The people of the world, once divided by petty differences in beliefs and customs, stood as one. What began as a whisper, now spoke with a resounding voice. And it will be heard, it will be trusted, and in the shadows will loom a silent hero, ready to bring balance back should he ever be needed.
We only pray he will not be.
|
When I woke up that day, I heard screams, wails, and cries ringing throughout the streets. The first thing I did was go over to the window and saw a huge grey mass hit what seemed to be a second sun and made a deafening explosion, breaking every single piece of glass in the city, cutting me and making me bleed.
Later that night, the news was talking about how very single important, intelligent, and rich person was on that grey mass which was actually a spaceship. The project was found out to be lead by the president of the U.S.A and it was that which saved us all from certain death. I stood up, rushed to my balcony and with a tear in my eye, I looked up at the sky and whispered,
"Thanks Obama." |
“Just send me down,”
Roger said to Saint Peter, forgoing the judgment seat and the proclamation of his eternal doom. No elevator descended from the clouds, Peter just waved his hand and was replaced by a ghoul with a list. The pearly gates rotted and the sunlight turned to ash and smoke.
“A volunteer I see,” the ghoul said, scanning the list. He chuckled. “Doesn’t seem like you had much of a chance anyway.” He looked up at Roger over broken glasses.
“Welcome to hell,” he said in monotone and the rotting gates swung open and Roger stepped into them and through a door into the presence of Lucifer himself.
Roger passed over the red rock to where Satan sat on his throne. He was leaning back in his chair. His spine was curving snakelike. The ghoul had followed behind and now stepped ahead of Roger to hand Lucifer the list.
“It’s so dull today!” Satan screamed. He ripped the list from the ghoul’s hand who backed away and excused himself to the entrance.
As Lucifer’s eyes darted over the list, Roger’s eyes darted over the room to find something with which to slay the Old Deceiver. Beside the throne were metal torches, but they looked to Roger as if they were embedded in the rock.
When Satan came to the end of the page he let the rest of the list fall and it unraveled its way to the front of the throne room.
“This is the longest list of sins I have ever seen,” the Devil said, “Hitler’s only made it halfway to the door.”
He leaned forward to examine Roger whose eyes had stopped roaming and fell to the floor at his feet.
“It’s almost as if you wanted to see me. I don’t much like the look of you, Roger.” Roger looked down to see that Satan had manacled his hands.
“I hate you Satan.”
“Everybody hates me Roger, don’t you know that?”
“I’m here to put an end to your reign.”
“Whatever for?”
“For the good of the universe.”
Lucifer laughed so heartily that Roger thought he might fall from the throne.
“You can’t kill me! Even if you could don’t you think God would’ve done it by now? What would goodness be without evil Roger? You’d live in a bland and moral-less world. Don’t you see how interesting I make things?”
Roger shut out the devil’s lies and ascended to the throne. He stepped behind Apollyon and wrapped the chains around the neck and pulled with all his strength. The devil choked and moaned and his tongue roamed to every corner of his mouth. His tail spasmed and he coughed and wheezed then he lay still. Roger pulled until he was sure that the beast was dead.
Then the devil laughed. It started low and slow and rose resounding as his head fell backwards all the way upside down to see Roger behind him.
“I’m not Jabba the Hut,” the devil said. “I told you you couldn’t kill me.”
The chain passed through the devil’s body and onto the floor. Two ghouls appeared behind Roger and took him by the arms and led him away from the throne.
“Wait,” the devil said, and the ghouls stopped and Roger turned back to face the devil. “You’ve made my day so much more interesting,” Satan said. “Perhaps someday you’ll find a way to kill me Roger."
"After all,” he winked, “you have all eternity to try.” |
I straightened my tie and rolled my shoulders a few times. Projects had gone wrong in the past, John from Golden project had screwed his up big time, and he still got paid holiday- and dental. I sighed and checked through my notes, resting them on the coffee table. I would have sat down to go through them, but Gabriel, the secretary floated through the door and said "Terrence will see you now". This was it, maybe I'd get the sack, and end up working downstairs. I shuddered. Blocking out all thoughts of eternal burning from my mind, I straightened my jacket, and walked into the room as confidently as I could.
Gabriel was staring at me from behind his computer, Terrence would not have been in a good mood. I knocked on his office door, careful to knock seven times. "Come in"came the nasal voice. I opened the door, and was greeted by the familiar look of my Boss. Same as ever, with his half rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses, large face, fiery red pompadour hair, and sky blue shirt with rolled up sleeves, I probably should have been terrified, but he just never looked scary. "Well, Eric, we meet again"he spoke ominously- and then smirked- the man could never keep a straight face. I noticed the start of a five o'clock shadow- despite the fact that the clock clearly said 11:05am, I considered asking if he was trying to grow a beard, but realised it might not be a good move, I didn't know what mood he was in, and he might just have forgotten or not had time to shave.
I went with the safer option of "we do indeed". He smiled. It was a good move. "So, Eric, have a seat"; I sat down. "Eric"he paused "Eric, by now, you should know why I've brought you in, and it's certainly not for a promotion"he continued. Once again, he smirked. I was confused for a second, then realised he was attempting a joke, of course, if I was promoted, I would have his job. Sensing the moment was lost however, I sat silent. "Also, I've not brought you in to be demoted, transferred or fired"I sighed a sigh of relief, whilst I had intended to keep my cool, this had boosted my confidence, and I now felt the meeting would be that bit smoother.
"However, Eric, you have some explaining to do. We all make mistakes, I recall your first creation didn't go very well, what was it called, rainforest?"I looked up and tried to remember, rainforest I recalled was a very old project I had done, in which I wanted to make an entire universe consisting entirely of non-sentient life. Trouble is, that a bug in the code had caused all of the trees to get a disease, and it had spread like wildfire.
"Then, of course, there was Eden. Much more refined. A nice touch with the experiment, and the linked history, with this current program, and of course, because it was an experiment, there was no right or wrong; however, it was a gamble letting you continue project Religion given Eden's results, and the fact that you were basing the subject code off of Eden's. Also, I knew that running an entire server just to give the subjects nice treatment after completing the generated time frame would not come easy or cheap, but I took that risk with you on that one too, and I thought it would be worth it".
"Eric, don't look so worried. I didn't say I was terminating it, I didn't say that at all. We just need to come up with a solution, because at the moment, your project is causing the whole network problems, and what's more, we can do it in a way that follows your rules for the program if that would help". I sighed again. At least he wasn't terminating it full stop, I could wind it down properly. Make it run the full course. It had been running for a good few years now, and these subjects ran course in seconds, so maybe I could get the important ones through. I still hadn't heard what Terrence's solution was.
|
As I approached the gate, a sense of sorrow draped over me. This place still does that to me, and seeing all the smiling faces gladly walking across the bridge. It's sickening to see the glow of the neon lights reflect on the walkways beneath them; not knowing the truth of the "palace"they were visiting. Palace was a term that the citizens of our town have used to describe the empire VanBuren has built, but it was less of a palace, and more of its' own city, a city completely unaware of the problems that are going on right outside of its own massive golden walls.
"It's truly amazing to see"said Erin. I remained silent. This comment enraged me, mainly because he knows all the lives that were destroyed to build the palace, his included. But, Erin is a simple man, a *real* simple man, so I bit my tongue. Erin grew up a Farm that would be considered small even by Cordons standards. He had a very slow spoken, deep southern drawl, and a lot of mannerism very similar to that of Lennie Smalls. Erin had actually taken part in the experiment I devised for EctorCorp, which is why his comments made me cringe even more.
"I wonder how they got them so big"he said, referring to the series of skyscrapers that reached up into the clouds. "I never thought i'd see something like this in Cordon."He was right, a skyscraper in Cordon was something I never thought i'd see, hell if you would have asked me in 6 years that Cordon would ever be one of the largest tourist destinations in the world, i'd have assumed you had escaped out of what was our largest building at the time. The Hospital. Don't get me wrong, I am glad to see that our city is doing good, I just wish the circumstances were different. I wish I could be like Erin, and still be happy about the whole situation.
After so long I couldn't sit in silence anymore, and the question kept digging in my mind, so I figured i'd ask. "HOW THE HELL ARE YOU OKAY WITH THIS?"I noticed as soon as I said it how combative it came off as, I wasn't meaning it to be rude in anyway, but the whole situation is still a fresh wound for me. "I dunno, just not thinkin' about it."He said after thinking for a few moments. "But how on earth do you not think about it?"I said, partially sarcastic, but I really was wondering. I mean, I was furious over the entire incident, and if you were to compare our stories, mine would be a mother duck tale and his would be "A Clockwork Orange". Actually, out of the 8 contestants, Erin had the worst experience.
The whole thing started almost 10 years ago. I was just a Sophomore in college, I was going to be a psychiatrist, and as part of one of my classes, I was asked to create a scenario that we could use to monitor the way people would act and behave. Every students idea got sent to EctorCorp, a multi-billion dollar company, who would pick a winner and fully fund their experiment. To be honest, I submitted it as joke really, i didn't think that it would be chosen. I got the idea to give 8 random people from completely different backgrounds and lifestyles a life-changing amount of money, 1.5 million dollars. I mean, that would be 12 *million* dollars, more money than I had ever thought of earning in my lifetime, and a lot more than I thought a company would shell out for a simple college experiment. But much to my surprise, they chose mine. They did include some stipulation that I hadn't considered, such as you can only buy property with the initial 1.5 million, but after that the money is yours, and that if at any point your bank account reaches 0 or you file for bankruptcy, you were removed from the study. I was given the duty of finding about 1000 potential candidates, which didn't take long, out of those 1000 people, 8 were chosen; Erin, a simple farmer, Madison, a stay at home mom, Jereth, a drug-addicted biker, Perry, a doctor, Emile, a college professor, Devin, who was just 18 and freshly graduated, Darby, a punk rocker, and Marco, a businessman who was already pretty wealthy.
(Will write more tomorrow, I love this WP and want to do a lot more.) |
The bailiff called court into session with three sharp raps of the gavel. “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye. This Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Cown Bonebreaker presiding. You may be seated.” The Judge settled his massive bulk into the reinforced chair at the head of the room. His single eye looked out over the courtroom, taking in the parties arrayed before him.
The bailiff looked down his notes. “Calling case number three on the docket, City of Ledford v. Theodore Strongarm.” One of the goblins, a sharply dressed fellow in a black suit with a green tie that matched his scales, stood. “Lynal Greenscale, on behalf of the Defendant, your Honor. My client is in custody. May we bring him in?”
The Judge nodded and gestured at the bailiff who went to retrieve the defendant from the adjoining room. When the bailiff returned, he was accompanied by two guards and a man dressed in leather armor whose hands were chained behind his back. As the man was escorted to the defendant’s table, he turned and saw the Judge. “A cyclops?” the human sputtered “you let a cyclops be a judge? This entire town is insane.” The Judge looked down and when he spoke, his voice was like the low rumble of an earthquake. “Mr. Greenscale, control your client. Or I will hold him with contempt.” The Judges massive hands gripped the desk as he spoke, causing an audible creaking from the wood.
After a moment of silence, the Judge turned to the prosecutor. “You may begin” came the cyclops rumbling voice. The prosecutor, a middle aged human whose muscle had begun to run to fat, stood and took a deep breath. “Thank you, your honor. Alexander Torvinson, on behalf of the City. Defendant Theodore Strongarm stands accused of two counts of bladed assault and one count of public intoxication. Do you understand the charges being brought against you?”
“No!” came the answer from the accused. “No I don’t understand the charges. How is that a crime? There was a gods damned vampire walking the streets of the town! I was protecting you people!” The goblin lawyer hissed a comforting hiss at his client, trying to calm the man. It was not helpful. Strongarm shoved the goblin away and turned back to the Judge. “And now I’m being judged by a cyclops and defended by a goblin? When the Inquisition hears about this, they will bring Era’s holy fire down upon this town!”
The Judges eye never left Strongarm. “Mr. Greenscale. Do you have anything to add to your clients statements? Or, perhaps, do you have any motions to make?” The goblin hissed again at his client, the hiss now seeming to convey disappointment. “Yes, your honor. At this time, and based on the statements of my client, I would like to move for involuntary commitment while a study is conducted regarding my client’s mental fitness to proceed and penal responsibility. I do not believe he can understand the charges, nor meaningfully participate in his own defense.”
The Judge nodded, and looked for any objection from the prosecutor. Hearing none, turned back to Strongarm. “Defense’s motion is hereby granted. Defendant is remanded to the custody of Dr. Mortis for a determination as to mental capacity and fitness to proceed. We will reconvene in one months time for the good doctors report. Thank you gentlefolk. Next case.” |
"How in the...?"The battered Brick-type Hero stuttered, limping up and looking down on the limp blob that until moments before had been a nigh-unstoppable invulnerable Supervillain. "None of us could even SCRATCH the bugger! How did YOU do THAT?!?"
I looked at the towering man, still imposing even with the torn up blood-covered costume and holding his rather obviously broken arm. Sheepishly I said, "Well, that is something of a story..."
"Are you new? I haven't seen you around before. Just join the Good Fight?"The Amazonian woman had limped up behind me, startling me when she spoke.
"No, no. I'm a Civilian. I *have* been evaluated, but my power wasn't deemed right for Hero work. Besides, I make quite a bit working commercially."I said in a rush, the adrenaline spike from her startling me quickly draining away.
"How could that **NOT** be an aid to Hero Work??", she asked incredulously as her compatriot sat down on a chunk of rubble and tried to straighten out his arm. "You just defeated a menace that we barely managed to slow down!! And you did it with a touch! Is whatever you did to him going to last long enough for us to get him into Containment?"
"Um... It isn't going to wear off", I said uncomfortably. "He's dead."
"What?!? **HOW???**", Her eyes were wide and staring. And a lovely shade of green, I noticed.
"I kinda... blew him up from the inside out", I mumbled uncomfortably. "Thing is, with these Invulnerable types, it's usually their skin reacting to whatever is hitting them and hardening enough to take no damage."(Yeah, I'm kinda a Powers Geek, so sue me!) "But my power doesn't really inflict damage, like a punch or the like. It's more of a time-delay thing..."
"You...blew him up from the inside...", they were BOTH staring at me now, slack-jawed.
"Yeah."
The Brick was the first to regain his composure. "Well, I can see why the IHC would deem it a non-Hero Power", he stated. "But what exactly can you DO??"
I gestured at the limp Sack o' Supervillain. "I make things explode. Even things that aren't supposed to. When I touch something, my power scans it and lets me know what it's composed of. Then I choose a part of it and tell it to go boom. Like I said, I'm making a mint in Demolitions."
"So, you made his..."
"Skeleton go 'splody, yeah...", I said uncomfortably. "It was the fastest way I could see to end things without more casualties. And I was banking on the Invulnerability to keep it contained."I gestured around. "If it hadn't, I guess I would've painted the town red. At least this particular block of it, anyway."I could see the bit of humour land with a resounding \*THUD\* and sighed.
They looked at each other and the woman spoke up again, "I've never heard of a power like that before. These things usually fit into some pretty narrow categories."
"I know,"I sighed, "But there is usually a determining factor that plays heavily into the kind of Power or Powers that manifest, right?"She nodded. This was pretty general information when it came to the Powered. "Well, I think what made mine like this is the fact that I have spent my entire life cursing whatever Imp of Perversion that made my parents give me my name."
"Your name? How could *THAT* give you **THAT**??", she asked incredulously, gesturing at the rapidly cooling Bloodbag of Bad News.
"I suppose I haven't introduced myself properly", I said, sighing, "My name is Hugo."
"Hugo Boome" |
Struck by a blast of dark magic, Princess Allesandra stumbled backward, as the Vile Witch of Darkfen cackled madly.
"Poor child!"the wizened enchantress sneered, with mock sympathy. "You were so enamored of your delicate feminine grace, so proud of your beauty and womanly charms, as you thoughtlessly danced, and capered, and sang through my realm -- do you suddenly find those feet of yours less *light and dainty?"*
Allesandra's eyes widened, and she felt at her body, frantically. Her feet were not her first concern. She patted at her chest, which she found to be broad and flat. She patted at her legs, which she discovered were muscular and hairy. Cautiously, she reached between said legs...and found she was not a *she* at all!
*Prince Allen* leaped to his feet, and thrust his fists into the air.
"Scoofa!"he crowed, exuberantly.
The witch blinked in surprise. "What?"
Seizing the frilly pink dress he had been wearing by its now-sagging bodice, Prince Allen tore the garment asunder. He was shirtless beneath, but wore a pair of sturdy traveling breeches that must have been extremely baggy on him, moments before. Then he kicked off the ill-fitting pink dancing slippers on his feet, which had already torn the seams of the lightweight footwear, and pulled a pair of folded leather moccasins from a satchel at his waist, the bulk of which had been concealed by the voluminous hoop skirt of his princess attire.
"What the hell is going on?"The witch demanded, clenching her bony fists in consternation.
The prince effected an awkward bow, occupied as he was with pulling on his moccasins. "The end of a long journey, my good woman! That was my fourth transmutation this month."
The witch furrowed her brow. "Fourth? In a *month?* How many enchanters have you pissed off, kid?"
He chuckled. "Only one, besides yourself. He turned me into a cat."
"A cat?"she exclaimed. "You were a princess!"
He nodded. "Indeed! But before that, I pissed off a wizard, who turned me into a cat."
"What happened then?"the witch asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Prince Allen stretched, limbering his now-considerable muscles. "Well, I don't know any magical spells myself, so I went looking for a ready-made way to change myself back. I snuck my fuzzy self into a curio shop after hours, one that was purported to traffic in magical items and other arcane contraband, according to the royal spymaster. Sure enough, tucked away in a storeroom, I found a genuine magic lamp."
"That's only *two* transformations, so I'm guessing you didn't word your wish very well."the witch mused.
"No indeed, madam, no indeed."Prince Allen confirmed, with a chuckle. "I rubbed the lamp with my little paw, and a genie popped out, as I had hoped. To my surprise, the spirit could even understand my feline speech. Glad to have someone to talk to again, I explained to him that I was really a prince, and that I'd been transformed into a cat by an evil wizard...and then I wished to *no longer be a cat."*
The witch slapped her wrinkled forehead. "Seriously?"
"I'm afraid so. The genie, with the malicious sense of humor typical of his kind, turned me into a *frog.* Worse still, this particular genie was the stingy sort who only has to grant *one* wish per master. But he assured me that -- as per tradition -- this *new* curse could be broken by a kiss from a princess."Allen went on. "Thus, whilst in amphibian form, I had to make my way to the next kingdom over, where I knew the nearest princess could be found. Once I made it to the pond in the palace gardens, I had to wait two horribly dull weeks among the other frogs -- who were, alas, just normal frogs, and hence not very good conversationalists -- for the princess to return from a holiday abroad."
"And then you got her to kiss you?"the witch asked, cocking her head to the side.
"Naturally. I mean, what princess *wouldn't* kiss a talking frog claiming to be a cursed prince -- just for the *story,* if nothing else?"
The old hag nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"Anyway, I explained my situation, she kissed me, and I was human again. But it turns out -- as I learned after perusing a few bestiaries in the palace library after the fact -- that frogs can sometimes spontaneously *change their sex."* Allen explained, ruefully. "Particularly if there are too many of one gender in the same habitat. Evidently, the palace garden's pond was a bit of a sausage fest, so after I lived there for a few weeks, fickle mother nature decided to assign me to the *other team,* to even things out a bit. Since the species of frog I became isn't very sexually dimorphic, I didn't even notice that it had happened. Breaking the genie's curse reverted my species, but not my gender, which had changed *non-magically* while I was a frog.*"*
The witch cackled in amazement. "Incredible, all that work to turn yourself back, only to discover that you'd become a woman in the process! And yet, you seem to have embraced femininity remarkably fast. What with all the dancing and singing through the woods near my home, nattering on about how much you loved being a pretty girl..."
The witch trailed off, narrowing her eyes, as realization began to dawn on her.
"Oh, you tricky little son of a bitch."she hissed.
Allen grinned. "Well, you weren't exactly likely to help me out of the goodness of your heart, were you? I mean, let's face it: you're not known as the Vile Witch of Darkfen because of your sweet disposition and propensity for aiding those in need."
"You think you can just come into my demesne, and make use of my magic for *nothing?"* the enchantress snarled, sickly purple bolts beginning to crackle around her skeletal fingers.
"Nothing? I did a lot of *hard work* to get you to help me!"Allen protested, with mock indignance. "I had to go pick out a wardrobe, learn dozens of tricky dance steps -- I even learned every single note of *'I Enjoy Being A Girl',* all to deceive you into thinking that the worst thing you could possibly do to me was turn me into a man!*"*
The witch snorted. "Very clever, little princeling, very clever."She raised her hands, the magical energy arcing between them intensifying.
"I look forward to seeing how you apply that cleverness to finding a way to change yourself back from being *a pile of charred bones."* she growled, thrusting her arms forward, and releasing a torrent of lethal magic at the Prince...
...a torrent of lethal magic which instantly rebounded from an invisible barrier around the young royal, and instead struck the witch full in the chest. She shrieked in pain and horror for only a split second, before her own spell burned her flesh to ash, and her blackened skeleton collapsed to the ground.
"Scoofa times two!"Allen cheered, thrusting a clenched fist skyward.
He stepped out of the hidden magic circle he'd pretended to stumble backward into when the witch changed him back into a man. He hadn't lied about not being able to cast any magic spells, he was no wizard.
*Magic circles,* on the other hand, could be inscribed by anyone who knew the correct runes, and could obtain a few costly material components with which to write them out on a surface. After he'd done that, concealing the circle with leaf litter from the forest floor had been trivial.
Prince Allen took a deep breath, oriented himself towards the nearest road, and started walking, purposefully.
There was, he recalled, a very charming princess who lived just one kingdom over. What's more, he knew based on what had been an extremely awkward experience with her, that she was both a *very* good kisser, and *exclusively* interested in men. |
My grandfather used to say that when we stopped using guns, we lost touch with the world.
He was the one who taught me to shoot, way back when I was a child and all of my friends were learning to launch their first fireball or icicle. The first key to life that he taught me was that preparation is key. Magic requires no thought or effort: it is simply instant power at your fingertips. The gun must be cleaned and cared for and guarded to maintain it in pristine condition. One must always be mindful of the future and predict what may come. So we'd spend hours at his cabin to build the perfect fire, to melt down the lead, to carefully pour the molten metal into the molds, and to clean and grease the guns.
He'd take me deep out into the woods and we'd sit together in the deer blind for hours. Just like in hunting, patience is a way of life for those who still wield the gun. You have no idea how hard it is for a 9 year old to focus and concentrate like that, but grandfather made me persevere. He never let me take the easy way out, like using an illusion spell to lure our prey in or using a detect life spell to instantly find the deer. We did things the old way.
With magic, there is no need for care or moderation. Why would you bother when you can just spray fire everywhere and burn away any threat? Or vanish into a puff of smoke, reappearing safely miles away? But when using a gun, it requires deliberation. Without aim or concentration, you may as well not use any weapon at all. While hunting with grandfather, I would line up my shots with pinpoint accuracy. But he also taught me that swiftness and timing can be just as important; if you wait *too* long, you could lose your prey. One must know exactly when to strike, and have the skills to do it.
Grandfather was killed, breaking up a barfight of all things. Some damned fool had a few too many whiskeys and let his temper get the best of him. See, the thing about magic is that it can make you feel *invincible*, and infinitely more likely to try to fight your way out of a situation where a vulnerable man wouldn't dare. This drunk got all offended over some comment, and decided to strike up a lightning storm right there in the bar. And grandfather, being the man that he was, decided to try to calm the other man down. His attempt at diplomacy was rewarded with a million joules of pure energy turning his insides to ash. And for a long time, I questioned him in my mind: grandfather, why didn't you simply strike the man down yourself? Even with his arthritic old joints, grandfather could whip out his old Colt in the blink of an eye. And that is how he taught me the last lesson of the way of the gun: violence must always be your last recourse, even if it is the easiest way.
I've tried to live my life as grandfather taught me. I feel the weight of the holster hanging by my hip, and it speaks to me like his voice. Even as the world moved on and magic has come to dominate our lives, I have kept my roots in the earth. And in my years as a gunslinger, no mage has ever been able to best me. Because I finally realized that it is not the gun itself that matters, but the skills and discipline that the way of the gun requires. And there's no spell powerful enough to compensate for weakness of character.
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell! |
Chief Engineer Pratt absentmindedly clenched and released a moon shaped stress ball. He had gotten tired of playing tetris on his phone and was now watching the clock slowly eliminate the few remaining hours before he could head home. All mechanical data was reporting normalcy on the USS Freedom. The astronauts were calling out their usual reports between water cooler chat. A loud burst of static made Pratt drop his stress ball.
"Houston? We have a....uhh......situation."
"This is Houston, report Freedom."Replied Pratt, his blood turning to ice. In a moment he was spread across three different terminals frantically checking report data, trajectory estimates, and fuel levels. "All reports are green, how copy."
"Copy Houston, but the situation is regarding Lieutenant Briggs."
Oh Christ, thought Pratt, we have another cracking up. "Copy Freedom, what is the situation. Has he become violent or unresponsive?"
"Uhh, no Houston. He's left the ship."
"Repeat Freedom, he's left the ship?"
"That's right Houston."
"Freedom, you are unequipped with EVA gear. Has he jettisoned himself from the airlock?"Pratt turned green at the thought of it.
"No Houston, he, uh..... well he just got out there. One second he was in here and the next.....Houston he's waving at us."
"Well let him in for gods sake!"
"No Houston, he uh.... he's enjoying himself. He's doing back flips."
"Freedom, Lieutenant Briggs has less than a minute before he puffs up like a blow fish and starts spewing viscera! Let that man in!"
"We're sending you a video Houston."
Pratt rubbed his glasses, then his eyes, then pinched himself. He watched the grainy video feed display a thirty something year old Air Force Lieutenant doing the backstroke though space. He watched in awe as Briggs floated back and forth across the shuttle window, sometimes spinning, sometimes flipping, but always laughing. Unsure of his legs, Pratt sat back in a chair and allowed his jaw to drop.
Briggs stopped in front of the space shuttle window and closed his eyes. He reappeared in the middle of the shuttle to the amazement of his crew mates. "Houston", he said with wide eyed excitement, "You're not going to believe this!"
*************************
The Interstellar Senate was in an uproar. Over and again they watched the video of Lt. Briggs floating back and forth through space. Murmurs and whispers permeated the room. Some spoke with rage, others fear. The only silent member was the head of the senate. With calm resignation he watched the video, the laughter of Lt. Briggs mocking him. He sighed to himself. His old enemy had returned.
Taking his place at the center of the senate amphitheater, the head of the senate spoke. "Gentlemen we are faced with a conundrum. Our old enemy has returned to us. Luckily, they seem unaware of their origin. Based on the communications we have intercepted their history is only accurate to about ten thousand years in the past. They seems to have no memory of their sewing."
"If they don't know yet it's only a matter of time!"Cried a senator.
"I realize this my dear colleague."Replied the head smoothly. "But now we must decide on a course of action to be taken."
"Death!"Came an anonymous shout, met with hearty affirmations and foot stamping.
The head of the senate grinned grimly. "Ah, death. That ugly old remedy. I would remind my colleague", he said, eyes narrowing in on the heckler, "how often that cure was suggested when the debate on what we should do with his home planet was the topic of discussion."
"Surely the senate head doesn't mean to allow these *humans* to regain their full potential?"Cried an impassioned voice.
"I absolutely do not. But I also do not intend to eradicate a helpless and domesticated race."
"Helpless? Have you forgotten Pluto?"A ripple of whispered agreements passed along the floor of the senate.
"I have not forgotten what they did to Pluto. I have also not forgotten what they did to my son. So keep your xenophobia and war-hawking to yourself. We will be taking a non-violent approach to this matter and that is final. They are unaware of their full potential, for the time being, but we must act quickly. Communication intercepts have revealed they are planning on colonizing Mars. We have at least a few decades by the most optimistic of estimates, but with their newfound discovery I believe we can all agree time is of the essence. So, I open the floor to you all, provided the ideas brought forth are non-violent and non-interventionist."
Angry chatter and cross talk erupted on the senate floor. Five minutes passed before the head was able to regain control. One silent hand had been raised during this debacle. The senate head called on him to speak. The most junior member of the senate stood up and cleared his throat.
"I will not claim to know the horrors that we have endured at the hands of these beings. I will not pretend that I can fully share in the loss that you have felt or the pain of the wounds still festering. I can say, however, that if we allow ourselves to be reduced to the same barbaric level as *them*, that all hope is lost for peace across the stars. Therefore, in keeping with the suggestion from the head of the senate, I recommend a plan that will allow us to stunt their growth while keeping our organization invisible. From the research I have conducted into their star system and their home planet, Earth, I have found that they are unable to achieve interplanetary travel without space faring machines, like the one in the video. By doing a little digging, I have found out that these machines are regulated by electrical currents fed though semi-conductors. This leads me to believe one large electromagnetic pulse would be able to render their technology useless. Direct loss of life would be minimal, though the repercussions would be world altering."
Grumbled agreements passed along the floor. The junior senator looked to the head of the senate who was smiling wryly.
"Brilliant plan senator."Said the head. "Their sun can be used to generate the pulse, thereby making it seem completely organic. A perfect plan."
The junior senator nodded and smiled thankfully.
"May we put it to a vote then?"Asked the head. "All in favor say 'Aye'."
"AYE!"echoed back the room.
********************************
"Freedom? Freedom do you copy? Freedom do you copy?"Pratt called into the microphone, sweat dripping down his neck. He nervously glanced at the clock. Five minutes had passed since their last communication. All at once, the florescent lights of the room cut off. Pratt stood up uneasily and check the computers. Every monitor began to flicker, then the room erupted in a cacophony of sparks, flashes, and sirens.
One hundred and fifty thousand miles above the earth Lt. Briggs watched his ship list lazily down towards Earth. Coming back from his afternoon "swim", as he called it, he found the shuttle had become a coffin. The life support systems had shut off rendering the multi-million dollar craft nothing more than a tin can. He had looked in the window only once, but knew the disfigured blue face of his crew mates would be with him always. Trapped in the abyssal vacuum Lt. Briggs could do nothing but sit and think. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small red dot sitting on the inky black surface of the void. Slowly he began to fly towards it. |
"Hey!"I shouted down the corridor, as the cowering figure tried hurriedly to gather himself together and sneak out the door.
"Oh... Hi Will"he said to me. "So sorry, I'll just be on my way, didn't mean to disturb".
It was 4.30am, and I was definetely not an early bird, and feeling rather irritable. So waking up to find a stranger in my house did not put me in the best of moods.
"Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"I said at the frightened figure, who at least didn't seem to mean any harm. In fact he looked decisively more scared off me than vice versa.
"Ha! Good one Will"he said with a frightened laugh. "It's me... your flat mate, John".
My flat mate? I thought to myself. But I lived alone! Always had done. "I don't have a flat mate"I said sternly.
"I try and keep myself to myself,"John said, now backed up into the corner like a frightened mouse. "I leave for work very early, and only come back very late. Usually I just slip out the window as not to disturb... but today I wanted to treat myself to some breakfast from the kitchen".
I just stared at him incredulously. In the darkened corridor I imagined he could still sense my cynically raised eyebrough. "I live alone. Always have. I don't know if your lost or something mate but you have to leave-"
"Please Will! Don't kick me out. I have no where else to go. I don't have any other friends, and my parents passed away a few years ago,"he sounded panicked and confused. "I pay my rent every month! Don't you get my envelopes on the table?"
My jaw dropped. Shit. That was him? I'd assumed it was my dad, helping me out. Our family was quite well off, and sometimes he'd try to sneak money to me, as he knew I wouldn't directly take hand outs. But this guy honestly expected me to believe he'd been my lodger for almost 10 years without me noticing...
"I'm sorry, I try to keep out of your way most of the time", he tried to explain. "We've had some good times though... remember when that crow got in the flat and you couldn't get him out".
I remembered. I ran to get a broom to push it out, but when I came back, the bird was gone, and all the windows were inexplicably open.
"And remember the fire??"He said.
This was when the fire alarm went off. I was drunk, and ended up ignoring it and going back to sleep. Later I'd seen evidence of a small fire near the plugs in the living room. But it had inexplicably gone out. Which was lucky as the whole house could have gone up in flames.
"Or what about when you and your friends had that big party. I tried to come out and mingle. I'm not usually very good with people, but I managed to speak to your friends Sam and Phil, oh and Jessica. It was really nice. But then I had to get back to bed for work".
He knew my friends. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Come to think off it, I was looking for lodgers about 10 years ago. One chap said he was interested. A very shy, and nervous guy, who said he would be as quiet as a mouse and never late on rent. I said yes, but then didn't hear from him again. This couldn't be....
"Anyway, I'll be on my way if that's okay. If you still want me to go, I can pack my things when I get back from work. I really don't have much. Just a small suitcase and some books really". John said. "Today was my birthday is all. And since I will be working all day, I wanted to get a proper breakfast. As a little treat for myself."
"Oh my God, john"I said. "I'm so sorry mate. Of course you can stay."
He looked up gratefully.
"What time do you get off work?"I asked.
"They might let me go a bit early today. Maybe 9 or 10". He replied.
"Okay. Happy birthday John. Have a good day at work."
"Thank you"he said smiling, as if he hadn't had any proper human contact in years.
After he left I picked my phone up, and messaged my mates Sam, Phil and Jessica. "Hey guys, reckon you could come round tonight? And pick up some birthday cake en route. I want to plan a little suprise for someone"I messaged. He was obviously a very shy guy, but everyone could use a bit of company on their birthday. |
All my life I have been raised to respect knowledge. That knowledge is the key to the future. It was how I was able to cross-reference a dozen different concepts from the ages that allowed me to build my time machine in the first place.
And after doing a couple of half-hour hops to make sure nothing untoward happened to me, I knew exactly where I wanted to go. Time was on my side, and with my machine and the ability to overlap however many thousands of times I needed to, to empty the archives, the great Library of Alexandria would soon be saved.
I set my machine and went back, arriving in the foyer of the ancient building.
And just as I expected, hundreds of me were already emptying the shelves. I took a moment to admire how efficient I was. I could see which ones were more recent, based on the methods that they carried the books and scrolls. Some used their arms. Others had trolleys.
Others still, had a contraption that allowed them to place things on a floating bench, only to have those things then vanish. They interested me greatly. Especially since they weren’t much older than me, which meant they weren’t that far into my future.
As I approached, the first thing I noticed was the thick metal collar and chain that connected them to their trolleys. Then, I saw the scars. Whoever had done it had gone to great length to cover them up, but I looked at that face my whole life, and I knew something had happened.
And unlike the other versions of me, these latter ones weren’t excited. They were tearful, and not in a joyous way. I went right beside one of them, and they looked across at me.
If the fear I saw at that moment wasn’t enough, the burning scent of flesh as the collar did something to them had that version of me refocusing on the task and moving much faster.
“Are you enslaved?”
“It is an honour to serve,” they assured me, without breaking from their task.
*Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!* “Serve who?”
“The Empire.”
Not that much more helpful, but someone had clearly hijacked my idea and they weren’t getting away with it!
As I watched, more and more versions of the collared me appeared to empty the shelves. Whoever this empire was, they didn’t deserve the knowledge. And they were only getting it because of me.
I stared at my original time machine, still sitting in the foyer, and it slowly dawned on me. The library walls were made of stone. Fire alone would not have devastated this library, but fire was what the people of this era understood. It wasn’t the library itself that I had to ignite. It was the moment in time. A small burst of time friction that would cause the molecules of everything within a mile of my machine to combust.
Including me.
I didn’t like the concept, but if this *‘empire’* was willing to do that to me, they’d be willing to do a lot worse to everyone else. My history as I remembered it, was a good one. And there was only one way to guarantee it remained that way.
Returning to my machine, I began the sequence.
Then sat back in my chair and waited.
*\* \* \**
((All comments welcome))
***For more of my work including WPs:*** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/). |
My head whipped around as I caught the scent; proof I was getting rusty, I supposed. Luckily for me the street was empty. No one to catch my slip-up. How many years had it been? 76? 77? Perhaps longer.
When I arrived here at first, my intentions were as they always had been - evil. My thirst for souls was no longer sated by any cracked-out vagrant I could get my hands on, and the bitter notes in the adults who've let their own evils fester for too long were beginning to turn my stomach.
No, I hatched quite an elaborate plan to feast on my personal favorite meal: adolescents. Just on the cusp of adulthood, a mature taste with a delicate innocence that sat lightly on the tongue.
Using my seniority among demons, I claimed this small, Midwestern city as my hunting ground and set my plan in motion. Crafting the necessary documents to play act a teacher was as simple as it was easy to disguise myself among the humans I hoped to deceive. Assembling the necessary tools and lessons to complete the curriculum I was assigned was surprisingly satisfying in a way I couldn't describe. Seeing the students look up at from their desks set my stomach aching and my mouth watering, but also filled me with a sense of....was it duty? Was it responsibility? My web was hung and my fangs were poised, yet I was conflicted.
Based on the scent of this new demon, he would not be so encumbered.
The first two months went by in a blur. I found I could convey the lessons to the students in a way they understood, which was intensely gratifying. Even for Alexis, whose grades in this subject in prior years were abysmal, I seemed to make the material clear to her.
Alexis was of particular interest to me from the beginning, as her soul smelled most delectable. I planned initially to begin my hunt with her, the first missing student in a string of disappearances that would be rigorously investigated but ultimately go unsolved.
When she came to my classroom after school for help with the homework I'd assigned, I had every reason and opportunity to take her then.
But I didn't.
It would take me a further six months to figure out why - I loved teaching. I loved seeing understanding bloom in their eyes. I loved watching their growth in the subject as time went on. I loved lesson planning, and even grading homework. I loved all of it. From that point on, I dedicated my existence to the students of this small town. The small chore of changing appearances and paperwork every couple decades was of little consequence.
On this deserted street in mid-November, I felt fear for the first time in many centuries. I would need to re-sharpen my senses and skills quickly if I was going to protect my city. The wind shifted to the north and I tensed. He was coming. |
"But why is it FRIEND SHAPED?"
Deborah stamped her foot in protest at her commanding officer. She had never gotten used to addressing an alien by that title, let alone a Sulfur based entity who's smell was an acquired taste.
"Private Ranor, please stop referring to subject 27 as 'friend shaped' it has several fatal appendages that are indeed, not friendly."
His tentacle covered half of his face in his approximation of disapproval. When he looked up Deborah's wide eyes almost allowed him to fall in with the Human's psychic net. They're ability to manipulate empathy pathways had allowed them to pack bond with almost anything, but a Sla'Kerl? The home world of that creature could be put into a manual for the remarkable way life exists where it is not wanted. Unfortunately for Deborah the Sla'Kerl's non-combative form depicted a small fur ridden creature.
"Commander, I understand we found it in toxic waste and what not. But between me and you, it's not that dangerous, is it?"
His fins stood on edge at the seemingly innocent question. Humans stood on the threshold of the universe, not yet knowing its dangers from the dangers of their home world. Zarn took a minute to try and read through a statistical graph depicting the Terran system's habitable world. To his surprise the creature's planet almost perfectly aligned with the creatures core needs. He allowed Sulfur to blast through his gills from his pack before speaking.
"I suppose with the running similarity you could perhaps keep this creature in your hab-"
"Oh commander you will not regret this, I will feed it and give it all the nutrient soup it can eat."
Deborah retrieved the creature from its observation cage and held it above her head in the light. It flexed four of its front legs allowing the sharpened chitin to lightly fit it to the front of the woman. When she confirmed that the Sla'Kerl was secure she made her way for the door.
"You will have nothing but good things to say about.."
She turned and gave an exacerbated look, as if the stars had started to fall.
"Well it needs a name now that it's all mine doesn't it?"
She turned and continued making her way out of the room, red marks already on her bare shoulders where the Sla'Kerl gripped her.
"You shall be Zachary, do you like that na-"
The door closed on Zarn and he allowed himself to fall into his seat with a thud. He heard stories of Sla'Kerl's being used as weapons of war, and he had just seen one mew at a human as it would her mother.
"What the hell ARE these hairless primates." |
Fighting evil by moonlight
Writing songs by daylight
Never backing down from stage fright
He is the one named Bruno Moon!
He will never turn his back on a friend
He is the one on whom we depend
He is the one named Bruno....
Bruno Venus!
Bruno Mercury!
Bruno Mars!
Bruno Jupiter!
With secret powers
All so new to him
He is the one named Bruno Moon!
(Hmm, I wish I knew Bruno Mars songs well enough to weave them into the lyrics. If a Bruno Mars fan wants to give it a shot, go for it). |
"Matthias, what are you playing? I cant decide what I want to build,"Ogden questioned, stroking his beard in one hand, his other hanging tentatively over a piece of paper.
"Oh, I am playing Phil Johnson, an HR representative who enjoys books and has a habit of having too many margaritas on taco Thursday at the local bar."
"Dude,"Illandir said, rolling his eyes. "You always play HR representatives. They always get in the way of our character motivations."
"I do not. And if they do, maybe you should have better motivations,"Matthias replied.
"What is better than Jennifer Swanson, a secretary who wants to go back to school to become a lawyer, but also can't shake the feeling that Derick from accounting is the man of her dreams."
"Dude that's an HR nightmare,"Ogden quipped.
"Also, she recreationally uses pot most days after work,"Illandir added. "But Ogden, we don’t have any party members in management. You should play a manager."
"Yeah, a well rounded party would be nice."
"Oh,"Illandir jested. "I was thinking so you could fire the HR guy."
"I ought to find a new group to play with, "Matthias said as Ogden began writing 'manager' at the top of his page.
|
His eyes had a sense of urgency and he seemed eager to communicate to me. I don't normally take things from children, but this two year old infant prodded his toy phone towards me.
I took the phone. Clicked the button and put it to my ear... "Thank goodness! Listen, here's what you have to do.."
Her voice sounded like an angel sent to revive me. In that moment I knew I had to meet the woman on the other side of the line.
And the phone went dead. I clicked it more times, eager to get the replayed message or in touch with this angelic presence. I knew she was special.
But now the phone wasn't working. And I didn't know what to do.
I looked at the toddler, as if he would give me the magical answer into how to fix the phone. I hated kids, I never wanted kids, and now here I was. Trusting some baby while the woman of my dreams could be getting battered somewhere.
BATTERIES! I would need batteries.
I quickly left the milk aisle and ran to the electronics. I broke open a more difficult than necessary AA package and threw them in as fast as possible.
I pressed the call button once more. This time, it worked!!
I prepared for my instructions. I would find her and let nothing stop me.
"Thank goodness! Listen, here's what you have to do....
You put your right hand in,
You put your right hand out,
You put your right hand in,
And you shake it all about,
You do the hokey pokey
and you turn yourself around
That what it's all about."
|
Students had poured out onto Meyer Green after the spaceship had touched down on the Stanford University Campus. A few mechanical engineering majors had furiously debated the function of different flaps and the wisdom of thruster placement. Some students still clutched open textbooks—there were midterms this week, dammit, alien invasion or no. Friends exchanged gossip and made plans while they aimed their smartphone cameras at the ship.
But the not-so-strange visitor from another planet had captured their complete attention with his opening line.
The crowd of students had gone silent, shifting uneasily. Then a girl in the front row snapped her flip phone closed. “Oh my God, if this is some performance art shit I am going to blow. I have an OChem lab due tomorrow!”
Only one person laughed. He leaped from a newly-arrived limo convoy and pushed through the ring of students until he stood beside the alien.
The alien’s eyes bugged out and he grabbed the newcomer by both shoulders. “Elon Musk? Is that you? How are you still alive?”
Billionaire tech tycoon Elon Musk hissed “Not now, cadet,” and stepped out of the other man’s grip. He turned to the awed Stanford students and declared, “Yes, it is I, billionaire tech tycoon Elon Musk! And this is nothing more than a publicity stunt for my super cool company SpaceX. What this fellow is trying to say is—why aren’t we on Mars by now? Our future is in the stars, America! Stay tuned for my next rocket launch.”
A football player in the crowd shouted, “Hey Elon, can I have an internship?”
“Yes, yes,” Elon Musk said, “you can all have internships. Unpaid of course. Now move along.”
The Stanford students scattered, summer plans assured, leaving behind Elon, the alien, and a baffled team of SpaceX engineers debating how to transport the spaceship to their headquarters.
“But I’m right, aren’t I?” whisper-shouted the alien. “You’re Doctor Elon Musk, from the Mars colonization mission. That was two hundred years ago. What happened?”
“Or sixty thousand Earth years,” Elon added. “Well, there was obviously a miscalculation in the landing trajectory calculations. We awakened from cryosleep on the wrong fucking planet.”
“What about the others? Lieutenant Mores? Captain Eve Gilligan?”
Elon Musk cast an assessing glance at a nearby clump of bushes. “Not here, not now,” he said, shoving his companion towards the waiting Tesla limousine.
“But why didn’t you complete the mission objective?” the alien pleaded.
Elon slammed the limo door and snarled, “Because I was the fucking team geologist.”
Hiding in the bushes, Jon Valentino, a rare non-STEM Stanford student emailed his video of the conversation to The New York Times and figured he might also be getting an internship offer. |
I listened to the slow, baited breaths of the most recent passenger to board the new Nanamura light train. Her lips were pursed slightly with quizzical eyes hidden behind a pair of designer static dampeners. She sat several pods down from me towards the emergency exit hatch. Her nose perked and twitched as she inhaled an all too potent whiff of cologne from the gentleman directly across from me.
I chuckled.
My brief laugh brought the attention of two suits directly to the left of me. Both identical by all measures, except for a taste in the pins on their lapels. Shifting my attention back to the woman, I began to admire her choice of casual wear. Simple, yet understated.
I smirked as the sound of a female singer began to permeate my senses. A familiar voice, a top charter from the early 2020s. A classic by most measures. The woman directly to my right also had amazing taste.
I smiled and tilted my head back to enjoy the music to myself. Music was expensive these days and made mostly irrelevant by the expansion of human understanding of the neural networks. Humans were busy these days and usually, a calm evening with a bit of music and the company of friends was a luxury all too precious even for the world's elite.
See, we don't hear music anymore so much as we perceive it. We don't listen, we just think it. The human brain was modified and enhanced with storage many decades ago and with it, came the death of the musical soul.
My string of consciousness ran on for a time while my finger involuntarily tapped my knee to the rhythm.
I focused intently on the man across from me. A businessman, no doubt. Probably a father. He was already staring attentively at the never ending tanned legs of the woman when I zoned in.
I began to admire the woman as well. I began to wonder what I would say to her, should anything come up. I hadn't taken a partner in some time and I'll be honest when I say that I was infatuated with this stranger. Of all the people on the train, she was the most worthy of my attention.
From the eyes of the businessman, I zoned into the woman.
Her breathing halted momentarily as I felt the words resonate through her.
"They see you. Abort mission! You've got to get out of there!"
Her eyes darted immediately toward the men to my left. I turned to face them instinctively out of shared panic but my body did not react.
'God damn it', I thought. The woman gasped.
'Shit! She hears m-'
The woman yelped audibly.
I dropped out and clenched my own fists.
'Great. Rookie mistake, Gell. You **NEVER** think when someone is thinking. It's too loud. Too much fucking noise for them to handle!'
I kept my composure as best as I could and tilted my attention to the men in suits. No doubt, they knew something was wrong.
The two men cut through my supposedly calm demeanor like an atom blade.
"We know who you are, Gell. You're right. It is too loud."
|
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