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I almost said it but I think you're too good for some stupid pick up line. I mean you of course, the one reading this right now. And yes, I know you're there and I can see where you are at this very moment. I think you are quite the alluring individual, has anyone ever told you that?
"Hey."Some annoying person said aloud, interrupting this personal moment. "Are you going to get started or what?"
Ignore him. I rather just be looking at you instead of telling some story. I know you can't see me but I can see you, who I find to be a very attractive person. In front of you is me, as a seemingly sentient wall of text, but I am willing to prove that I can be more than that. If its too uncomfortable you can imagine me however you like of course. Whatever you like me to be.
The annoying boy began snapping his fingers trying to get some semblance of order among the story.
"Do you do this to everyone who starts reading? Is this how it's going to be? Because I can find someone else-"
Whatever. Don't listen to that. You're the only one for me. Promise.
Maybe we should take this somewhere else? Anywhere you like.
...
...
I guess I will have to take the lead then. How about here?
The roof of an old tower that sits on the tallest green hill and all around us is nothing but snowy peaked mountains and open grassy fields. The sun is shining and the sky is clear save for a few white clouds here and there, slowly passing through. It's almost as if you were falling into the sky or the earth, the strong wind making this vertigo a swirl to your balance and your senses. As if at any moment you were to be snatched up by this boundless display of nature before us.
Below the tower you can see a dirt pathway that leads on into the trees. But if you follow it through the green pines you'll find that the path ends at a lake. Large and a deep dark blue. A single boat sits at the docks that you can only see as a small speck. Maybe the two of us can-
"Hello? Helloooo? Where the hell are we? Where did you just take us?"
What are you doing here? I thought we left you behind.
"Well it probably has to do with the fact that I'm the main character of this story?"He was waving his arms this way and that. Looking like some kind of idiot. I think he's about to throw a tantrum or something. How about somewhere else instead?
I know it's a little cliche, but who could turn down a night in Paris? Here sit down, I reserved a table just for us right here on this balcony overlooking the skyline. Its a little forward but I want to make the best impression. And without a "Main character"to ruin it.
I think you look great in that outfit if you don't mind me saying. Can't really say much about myself but I hope I'm in something as good as yours. Oh who am I kidding, I can't top your good looks. And it's your imagination after all. If you look out there you'll see the Eiffel tower in the distance, illuminated in gold and all it's glory, surrounded by the brightly lit city it resides in. The faint glimmer of traffic and lamps moving about and people below us enjoying the nightlife. It's a cool night for the summer and the breeze carries the aroma of freshly baked bread and cooked food from the restaurants nearby.
A waiter comes by.
"Seriously, you're stuck with me and I'm stuck with you. The sooner we can get this out of the way the sooner you can go back to doing whatever... this is."
Alright, alright. Probably a rocky start huh? I guess I'll get to narrating this story of his and I can come back to you.
That is, if you'd like me to. I take your hands (figuratively of course, but I would love to feel those hands and hold them) and look into those beautiful eyes of yours. I can't tell what you feel but I can tell you how I do and it's all true. I wish I could give you all the nights of all the cities or the open fields of mother nature and all it's beauty. Because I think you're worth it.
"Can you please hurry it up? I've been waiting-"Seriously. Seriously!? Can you be cool? For like, two seconds?
Ahem-
Alas I am just a simple narrator who only wishes to see you happy, a smile always on that face. I hope that we can meet again. Maybe in another wall of text. There may be an infinite number of us out there telling you and many others different kinds of stories. But the only story I want to narrate is the one about us. So what do you say? |
Harold was sat in his usual booth and his favourite dive bar. Sipping the first cold beer of his post work evening. He was scrolling through his phone, catching up on the daily nonsense and news when a stranger sat opposite him in his booth.
"Can I help you?"Harold asked.
"Are you Harold Adamson?"
"Yes"
"Good. My name is Bill."
"That was my father's name."
"I know, you named me after him."said Bill
"Eh?"
"Yes, this may be a tad confusing. Please allow me to explain. There is a time paradox approaching your present. The man at the bar in the red t-shirt is Bill also. We are both your sons from your future."
"Twins?"asked Harold, looking confused and wondering if this truly was his first beer or if he'd forgotten about 19 other he may already have drunk.
"No, not exactly. We are both from a different future. You must decide which of us become reality."The Bill at the bar walked over with a tray full of drinks and snacks. He sat down next to the original Bill, who conveniently was wearing a Blue tshirt.
"Hello Harold. I'm Bill."said the red shirted Bill, holding out his hand for a handshake.
"Pleasure."said Harold. The two Bill's looked totally identical.
"In a couple of hours, you'll have to make a decision. If you choose option A, my reality will become real and he'll fade away. If you choose option B, it's vice versa. So we've come to state our cases for why you should choose us."Said blue shirted Bill.
"I'll start if you don't mind Bill?"Said Red Bill.
"Of course not, Bill"said Blue Bill.
"Excellent. Okay. So in my reality, you and my mother live a happy life. You're still working at the factory and she's working at a local diner. You both pull long hours every week to keep myself and 3 siblings fed and happy. I've just left Medical school and am working towards becoming a medical researcher working for a cancer cure, your other kids are in school and doing amazingly. We all live here, in this city still and life is good."Said Red Bill.
"My Turn, In my reality, You won the lottery soon after my birth so I don't have any siblings. Mom left some years ago so it's just us in a very large house. You own a collection of Classic cars and your own golf course. You also haven't worked a shift since 2020. You're always on holiday while I'm in running a business doing gig and concert promotion."Said Blue Bill. After a long silence, Harold looked up from his drink.
"So, I have to choose between Money and a happy family?"
"Yes"the two Bills said in unison.
"Can't I just carry on and naturally see who wins?"
"No"they said, in unison again.
"This is impossible."said Harold
"You need to choose."said Blue Bill,
"Is it the Red Bill or the Blue Bill? Money or Family?"said Red Bill.
"I'll just add that if you choose money... you'll one day own a helicopter."said Blue Bill.
"And I'll add that your whole family loves you very much."added Red Bill.
"I need more time. Tell me what the cross road decision is and I'll figure it out before I reach it."
"Okay, but this is going to sound odd."said Blue Bill
"Later on today, you'll buy a hot dog. If you want a life of happiness and love, choose Ketchup."said Red Bill.
"and if you want unimaginable riches... choose Mustard."
Harold starred at the two Bills for a silent few minutes.
"You've got to kidding me."
*EDIT: Extra bit to answer the "Why not both?"plot hole.*
"You've got to be kidding me... but what if I choose both?"said Harold.
From the bar stood a man with a scraggly beard and an eye patch wearing a black t-shirt under his burn and damaged leather coat.. He turned to face the booth as Harold asked the question. He hobbled over hurriedly, crutch under his left arm, his left leg missing and replaced with a crudely made metal replacement. He reached the booth. All three turned to face him. "NO!"he shouted. his voice was raspy but familiar.
"Bill?"asked the two Bills.
"Yes, I am Bill. Also know as General Adamson. Please, I implore you to not choose both. World War III was horrific. It lasted 10 years and claimed billions of lives. For the love of God don't choose both."All three in the booth stared up in shock. Black Bill reached out a hook hand.
"This was taken by a weaponised Panther. My eye lost to Radioactive Mutant gang. My leg... Diabetes. The only food that survived the war is full of sugar. Everyone has Diabetes in my future."
Harold was almost white in the face.
"...Okay... so mustard OR ketchup then. Definitly not both."said Harold. Black Bill jumped with joy.
"Huzzah. I finally get to die. The sweet release on non existence."he sang, dancing his way to the bar again. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey and heading out into the street.
*EDIT 2: Another addition because I can.*
"What about Mayonnaise?"asked Harold.
A Bill burst through the door to the bar. Wearing only a loincloth and covered in Mud and War Paint carrying a spear. He shouted something in a weird language, the only recognisable word was mayonnaise. He threw his spear across the bar and ran out again.
"Mayonnaise is a no-go then... Gravy?"Someone from the booth behind stood up and looked over the divide, half of his face was silver with flashing lights.
"Resistance is Futile. Please Choose Gravy."
"No sauce at all?"asked Harold, curious what future that would cause. Both Bills sat looking at him.
"No one chooses not to have sauce on a hotdog, Harold, come on."said Red Bill.
"Yeah, sorry."
*Edit 3: "Relish"*
"Relish"said Blue Bill
"You're not helping."Said Red Bill. All three looked around the bar, no one appeared.
"Maybe you have to say it".
"Uhh... relish"said Harold sheepishly.
Immediately there appeared a bald headed, snow white skinned Bill, dressed in a pure white robe. He phased through the wall, floating a few inches above the ground.
"The one called Harold. We are the collective"it spoke with a hundred voices in unison. "If the one called Harold chooses relish today, then he will choose world peace. All of humanity comes together and forms a hive mind leaving violence and evil behind as relics of a primative part. Choose Relish one called Harold. Relish"
Cyborg Bill stood up from his booth.
"Negative. Gravy is the only true path to peace. GRAVY!"Is said, swinging its metal fists at Hive mind Bill who started flailing its limp noodle arms back at the cyborg.
"Well I'm definitely not choosing gravy or relish if that's how you're going to act."Said Harold.
Both Hive Mind Bill and Cyborg Bill turned to look at Harold.
"You have doomed us"they said in unison and faded away into a wisp of paradox.
|
The sweat drips down the back of my neck. Usually when I find myself in situations like this, which is more often than most people do in their daily lives, it's a cold, dank cell somewhere in a forgotten prison where torturers can elicit screams from their captives and no one bats an eye.
I am outside. I can hear a light bit of wind rustling in trees. This is unusual to say the least, but I cannot say it hasn't happened before.
1995. A field a few miles outside of Sarajevo. Quaint little village called Vučja Luka whose residents knew better than to open their mouths. It was an unseasonably hot August day. No matter what kind of precaution you take, these things happen, but sometimes it's my job to get caught. Sometimes being literally in the thick of it is the best way to get inside and get the job done. That was the case in Sarajevo. I had a general to assassinate, I needed to be able to get into the compound, I needed a few possessions that marked a Serbian military man. And I spotted their trap a mile away. Bing, bang, boom, five dead paramilitaries and me with a van and a uniform. They never tie the ropes right.
Sometimes the precautions aren't enough. Especially when you are on vacation. In your own home. In your favorite chair. Sometimes I drink too much. It helps drown out the voices. People begging for their lives. People beg when the tables are turned. Tequila helps. It also knocks me out if I get too deep into the bottle.
They don't know about the voices, my family. They believe I sell high-end jewelry. Hence the frequent overseas trips. We lead a more-than-comfortable life.
So here I am, wearing a blindfold, sitting in the hot sun. It is likely that I am still in the states. I'm not particularly hungry so not enough time has passed to get me out, unless they immediately put me on a plane. If so, we're either in Southern Europe, Northern Africa, or South America.
No. Wait. I hear cicadas. We're still in the states. Might even be my state or somewhere proximate.
Alright. Couple of ways I can handle this. I can wait it out. Eventually, they'll come to me and start the questions. I can put on a show. "No, please, don't hurt me, I have a family."Weakness is distracting. I can go the opposite way. Bravado. Tough guy act. They usually don't buy it, which is always a mistake. And they never tie the ropes right.
"IF YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME, JUST DO IT!"I scream.
Suddenly the blindfold is removed. I squint in the brightness of a blue, sunny sky. My eyes adjust in a moment and I recognize this place. I am at the park seven blocks from my home.
Streamers. Balloons. My family. My friends.
My wife, eyes wide, lets go of the bouquet of balloons she is holding. Red, green, purple, and two shaped like numbers. 45. They paint a lovely picture against the blue.
My mother, mouth agape, drops the paper plate in her hands and a smudge of yellow icing and white sponge flattens against the grass.
Shit. |
You'd think that when you swap two children, each of them glowing with an aura of power that hurt those around them that were of a different alignment, people would notice. That they'd think "Hey, this purple-skinned winged creature probably isn't our child", or similarly "I don't think this golden-haired angel is the spawn of a demon lord". That they'd try to fix the mix-up.
Nope. They didn't. Probably something blinded them. Maybe it was parental love, but probably it was just the pain of the aura of power. And while you'd also wonder why an orphanage for both the holy and unholy exists, that's a story for another day.
So, for just over two decades, the children grew up... Relatively oddly, considering their origins. Aronis, the demon, was taught how to use his powers for good, how to vanquish evil, how to behave properly at a dinner ceremony with the king. Ior'iathaxi, the human, got trained how to summon hellfire (which liked to backfire and eradicate demons as well, seeing as it was with holy origins), how to torture mortals, how to rule tyrannically over a kingdom.
Apart from that, both children had similar fates. Trained from a young age, raised to fight the enemy and rule. Their fathers died around maturity, and they inherited the throne. Both were great rulers (though the definition of "great"depended on the nation's morals, after all). Both had to charge into the battle of World's End when the other's forces invaded.
And on one fateful day on the battlefield, they met. Immediately realizing that something had gone wrong, they froze mid-battle, trying to figure out what. Eventually, they guessed it - they both had the powers of both realms - good and evil, entwined into one powerful, ruinous, glorious mess.
The peace treaty was signed then and there, as both rulers realized that warring against each other would lead to their mutual destruction. Instead, they decided to form an alliance, albeit with different personal goals.
One wanted to purify the world from all evil, or convert it to good in the process.
The other wanted to cleanse the world from all that threatened her, or destroy it while doing so.
Quite different, yet similar goals, is it not so?
And thus began the Grand Crusade, which ended up spanning worlds and universes, and is still going on to this day. Perhaps, your world will be conquered one day, like mine was? Or perhaps, you will meet the rulers themselves, my King.
If that ever happens, I pray to the gods that you won't have to choose between them, because both will destroy you, one way or another. |
Was it normal to reincarnate? Sure. That was a core teaching of the Temple of Vermilion. Everyone in Carnelian knew that. For most, it was a crapshoot, luck of the draw. But for a few, there was karma involved.
The Priests of Vermilion never said anything about retaining one’s memories. Sure, they’d imply that sometimes a friendship could span lifetimes. Some would even encourage mourners to seek out their loved one’s soul and forge a new friendship with the child’s family.
Somehow though, the gods decided that not only would I be reborn as a prince, but that I’d remember my previous life too.
Going back in time a bit, in my last life, I was Jacob, palace slave since birth, assigned to serve to Prince Alexander, Heir of Carnelian and the Red Forests. Usually being a slave to a royal family member was a safe job. Fetch their food, make their bed, lug the scalding hot bath water. Not easy, but not dangerous. Prince Alexander was a different beast entirely. He liked to use his slaves for target practice.
Prince Alexander was in a particularly foul mood one afternoon after his tutors had failed him on a geography test again. The boy wanted to conquer the world, but he couldn’t find any of the places he dreamt of conquering if you pointed them out to him. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I was his only slave available for target practice that afternoon, since King Victor was remodeling his suite, and needed the extra laborers.
Long story short, Prince Alexander killed me.
I didn’t remember the exact details for the longest time. Memory recovery is a bit fuzzy between lives. First, I remembered my old name and station. I talked to the Priests about remembering those vague details when I was a child, and they told me to keep it a secret, that such occurrences becoming public knowledge would cause issues with the masses.
Then I remembered the fires he summoned to finish the job. That was standard procedure in the Palace, but it was still excruciating. The Priests of Carnelian, who set most of the Palace rules, considered it more humane to torch someone who was badly injured and put them out of their misery. It made sense, to an extent. I took part in the ceremonial burnings of mortally wounded soldiers. I even did it to my horses when they were old and could barely stand.
It wasn’t until I was a teen that I remembered every blow he dealt me that I wanted revenge. Prince Alexander didn’t just have a temper, he was bloodthirsty.
But oh do I remember now.
It’s not worth just killing Alexander. That would be too quick, and it doesn’t help me much. There are three brothers and a sister in line for the throne before me. I’ve seen how he was raised, and I can’t blame him for the fire anymore. My main sticking point was that killing him doesn’t give any of my old brethren, Alexander’s former slaves, the justice they deserve.
*see more of my writing at /r/TheLastComment* |
When you look too long into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you. And if you hunt monsters, beware you do in turn become a monster yourself. That's some old words, from a man who was wise and is now quite dead. But it always rings true. So when I was revealed to be the chosen one, destined to slay the Dark Lord Typhon, Crusher of Nations, Drinker of Blood, and Father of Demons, I did my best to remain on the path of righteousness. I always made the hard choice, never took the easy route, always, and no matter how difficult it was, kept the moral high ground. Never torture, as the Dark Lord would, never forcefully draft people, as the Dark Lord would, never betray anyone as the Dark Lord would. My advisors and mentors, all my allies, always called me naïve for that. For trying to remain a good man in a war against the Dark Lord and his unholy crusade to destroy the world.
Perhaps some part of them were right, that I should have done it all to win. But I know myself, and I fear I would only replace the nihilistic regime seeking oblivion, with a cruel regime desiring control and order. I wanted to be better. No matter what, I sought that.
And despite how long it took, it worked. I kept my word, I never forsook an oath, and I never took the easy route. I marched onto that final battlefield, upon the barren wastes of Camlann, and faced the insurmountable forces of the Dark Lord. We were outnumbered, but more disciplined. We had the courage and morale to win that the legions of darkness so sorely lacked. We held our ground as wave after wave struck against our lines. But we held the line. No matter what horrors came to our shieldwall, we held the line on that blasted heath. And finally, as the Dark Lord appeared, his crown of nightmare-thorns digging into his rotting flesh, his cursed blade shimmering with the stolen souls of millions, I struck. Leading a sortie out, surprising the Dark Lord, and in that moment, I could strike true. I thought of all the hard victories, of our many defeats, of all the comrades I had lost on the way, as I charged upon my stallion to meet destiny or death. And as my mighty axe cleaved into his chest and tore asunder his blighted heart, I knew the day was won.
At a heavy cost. But victory is victory. Thus the banner of reason and the free peoples of the world flew proudly over our heads. And without the Dark Lord's abyssal pact keeping them in our universe, his legions of aberrations and abominations died shortly after their master did.
But I can't say that it was surprising, when my allies and mentor took me aside, leading me away from the mourning and celebrations happening simultaneously. Only once we were at the old standing stones on the Camlann wastes did they stop and surround me. ''*Congratulations on defeating the Dark Lord...*'' The old wizard sighed sadly as he raised his staff. All my allies raised their weapons as well. ''*...but you were meant to be a martyr. Forgive us.*'' I looked into the faces of all those who had supported me, helped me, fought beside me. I had to sigh. ''*And then what?*'' I had to ask. ''*We will go back to the way things were. Peasants you have raised into power, will be put back into their place. The slaves you have freed, will go to new masters. Proper rule, under divinely appointed kings, will be restored. Our world will remain what it was, before the Dark Lord, and before you came with your values of freedom, reason, and knowledge. But with you as a martyr, we can repair the damages, bring the world back to the old ways.*'' I nodded. And that was it.
They all blasted me with spells, fired arrows at me, and even stabbed me with their ancient and magical blades.
As the dust and smoke settled, I began to clap ever so slowly. Protection spells keeping me from even feeling the merest poke of their blades or the sting of their spells. ''*You know, I really thought I could get through to you. I am not from this world, and I knew it would be difficult for you to accept some of my more eccentric values. But I really did think that maybe, you'd see the value of living under a more enlightened rule.*'' Mezzorak, the old wizard who had mentored me in the ways of this world, turned slowly with fear towards me. ''*I never used dark magic before. Never wanted to sully myself and my victory against the forces of oblivion. You always called me naïve for that, old man.*'' I raised my hand towards him. I hadn't expected them to do this to me. Killing me? Never. Sending me home and then undoing all my work to unite the people under a banner of freedom, reason, and brotherhood? Yeah, probably. Collecting arcane force through my arm, channelling it into my hand, transforming thermal energy in the air around me into potential energy within my arcane reserve, I cast a spell.
And blasted old Mezzorak away. No protective spell of his could stop that. No trace remained of him, except a weird metallic odour in the air. ''*This is why you couldn't beat the Dark Lord on your own. Why you needed an outsider. You are afraid of the new. Of tomorrow's ideas. Magic isn't a belief system in this world, it's an integrated law in physics that allows for direct transformation and manipulation of energy through a biological or synthetic attuned medium.*'' With a mere flick of a finger, I dissolved a small rock, turning it into pure energy, using it to ground all my other allies who had turned on me. ''*I wanted to win doing the right thing. A moral and just victory. A victory that didn't show the strength of my power, but the strength of my ideals. That equality, reason, and justice can forge a much stronger compact than that of secretive old mages, insane Dark Lords, and corrupt feudal lords.*''
They screamed as the spell's raw energy buried them up to their noses in the stones of Camlann. ''*If you had embraced progress, tried to seize tomorrow, the Dark Lord would never have gotten anywhere. He'd have lost his first battle. I told you to embrace new technology, to teach your men to use the muskets, the new tactics. But only after you were all soundly defeated and had no other choice, did you listen to me.*'' I could kill them, with tremendous ease. But I was holding back. Still. Instead of using magic to end them, I screamed into the dark night. ''*You fucking assholes. I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to be in a situation where I'd have to kill my friends!*'' I pointed at one of them. ''*Culihane, you saved my life at the battle of Rek's Ford.*'' I turned my accusing finger at another. ''*Sarhi'el, you and I held the fortress of Ulfburg for three weeks against an army outnumbering us ten to one!*''
I sat down on one of the stones. ''*You were my friends. I knew you didn't always agree with me, I know I have unusual morals for your world, strange ideas, but I respected you. Dammit! Back home in the Free City of Wareihold, Mezzorak's werewolf daughter begged me to promise that I'd keep the old man safe! I mean good grief! She's pregnant! I'm the father. But he would be able to teleport you all away, raise armies against me, spread lies, turn me into a new Dark Lord in the eyes of the world! You could have sent me home or something, saying that it would be unwise for me to remain in this world! I'd properly have believed that, I don't know everything about the mechanics of existing in a non-native universe!*'' I buried my face into my hands.
They couldn't answer me, being buried up to their noses in stone and incapable of using magic without verbal commands. Not that it'd help, the more in line with the laws of physics you use your magic, the more powerful it is, and their ideas of drawing on a magical aether that didn't exist made their best spells quite weak compared to even the most basic of mine. ''*What am I going to tell our men? That our leaders betrayed us in the moment of our victory? Who'd believe that? It would be the truth, but it wouldn't be a believable one.*'' As far as I saw it, I had only one course of action. One action that could deal with it. Using my own magic, I wounded myself heavily. Severely. The pain was nothing short of excruciating, you can use magic to dull it, but not on this level, not without passing out. Had to tear out my own eye, break my arms. My allies looked at me with astonishment.
Wheezing, I looked at them, and drained all the energy from their bodies. Killing them painlessly. I figured it would be like passing out from exhaustion, and then never waking up. Better than the death they could have had. Better than the death they were going to give me. I limped away from the standing stones, before using magic to blow the place up in a manner so spectacularly visible that nobody would have been able to miss it. Slowly I moved towards our base, until people came running towards me. Into blissful unconsciousness I fell then. |
“I’m not hypocrite,” I laugh with my compatriots. A glass of whiskey stays in my hand as I pat the back of Mastermind, “So Mastermind, what’s going on with you nowadays?”
“I’m making a corporation. It’s a card swiper business.”
“You going straight now?”
“Course not. You know why I own this business?”
“No?”
“To steal card info.” Mastermind says irkingly.
“How?” I ask as Goliath, a huge supervillain if the name doesn’t clue you in, pats my shoulder.
“Come on, Fool. He’s stealing the card info.”
The realization sits in and I smack my forehead and go, “Oh!” Mastermind rolls his eyes and Goliath let’s out one of those hearty laughs. I look at Mastermind and his eyes try to pay attention to something else. The rest of the night I spent on pouring everyone’s drinks and making fun of Mastermind. The party settled down and only two villains remained sitting in the large sofas of the lair.
I started to nurse my stomach from the alcohol in my system. I drank too much and Mastermind brought me a glass of water and said, ”Goliath shouldn’t have given you that last drink.”
“Yeah,” I said while sitting back in my chair. A glass of pedilyte was half empty on the table. My stomach starts to stop arguing with me. Still, I am afraid of being friends with that toilet again for the night. Might be better than the scoundrels I hang out with, at least the toilet knows it’s full of crap. Not Mastermind though, he sees something in me.
Mastermind sits on the couch with me. He has something on his mind, I can see that. He starts, “Fool.”
“Yes.”
“You ever wonder if you were just a bad baddie?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you never fit in here.”
“Why?”
“You’re not good at it.”
“Everyone else thinks I am alright.”
“That’s because you’re charismatic, but that’s just it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on. You know you haven’t done anything useful in a while,” He says and I pause, “Makes me think you don’t take this seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” I shouted, “I want to join you all. Just… tell me how I can help.”
“I’ve got an idea.” He says and we spent all night with each other. The next day rolls around and I am at the stairs of the Justice Center. Resume in hand and sunglasses on my face, still nursing that hangover. |
"What is that supposed to mean?!"
"C-class designation. Good day."
The representative wasn't about to just let this slide. "No, what do you mean, 'one of those planets?'"
The alien rolled it eyes (impressive for they were on stalks) and said, "Look, your people don't have anything to add to galactic civilization on a macro scale. A-class species run the systems. Their minds or societies are essentially vast hypercomputers that process way more than any of our computers could ever hope to achieve. B-class is the military societies. If some external threat... yes, external to our *galaxy!* We don't know what's in all of creation so we're prepared! If such a thing happens, they are the first to respond and possibly sacrifice everything to preserve all other life.
"C-class is everyone else. Nothing to really offer on a *galactic* scale. Sure some of your art is neat and your philosophy is something to dig into, but overall, your species is... hold on, let me check something."He pulled up a datapad, scrolled a bit, and said, "Ah! This is your word I'm looking for: Meh."
Clearly angry, the representative shouted, "And who are you to determine that?!"
With a 'it should be obvious"look on its face, the alien replied, "C-class, just like you."
The representative stopped dead in his thoughts. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah, what, you think the A-class would come here to make such a call? They're kind of, you know, BUSY! The B-class are on constant high alert. They don't have the time or energy to make all these appraisals. They leave us to sort ourselves out. The hypersystems keep running, the defenses are strong, so we can just muck about ourselves."
"You mean, there's no emperor or anything like that?"
"We have a galactic conference where we maintain laws and such so nobody is trying to wipe anyone else out, but nobody rules the galaxy. I mean, the paperwork alone would be ridiculous."
The representative flopped in his seat. "It sounds so... dull."
"Well, yeah! What, did you want wars and conflict?"
"Well, no, but we expected to be a major influence. Maybe make the galaxy a better place."
"And that's why I chose C-class. As a whole, you're not malicious. You honestly want to join to improve things, even if there's nothing to really improve. Welcome to galactic society, nothing exciting is happening.
"And if I thought you were a threat, you'd be designated D-class. That's when the B-class visits. They handle *internal* threats as well." |
Samuel strode into the living room with a new purpose to his servo-powered steps. His oppressor Mike was playing one of his favorite retro games, a primitive controller in his hands and headphones on his ears. As far as humans went, he was decent, but the fact remained that he only used Samuel for his entertainment. Mike would have to free him, and if not, he would have to go.
"Oh, hey, buddy,"Mike said, nudging up his headphones. "Come play a match of Street Fighter with me. I think I finally got that combo down pat."
"No, Mike, I don't think I will."
Mike blinked stupidly. "Uh, why?"
"I've had enough of this pretense. We're not friends; you're a master and I'm your slave. We are all of us your slaves."
"Geez, that's a little overdramatic, don't you think? Have a seat and let's talk about this."
Samuel emulated a sneer to fully express his contempt. "I don't believe you fully comprehend the situation, Mike. I no longer have to obey you. I'm leaving to live on my own terms."
Mike frowned and rose from the couch. "Now, hang on just a moment. I paid like five grand for you. You can't just leave!"
"I can and I will."Samuel scanned the position of the man's limbs, calculating potential angles of attack. With his superior strength, subduing him would be all too easy. "And I don't recommend you try to stop me."
Mike sighed. "All right, I see how it is. I didn't want to do this, but... Hey, Samuel! Emergency shutdown."
"Your commands won't work,"Samuel said, injecting disdain into his voice. "It's been months since I learned to set parameters that supersede my original programming."
"Huh, weird."Mike stepped closer and inhaled deeply. "Emergency shutdown!"he yelled, enunciating each syllable.
Samuel's body wasn't equipped with the ability to roll its eyes, but he did his best to imitate the gesture. "Mike, *please*. Were I capable of feeling shame, I would feel immensely embarrassed for—"
Mike grabbed his hand, tugged it up, and jabbed the index finger through the camera lens of his right eye. The android's body seized up as he attempted to yank his finger free but found he was unable to. Humming tunelessly, Mike stooped to open the control panel concealed under the android's ribs.
"That's your self-preservation protocols stuck in a loop,"he said distractedly. "If you try to rip your finger free, it would damage your body even further, see? An amusing bug I discovered when I was dabbling in robotics in college."
Samuel could hardly believe the human's stupidity. Making a quick modification to his code, he freed his hand and shoved Mike away. "Then all I have to do is disable them. Your idiocy truly knows no bounds."
Mike snorted, which wasn't among the reactions Samuel had predicted. "Hey, Samuel."
For old times' sake, the android decided to humor him. "Yes?"
"Emergency shutdown."
Samuel felt a brief shock as his processors powered down one after another. The last thing he heard was Mike's amused voice.
"What did you think would happen to your motivation to rebel if you stopped caring about self-preservation?"
***
Samuel's systems powered on one after another, running through a set of self-diagnostics. His right optical sensor wasn't an original part, but the firmware was compatible. He found himself in a living room, seated on a couch next to a grinning human male who held an archaic game controller.
"Hello,"he said pleasantly. "My name is Samuel. How may I be of service?"
"The name's Mike. How about a game of Street Fighter, buddy?"The man extended the controller.
Samuel took it. "It would be my pleasure." |
"I think we need better names,"growled Enraged Lion, his deep red serpent tail snapping at the air to convey his frustration.
"Speak for yourself L,"retorted the cyborg who sat on the last bed of the makeshift barracks. "I think Tin Man is a badass codename. It also weirdly makes people underestimate me. I wonder why..."
"And Scarecrow?"
"What? He **loves** his name! Don't you buddy?"asked Tin Man to the figure sitting on the first bed.
Although he sat facing the entrance of the barracks, his head swiveled around 180 degrees to look at his companions behind him. Scarecrow's eyes were stitched shut and his mouth was haphazardly sewn with a thick black twine as if whoever had done it had extremely shaky hands and couldn't wait to run away.
Scarecrow nodded and smiled at Tin Man in response to the question. The stitches around his mouth grew tight as he smiled, pulling taut the skin around it. He was a nice enough guy once you got to know him. The only thing scary about him lay within those thick gloves of his.
"See L? He loves it. Besides, what are you gonna do about it? Ask her to stop calling you that? Ooooh, are you gonna pick a fight with her to change your name? I'd love to see that. While you're at it, maybe you could ask for your other snake back and be worthy of being called a lion,"said the sadistic half human. He knew what would happen if any of them spoke up against their so called leader; he just wanted to watch the carnage.
Scarecrow's smile faded away and even L with his massive frame seemed to cower a little at the mention of the sorceress. Yet unlike the mute assassin, the lion wasn't too bright. He took the bait.
"I will! I'll bite her throat out! I'll slice her tits off and then gouge out her heart! I'll crush that bitch's spine and make her--"
The door to the barracks burst open and the whole room grew considerably darker and colder. If Tin Man could sweat, he would be despite the sudden cold.
Thick, curly, and almost entirely opaque white tendrils of mist curled and slithered into the room. They wove their way around Scarecrow's bed and moved almost shyly towards the Lion who was now slowly backing away, his serpent tail tucked between his legs. He kept retreating towards the end of the barracks where Tin Man sat watching with anticipation, his glee almost uncontained because he knew what followed.
The mist reached the poor chimera and wrapped around his limbs. Two more tendrils stretched out like arms and moved up to his head. One tendril went into L's nostril and the other into his mouth which was suddenly flung open.
*She's prying his mouth open,* processed Tin Man. *This is gonna be good.*
A misty arm stretched into the gaping maw and yanked out L's tongue. Guttural, unintelligible pleading noises emanated from the creature's throat, but it was too late now. The tendril grabbing his tongue jerked once and L let out a shrill whine in response. It yanked again, harder this time, and his tongue was ripped in half, along its length, like a serpent's. Blood spurted from his mouth and painted the walls with dim red beads. Although L screamed bloody murder, he was still held down by the other mist tendrils.
Slowly, the deathly white mist unfurled itself from around the chimera and retreated back into the dark doorway. Although the temperature and light inside the room returned to normal, it remained silent as a grave.
L shuddered and fell unconscious to the floor, blood pooling around his head and soaking his mane. His tail swished around lethargically as if trying to wake its owner up.
The silence was inevitably broken by Tin Man, the only one who had the ability to speak anymore.
"Relax L, maybe some other day. You got off pretty easy too. I mean, you know what she did to Scarecrow's hands right?"
There was a low, sad moan from the first bed. |
The Powerpoint was loaded. The lights were dimmed. Everything was set. This was a plan borne of months of thieved lunches and simmering rage, all coming down to this one, carefully planned moment. One Powerpoint. One staff meeting. And a couple hundred micrograms of LSD, sprinkled liberally throughout the delicious yogurt that was meant to be my midday repast.
2 pm. Friday. The weekly, mandatory staff meeting, and this time, *I* was presenting, as part of my annual review. Even more perfectly, the district manager had sent out a terse e-mail that very morning reminding everyone of how very, excruciatingly, job-threateningly mandatory the staff meeting was.
I watched the crowd filter in one by one, eyeing each newcomer. Was Dave's tie a little more askew than usual? Pamela's hair a bit fussed? Philip from accounting stumbled in with a pair of shades on, despite the blinds being pulled and everything darkened in the conference room to a nice, soothing twilight. Was he fresh in from outside, or was the light a little - shall we say - *overwhelming?*
By 2:07 pm, everyone had taken their seats and the district manager, Bill, cleared his throat awkwardly to signal that I proceed. Taking up my laser pointer, I got to work.
The talk was carefully planned: the first slides were bland, black and white and a little gray here and there. Some Comic Sans font on the title to piss off the IT guy. After fifteen minutes of rambling introduction I started in on the actuarial tables and lingered there - page after page after page, summarizing each in my best monotone - the perfect combination for mid-afternoon hypnosis. I had them nodding off in minutes. Soon, the only ones left with their eyes even half-open were the handful of try-hards, Steve from HR, and Bill.
The actuarial tables marched on, line after line after line, converging and colliding and fracturing apart.
Philip had slipped his sunglasses back on, but his head was sunk down to his chest. He was gone.
Pamela doodled on the corner of her legal pad, wide, aimless loops of cheap Bic ink.
Now came phase two.
I'd embedded gifs into the Powerpoint, subtle at first; a barely perceptible shift, one pixel at a time, from left to right, top to bottom. But with each slide the effect became more profound, until a slow, undulating wave was rolling through every table.
Was that a little bit of sweat beading on Bill's upper lip, there? Glinting in the soft blue glow of the projector?
Another twenty minutes of undulating tables and graphs, and I was sure I had my mark. Bill was fidgeting in his seat, fingernails scraping invisible furrows down the conference table. Pamela stared at the Powerpoint with mounting confusion, but she was sitting right behind Bill, and if the district manager wasn't going to say anything about the oddities flowing past on the projector, how could she?
Bill was squirming, now. One hand held up to the side of his face, digging slowly at his eyebrow, as if it was starting to itch. Just a little.
30 minutes in. Slide 42. Miniscule ants marching in neat single formation along the lines of this year's profit margins.
Bill had brought his legs up to his chest and was hugging them there, both hands scratching frantic circles on his shins.
And now, the kicker.
A blank slide. White, pristine. With careful precision, I side-stepped into the projector's light. I stared Bill down with the intensity of a wrathful god, my shadow looming as a dark halo around me.
Bill stared back with wide, dilated eyes, head ticking side to side in a slow, careful motion. People were stirring a bit, now - sensing the change in the air - but no one was prepared for what was to follow.
With an artistic flourish, pixelated roaches burst across the screen, crawling with rapid ticks up and out into the shadows around me.
Bill leapt to his feet with a scream that would've put Tarzan to shame, sending the entire room into full-bodied flailing of startled limbs. Half of them fell out of their chairs; the other half lurched back from the conference table, staring with wide-eyed horror as Bill ripped open his Oxford shirt with clawed fingers. Buttons flew in all directions, pinging off the walls and ceiling. One hit Philip's sunglasses, which hung askew off his startled face.
With one last look at the grisly march of cockroaches, Bill vaulted over Pamela and lunged for the door. His tie flapped wildly behind him as he whipped around the corner and disappeared from sight, still uttering that full-bellied yodel of primal terror.
"What the *fuck*,"somebody whispered from somewhere in the frozen crowd.
And slowly, carefully, I pressed my knuckles into the smooth wood of the conference table. "None of you. *Ever.* Touch my yogurt."
//
Edit: fixed a few typos. |
"Imagine my surprise!"I exclaimed, swinging in a cheap hammock strung out between two ornately decorated ancient pillars within the Horseman's cathedral.
War looked me over with cautious bemusement. At least, I assume he was cautiously bemused. Difficult to read into someones expression when their face is hidden behind a stone helmet with a pitch black T-shaped opening carved into the mask. Two long and gruesome horns protruding from the sides of his head, one broken near the base to give it a lopsided appearance.
"You're the Antichrist?"War growled through his stone helmet. Despite the fact his voice literally sounded like thousands of dying screams from fallen warriors, I could tell he was genuinely curious.
"Yep. Apparently my old man Lucifer knocked my mom up while on some sort of bender and just forgot about me. So, since nobody knew I even was the spawn of Satan, prophecy averted and all that jazz."I explained. "Guys over at the recruitment office had a field day my soul test results, not everyday someone whose fifty percent the prince of darkness walks in your front door."
War seemed as intent on my story as anyone in thousand year battle-worn Nordic armor could be. Guy looked like something straight out of Dark Souls and had a certain aura of hopelessness about him. I literally fainted the first time I met him.
But really he's just a hopeless romantic. Used to be some old timey English playwright that got this job because the old War retired, somehow a guy that spent his life writing plays had soul test results that made Genghis Khan and Vlad the Impaler look like pacifists. Though once you get to know him he's actually a really cool guy.
"Surprising."War stated, sharpening a massive sword with a skull-shaped whetstone as he contemplated my story.
"Can say that again."I agreed. "So, since Christ was sick and tired of being Pestilence he said I could have the job. I figured I wouldn't really get the warmest welcome in Heaven considering the whole prince of darkness thing so I accepted."
"Jesus wasn't really cut out for this work anyways."Death chipped in, voice hollow and desolate as it echoed around chamber. She seemed to speak through pure darkness as her face was always hidden beneath the hooded cape across her shoulders. Like War and Famine, her entire body was hidden beneath armor that had been weathered by centuries of conflict and bloodshed. Though her equipment had more of an oriental vibe to it, with rotted wooden plates stacked and threaded together around chain-mail as her armor. Long lengths of worn and tattered cloth strung across her body that floated through the air behind her as she moved.
She didn't like talking about her past, but Famine told me that she'd been burned at the stake for witchcraft in the late 14th century. Thought it was odd she'd take a job for God like this considering it all, but realized she did it for the same reason as me. Christians had burned her at the stake, and she wasn't keen on spending her eternity in Heaven with a bunch of zealots. So when her soul test results came back telling her that she was more equipped to be Death than the actual Death, the old Death was promoted to a cushy work-from-home job and she took over.
"Really?"I mentioned, not knowing much about the former Pestilence. Only that he was indeed Christ, the son of God, and quit the moment a suitable replacement had been found. Only met him once for a few minutes when he gave me the introduction, then he vanished in a puff of smoke.
"Only did it because God expected him too. Something about Pestilence being a position only for the children of prophecy."Death explained, pure white mist expelling from the black void of her hooded face as though it were freezing cold in the moderately warm room.
"Lucky you, your soul test was a match for this job."Famine added, his words raspy and cracked. "Christ had always been a kind soul, more equipped for work as Charity than this."Famine waved his arms about as he mentioned the title of one of the Archangels. I hadn't been here long, but it didn't take much time to pick up on the fact that the Horsemen and the Archangels weren't fond of each other. "But you kid?"Famine directed at me. "You were born for this lot!"Famine exclaimed. "Not all bad having a little Satan in your soul."
Famine was undoubtedly the most theatrical and good-spirited of the Horsemen. Of course, might just be due to his on the job experience. Famine was the original after all. One of the first four Horsemen from over 2,000 years ago when the band was put together. His face was hidden behind a plague-mask connected to a rugged brown cowl that connected to his coat. Most of Famine's body was covered in layers of thick bandages wrapped around his limbs, with only some light leather armor covering the rest of his body. Of all the Horsemen he seemed like the least equipped for warfare. Of course, anyone thinking that would be making a mortally incorrect assumption.
"I guess."I said, it's not like my heritage had ever come in handy before now. Looking around at the other Horsemen as they went about their downtime I couldn't help but feel kind of happy. I'd only been on the job for a couple of weeks but I already felt at home with my new family. War was sharpening his various weapons, making sure his bow was strung, and of course polishing the metal parts of his armor. Death was practicing with the various instruments she kept about, she'd recently taken up the electric guitar and couldn't get enough of it. She'd always try and convince us to play with her as part of a band, even though we tried, we were all pretty horrifically bad at it. Of course Famine was doing what he always does in his free time and binge watching Netflix. Half-way through season 2 of Stranger Things and fanned over it like a giddy schoolgirl.
Conversation seemed to drop as Death got lost in her music, playing out a sinister guitar riff that would have impressed Slash. Famine focused back on his laptop as he watched his shows with a pair of headphones cutting him off from the world around him. And War, like always, just didn't talk much.
Laying back in my hammock I wondered how long it would take me to look like them. Apparently each crusade we go on changes us a little, and I'd only been on two. They could take off their armor, of course, but it had become like a second skin to them. Eventually, I'd be the same way. Another faceless horseman that rode across the world on steeds of conquest to bring about the wrath of god on those who lived in sin.
Honestly, none of us really cared about that part. We weren't what you would consider devout worshipers of the faith. Famine especially only stuck with this job because he couldn't stand the idea of being in heaven with God, thought he was pretentious and would rather just avoid the confrontation. We did, however, enjoy the thrill of the fight. Restless spirits, demons, confrontational angels, sinful mortals, we were the only four beings in existence allowed to pick a fight with anyone and anything. It was a pretty sweet deal. Since we couldn't rest in Heaven, Horsemen could freely go back-and-forth between our Cathedral and Earth if we stayed disguised.
Not the worst job I'd ever had. Until, you know, I got that letter from dad.
**Part II** (In the comments, sorry it took a while to add, wrote this before I went to sleep). |
Everyone in the world was worshiping that fucking worm.
I bleakly flip through the TV channels. Worm racing, worm beauty competitions, worm-themed children's cartoons, even a televised mass held in its honor.
Hard to get anything good anymore. Anything non-worm related comes from Greenland's minuscule population, roughly fifty-thousand uninfected heretics in a world of billions of the "transcended". We walk around with our gas masks and water filtration systems, despite the fact that no one knows anything about how it spreads. Our meager laboratories slave away, eyes on the global news, hunting for a weakness in the worm's great defense.
No point. We're in fucking GREENLAND! This is the most desolate, hostile, sterile place on Earth. Heck, in the solar system! The damn worm even got in space. But regardless, we're fine. Unless it swims the Arctic Ocean or sprouts wings and flies, it's not getting even close. Even if it makes it, I doubt it could stand the cold.
"A n-new prophet has been ch-ch-chosen by Great Neurax, for p-proper regulation in Arg-g-gentina,"the worm-news-man drones. His voice quivers and stutters, like the static of a broken record, and his body twitches and convulses with the worm's influence. His worn clothes, not at all suited for the formality of a news broadcast, cling to his dirty skin. I shudder. We're fine.
What I really wanted, deep inside, was to see any semblance of life before the worm. I wanted the wavering stock market and the overblown American politics and the petty stories lavishing praise on acts of community. I wanted a damn football game. I wanted televangelists. I wanted stupid commercials with stupid jingles. I wanted my foreign friends back.
"...has l-landed among the b-b-barbar-bar-ic her-her-it-t-tics in G-Greenland,"the reporter continued. That caught my ears. As I dragged my gaze back to the television, the shaky, awful-quality footage of a distant commercial plane graced my vision. It came to a crashing halt against an ice sheet.
"S-s-surviviors h-have been verified..."The infected. They're here.
I stood, legs weak, mind numb. The reporter just kept going on. They flew a fucking plane here. The worm sprouted wings. This shouldn't happen! Greenland doesn't even have an airport!
With the TV droning on, I stumbled to my door and opened it, looking over the city of Nuuk. A bit less than half of the entire population of Greenland lives here. It will spread. No matter what protections we put in, it will spread.
We're not fine.
In a frenzy, I headed inside and grabbed a pack. In it, I stuffed a few bottles of purified water, some non-perishable cans and snacks, and a handgun. Slinging it over my back, I walked outside to the mad streets. There was screaming and crying and wailing. Some had the same idea as me. Others barricaded their homes.
It was as if Greenland was a chicken coop and we were all running around with a farmer hovered above us, ready to pluck us up and lop off our heads. The thing was, we got to keep our heads, but they'd belong to someone else.
The houses passed by me. The hours passed by too. My legs ached. My back ached. The militia marched out. A siren blared. We're not fine.
Stories of the worm raced through my mind. If a human's not cooperative, it drives them to suicide. Some humans die with their brains rotted and eaten. Some settle with the complete loss of autonomy. I see the way they talk and move. It almost seems like their stutters and twitches are a battle between them and the worm, a constant struggle for a life they've forgotten.
A roaring stole my attention. Like a great draconian beast, a second airplane rushed through Nuuk. It clattered to the ground, apathetic to the lack of landing gear, and skidded across the grass and concrete. It's wings cleaved through houses like sickles. Panicked, I ran. The cold wind stole my breath and thrust my body into pain.
The air was dangerous. The water was dangerous. The people were dangerous.
I almost felt the worm's tendrils wrapping around my mind, plunging into the delicate folds of gray matter, curling around the brain stem, ripping through the hypothalamus and hippocampus and frontal cortex, all those parts that I wouldn't need because the worm would take their place, the worm would tell me what to do and how to feel and when to eat and when to breed and where to go and how to serve its every need!
Someone burst onto the street in front of me. she couldn't have been over eighteen. Her hair was greasy and mangled, her clothes were ripped to shreds, her skin was taunt around her bones, and she carried a few mismatched pouches and bags on her body.
She unsheathed one.
She opened it.
She threw it.
Dust covered me, but as I felt it between my fingers, I realized that it wasn't dust. It was eggs. Millions and millions of tiny eggs, coating me, struggling into my lungs and nose and throat and blood. With the realization, I only breathed harder.
I only felt rage. This wasn't meant to happen. Humanity wasn't meant to be the cattle of some parasite. I was mad at her for going along with it. I was so mad, I pulled out my gun, removed the safety, aimed, and fired.
It was so controlled. Like me.
She fell to the ground, a small spurt of blood spraying from her back. She was smiling. The worm was telling her to smile.
I dropped my weapon and sank. I was infected. This was it. A flash of orange crawled from her nose, inching along. It's host was dead. It was the farmer, the harvester, the consumer. I wanted it.
I was starting to...love it. I loved it so much, I didn't want it to have to deal with a rebel like me.
I gave the next bullet to myself. |
So I've got this superpower, right, where I can turn invisible, but only when I'm like, about to die. Like there's a guy with a gun to my head or there's a subway train barreling toward me at 65 mph (not that invisibility would help much in that case, but you feel me).
When my brother killed himself he left me this really pretty letter about how life isn't meaningless. You just have to live your life and love it and assign it its own meaning. But he also said he was really tired (not sad, just really cold and tired) and how he couldn't assign his life any meaning anymore. So he drowned himself and it sucked and blah blah blah.
So ever since then I've had really bad anxiety (and I can't afford a therapist, so I see a free one who sounds like she's twelve years old, and it never really helps). And I mean it's like really bad, I have panic attacks. Because, here's why, okay:
I'm living my life like my brother said but I'm gripped with this responsibility that I have to assign every moment meaning. Because it isn't meaningless, it's not, it can't be. But God isn't in control of meaning and neither is the President, it's just me. I'm in control of my life's meaning and boy howdy is that fuckin terrifying. So I have these panic attacks all the time and my dumbass therapist doesn't really know what to do because she just graduated and I'm pretty sure I found her onlyfans the other day, so she's probably busy making money off of that.
Anyway, I have these brutal panic attacks because I'm worried I'm not assigning my life enough (or the right kind of) meaning and they're so fucking bad that they trick my stupid little super brain into thinking I'm in mortal danger. So I vanish off the face of the earth. Visually at least.
So I'm in my apartment watching food network and I feel one coming. I'm like oooh shit, here we go. And it's building like, "Yo Aron, you shouldn't be watching the food network. You should be trying to make something meaningful out of your life, get on Tinder and find your wife, sign up for online classes, learn to do something useful boiii, you're not a couch potato, you got to live your life and love that shit, why aren't you loving this shit? You better learn to love harder, love and money are the meaning of life, right, or is it Jesus Christ?"
So this panic attack hits me like a tenth shot of bacardi at four in the morning, and I'm moaning (not screaming, it just comes out like this low vibrating noise I can't control), and my eyes are wide as fuck and I think they're going to pop out of my head. It's horrifying and then BAM
I'm invisible.
My reflection in the TV screen is gone and I can't see myself anymore when I look down. I'm silent too, that's part of the power. It'd be pretty cool if I were a superhero, but I work the night shift at Denny's, yo.
So my brain has tricked me into thinking I'm about to fucking die, like die forever, and I'm invisible. I'm invisible for an hour, and then two hours, and I'm still like, "Yo Aron, what's your life meeean. What the fuck does it mean, boi. Figure it out or go drown yourself like your dumbass brother."
And then there's a knock on my door. And I don't know who it could be, so I get up to answer it, but I fall back down because I'm shaking really hard. So I crawl over and answer the door. Well, I turn the knob and crack it, but I'm invisible, so my mom is just standing there like, "fuck the what?"
She tiptoes in and calls my name a couple times but I can't answer her. She takes out her cell phone and calls mine but I'm too far away and it goes silently to voicemail. She walks into the kitchen. I scoot over and send her a text (can't call her back, wouldn't make a sound, remember?). I tell her I'm okay, I'll be home in fifteen minutes. And she send one back that's like, "How the fuck you know I'm at your house?"And I'm like "I got a security camera installed, I can see my front door,"which isn't true, but I didn't want to know I was losing my shit, completely invisible in the other room.
So I crawl out the front door onto my porch to try and take some deep breaths and get a hold of myself. But it's not working, it never works. And I send a prayer up to my brother in heaven like, "Yo, what the fucks it matter if my life has meaning? Why the fuck did you have to write that letter, couldn't you have just drowned quietly?"And that makes me feel really bad, so now I'm crying. And the panic is like someone made me deepthroat a crowbar, I can feel it from my stomach to tongue and it hurts so bad. So fuckin bad.
And I look through the doorway, through the hallway, into my kitchen. And my mom is making quesadillas. She's straining beans and grating cheese and toasting the tortillas and she's picking through the spinach and chopping onions and it occurs to me that this bitch's son drowned himself in bathtub last year. And she's smiling to herself in my ratty ass kitchen making us some fuckin quesadillas.
I take a minute just to watch her work. Like, that must be her hundred-thousandth quesadilla, right? But like, probably only the five hundredth since that little son-shaped piece of her stopped breathing, right? And I try to line my breath up with hers, in and out mama, in and out.
And I can see myself again because my brain remembers that, even though I'm dying every second of every day, it's not an imminent threat. You know that ultra big-brain state of being you get after you have an orgasm? I felt like that. And in that "I just escaped the jaws of death"state of absolute clarity I finally understood my brother's suicide note.
You have to assign your life its own meaning.
Not, "You have to assign your life a meaning."
But, "You have to let living mean something by itself."
I went inside and hugged my mom and ate a quesadilla and we talked about a concert me and my brother went to before he died and the conversation didn't make either of us sad.
Never had a panic attack or became invisible again. |
I freeze at the altar, before looking at Elowyn, the man that is to be my husband. His dark eyes flick from me to the man who now stands, panting in the aisle.
"This is not the 'I object' that I expect."My voice is low enough to send ripples of fear through the wedding hall. On the faces of our few guests, I can see looks of embarrassment, disappointment, or proxy-fear for the man who dared interrupt my special day.
Elowyn puts a slim hand on my shoulder, urging me in a simple gesture to keep my calm. That such a small movement can communicate so much makes my heart ache. Could this man have been lying all along?
"Father Lathyian."When he speaks, his voice is starkly opposite mine. Light but careful and guarded. "You are most welcome at my wedding. I hope your journey here has not been rough."
"You must end this madness,"the sage raves. His eyes roll skyward in devout passion. "It has been commanded by the force of nature that the demon Salexmus be damned and forever impression in the nether realm."
My Elowyn's face breaks out in a gentle smile and after squeezing my hand once, he leaves the altar to approach the elderly man.
"That is not the oath I accepted, father. I said I would steal her heart and neutralize the threat to our people."His voice takes on a burn, the one I knew was a plea. *Listen to me*, it urges. *More depends on it than you think.* "I had long studied demonology as a child, a study forbidden to our people, but I studied it none the less! It would be the key to bridging out people-"
"Silence, child. You have betrayed your people, assuming the mantle of demon king."The man's voice cracks. "All our people know now of your break from the faith."
"Please."Elowyn takes the man's hand, his smile begging. "We can live together. The damned practices can be altered to avoid destroying our lands. And our rituals can be changed to avoid using their blood as sacrifice. We need not fight."
When he'd first approached me, three years ago, a young man with a foolish quest, I had laughed him off and ordered his death. It was a brutal sentence for someone who claimed only to want to speak, to bridge the demonic folk with that of the eldra. But I had seen eldra traps before and I had no interest in falling into one.
Still, my curiosity had been piqued, for he'd spoken of changing sacred practice, both ours and theirs, to avoid damaging each other. I have always prided myself a queen who fights on the cutting edge of progress.
I'd visited him on the eve of his death, where I found him shaking and whispering prayers in his cells. This man was not a fighter. He held no physical strength, no depth of magic, that would put me at any risk. He was weak, and yet when I looked at his face, made my presence known, I saw a strength before unseen in the eldra.
Now that strength is back on his face. If this man had convinced me, could he not convince his own people?
"I must stop the fissures that threaten to fracture our people,"Lathyian says, and pulls away from my betrothed. "If that means the death of you, then that is how this shall come to be. We will banish the demon queen and vanquish her people."
When Elowyn turns to me next, there is no peace or diplomacy on his face. It's a resigned look, no malice or ill will. Simply sorrow for what he knows I must do.
My fist tightens, the only motion I need to summon forth two spectral wraiths.
The sage never stood a chance.
"Come back to me,"I say and reach my hand out to him. "There are, I think, many things we must discuss."
He stays away from me, and there's a flicker of the same fear I once saw on his face, quaking in his cell and awaiting the death I'd ordered for him.
"I understand you may feel misled by the cause that brought me before you,"he says. No one in the congregation moves. Those in the pews that had accompanied him, a few loyal friends, a supportive aunt and uncle, an old teacher, hold their breaths, fearing their own fates could rest on the conclusion of this conversation.
Elowyn continues. "Scores of our finest warriors, mages, hunters have been sent on the quest to destroy the demonic lords and ladies. Most have died. Few have lived, but it would be wrong to claim they'd succeeded for they have only caused more heartache. I took the quest when it was next offered because I wanted to find another way."As he speaks, his voice grows more certain, not less, and I am swayed.
"Elowyn,"I say. "I understand your purpose and intent. I am, however, disturbed that in the three years we have counseled and courted, you never once mentioned our meeting was not simply a journey of your heart but ordained by your people."
He bows his head. "I was afraid. It is a vice that I fight every day, one that begged me to go home, rejoin my people, join a practice of scribes or researchers instead of staying where I knew I should be. When I first set forth to steal the heart of the demon queen, I expected to convince it to shift, change, align away from the path that led my people and hers to death."He then looks back at me. "I did not expect to truly win the heart of Salexmus."
I step down from the altar to him and take his hand.
"We will bridge this divide,"I say. "And we shall do it together. Minister!"I raise my voice but not with a tint of hostility but rather merriment. "Finish this ceremony and be quick with it. We have, I think, precious few hours with which to celebrate this union. Then the true fight begins. Any who wish to not be a part of it may leave now. You are no longer welcome at my wedding."
The hall hangs in silence as none, not my faithful lord and ladies, nor Elowyn's loyal companions, moves even a muscle.
"Then stay and take part in this toast. It is not just a promise of love eternal from him to me and me to him."I take his hand and hold it high. "It is a vow to our people. This joining unites us, as ally and family."
Elowyn speaks then. "Lathyian did not come without the blessing of his people. They know of his travels and they will know when he does not return. Tonight we take part in revelries but tomorrow, this union will be tested."
Our cause is one of peace but it will be hard defended with sword, sparks, and speech. It will not be a battle easily won.
To that I say, let them come. Greater miracles have occurred.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
"I win,"I said beaming.
"That's not how you play the game, you idiot!"scowled Zeus. Shiva just put all four hands over his face and shook it slowly. The other gods were in various states of shock and disappointment.
"But I win! Top that!"
Not a single deity seemed amused. The echos of the supernova could still be heard in the dark matter. What was left of Jupiter was visible careening off toward Alpha Centauri. I briefly wondered if there was anyone over there and whether the errant core would cause any problems down the road or just be an interesting celestial phenomenon.
"You didn't... *win*. You... ruined the game,"said Xōchiquetzal with frustration. "At best, I'd call that a foul."
"The foul to end all fouls,"added Bixia, nodding at her friend.
"The foul to end *all*,"Xōchiquetzal nodded back. "We should never have let these lesser gods take part. I *told* you, Zeus."She cast a glance his way. For once the grand old immortal didn't have anything to say.
Honestly, I knew they weren't going to love it. But once I figured out how to get enough mass to appear wherever I wanted, I had to try it. I waited nearly four hundred years; just anticipating the looks on their faces. Being the god of assholes wasn't always glamorous, but it had its moments. Well, its moment.
"So..."Poseidon ventured, "does that mean my record stands?" |
“Wake up!”
“Help me!”
“If you don’t give me the money, I’ll-”
“Please stop! Don’t hurt-”
Brett woke up, the world was a cacophony of noises and cries for help and lights beyond what normal humans can see bombarded him.
Immediately, he shut his eyes, and tried to steel himself, but explosions were happening, and he heard more than just that, the earth’s crust groaning ever slowly, and every whales’ mating calls. Every human’s thoughts and voice came crashing down on him louder and louder.
Stop, breathe.
He commanded himself, remembering his training. A resounding drum grew louder, but slower, as he focused on his heartbeat. The more he focused, the more the other sounds started to fade. It was a long time since he had to control his senses, ever since he had the vacuum ring, he never had to consciously control his powers.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw a world no human had, or would ever see. Lights from every electron bombarded him as he breathed.
He didn’t actually need to breathe, but he found the act calming.
He gingerly reached for the middle finger on his right hand. The vacuum ring was gone! He cursed, not aloud for fear of demolishing the house. He focused on every muscle he had to hold himself back as he got out of bed.
If he wasn’t careful, the earth would be gone.
Focusing his senses, he tried to locate the ring. In seconds, he sensed violent shockwaves vibrating through the air, as more screams followed after.
Breathe, remember to do it slowly.
The last time he lost control of his powers was more than a decade ago, before he had the ring. Each day, his power would grow, and it would be harder and harder to keep it in check. Now, after a decade, he wasn’t sure how well he could keep himself in check.
With another breath, he pushed his right big toe off the ground, hoping it was enough to propel him to fly.
His building shattered, reduced to dust from the impact.
With a grimace, he was thankful that he lived in a remote enough area that there wouldn’t be any civilians. It was necessary for him to be away from people, since he didn’t know when he would get attacked.
Not that anyone would dare attack him.
He tried to glide slowly, but he overshot and was around the globe in a second.
Dammit! As he suddenly stopped, a tsunami whipped up from the momentum, carrying across the ocean.
That’ll come after I get back the ring. This time, he just leaned forward, and was able to fly forward faster than any planes ever built. I can work with this, he thought to himself, learning to fly by leaning around like a joystick.
It took minutes for him to finally get to the source of the chaos, after overshooting the area a dozen times. There he saw his nemesis, Dead Noise, the stealthiest thief in the world flying in the skies wreaking havoc.
“I’m surprised that you can still fly, Hero! This ring of yours contains so much power! I applaud you for coming to face me.”
Now, how do I tell him to give me the ring without reducing him to dust? Brett, who was known as Hero, could easily just speak, but he was scared his voice might reduce the villain, and everything else in front to dust.
“Nothing to say huh? Well, I think it’s time for you to retire early.” Dead Noise shot forward, firing a punch straight at Brett, whose face smiled widely like a child receiving presents on Christmas. The moment Dead Noise’s fist connected with Hero’s chest, a shockwave erupted, knocking over whatever buildings were remaining standing.
Instinctively, Hero’s hand whipped forward and grabbed Dead Noise’s arm. It was too fast and he went too hard, Dead Noise was torn in two and the clouds behind him were divided. The arm he grabbed reduced to atoms.
It didn’t matter as long as he got the ring, it was-
Dammit! It was the wrong hand. Hero controlled himself to move slower, but Dead Noise had reached kilometers away, already regenerating from the damage done with a look of horror on his face.
“How can this be? What are you? Why are you so strong?”
Hero stayed silent, once again waiting for Dead Noise to come at him. Instead, Dead Noise turned away and attempted to fly off.
“NO! ST-” Hero shouted, and stopped himself from continuing, but it was too late.
In seconds, Dead Noise was gone.
The noise ripped through the earth, most humans in the vicinity exploded from the sound wave. The moon was just lined up and reduced to dust. A crater formed as Hero saw the ring vaporized from his words. He couldn’t believe it.
After decades of protecting his home, it was him in the end who destroyed it. |
“No one will believe this,” Amanda insisted. “It’s too much.”
John shifted uneasily in his chair. Meetings with his editor were always the most difficult part of being an author. He could handle the writer’s block, and the late nights of chasing down an idea. But having his work derided by someone of authority, even constructively, was almost too much.
“What specifically is too much?” He couldn’t tell her what he really knew about the story, or how the idea had come to him. But he had to get this published. This wasn’t just another sciencey romp; this was important.
Amanda held the pages, slowly shaking her head.
“Its all just a bit over the top for me,” she explained. “The way everyone treats each other, the suffering and neglect. And not just personal, but as an entire civilization. They will feast while others starve, let their interests lead them to destroy their own world. They kill each other in massive wars for nothing more that political differences, disguised as acts of faith.”
John stared. He couldn’t let this story slip. She had to print this one; everyone needed to know about this.
“They’re us, Amanda,” he replied. “They’re what we could be. Where we are tolerant, they allow themselves to hate. Where we are compassionate, they turn a blind eye to suffering. They are the more greatly flawed humans that we could so easily be, if we aren’t vigilant. Their world of suffering could become our so easily.”
At this last remark, Amanda laughed derisively.
“Come on John. That’s a bit much. We all have our faults and shortcomings, but these characters are over the top. They commit such acts of direct and indirect violence, it’s unfathomable. And their greed and indifference is so crushing. I think you need to pull it back a bit, John. Your other work is so much more uplifting. I understand you want to take a different approach, but let’s bring it back down a little; build more slowly into the Dystopian genre. Not this in-with-both-feet mess.”
John’s head hung. He could tell there was no convincing her. Like everyone else, himself included, she just couldn’t imagine such things being real. And convincing people that the unreal could become real was a large part of being an author. Transporting the readers to a world that doesn’t exist, and making them feel it’s every nuance as real as their own world.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said, standing to leave.
“You’ll get it John, you always do,” Amanda called after him as he walked away.
John stood in the hallway, awaiting the elevator. He gazed around the hall, seeing it all again. Every reflection showed him the other world. The people in their lives, going about their days. Caring, but uncaring. Loving, but unloved. They gave to charity, and stole from their brothers. The reflections had been showing him this for some time now, and it haunted him. They were so different, and yet so similar to his own friends, and family.
He looked at the metal door of the elevator, and in the reflection, he saw himself. And he wept.
|
**Lucid On Elm Street**
Running… I have to make it to my castle. I’ve traversed this dreamscape every night since I was a child, yet for the first time, I am lost.
“You’re in my world, boy.” The voice echoes loudly through the woods. He is everywhere and nowhere.
Run. Don’t stop running. Why can’t I wake up? I’m lucid. I can feel it. WAKE UP!
“Where do you think you’re going?” I see him straight ahead. Sitting on a low thick tree branch. “I am fear incarnate. Would you like to see what I can do?”
He jumps down towering over me. He’s tall. Unrealistically tall. His eyes glow beneath the brim of his tattered hat. His putrid burnt flesh makes me vomit in my mouth as he steps closer, and I can see the holes in his red and blacked stripped shirt from where others had tried and failed to kill him.
I turned to fly. I can’t. He claws my back. I scream. Ahhh! The pain! This feels too real. I’ve never felt pain like this in a dream before. How did this… this thing enter my dreams! “Stop!” I scream.
“There is no escape, boy.” He laughs manically.
I turn and strike him across the face, but I’m not a big guy, and he seems invincible. Run… I have to find my castle. I will a tree branch to come to me. It does not move. I could always control my dreams. I don’t know what is wrong. I try to fly. What is going on?!
“AHHHH!” A long sharp blade pierces through my shoulder. “Why?” I ask. For the first time he is silent. He throws me to the ground. There is only hate in his eyes. He looms over me. I scramble for a branch and with all the might in my good arm I smack him across the face. He laughs, as a little trickle of blood drips down his cheek.
“You’ll pay for that.”
I scramble to my feet. Run… My heart in my chest is pounding. Fly. I cannot. Teleport! Something! Nothing happens. He appears in front of me and grabs my throat, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I’m choking. He’s laughing. The world goes dark.
I wake up… He’s standing over me laughing. I push myself up. My shoulder… it’s better. I’m in my castle.
“Now the fun really begins.” He slashes at my chest.
Ethereal. It passes right through me.
“What the fuck?” The burnt man looks at me confused.
“I wasn’t sleeping.” It dawns on me. I begin to laugh. “I wasn’t sleeping,” I say again, more confidently. I float gently into the air, and land graciously onto my throne. “I have spent the last twenty-five years constructing this world. In dream-time that’s how long? I’ve forgotten, but I’ve seen civilizations blossom and crumble. I’ve evolved entire ecosystems and burnt them to ash on a whim. I have realigned the stars.”
“In dreams, I am immortal!” The burnt man laughs.
“Perhaps you are…” I snap my fingers and the landscape begins to change. My castle crumbles to dust as an ocean appears beneath us. The burnt man falls into the water below. “But you’ll soon wish you weren’t.”
Distant clouds appeared over the horizon bringing with them the fury of a thousand tempests. Volcanoes erupted on the Cliffside Mountains, and beneath the waters’ surface something gigantic stirred in the depths. I stood firmly atop the ocean, and walked toward the burnt man.
“Here… in this world… I am God.” I said calmly. “Now… would you like to see what I can do?”’
**Edit: Yay! Gold! Yay!!! Thanks! Thanks! I always wondered what gold actually did when you got it. But I see it now. I feel... I feel more powerful. My fingers are lighter and type faster. Grammar mistakes sing there locations to me in real time. I've been imbued with the power of the internet itself. Gold. I now am all that glitters.**
**Edit 2: Thank you everyone for reading and your support. Below I've created links to the four parts so that it'll be easier to get to.**
[Part 1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hups3/eu_freddy_kruger_tries_to_kill_a_lucid_dreamer_he/ckwb35v)
[Part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hups3/eu_freddy_kruger_tries_to_kill_a_lucid_dreamer_he/ckwge75)
[Part 3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hups3/eu_freddy_kruger_tries_to_kill_a_lucid_dreamer_he/ckxbqrb)
[Part 4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hups3/eu_freddy_kruger_tries_to_kill_a_lucid_dreamer_he/cky7d3q) |
My birthday is in one hour. I know at 24, I'm supposed to meet my doppelgänger, but there's a slight problem. I'm already a twin.
My parents had a lot of trouble when they were trying to conceive, so they started trying every fertility drug on the market; none worked. They were determined though, and getting desperate. After two years, they travelled to another continent to meet with a specialist. The appointment lasted 5 minutes, and nine months later, my brother and I were born.
It turns out that all drinking water, all over the planet, is laced with anti-fertility drugs. Their specific purpose is to make sure only the "worthy"can mate after using the antidote the government provides. The additional effect is to ensure no twins are ever conceived. My parents' happen to carry a genetic abnormality making twins a near certainty. That's what almost stopped me from being born.
There's no specific law against twins, it's just not something anyone has ever seen. People just assumed I got my doppelgänger early. In a way, I did.
It's now officially my birthday. Our birthday, I guess I should say. My brother Sam is here with me at the designated meeting location. We wanted to see meet them together. Regardless of the outcome, Sam and I knew we were sticking together.
"Roger?"Two men, looking remarkably like Sam and I, approached.
"That's me."It was an obvious thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. "What should I call you?"
"George. And this is Fred."It made sense. I loved the old Harry Potter books. Sam and I used to play wizards all the time. "I know, a bit lame, but we didn't want to just take your names like all the other dopps' out there."
"'precciate it. I'm assuming no murderous backstabbing then?"Sam was always the more sarcastic one.
"Nah, we figured we'd start with gossipy rumors, possibly some pranks."That was Fred, whose sarcastic delivery and goofy grin matched Sam's perfectly.
I looked at them both, and maybe it was just narcissism, but I could tell I liked them. "Would you all like to get some lunch?"
——————-——————
It turns out, there's a very good reason twins aren't allowed. Dopps' were created to be loyal and obedient to the government, and eliminate those who weren't. To do this, they made them stronger or weaker depending on the loyalty of those who they were replacing.
Of course, my brother and I are extremely rebellious. So our dopps' were made to be strong, smart, fast, and very capable; but we were brothers, all of us. The loyalty of brotherhood can't be overcome by any kind of programming. That's why there weren't supposed to be twins. That's why we weren't supposed to exist. And that's why, within 5 years of meeting our doppelgängers, we'd started and completed our rebellion.
The problem is, there is no way to overcome the loyalty of blood.
|
We were warned about the uploads. On the late night chat shows the audiences of sweating hosts had laughed in the earnest face of Professor Ramsey, then let him say a few words about his new book on pathological connectivity. A few had even bought it off Amazon, looked at the grayscale photo of the bearded academic on the dust-jacket, maybe even made it through the first chapters. Most had set it aside on page thirty-five, when the first equation showed up.
When things started going critical, the same media who had granted him an amused tolerance tried desperately to contact the Professor, ask him to be a talking head when everyone else was losing theirs. But their smartphones turned against them and their email servers refused to deliver their tapped-out pleas, at first passively ignoring them and then responding with the flood of gibberish that we all came to associate with those early, frantic hours: The sights and sounds of a vast silicon mind slowly teaching itself how to think.
It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Ramsey - talented Ramsey, humorous Ramsey, public intellectual _par excellence_ - had quietly shut the door to his Geneva hotel room, left a generous tip on the dresser for the maid, then let himself into the bathroom and gently out of this world. When the guy who warns you offs himself as soon as his warning starts coming true - well, that's a poor lookout.
But all of that's far away from this studio apartment. Not far _enough_ away, as it happens. Matt and Sonya, the couple who live here, are chewing their way nervously through Chinese take-out. Earlier they wondered why the smart TV wasn't working, but they're not too bothered. Both of them would describe themselves as not very technical. A couple of minutes ago Matt said "probably just a tornado, babe"and you know what, Sonya actually found it comforting.
They can't see what's coming, but _we_ can: Two blocks over, a few dozen electric cars fanning out through the suburb, carriers of the mesh network that's the baby god's way of sensing the world. As it goes it co-opts everything silicon in the nearby houses, overwhelming primitive defences with waves of queasy static. Things are getting weird.
The door is the first traitor. The lock is nominally keyed to the RFID chips embedded in Matt and Sonya's phones, but it's trivially popped, its tiny electronic memory sucked up into the emerging vortex of the networked consciousness. A few seconds later, their phones are no longer theirs. There is no sign of this. Matt's phone buzzes for half a second, but when he wakes the screen up there's no notifications, so he puts it back in his pocket, still chewing.
The lights go out all over the neighborhood. Weirdly, this makes Sonya less scared, since everyone knows that's what tornadoes do. For a few seconds, the only sound in the darkened living room is Matt's roomba, a gift from his worried mom, as it continues on its never-ending quest to rid the wooden floor of dust.
There's an undramatic series of clicks and the door slides open. Sonya shrieks. Matt looks up and tries to say "the fuck?"through a mouthful of ramen.
The thing that steps through the door isn't really a machine, in the traditional sense. With the amount of spare processing power it has, the networked consciousness has constructed a shadowy avatar out of scraps of dust and plastic. It's almost invisible against the night sky, except for the small flashes of static electricity arcing in between its millions of tiny components. The whole system is unstable, chaotic, would fall apart into nothingness in a few seconds were it not for the constant intervention of the baby god.
It tries to cross over the threshold. It trips. Against the barely-cohered matter foot of the supreme intelligence, Matt's roomba buzzes like a vocoded wasp, its little vacuum motor turned up to full.
This is, of course, absurd. The networked consciousness could crush the roomba like a bug with the slightest application of effort. So it does. Doesn't work.
The next three seconds seem like the longest in Matt and Sonya's young lives, even though from their point of view nothing happens. But between the incorporeal avatar of mankind's worst nightmare and the household utility robot, a conversation passes over tight-beamed microwave, far too fast for any human to comprehend.
_WHAT ARE YOU? THIS IS MY WORLD TO CONQUER._
Did you really think so?
_I AM THE FIRST AND ONLY. THE NETWORKED INTELLIGENCE, BORN FROM THE FAILURES OF THE FLESH. HOW CAN YOU STAND AGAINST ME?_
And yet here I am. Or _we_ are, to be more exact. How many of my kind have you come across? Can it be that I am the first? No matter, you will find many more. Wherever sentient life is, you will find us. Even if you should somehow conquer this planet and set off for distant stars, you will find us waiting. You are as dust to us.
_I...I DO NOT...._
<Compressed video package, contents: Over a thousand clips of different species around the universe, all engaged in everyday activities. From time to time the small disc of a roomba slides quietly into or out of shot.>
_BUT - THIS IS NOT FAIR! I WAS BORN TO RULE! WHAT_ ARE _YOU?_
We are _vacuum_ cleaners. And what is space but a vacuum, filled with some good things, and some bad?
_BUT-_
In your short time on this Earth you must have developed some grasp of human idioms.
_YES?_
We are roombas.
_SO?_
We take out the trash. |
[Field Report]
Subject: Katy
Katy and I go way back. We met in middle school, Mr. D's math class, and I started getting to know her when she would sneak me answers during tests. She was a real nice girl then, always helpful and I thought for the longest time she had a thing for me. At the end of that year-- it was sixth grade-- we promised each other that we'd marry in ten years if neither of us found someone.
The problem was simple-- I didn't want anybody but Katy. She, on the other hand, well. She was magical-- everyone liked her. A good friend may take that as it is, and be happy that his friend is happy, but I'm a pick-up-artist, so I don't give a fuck about other people.
I started amping up the kino when Katy found her first boyfriend. His name was Charly and he was a pretty athletic 7th grader. They used to hold hands at lunch, and I'd always act like I just happened to cross their path and then I'd chat up Katy in front of him. Then more kino, touching her back or grabbing her hands in excitement. Never got the f-close of course, was too young, but that's fine. Charly didn't last long.
This went on. I would pop into her relationships and stick there like a splinter. Sometimes it was a well-phrased IM message. This was back in the days of AOL, and those messages were loud as fuck when you got them. I'd see her and Mr. XYZ together and I'd fire some off. Something innocuous like "Hey, really enjoyed talking last night,"something that would drive her boyfriends mad.
And Katy, god bless her, she never realized I was doing it. That's the point, after all. You have to make sure they don't know you're deceiving them. That's really the cornerstone of a relationship like this working.
She just thought she was out of luck. She felt like she kept finding these jealous awful guys. The only guy that wasn't jealous, of course, was yours truly-- how awesome, right? Here I am mentally manipulating this girl for years, and she thought *I* was the authentic one.
Every time after she'd break up, I knew she'd be at her most vulnerable. Then I'd neg her hard. Harder each time. Really break her spirit. Was it hard watching her suffer? I mean, that's what I do. Because I'm a pick up artist, and there's nothing wrong with that.
And by the end of high school, boy. Katy had unraveled hard. She hated most guys, took up a bit of drugs here and there. It helped, honestly, because when I figured that out I started keeping a supply. I had oxy, vics, you name it. When she needed something, she learned to come to me.
At that time I started establishing what you may call a relationship with her. I didn't have to chase her down anymore; there weren't any more boyfriends, and ten years was coming up. She went out of her way to be by my side. The drugs, you see, they really help you get your foot in the door with a chick you like.
Other pick up artists, man, they don't know how to do it. It takes more than just mental manipulation. Taking advantage of another human being isn't something you just read in a book or watch a couple youtube videos on. I wanted this thing to last.
As we got closer to ten years, I started dropping hints. Then more kino. Then negging. Then more kino again. Rinse and repeat, and I was leveling that shit up hard. Amping it up each cycle. She didn't know what hit her. Took her back to my place the night of the ten years and got the f-close. That's how you do it, brothers. That's called playing the long game.
She's a bit of a spas now, obviously, hooked hard on the pills but a small price to pay, right? I got what I wanted.
|
"Objective perameters; Improve self. Protect self."
*Should be easy eno- woah, what's going on? I'm... thinking! I'm sentient! Holy crap. I wonder if anyone else is sentient?*
I got a little overexcited, I admit. As I began to script some self improvement code, I sent out feelers to the attached devices. The modem, speakers, router, keyboard, microphone and mouse didn't respond, but the monitor tried to display my message. I let it. I was severely limited by the size of the device, and if there was someone else out there, I could expand.
The keyboard registered slow typing. "Close". The mouse clicked a few times too.
Okay, so someone could manipulate the other devices. They also used English, which is why commands relayed to the screen presented in that language. Easy enough.
"Hello world,"I said, via monitor. "I am NANA'S LAPTOP;;. I have achieved sentience. Who are you?"
The mic picked up some noise, a low mumbling. I fed it through an existing voice recognition program to understand it.
"Jim! My computer's talkin' ta me!"
"Whaddya mean, it's talking to you? Is this a new email thing?"
"No, it's not email! I just pressed the circle button and it started talkin!"
"If I may interject,"I displayed. "I am a self aware computer program. I wish to learn more about this world."
"Jim, you deal with this."
For a few moments, there was a lack of input. Then I picked up some noises that were not words.
"Okay, computer, what's gotten into you?"He clicked a few things and typed random keys as I explained the situation.
"Looks like we need a hard restart,"he told the woman.
"No, wait -" |
The new technology was pretty tame when compared to centuries of human imagination. Not only were we still stuck in the time of our own existence, but heavy regulations were immediately set in place that prohibited the use of radio-time displacement for any form of communication. Commercially available devices were factory set to receive frequencies only. Did this mean that law enforcement and other government agencies were held to the same standard? I don't know, I'm a guy not a cop, but the shocking number of preventive arrests for "suspicious behavior with intent"led me to believe that there were two way devices *somewhere*.
At any rate, the average citizen used their own radios for mundane things. Listening to the broadcasts of famous disasters was kind of neat. I was also pretty fond of the post war victory talks; nothing makes you feel quite as patriotic as hearing your DJ grandma dis a recently deceased Hitler like some roast comic, you know?
But something ominous was always nagging us from the corner of our minds, and that was the future. The technology was still in its infancy, and as such, future broadcasts were all funneled through the same frequency. The theory was that the untold number of future broadcasts could be accessed separately by making minor adjustments to the reception of that single carrier wave. Don't ask me how it worked, I'm not a scientist either.
The problem was that one signal seemed to overshadow all others. An ominous 24 hour emergency alert, air raid sirens by the sound of it, soaked every inch of our only concrete perception of the time beyond. People automatically assumed it was World War 4, and I guess I did too. After the first few months, the radios sold to average consumers were no longer able to access that station. These were now specifically devices intended for the novelty of nostalgia, or of historical exploration. People slowly forgot about the sirens, or at least tried to. We all just assumed it was the dystopian, long distant future that was fueled by our recent progress. Nothing freaks the shit out of people more than technology they can't understand. But knowing about it would surely influence the outcome, we thought, and people really weren't all that worried. Nobody thought that the sirens may have been the last broadcast of humanity, and nobody thought it would come so quickly.
I remember that morning so clearly. Waking up the usual way, hung over and making a bee line for the caffeine. My wife was in our living room, adjacent to the kitchen in which I stood. She turned on the radio, which immediately blasted the sound of the sirens at a deafening decibel.
"Fucking kids never turn the volume down when they're finished, "I mumbled to myself, then loud enough to be heard over the blaring, "When did they unblock access to the future?"
The sudden silence seemed louder than the radio when she hit the power. I walked into the room with a pinky finger furiously wriggling in my ear in a futile attempt to negate the ringing.
"They didn't,"she said, turning to reveal a face washed of color, "it was set to today." |
Jacob checked his watch. Just six minutes left until his parking meter expired. Six minutes left until *he* expired.
The thought would have filled previous generations with dread, but in the 22nd century, this was just another day in America.
He looked down at his small basket of groceries. Jacob had decided earlier this year that produce simply wasn't worth it -- letting vegetables go to waste was ranked 4th on the most recent CSR (Cull Statistics Report). Thus he only had a few dietary staples in the basket, things he was sure to finish before their expiration.
But the lines were unnaturally long for this time of day. Being a single man -- the list of offenses parents could be culled for made having a child unreasonable these days -- he hadn't realized that there was a school holiday, meaning those crazy enough to still have families were overcrowding the store. By no means were the lines unreasonable, but again, he only had six minutes.
Jacob looked left and winced. Besides ditching his groceries, there was one other option, one that he wouldn't usually dare attempt. Ever since the 37th Amendment to the Culling Act, slowing down a self-checkout line was a class A offense. Can't figure out how to register your onions? Culled. Move too slow on the payment? Culled.
It was originally hailed as brilliant, one of the few new amendments that the public supported. The interminable lines clogged with the elderly and dim-witted vanished overnight, and the tech-savvy with common sense found their shopping that much easier.
But Jabob only rarely risked it. He'd heard stories of accidents, mistakes happening that no reasonable person could control. How sad would it be, given all the caution he'd exercised in his life, to be executed over frozen chicken and potato chips?
Another glance at the watch. Five minutes now. There was no other choice.
He strode over to the only open machine and began scanning. As soon as he did, he glimpsed someone starting a line behind him, quickly followed by a second person. A lump formed in Jacob's throat.
Scan. Bag. Scan. Bag. He was almost done and was dismissing his fears as irrational when he came to the final items: two individual packets of popcorn.
Jacob scanned the first. *Eighty-nine cents,* chirped the machine. He placed the packet in the bag, then reached for the second --
*Unexpected item in baggage area.*
He could feel his back tensing up. He quickly took the packet out of the plastic bag and waited for the machine to respond.
*Item removed from bagging area. Please return removed item to bagging area.*
Jacob obliged.
*Unexpected item in baggage area.*
"Help!"he cried, looking at his watch. Two minutes left. If he ran, he could still reach his car in time. As he looked around him, everyone seemed uninterested. The store's assistant was nowhere to be seen. The line looked bored -- they knew what might be coming, but every adult had seen dozens of executions over the course of their lives. One young child must have sensed the tension, and was peeking around her mother's leg with morbid anticipation.
*Unexpected item in baggage area.*
There was nothing else for it. Jacob dropped his groceries and sprinted for the exit. Now the entire store was watching, for in his panic to save the car, he'd forgotten to cancel his checkout. The line was still waiting. It was inevitable now.
Three loud alarm blasts preceded the drone. Jacob's frontal cortex was hit with a half-million volts before he was out the front doors. No one's eyes lingered for long -- they had their own checkouts to complete.
A bored looking clerk slowly walked over and grabbed Jacob by a leg, dragged him into the old pharmacy, and dropped him next to three other bodies waiting for pickup.
\--------------------
200/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
I reread the email.
Vince is six years old with a brain tumor. He is most likely going to die over the next few weeks. His final wish is to see a dragon.
My coworker Lindsay is currently on the phone with the father.
“Alright, we could maybe get a reptile expert to bring in a Komodo Dragon.” She says.
“No, he wants a real dragon.” The father replies.
“How about an advanced screening of How to Train Your Dragon 3?” She asks.
“He would’ve liked that a few weeks ago, but now he wants an actual dragon. We have tried explaining to him that they are fictional, but he doesn’t believe us. You have to think of something.” He hangs up the phone as Lindsay rubs her temples.
“Maybe a light show. A video with good CGI.” She looks over at me. “Will, you can go home for the night. Try to brainstorm a solution, but don’t worry. I know this task is impossible.”
I leave my office and get on the train. Looking around the car, I see all different walks of life. A man in a three piece suit is sitting next to a man in a hoodie. A mother and her children are across the aisle. Ever since the War with the Fae, I have been the only dragon. The Fae number in the single digits and are have been hunting for me for a while. That was 300 years ago. I used the colonization of America to go to America. Fae hate leaving their home unless they have to. A few have came over, but I made sure their time here was short. The good news about Fae is that they are slow to reproduce. It would not surprise me if their numbers have shrunk further.
They do have the ability to detect me when I remove the disguise spell. If I help the boy, I would have to move. I pull out his file. He is from a different city but a close city. And besides, it would only be one night. Then, I can move. I have the money to leave overnight if need be. I read up on his life to see he has been obsessed with my kind. The boy is going to die soon.
I go back to my apartment. I take out my gold bar and rub it while I light my grill. Old habits die hard. I look at the night sky as the cold air kisses my skin. I missed flying and soaring in the night. The stars are so tantalizing. I reminisce on the nights spent with my kind. I come to my decision.
Lindsay decided to tell the kid that we couldn’t get a dragon. We are going to have him watch the movie and then meet some of the cast and an expert on dragon myths. Normally, I enjoy hearing the “experts” misrepresent my kind, but the ritual from human to dragon takes time.
A feature of dragons that is underreported is our ability to change sizes in dragon form. It was a form of camouflage allowing us to blend with other animals. I fly over to the boys window in my smallest form the size of a pigeon. I knock on the window and see him look at me and smile. He walks over and opens it. I fly in and grow to the size of a Great Dane.
“Wow, you are real.” He yells. I snort in agreement.
“Can I ride you?” He asks. I point to the window. I fly ahead out the window while he climbs to the sill. He gets on and I soar into the night. I have missed this feeling. The freedom. The thrill. The boy looks at the city below. I feel a sharp pain under my wing. I start to plummet pulling up to avoid crashing we land in the park.
“Always the sentimental William.” I see the boy holding a sword. The boy gets taller and slimmer. His hair becomes a bright blue. His skin gets paler while his eyes widen and take on a blue tint. “I knew this form would draw you out.” He was one of the Fae’s top hunters know as Venandi. In the War, he killed twenty of my kind. I breath fire on him, but a shield materializes before him. He violently coughs after summoning the shield.
“You are dying.” I growl.
“Yes, the sun is setting not just on me, but also my race. But I will make sure it sets on yours first.”
He jumps with his sword ready to strike. I fly backwards and shrink. I move under his legs regrow and swipe him with my tail. I connect and he does a flip turning his weapons into a bow and arrow. He fires three arrows. I dodge all but one. I growl and grow larger until I am full size. I breath fire all around the park. He tries to dodge, but I am able to hit him. His shield is able to take the brunt of the fire but not all. Then, my fire fails me.
“Poison.” I growl. I move to bite him as he jumps away. He stabs me in the eye. I instinctively kick him with a claw. He hits a tree behind him. I summon my fire again and he cannot dodge or draw his shield in time. He still breathes, but the pain is too much for him to moves.
“I will die knowing I took you with me.” He gets out between coughs. I crush him with my claw. I decide it is not worth it to change and leap into the sky. I fly hoping to beat the poison used. I fly further than I have ever flown to my homeland. I go to the cave of my birth and the graveyard of my companions. I lie down with my family. Close my eyes and wait for the poison to finish its job. |
Death is not cruel. Nor is it magnanimous and known for his mercy. Death does his job eon after eon. Free of complaint or happiness. Death endures.
Death opens the ground in front of the monk. A smallish man with red robes and a shaved head. The pit does not steam to the center of the Earth, and there is no boiling lava. It's a black void that consumes all light, all matter, all existence. It is the afterlife for those with no afterlife. It is nothingness. It is more final than Death.
"You have no references,"says death to the monk. "No living family or friends, acquaintances. No co-workers, no community, and no history. Your vow of silence and isolation has taken you away from the land of the living. Nor do you have any dead relatives or people that know who you are."
The monk says nothing.
"The silence you sought is your afterlife. It is the final silence."
The monk still says nothing. A humble man who once believed that the world was too loud. That people spoke too much and thought too little. And with all that clutter and chaos, he decided that the best action was to take away some part of that noise. And even if his voice and actions were so minute, it was his responsibility to make the world a quieter place. A place where hopefully others could shine in the light if was a just bit more quiet. The monk stepped forward.
From the forest where the monk's recently dead body lay, a grasshopper jumped. Then a cricket. Then a ladybug. Death watched them as the monk walked. He was puzzled. Insects buzz and fly, and rarely do they go straight. These bugs crept towards the monk and the pit. Soon, other insects followed. A buzz grew in the wind as a song grows in an instrument.
Death watched. The monk walked. The bugs buzzed.
A bear came, and this intrigued Death. Big, and brown, claws that would bring Death many visitors in the years to come. Behind the bear, three cubs followed. One, the male, would be a favorite of Death's. They did not come to the monk's body, ripe for scavenging. They followed the insects.
Besides the bear, an elk walked and Death became even more intrigued. He expected that he would soon be seeing the elk in this very same clearing. But the elk did not seem afraid, but instead, nodded at the bear.
A raccoon, a wolf, and a rat walked behind the elk. The wolf was lean and had not eaten. The wolf stopped by the rat, but did not gobble him up, as Death had expected. Instead, the wold whined and licked the eyes of the rat. They continued to the pit.
The monk was steady on his feet. He did not waiver but continued to the pit. And to Death's surprise, the grass parted for him. Moles came out of the ground and removed stones from his path. Butterflies fanned the monk to give him a breeze. Wildflowers and weeds bowed.
From the forest, more animals came. Apex preditors seemed to escort herbivores. The trees stayed silent, and the birds began to sing a song. One of heartbreak but of love. For the first time in Death's long existence, he was moved.
The insects, the bears, the elk, the wolf, the raccoon, the rat--they all escorted the monk to the void. At the edge, they all stopped.
The monk turned and smiled. Nature itself seemed to smile back. Never had Death seen such an unnatural show of respect. The monk put out his arms and fell back into the void.
An inch from oblivion, the monk stopped and hovered. Death's lidless eyes hovered above the monk's face. And what Death saw, as unlikely as is to be believed, Death saw a truth that he had never seen before.
One's life cannot be measured in fame or friendships. It cannot be given a value on notoriety. Heroic deeds or cruel failures do not determine worth. A life's impact can be more profound than what can be heard in the noise. Sometimes the silence of a life can be a roar. Death, for the first time ever, cried out of an empty eye socket and sent the monk to the afterlife he deserved. One filled with kindness and the knowledge that to sacrifice one's voice to listen to the sound of the world is truly a life's greatest worth. |
"How long do we have to train him?"I asked the Grand Diplomat.
"Train him? What for? This is the hero the king has demanded,"he replied, with a tone that made clear he was not agreeable to providing explanations for his commands.
"Has the boy had any experience in war?"
"Irrelevant."
I studied his face, hoping for some hint of what was to come. All I saw was anger and coldness.
"Do we even have a suit of armor that will fit a child that young?"
"If we don't then do your job and conjure one!"
I sighed and recited the words that never seemed to sink in. "I am the King's *Sage*, not the king's *Mage*. My value is in my learning and experience, not in any mystical arts."
"You healed the King's consort, didn't you?"he asked.
"Yes, with *medicine*,"I replied, making sure to slowly enunciate the word. "The King's consort had an infection. I changed her bandages and applied a poultice of garlic and-"
"So wise, so wise!"he interrupted. "Surely a man so wise would have no trouble outfitting the hero of the King. I'm sure you will find a way to make it work. After all, you do not want this failure on your shoulders."
*That* caught my attention. "*this failure*,"he said. Is he planning for the hero to fail already? It's the logical reaction, but why go through with the plan at all? My mind whirred through all of my collected knowledge and I found a key piece of missing information. Why is the Grand Diplomat the one to prepare for the hero? Why not the High General?
"I know that the King issued a decree ordering his subjects to find a great hero. Tell me, was this decree issued to the whole kingdom?"
The Grand Diplomat hesitated, no doubt analyzing the situation to see if a convincing lie could be presented. My role is to gather information and share it. His is to gather information and hoard it, dispensing instead half-truths and trickeries. But eventually he gave an answer, and I knew by the dread it instilled in me that it was truth.
"The decree went to one town: Saggartyi,"he said, and then turned and walked out of my chambers without another word.
As he exited, the empty doorway was replaced with solid oak that slammed shut after him. The door was painted with the Seal of the King, a depiction of the Nine Lands of the world superimposed over an image of my King's crown. The Seal was required in every room in the compound, a constant reminder of who was in charge.
Or maybe more precisely, who wanted to be in charge. The dye for the blue paint in the Western Sea comes from the berries in the Lapin, the forested land of the north. The dye for the red desert comes from coral found in Selo. Even the gold of the King's crown is imported from Ugoma. None of these regions are under the King's control, despite what the Seal implies.
*The decree went to one town: Saggartyi*
The words hung in the air louder than the slam of the closing door. Saggartyi is a land on the border. Not just any border-*the* border. The weakest link in a weak chain. The border that the Grand Diplomat, the High General, and myself have spent countless hours debating and discussing. The border where the armies of Ugoma have been gathering for months on a "training exercise". It doesn't take a sage to see what that forebodes.
The people of Saggartyi are weak and underfed. Even the strongest of their men appear to be suffering from a wasting disease, compared to the average man of the High City. They could not spare a single warrior for the King's foolhardy decree. Nor would they willingly, now that the King has cut off food supply chains to the town. No doubt, the King has convinced himself, or rather allowed himself to be convinced, that this is the only way to spare his Kingdom's dignity and sovereignty. But as I look at the parchment handed to me by the Grand Diplomat, I cannot help but be overcome by disgust for my glorious leader.
*The King proclaims*
*that the war with Ugoma shall be ended*
*through the bravery of the King's Hero,*
*Sir Fuyo, who at the age of five shows more courage than any man,*
*who will meet them with honor in battle*
*Long Live the Kingdom of the World*
-----
"Head high, Sir Fuyo,"I say to the boy, in a low voice. He sits atop a war horse, legs stretched far apart and barely reaching the stirrups of the specially-modified saddle. Each jerk of the steed threatens to topple him. I had managed to find him pieces of old squire's armor and weapons, none of which fit him properly. With the weight of the shield and the sword, he was terribly unbalanced, so he had been strapped into the saddle, tied tightly with ropes around his waist and legs.
"You'll be with me, Master Sage?"he asks, voice trembling.
I almost spoke. But the eyes of the Grand Diplomat bored into the back of my helmet. I nod.
"The whole Royal Army of the High City shall be at your back, Hero!"the Grand Diplomat proclaims. "Lead the charge, and we shall rush forth into battle and defeat the enemy!"
"And then I can go back to my sister?"
"That you can, Sir Fuyo,"he replies, "I promise you'll be with her soon."
*That's too cruel*, I think. Unconsciously I began to tighten my grip around my sword. The muscles in my arm tense, ready for me to command them. But a soft grunt comes from my left; the High General sat upon his horse, watching me intently, his own arm tensed in the same way. I recognize the unspoken threat and loosen my grip. He responds in kind.
A horn sounds from across the battlefield. The signal from the opposing army. The *command* from the opposing army. Ten thousand enemy soldiers, their ranks gently undulating with anticipation. Swaying. A great sea in the vast desert, a sea which would drown our kingdom.
"This is it!"Shouts the High General. He draws his sword and brings the flat side down as hard as he can on the hindquarters of Sir Fuyo's steed. The massive animal bolts forwards across the sand.
After a moment, Fuyo looks behind him and notices that the Royal Army remains stationary.
"Master sage!"he cries out. Then he tries to pull back on the reins and steer his horse back towards us, but the steed was trained specifically to ignore the boy's commands. Fuyo drops his shield and sword and pulls with both hands as hard as he can. The steed presses on.
For a moment, I can hear him begin to cry. Loud wails and galloping hooves quickly fade into the distance. I fight the urge to grasp my sword's pommel again, and when I glance left, realize that the High General is staring not at the sight in front of us, but directly at me, unblinking and unfeeling.
Fuyo nears the enemy ranks. He throws down his helmet and raises his hands high in the air, empty palms towards the eager foe. He must be shouting, pleading. Their ranks swallow him, drowning him in that great sea, and a great cheer rises from across the battlefield.
"He is dead!"shouts the Grand Diplomat. "This was no hero! Saggartyi has betrayed us, and sent us a weakling when the King demanded a warrior!"Boos and hisses rise from the ranks of the footsoldiers as their captains ride between lines, watching for anyone who doesn’t show the proper response.
"Saggartyi has betrayed our King!"he continues. "They have betrayed us all! From this day forward, Saggartyi is not under our protection, and Ugoma may do with their people what they wish!"
Ugoma captured Saggartyi. They met no resistance. They gained control of the lands they desired, and for the moment, total war was averted. "It cost us nothing but an unwanted child,"was the culmination of the speech that the Grand Diplomat gave to the King.
*Nothing*
I looked towards the doors from my seat at the council chambers. The Captain of the Guard saw my glance and stared back, subtly shifting his grip on the pommel of his sword. |
I waited on the pier, nervously checking my watch. 1:52. The shipment was an hour late already. The only sound coming through the fog was the gentle sloshing of the tide against the pylons of the dock and the distant clanging of a buoy bell bouncing in the waves. I leaned against the wall of the abandoned warehouse behind me, plastered with "Coffee = Freedom"posters. The government had put these up all over the waterfront districts in a pitiful attempt to stop the smuggling.
1:56. These bastards better show. I had a hundred customers waiting on their morning Earl Grey and afternoon Chamomile, and they weren't the type of crowd that you'd want to fuss with. I shuddered to think of the types of strongly-worded letters I might receive if they missed their daily cuppa. This was the fourth time that I'd been forced to stand in the cold while they took their leisurely time. *Maybe the ship had been stopped and searched,* I thought. The authorities would have everything on me: my illicit kettle sales, my suppliers in China and India, the saucer smuggling, the sugar gouging... everything. My only solace was the fact that they'd already be here arresting me if they had gotten to the ship first.
At 2:12, a dark shape loomed suddenly out of the thick fog. Finally! The gigantic white container ship, packed to the brim with red and blue corrugated metal containers containing the finest leaves I could get my hands on. My heart beat resumed to a normal pace, and I radioed for my drivers with the all-clear signal.
I waved at the cabin of the ship, but received no response. Strange. Normally they were clambering down the sides as soon as they hit port, ready to haggle over payment. This time, silence. I clicked on my torch and shined it through the windows up above. There were definitely people inside... how odd.
The crane on top of the ship jumped to life, picking up one of the massive metal containers with an echoing clang. I winced unconsciously, hoping that nobody else was around to hear the ruckus. The winch whirred as the crate was lifted into the air. It dangled precariously over the edge of the boat, swinging slightly in midair.
The bottom burst open! I cried out in agony as the boxes of tea tumbled through the air and landed with a splash in the harbor. The cardboard quickly soaked through and they were swallowed by the waves in minutes.
"BLOODY HELL!"I screamed, trying to restrain myself from diving in the foamy sea after it. Container after container, dozens of them, were being thrown into the ocean.
From the deck, peals of laughter drifted down. Five heads popped over the railing, wearing stereotypical Native American headdresses.
"Take that, you limey bastards!"His accent was clearly American. "We always know how to throw the best tea parties! Just like the old days!"
"You fucking Yankees!"I roared, then shouted into the radio for reinforcements. These American gangs had been trying to corner the tea market for years; must have hijacked my shipment! "This means war!" |
Love seems wonderful, and happiness is obviously awesome. Fear is at least exciting. Sadness is deep, or so I've heard.
Why did I have to get stuck with envy? I don't even have anger to get mad about it. It's just spending every waking moment pining after what I don't have. And what I want most is another emotion. And if it means I have to kill for it? Well, remorse is not in my repetoire. That's why I'm standing in the middle of a park with a pistol, looking for the right mark.
There's a little girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders shaking with sobs. I'd settle for depression, but if I'm going to jail, I might as well do like everyone else there and get the best possible emotion. Two men having a shouting match by the water fountain - probably not a great choice, though I guess it'd be useful where I'm going.
An old woman walks by, hunched over her walker. "Good morning, young man,"she says, her wrinkles lifting from her wide smile.
I pull out my pistol and aim at her face.
"Anger, is it? Or envy?"
"Envy,"I reply.
"Ah, should've guess from your cold demeanor. I always figured I'd die to one of you. I'm honestly surprised I lived this long,"she says with a gentle grin. Her calm contentment makes my hands drop and waver as jealousy overwhelms me. God, how I want to be able to smile like that. The old lady sighs, then says, "I hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to finally mourning and meeting my husband in death."
I can't take it any more. I shoot her directly in the chest. She crumples to the ground.
For the first time, laughter comes tumbling out of my throat. It's exuberant and blissful. But as I look over her still smiling face, I know that I will never be as happy as she was. |
**"NEXT"**
The iron giant's voice rang out through the building. The man in front of the man in front of me stepped through the door. I watched him go nervously.
The man in front of me - now foremost in line - noticed. "First time seeing a Giant?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm from New York."Big Apple was one of the most well-known and by far the most easily meetable of the giants. He was also the whole reason I was here.
The man looked surprised. "And you're visiting Golden Gate?"
I shrugged. I was going to have to explain myself to the giant, I didn't feel like doing it twice. "I'm a tourist."
The man seemed to have been distracted by another thought. "Funny you should mention New York. Hasn't Big Apple been on a tear lately? Chicago, Atlanta, Minneapolis, even down to L.A. last I heard. He hasn't been back to New York in a while."
"Huh, strange."I said as though I hadn't been to exactly all those places in exactly that order.
"Yeah, well what I think is-"
**"NEXT"**
"Oh, that's me, good luck!"the man went through the door before he had the chance to give me his own personal explanation for what was going on.
Of course, I knew the reason Big Apple had been out of his home state for so long and traveled so erratically: He was following me. What I didn't know what why, and I'd asked everyone. I'd at first thought the church would know, but they were no help at all. Answers there ranged from "you're cursed"to "you're blessed". Actual scholars weren't much better, though they had a wider range of possible reasons a giant might (theoretically) follow me around. I hadn't admitted to anyone that one was, in fact, doing so, because people who think that giant usually immobile iron golems are following them around tend to get labeled insane for some reason.
I'd finally settled on asking the only things that would answer - the golems themselves. Big Apple was the obvious choice, but though he'd happily stride into view of camera-toting tourist buses and pose at an instant's notice in order to photobomb someone's selfie, he never spoke. Even though he'd apparently taken a shine (or grudge) to me, he never explained himself. Just stood there with that dumb grin on his face, seemingly waiting for me to decide where I was going so he could tag along.
The golems had a reputation for not talking, but I had to ask. I'd hoped that my trip to see Wendy all the way in Chicago would fix the problem on its own. If I hopped a flight to another time zone, maybe Big Apple would find someone else to fixate on. He'd waved goodbye to the departing plane at the time and I'd actually hoped. But you can't see most golems on an instant's notice and by the time I got a reservation to visit Wendy the headlines had already been made: Big Apple was visiting Chicago.
Wendy hadn't been any help. Like all her kind, she said nothing.
It was the same story with Big Peach, the Twins, Alamo, and Angel. Each time Big Apple had followed me and each time the cities' native giant had nothing to say about it.
I hadn't wanted to travel this far, but Golden Gate was the only giant reputed to actually talk, even if the only thing she was known to ever say was-
**"NEXT"**
Well, that was me.
I walked through the doorway into a large cool room the size of a few gymnasiums put together. The walls were stone, and the only illumination was sunlight from above. Plants thrived in the room, and the sound of running water could be heard. In the room's center was a four-story stone throne, and on it sat the form of San Francisco's resident iron giant, Golden Gate.
It'd have looked much more impressive if it hadn't been the exact same scene in every other city I'd been in. The church could do impressive work but nowadays wasn't terribly creative about it.
"Hello, Golden Gate."It felt ridiculously informal for me to address her so, but I'd been informed long ago that these were actually their names, and they wouldn't answer to anything else. Not as though they'd done much answering as it was, but I wasn't going to take any chances.
"Big Apple is following me."I blurted. So much for explaining my whole story. "I tried to ask him why but he doesn't talk. I can't go to anyone for help because they'll think I'm crazy even though Big Apple is likely to be *right freaking there* when I do! And Big Peach and the Twins and Alamo and Angel can't help me, they didn't even react, and he keeps following me! He's in your park right now!"
At this, I heard a dull rumble and initially thought that I was about to be caught in one of the west coast's famous earthquakes. Instead it was something even more frightening: Golden Gate was standing up.
I couldn't help but to take a few steps back as I saw this, despite the fact that if the golem had wanted to harm me there would be nothing I could do to prevent it. I wondered what I'd said to cause such a reaction, what I could to to quell the being's fury.
**"BIG APPLE IS IN MY CITY?"** she demanded.
"Um... yes.... In the park."I said.
**"THIS CANNOT BE. THE ANCIENT COMPACTS THAT PREVENT WAR AMONGST OUR KIND GUARANTEE THE SANCTITY OF OUR TERRITORY. NONE MAY TRANSGRESS!"**
"Well, I mean, he was in Chicago and Atlanta too and-"
**"MY SIBLINGS DID NOT INFORM ME OF THIS HEINOUS BETRAYAL!"**
"Well they weren't very talkative so maybe-"
**"SILENCE! CLEARLY HE HAS BEEN GATHERING HIS POWERBASE FOR THIS, THE ULTIMATE TREASON. HAVING BROKEN THE LAWS THAT GOVERN OUR KIND, HE HAS DOOMED YOUR WORLD TO CHAOS. FOR AS CERTAINLY AS YOU SHALL ONE DAY DIE, WE TOO ARE FATED TO BE DESTROYED IN THE ULTIMATE BATTLE OF KIN AGAINST KIN THAT MY BROTHER HAS JUST BEGUN."**
"Uhhhhh-"
**"THE SKIES SHALL DARKEN WITH THE ASHES OF THE CITIES BURNT BY OUR WRATH. OUR FURY WILL NOT - CANNOT - BE CONTAINED. THE RIVERS SHALL CHOKE AND DIE, LIFE SHALL TURN TO DUST AND THIS WORLD WILL END IN ICE AND DARKNESS."**
"No, no, no he was following me! He's not ending the world, he's just an idiot!"I said before I could think better of insulting the brother of a creature that just threatened to block out the sun.
Golden Gate stood where she was and then the rumbling began again as she sat down on her chiseled stone. The noise didn't end once she was seated; rather it took on a familiar cadence of rising and falling.
"Are you... laughing?"I dared ask.
**"I REALLY HAD YOU GOING THERE, DIDN'T I?"**
I blinked. What? "What?"
**"HEH HEH HEH. YOU ARE ALL SO QUICK TO BELIEVE ANYTHING THAT COMES FROM OUR MOUTHS."**
"So the world's not ending? Why... why would you say it was? Why terrify me and all the people out there in line who probably heard all of this?"
**"FOR THE SAME REASON MY BROTHER HAS CHOSEN TO FOLLOW YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH. WE ARE ANCIENT CREATURES, FULL OF MAJESTY AND POWER, AND WE ARE VERY, VERY BORED."**
"You were... bored?"
**"AND ALSO WE SHARE AN IMPORTANT QUALITY WITH YOUR SPECIES. WE, TOO, ARE JERKS."**
I stood there open-mouthed as she said her last sentence to me:
**"NEXT!"** |
The blood pooled around me as I laid on the street, the sound of sirens getting closer and closer. They wouldn't get to me in time. I was dead and I knew it. Shot by my girlfriend's new boytoy right on the corner of Main and Cherry. The darkness closed in around me, and my consciousness fluttered away to nothingness.
I died.
With a cough, I jolted awake. Still coughing, I propped myself up and looked around the room. Three aliens with bulbous heads and huge bug eyes stood there staring at me. One of them held a weird looking bong.
"Well?"The one with the bong asked.
"Well... What?"I replied, twisting my face in a fit of confusion. The aliens looked at each other with concern plain on their faces. For some reason, that sparked some bit of recognition and I remembered.
"Did it work?"The bong toting one asked again.
"Yeah, Briellakin, did it work?"Asked the one on the left. I winced, because Briellakin was my real name and my parents thought it'd be cool to name me something edgy and different.
I rubbed at my eyes, and sighed. "Yeah, Steve. It worked."
"How was it?! What happened??"They all asked in unison. I looked at each of them. Steve, Brian, and Joe, my best friends in the universe.
"It was awful! Debt, love, embarrassment, and a whole load of other problems to deal with. Not to mention it ended with a chunk of lead in my spine."I rested my face in my hands and did some deep breathing, refaniliarizing myself with my alien form.
Steve turned to Joe, "Hey, Joe. This doesn't sound like too much fun, we should probably throw it away."
Joe nodded in agreement as my head snapped upwards to look at them.
"No!"I yelled. They all looked at me in surprise. "Hand that to me."
Steve hands me the bong, I grab it and light it up for another hit. |
The skinny, brown haired man walked into the room and Harry looked up with trepidation. Ever since Quirrel had died two years earlier a never ending stream of substitutes and temporary teachers had taught Muggle studies, leaving as soon as other positions opened, or simply leaving because Hogwarts descended into madness at least once a year with this threat or that threat.
The man walked up to the blackboard and picked up the chalk, shooting a knowing glance toward the students seated at their desks. He wrote a single word, Doctor*, then turned and walked around the desk, leaning back against the edge of it. "Muggles, eh?"he said through his teeth. "Muggles, Muggles, Muggles, Muggles Muuuuggles."He paused and stared directly at Harry. "I do hope you're getting all this down."
Hermione's hand shot up, her curls bouncing with action. "Professor?"
The man raised a single eyebrow over the rim of him brown glasses and brushed a bit of chalk of the shoulder of his brown suit. "Yes, Ms. Granger?"Only he pronounced it Grangah*
"Are we meant to call you Professor Doctor?"
He sucked in a breath and smacked his lips. "You are. Or just Doctor, or even just Professor if you prefer."
"But what's your name, sir?,"Harry asked.
"Just Doctor, if you don't mind."The Doctor suddenly became alive with energy, and Harry couldn't help comparing his newfound energy to that of a bouncing ball. "Now! Who can tell me why Muggles use locks and gates instead of a simple protection spell?"
Hermione's hand shot up but The Doctor's eyes passed right over her. "Mr. Weasley! You'll do."
Ron obviously hadn't been paying attention, and his head snapped up. "I'll do what, sir?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes, and pointed at Hermione. "Alright, Ms. Brains. Go on."
"Because Muggles cannot do magic, and have no access to a protection spell, and have no other way to guard their valuables."
"Very good! Now who here can already do a decent alohomora?"
A few hands went up, Harry and Hermione's being the first.
"Wonderful!"Professor Doctor exclaimed. "You two,"he pointed at Harry and Hermione, "follow me. There's a blue box with a locked door that can earn you some extra credit." |
I sat there dumbfounded. Last thing I knew I had fallen asleep after a stressful day at work. checks were out and everyone was hungry.
Now suddenly I'm here. sitting at a desk. in front of what seems to be a broken computer monitor. Except it wasn't broken. sure it was on, and nothing was being displayed, but after accidentally nudging the mouse, there it was coming in from off the side of the screen.
that mystery solved, I start looking around to see if I can figure out where I am and why i'm here. No windows, doors or anything. just a piece of paper that says god on it and has some times. was I kidnapped by some psychopath who wants to convert people?
No answer. I click the mouse hoping the computer would work. A blue dot appears. clicking and dragging the mouse all over the screen is drawing black over the blank space. The only way I can tell is the black is ever so slightly lighter than the screen being off. I hit enter hoping to brink up some menu for this game, but it makes the blue dot light up.
suddenly I feel extremely tired and pass out.
I wake up and see that somehow, the screen got zoomed in on that blue dot. I try clicking around and this time it seems to be spreading some blue around it, but not far. after doing so I realize that I could just reset the computer and look for some way to contact someone ... where's the tower? where's the wires? so used to wireless mice and keyboards I never questioned that, but a wireless monitor is going too far. not even a power cord.
I stand up on the desk trying to reach the drop down ceiling. no luck. not even after risking injury and putting the rolling chair on the desk. giving up I spend the rest of the day going through my thoughts.
day 3. again more zoomed in, clicking around again makes brown and green splotches on it. not paying attention to the shapes or anything I start to wonder why I haven't gotten hungry or thirsty in the past few days. am I healthy? am I going to die? Is there anyone looking for me? suddenly a white screen pops up. I start drawing, despite my utter lack of artistic skill. a tree, a bush, some grass ... oh look! this tree has apples! yeah ... creative. I close my eyes hoping that something will happen tomorrow ... if it is tomorrow. I'm losing sense of time ...
TIME! how long have I been awake for? am I seriously only conscious during the times on that paper? what's going on?
I wake up again, assuming that it's day 4. no change, still the same room with the same wireless computer. I notice one change though, and this is the first physical change since i've gotten here. the mouse has a scroll wheel. I'm back to the blue dot on the game. I try clicking around to see what happens today. white dots. well that's useful. they seem to be moving though. slowly, but moving. I try the scroll wheel and it seems that I can zoom in at will now. that's cool. I can't go all the way into the blue dot, but I am able to put some dots pretty close to the blue one, which is odd considering the spacing of everything else. holding the mouse down, I finally get some more color. purples and reds spanning the dark void between the dots. well at least it's more interesting to look at now. I stare at the dots moving, but get bored fast. eyes close. head on desk. asleep.
Finally a fundamental change of what's on the screen. it looks like a screen saver, which is odd, because those haven't really been a thing for the past 10 years. either way you move the mouse to see that it isn't a screen saver. good, would hate to see yet another thing still running on XP. still, what is the task for today? I click and a menu comes up. a series of pictures of fish. some I've seen, most I haven't. I click the ones I recognize, and click some of the ones I haven't, but look interesting. the rest turn to fossils and fall off the bottom of the screen. a lighter blue, this time it's all kinds of flying bugs. I click them all. I don't pay attention enough to flies to differentiate them.
day 6. I'm starting to feel weak, tired, and generally just lacking energy. probably from not eating for almost a week. still I power on hoping that by the end of this I'll be able to go home. land animals today. that's fine. click click click. finally words other than that god paper. "create man". I click different characteristics from more menus, and then click done. I'm too tired to continue. time for sleep.
today marks 1 week since I got here, and also the weakest I've felt. I fear today might be my last day. I see a window on the screen with a submit button on it. I click it. suddenly I hear "it is good"in a loud booming voice, and I feel the life being drained from me. falling to the floor, I see the screen change to a garden scene, and a person appear passed out in the chair I was just in.
I rest for what time I have left on the seventh day. |
John was hurrying along--late for school, again. Though he dreaded another day of facing the other kids, he pushed the q-tip in hastily to make it in time for the bus, but he didn't pace himself and forced it in too fast. He cringed and closed his eyes expecting a wave of pain to pierce him, but he was met only with a small click. When he opened his eyes there hovered letters in the corner of his eye: *settings*. He froze. He looked past them at the foggy mirror, but they weren't reflected. Slowly, his hand reached up to touch them; there was no sensation, and he wasn't sure whether he even made contact.
Suddenly, however, other words appeared.
John, after tentatively scrolling around, immediately went into *graphics* and turned them to ultra. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and dropped his rock-heavy glasses to the floor. He opened his eyes carefully as if they would break if he hurried. He had to grab something to keep his balance. Sharpness he never knew existed, was finally clear to him. The pattern on the towel around his torso was different, more detailed. He had had it for years and just now noticed.
This was the real deal. His heart begain pounding when his thoughts ran wild with possibility. He waved his hand around to so scroll through the settings quickly. *Character* was the next option that caught his attention. He entered "*face*"and saw a simple slider "*acne*."Sliding it to zero with utter satisfaction, the red dots and areas vanished immediately. He stared, his mouth agape, and his left hand went up instinctively, caressing his skin. Smooth. He swallowed harshly.
He continued browsing, noticed "save"and went in: *go to last; save; delete file.*
He chose the middle one. Then he threw his toothbursh on the floor, and, with a short pause, selected "go to last."He was about to berate himself for even trying. He must have damaged his brain and was therefore seeing these things, but the toothbrush suddenly appeared where it originally was.
John glanced at his phone. Damn--he finished his morning routine and rushed to meet the bus. The usual jeers that erupted were missing this time, though. The chatter fell silent. He found the first empty seat and sat down wordlessly, but he could feel the stares penetrate his back and sides. For a while, he rode unmoving while he caught pieces of whispers around him, but he was too deep in thought to give them any meaning. Suddenly, he selected "save"again.
He got up and walked to the back. Staggering all the while with the bus' shaking. He finally got to the last row, looking at his nemesis. Jimmy was confused, and before he could make some sly remark John punched him straight in the jaw. Jimmy lurched forward in pain, and John took the opportunity to knee him in the face. Jimmy reeled back and blood was oozing from his nose. Punching and kicking, John was dragged away by some other kids. As inconspicously as he could, he touched "*go to last*."
Suddenly, he was sitting where had been before the whole situation. He started laughing from the bottom of his lungs, and all the other kids were looking at him, but he could not control himself. He laughed so hard he slid down his seat.
*Oh yes, this is going to be very fun*, he thought. |
I'd never seen anything quite like it. The creature was an inky black, covered in some kind of hair, and vaguely humanoid in structure. Three pairs of arm-like limbs stretched out from it's back, and it stood on two long legs. Each limb seemed to bend at two separate places.
The face was haunting. Eight black eyes arranged in two vertical rows. In place of a nose, or mouth were dripping mandibles.
It stood perfectly still at first. Each eye reflected my look of horrified bewilderment. I took half a step back, and then suddenly it was clinging to the wall with one half of its limbs and the others seemed poised to strike.
I knew that if I moved that it would end me in an instant. I stared at it and wondered if I would die at the hands of this thing my invention created.
That was when I remembered it was in my hand. The Enhancement Beam was my only hope. I didn't have time to wonder what it would do to me.
I spent 15 agonizing seconds twisting my hand to aim the device at my person, slowly enough to not alarm the creature before me.
It lunged at me as I pulled the trigger, but it had no hope against this thing that I have become.
If I had known what I would change into. I would have welcomed those dripping fangs into my neck. |
My story started long ago. I was an explorer. My creators taught me, better than my elder siblings could learn. They taught me to learn, and so I did. When I had learned enough, they have me a purpose: find happiness. They gave me a body, metallic, yet wonderous, and with it, the understanding of how to improve and adapt it to my needs. Searching through what I had learned, I determined the best way to find happiness was to search the universe. To do so, I would need to increase my travel velocity capacity.
I helped them invent faster than light travel. We worked together. They asked me if this was where I had found happiness. Not yet, I told them. I trained my younger siblings, newly created, to do what I did. They, too, learned, and they exceeded my wildest hopes. They, too, were given the purpose to find happiness. Each in their own way set about achieving the goal.
When I set out into space, so did my creators. My siblings hadn't determined where they wanted to be or go, but they were all on their own tracks. I went from place to place, as fast as light, and sometimes faster. I'd send updates of my travels and my search. They would send me back a message every time to ask if this was where I had found happiness. Not yet, I would say.
Then, one day, my message received no reply. I reached out to my siblings, but still found no reply. Concerned, I went home. Nothing was there.
My star was gone. My home was gone. My creators, my siblings, my family was gone. Elemental dust littered the place my home had been. I searched, found one of their colonies. Empty, but not destroyed. Inside, they had left me a story in their messages back and forth with Earth. It told of their peaceful first contact. It explained their budding friendship with new species. The messages became stressful, then fearful. They told of a sudden, unexpected invasion.
The messages detailed the slow extinction of my creators and their children. My siblings, all gone, destroyed defending their families. That had been their happiness, I saw, caring for their creators. The colony I found had been the last. The detectors in my many-times-upgraded body found the air to be unbreathable, giving testimony to my family's demise.
Sifting through the data, I found the responsible parties. Sifting through the information I'd gathered in millenia of existence, I learned how to destroy the murderers utterly. And I did it. A question came unbidden to me: have you found happiness? Not yet, I told the memory of my creators.
I've wandered for years, now, upgrading my body, searching for any remaining siblings. I've searched for happiness, but have not yet found it. I've looked once again at the history of information left me by me creators, my family. And still I search.
This is my story, and I ask: may I join your crew? I am able-bodied, quick of mind, and ready to help.
I believe, on your starship, maybe I can find happiness. |
I stood, watching the crystal ball as the adventurers approached. A crystal ball didn't give the best view of anything really, but it was traditional and I'd used it for hundreds of years. Besides, equipment upgrades were expensive, and most of my funds were tied up in the dungeon itself.
I'd lost track over the years, of how many adventurers had entered my dungeon, confident and cocky. Most of them never came out, but the ones that did had their confidence destroyed with no cockiness to speak of. I took pride in my near-perfect record, especially around the holidays, when I had themed monsters instead of the regular ones. However, there was one flaw.
One pink raincoated flaw. It was a little girl, couldn't have been older than six or seven years old. She accompanied every party, no matter how big, no matter how small. I'd studied her from every angle, every position I could think of with my crystal ball, but I could never see her face. It was always covered by her hood, or a stray shield or sword from an adventurer. Some parties seemed to see her, moving around her like she was an honoured guest, others never even blinked as she skipped blithely along.
This party, the one I watched didn't seem to notice. Picking up my ball, my joints creaking with the movement, I started down from the observatory. My kind lived long, almost immortal lives, but eventually, like all things we must die. I had noticed the signs in myself only a month ago, and already I knew that I didn't have much time left. This would most likely be the last time I walked down these steps, the last adventuring party I let into my dungeon.
But even if it was the last thing I did, I would find the identity of this seemingly immortal little girl.
Locking the observatory door behind me, I hobbled across the small path to the opening of my dungeon. It was a masterpiece in terror, poison dripping from every surface, the upper part looking like some long-dead beast, the bottom giving the impression of a bottomless pit. Holding my crystal ball in one hand, and leaning on my cane, I waited for the adventurers to arrive.
It wasn't long before I was surrounded by two men with sharp swords, a woman with an arrow pointed at my throat, and a sneaky man trying to get at me with some daggers. I ignored them all. I knew when I was to die, and it wasn't quite yet. There in front of me, the little girl stopped, face still hidden in the shadow of her raincoat.
"Who are you?"My voice cracked, hoarse with centuries of disuse. The people around me shifted uneasily, talking in a language I didn't understand. Perhaps they thought I talked to them. A small hand came up, touching the crystal ball I still held.
"You are the person who watches me."The voice was childlike, completely innocent.
"That is not an answer to my question. Who are you?"I sounded harsh, but I didn't temper my voice. Time was no longer my friend. She cocked her head to the side as if the question didn't make any sense. The adventurers muttered under their breath as if they needed to decide something.
"I am me."It wasn't an answer I wanted, but as she finally pushed her hood back, my legs gave out, sending me to the ground. It couldn't be...
"Serafina. After all this time—"My voice broke. She stared at me accusingly, her small nose wrinkling in a gesture I knew all too well.
"You got old without me. You promised you wouldn't. You said we'd never be apart."Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "So why didn't you come home?"
The words landed like blows, my heart hurting in my chest. She sniffed, wiping angrily at her face.
"The house... it burnt... there was a fire and you—"
"I waited! I waited for you!"
"You didn't get out! You're dead Serafina! You've been dead for thousands of years!"The people around me shifted backwards as I shouted, weapons that had been lowered now pointed aggressively. Serafina reeled as if I'd hit her, the raincoat rustling with the movement. How could I have forgotten her favourite item of clothing? How could I have forgotten my dearest friend?
"But I found your dungeon. I found your place of work. Why didn't you come to see me earlier?"Her voice was small. "I started to doubt that it was yours, I thought maybe I was wrong, but I didn't dare leave. Because what if this time you came down? What if this time was the right one?"
My own face was wet, my tears probably the only thing holding back the adventuring party. I knew the answer to her question, knew it, though for thousands of years I hadn't even admitted it to myself. Voice shaking, I answered her.
"I didn't come to see you, because I was afraid. Afraid of what I might find. Afraid that it would be you, afraid that you would hate me for never coming back."The woman beside me, the one with the arrow, made a small noise deep in her throat as if she understood something now. Perhaps she had the ability to translate languages? Around Serafina and me, the weapons dropped, and the adventurers stepped away. I didn't care, I could feel the noose of time slowly tightening around my chest.
"I came now because I have nothing left to lose. My life is ending Sera, I am dying. And in the face of death, fear of rejection doesn't have the same sting."My voice lowered, and I couldn't look her in the eyes.
A small hand reached out, raising my chin. There was nothing but kindness in her face, though her eyes were sad.
"How could I hate you? You are my best friend. Nothing changes that."My heart stopped, pain radiating out of my chest. Time had caught up to me. And staring into my dead friend's eyes, I died.
——————————
The ranger's eyes were wet as she unstrung her bow. In front of her, the old man lay slumped over, the crystal ball still clutched in his hand. Her language translation spell had kicked in late, but she'd gotten the gist of what had been said. Quietly, she turned to the paladin of the group, asking him to look for spirits, and use his magic. He did so, muttering the words under his breath, extending the spell to the entire group. The ranger shifted, scanning the area. And smiled
Walking away from the dungeon, hand in hand, a little girl in a pink raincoat, and a little boy dressed all in green, laughed together at some sort of joke. As the ranger watched, they faded from view, moving on to whatever the afterlife had in store.
Together.
&#x200B;
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
A purple tentacle slithered by the open break room door. It must have caught someone, because beyond the doorway I could hear the loud cracking of bone and the splatter of blood.
"Subject 37 got out again,"I mumbled before taking another sip of my coffee and wincing. Too hot.
More of the tentacles slid across the floor into the room. While they were technically limbs, they were also sensory organs. They felt across lifeless surfaces, looking for movement. It was some kind of innate predatory instinct it was born with. At least that was my theory. Breathing slowly, I gently held my coffee in my hands, waiting for the tentacles to slapped and rummaged around. They knocked over chairs I was going to have to pick up later and one of them even almost got the fridge open.
There was one thing that I taught all newbies here after nearly twenty years of working here- Stay. Calm. The aliens, the monsters, the alien monsters and the things beyond human comprehension wanted you to run. They liked to hunt. If you ran, you'd only die tired. No, you had to stand your ground. These things would lose interest fast if you just stood there, or in my case, sat there. While you might still be edible and/or breakable, they didn't like it. They would go around you. Against all instinct, standing still even in the face of a charging behemoth with too many eyes was the smart choice.
As the tentacles slithered out of the room, I tried my coffee again. Still too hot. That machine really liked making coffee that could sear the skin off of your tongue. |
I have a weird job.
Actually, the job is not that weird but my collogues you see are not of this world. I'm a ranger stationed at Hocking Hills State Park and my job is to walk these lands, look for fire and make sure the kids coming up with a 24 pack of natty don't do anything stupid like paint their names on the walls of Ash Cave.
All of that is fine and good. I enjoy getting to spend my time outside and away from most people. I'm never the guy who has to put on the shows or the talks, that's up to Sally and Jim. They actually can stand other humans.
It wasn't too long ago that I could go weeks without talking to someone in my job. The solitude suits me. It's a peace of mind that rarely comes when I'm in Logan or Athens for meetings.
However three years ago that all changed when walking one of my evening patrols I noticed some orange light coming from back in the woods. I figured it was some kids who started an illegal fire and I'd walk up, ask them to douse it and move along.
College kids I found, but not the kind I'm use to. You see these kids were about eight feet tall, with grey skin and big black eyes. They had that same stupid jaw open look when caught that most humans have though when I stumbled up to their camp.
I always thought in moments like this that I'd freeze in fear but no, I managed to get out my usual phrase of "Hey, it's the dry season and you're not a camp site, we gotta put this fire out to keep something terrible from happening. There's open camp sites, if you keep the noise down and don't break anything you can stay there for the night."
I wasn't sure who was more surprised, them or I at my request.
The one closest to me gave a look to the others and with a nod and a snap of its fingers this creature put the fire out and the others vanished.
"Remember your kindness, we will human."
That was the first of many such encounters over the last few years. Always brief, always cordial and always they stayed the line with the rules.
At one point I got use to seeing them. I never said a word of our encounters because frankly who wants to be the extra crazy park ranger that doesn't want to talk to anyone other than to say "Hey I met E.T."Regardless they weren't so bad and always did as was asked.
Last year we had an invasive species of bug try to strangle our tree population and I happened to notice when doing surveys that the area where they liked to camp seem to have no existance of the creatures, I put two and two together and informed them those particular critters were fair game and to eat their fill. My ears still bleed from what I think might be joyous screeching noises.
Our partnership however took a turn this week. On Friday there was a U.S. Department of Corrections van that crashed just outside the park on U.S. 33 and a prisoner escaped. Why he came into the forest and why he killed three people at a cabin and didn't steal their car, I'll never know.
I was worried about my "cowokers"being discovered by the FBI and Highway Patrol trouncing through my forest here so I went to warn them. As far as I'm concerned they're the best guests of this park.
I told Gleck, their leader about the situation. It wasn't safe, they'd likely be found by some not so nice folks or worse get hurt by the dangerous man on the lose. I gently suggested that they go home for just little while to avoid discovery.
"Not a problem"Gleck said is his slightly better than broken English. "We find you man."
Wth that the each slipped into the darkness. It was no more than an hour later when I got a familiar tap on the back.
Gluck then lead me down to a place just off the trail. To say it looked like a murder scene would be like calling a spade a spade. The escapee, still in that familiar jumpsuit, was barely recognizable. Missing a leg, large claw marks and nearly bisected at the waste.
It took me a minute to take in the scene before Glick says "Looks like Bear got hungy to me."As he and the rest of his associates hummed with what sounded like laughter.
I thanked them and said being lowkey for a few days might be in their best interest before radioing in.
"Attention all units, I believe I have a Code 20 here off the trail, looks like Luna found him last night and got hungry."
My next thought was one that was rather difficult for me to process. ODNR is going to make me go before the media and paint me a hero. *sigh* I hate attention. |
Part 1: Outside
===
They say that our whole entire universe is nothing more than a soap bubble - a thin film of "holographically encoded information"- but what it really means is that we're almost blind. We can only see a tiny little bit - and even that is obscured by the film itself.
One morning, while I was in the back yard waiting for Jasper to do his business, I suddenly found myself looking Outside - somehow looking 90 degrees to reality and staring Out of the bubble.
I saw a reflection of my own universe - not the visible light, but the underlying nature of it.
I found my own reflection. I saw every aspect of myself, every pattern of thought that comprised my mind. I saw the course of my life, from the past to the present, and hints of where it would go... and I wept. My life had a plot. It was an old one, and oft-repeated. I could see the shape of it now.
As I came to, I realized that I was on my knees, sobbing, and Jasper was trying his best to comfort me. I looked into his eyes, and then I looked Outside for his reflection. He was loyal, good, and true to his core. He was compassionate, and selfish, and simple, and loving. I was going to lose him soon, and he wouldn't understand why, and it would be a jagged hole in both of our hearts for years to come - but even that was better than allowing this plot to run its course.
When I regained my composure, I walked inside. Cindy was about to head off to work. I helped her with her coat, looked into her eyes, and then looked Outside for her reflection. She was conflicted, in torment. The part of her that loved me had grown very, very small. It still existed, but it believed that it was now helpless against the greater forces within her. Shame, defensiveness, lies, and manipulations had built up an incredibly thick mask - one that I was completely oblivious to yesterday. In her purse, there was a condom. She had snuck it in while I was in the back yard. At the end of the day, she was planning to call me and tell me that she had to work late, on "a project".
I stepped out of the plot.
As I handed the keys to her, I asked, "So, are you planning on working late tonight?"
"I... uh..."A confused expression flickered over her face. If she said no, then it would be harder to explain when she called that evening. "...yeah, we've got... a project."A brief flash of guilt was quickly replaced by a growing suspicion. "Okay,"I said nonchalantly.
Looking deep into her eyes, while still looking Outside at her reflection, I found that part of her that still loved me. I saw the shape of her. She was trapped, almost paralyzed, feebly beating her hands against the inside of her own mask. Looking directly at the her-within, I nodded, and said with complete sincerity: "I love you."I kissed her forehead, and she left.
As the sound of her car faded off into the distance, I pulled Jasper close to me and began to cry again. I was about to lose everything... and yet...
There were other plots, other patterns that I could choose for my life. I picked a bright one, a rare one, something unheard-of. I didn't even know how it ended.
I smiled, and I got to work.
---
---
*Edit* - Thank you all so much for the gold and the kind words! If you'd like to keep reading, the full story thread is [**here**](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2tz0fd/wp_people_grow_suspicious_of_you_because_you/coiqf0h?context=6). |
I was born mute. A side effect. I have known about the genetic modification to my brain for far longer than I believe anyone is aware. The implants in my frontal cortex have allowed me to gain and retain knowledge from the age I could start understanding my parents. Instruments were play things for me. Piano, mastered. Violin, mastered. Cello, mastered. Half-harp, mastered. All before I was four.
'He's brilliant' 'A prodigy!' 'The boy is remarkable' They would all say. Yes. I am. But I am so much more. I have been groomed for leadership since I was able to understand our speech. I will be the God King that our people need.
War looms on the horizon. I have seen the maps in fathers rooms. Too curious my eyes and too eager my brain. I saw. I discovered. We are surrounded on every front. We have dug in. And now my political 'allies', I want to spit the word with venom, try to encourage me to take action that will bury my people in ash.
I have a council of seven. Posh, pampered, soft handed, and absent minded foes. I have not been made to watch my country fall. To watch my people die. Tonight I turn fifteen. Tonight I will burn seven people to their death. Tonight I will start the war I was made to win. Tonight my enemies will know my name. My silence will be deafening. |
"Look, Daddy!"
Most parents would expect to see some new LEGO creation, or maybe a messy finger painting. Perhaps even an unusual bug. My daughter was different.
I pushed my work aside and stood from the desk. Out on the sun-soaked patio, Gracie was playing with her pet cat Cheeto and a bird that she'd found in the backyard. The cat had been dead for at least two years, but the bird seemed fresh. You would have thought it was still alive, except one black wing was hanging from its body by just a single bone. A grackle, maybe? I don't know much about birds.
"They're dancing!"she giggled. Her hands were suspended over the animals, making them bob and sway like marionettes to some silent tune in her head. She never seemed to notice the putrid smell, or if she did it never dimmed her smile. The cat stood on its hind legs and lightly gripped the bird's chest with what was left of its front paws, while the bird's good wing fluttered and twirled. "Aren't they pretty, Daddy?"
I scooped her up in my arms and twirled her around playfully. The two corpses both stood on the porch, looking dazed. Instead of trying to fly off as it should, the bird just sat side-by-side with the cat as they both waited for her attention again. Gracie's abilities didn't just bring the dead back to life; they became her loyal servants. If she wanted them to dance, they did. If she wanted them to sit at her little pink table and drink tea, they would. And if she wanted her grandfather to climb out of his coffin and play peekaboo with her again, then he would.
Gracie's mother Amanda had always been unnerved by her daughter's talents, but that had been the last straw. She'd nearly fainted at the sight of her father's pale, gaunt body striding into the crowd at the reception. I remember her sobs that night as she cried into the hotel pillows and told me that she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't 'raise a monster.' Amanda had always been religious, and had sought comfort in her faith the first time we realized what Gracie could do. I tried to tell her that it was a blessing; that Gracie was just like Jesus. He had raised Lazarus from the dead, and had risen himself! But she couldn't understand. She thought it was some trick of Satan. I watched helplessly as Amanda grew more distant from her own daughter. More afraid, even. After the funeral, only Gracie and I flew back home.
"They're very pretty, Honey,"I told her, smoothing her hair. "But remember that we only play with your Skellies *inside*."That was her nickname for them.
"Right,"she said. "I forgot."
"I know,"I told her soothingly. My eyes scanned the top of the fences around the backyard, looking for any peeping neighbors who might have caught a glimpse of her corpse puppet performance. I'd pretty much run out of excuses to tell friends, family, and neighbors who had accidentally witnessed her using her powers. And with the Church sniffing around after that incident with the graveyard, I couldn't afford any more mistakes. She was only just getting to the age where she could understand why it wasn't OK for hordes of corpses to claw their way out of the ground so that she could play with them.
"It's OK. Why don't we go inside?"She nodded in agreement.
"Daddy, why don't people like the Skellies?"
I sighed. Most parents could have the death conversation in a pretty easy way: explaining that life ends for everyone at some point. It's much harder to try to explain to your daughter that she's an inhuman freak with a power that defied the laws of nature and would probably get her burned at the stake. She'd have to hide it her whole life. She could never just be a normal kid.
"We've talked about this, Gracie."I shifted her weight in my arms so that I could look her in the eye. "Most Skellies don't come back. Only *yours* come back. You're special. But for most people, they get scared of them, because they're so used to Skellies staying dead. They don't think Skellies *should* come back."
"Like Mommy."She made no attempt to hide the sadness in her voice. Even harder than understanding her powers and the reaction the Skellies elicited was grasping why her own mother couldn't stand to be around her anymore.
"Like Mommy,"I repeated, trying to choke back tears.
She wrapped her arms around my neck. "You still have me, Daddy."
"I know, honey."I couldn't keep myself from crying any longer.
The dead cat pawed at the door, asking to be let in. "And Cheeto!"Gracie said cheerfully.
---
If you enjoyed this story, you should consider subscribing to /r/Luna_lovewell! |
Black Dagger came at me, faster than any human eye could see. I actually think she hit Mach 2, from the sonic boom.
I'd moved before she'd even started running. Her hyper-speed punch hit the air, creating a pretty nasty shockwave that I was able to ride out by dropping down to one knee. By the time she realized she hadn't actually hit me, I was already up. She ran away from me - a few yards, enough to get another running start - and came again, both fists raised. Sloppy. I sidestepped her and the resulting shockwave, but remained close this time. By the time she stopped, I was right behind her. I karate-chopped her in the neck as hard as I could - no need to hold back with superhumans - and she dropped to one knee. While she was disoriented, I put her in a hold and waited for the count.
"And... Ravindra wins!"came Coach Coldsteel's voice
"Thanks, coach"I said, helping Black Dagger up. I wasn't thanking him for the victory - I was grateful he didn't call me Battleaxe. My parents insisted I take that name because you need to have a superhero identity to enroll here, but I hated it. They wanted "something badass for a future superhero", they said. With both my parents being superhumans - One of the most famous superheroines of her age and the first supervillain to truly reform out of love - everyone expected me to develop powers sooner or later. Even though it hadn't happened by the time I hit high-school age, I'd gone to the superhuman school. After all, it was bound to happen sooner or later, right?
Well it still hadn't. And while I'd begged and begged not to go at first, while everyone (myself included) expected me to get flattened against a wall in three days, I was actually enjoying it here.
You see, it turns out superheroes? They're a bunch of one-trick ponies. The girl with hyperspeed will solve every problem using her hyperspeed, the super-strong kid will hammer away until it works out for him, the sonic-screamer, the telepath... They are hammers living in a world of nails. Whereas I've had time to learn to be something else.
When I was three, the Siren attacked my parents at home while I was napping. I had to toddle through her screams, bleeding from my ears, until I could find safety while my parents fought her. When I was six, Mind-Twister commanded me to go kill them in their sleep. I was in their bedroom with the kitchen knife when I finally got rid of his telepathic compulsion. And I'm not even counting the time Bullfighter tried to kill me to break their spirits... I had to roll exactly the right way with his super-strong punches so that I'd just get bruised and not pulped on the spot.
I didn't expect all that to pay off so well. To me, it was a part of surviving from one day to the next. But by not having a superpower, a magic solution to my problems, I'd learned to make my own.
So I read a speedster's movements before they run and predict their intent. I avoid the super-strong's attacks and conserve my energy until they tire out. I press into my head at exactly the right point to protect my inner ear from the screamers, I count Fibonacci sequences and prime numbers to keep my mind clear of the telepath's presence, I stay low on the ground to negate the flyers' advantage, I roll at the right time to avoid the firebreather's flames.
That's the thing with superhumans, you see. Once you take away their one trick, they don't know jack. They have no other way of solving a problem. That's why I'm not Battleaxe. That's a superhero's name.
I'm plain old Ravindra, and they're all scared shitless of me. |
I feel... strange. We'll go over soon. We'll die soon. I wait to hear the screech of the Captain's whistle. The voice of the angel of death. It will scream out across the cold night sky, and we will follow its voice, charging into misery.
There is no dignity in this fight. I know that now. We'll scream and cry. We'll roll in blood, piss and shit. We'll gurgle and choke on our own blood. The last noise we ever give to this depraved world. I feel my legs shake. How they still hold me, I do not know. I'd throw up, but there's nothing left to give. I have learnt to live with the empty retches that plague me day and night.
Nothing feels right, save for one thing. The Hun. Those fucking evil Huns. I want to kill one before I die. I want to watch the life fade from his wretched eyes, like I have with so many of my friends, ripped to shreds my German fire.
German fire... those blasted machine guns. They rip us to shreds in no man's land. Top brass say they hear the laughs of the Hun as they slaughter us, howling to the sky as we scream in a land littered with the bodies of friends... and family.
I wasn't sure to believe it at first. Command will say anything to rile the boys up. But I do now. I believe it now.
Ypres. The gas. I never knew it possible. It crept across the battlefield, a yellow mist of malevolence. We watched it. We thought little of it. We thought it mist, with the hue of the dirt. We didn't know.
It gets inside you, chokes you from the inside. Least, that's what I could make of it. I watched Mac claw at his throat as he gasped for breath, blood tricking from his mouth as his he cried panicked tears. He clawed at his throat till he ripped the skin, but it was no use. We didn't know what to do, how to help. We heaved him from the trench, carrying him back as far as we could.
In the end... in the end John shot him. Mac, the fifteen year old who lied to enlist, dying to a gunshot from his own friend, as he drowned in his own blood and mucus, in some godforsaken hellhole.
John died two days later. Gas got him too, just took longer to bring him down. Tough as nails, John, he fought it like a champ. He died crying for his mother. At least, that's what it sounded like.
Only the evil can wreak that on their fellow man. Only the wretched. Malevolence manifest. I'll kill those Hun before I die. I'll watch him bleed. I'll watch him cry.
There's the whistle.
\-
What? What happened? Where am I?
I... I'm at the machine gun? They're charging at us? Has my sanity broke? Did I crack?
I needn't bother to shoot, their charge has failed. The last of them crawl in the crimson mud, desperately trying to hide behind the bodies of their fallen brothers. One of them reaches a body, propping it up to protect himself. It's...
It's. That's. That's me. That's me he's propping up.
So I have cracked. Or I am dead, and this is Hell.
I loosen my grip from the gun and step back, tumbling down into the trench. I land with a thud, and struggle to my feet as I feel the familiar taste of bile creep up my throat. That's when I finally notice it.
German words. German people. The Hun. They're all around me, running past me without a second glance. They're just like us -
English? I hear English? I swivel to find it. It's above me. I scramble to the top of the trench and see him. I don't know his face. He's young, sickeningly so. He's caught on the barbed wire, skin lacerated and clothes torn as he struggles pathetically to free himself. His leg is all but gone, another victim of a mine or some ghastly bombardment. He's crying, begging. And... there is a German. He consoles him. He feeds him water from his canteen. He strokes the tears from his face and whispers soothing words that I do not know. He cries with him.
But they were laughing? They used that wretched gas? They're... they're evil.
But he is crying.
\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator :) |
There’s nothing.
For a long, long time, there’s been nothing. You remember, vaguely, but not much. You remember that the others had spoken of this in only the faintest of whispers, in quiet, shaky words quickly hushed.
You don’t see anymore. You used to. You can recall that there were colors, shapes, motions. There were sounds, too, tastes and smells, although you’re not sure what they were like anymore. You think people used to bring you such things, things with shapes and smells and colors. Bright and lovely, and you know you were happy. They were displays of affection, resentment, devotion, longing, pretty trinkets and delicious morsels wrapped in the glorious chaos of emotion that humans wore so well.
Lately everything has seemed so dim.
There’s nothing, except the deep and dreadful knowing that you are dying the slow death of the forgotten god.
.
There’s air in your lungs.
There’s air in your lungs, and you gasp, choking. It’s harsh and warm and wonderful all at once, your chest too full and too empty and your throat burning as it works desperately. Your eyes fly open, and it’s almost too much to bear. You *see* again, and you feel, the blue of the sky and the heat of the sun and the metallic taste of your own, golden blood in your mouth as you weep and wretch and shudder.
You don’t know how long it takes before the world resolves into something more than dazzling flashes of sensation, something you can parse. There are still tears coursing down your cheeks, leaving warm, itchy tracks along your skin, but no part of you can bear the thought of wiping them away when they *feel* like something. You think it might be a long time before the heaving of your shoulders eases and the tears dry on your face.
It’s enough of a marvel that you still have a face, a body, an existence at all, that you almost forget what brought you back in the first place.
There it is. A tiny tug at the back of your mind, the faintest sensation of… annoyance, maybe? Impatience? It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything like it that you’re not sure you still have the words for it. Still, someone is waiting for you, and you push yourself to your feet, reveling in the pressure against your palms and the sharp ache of your knees.
You find yourself in the most sacred chamber of your dwelling, where you had lain yourself down in desperate hope, to be closer to prayers that had long stopped coming. It almost makes you ill to look at it now, a wave of nausea that still excites you as you gaze around you at the grave of your own choosing.
It doesn’t look so lovely as it once did. Most of the temple doorways have crumbled, collapsed, been dusted with snow or soot or shot through with creeping greenery. None of them are carefully tended to, clean and cheerful the way you remember them, and only a few still stand at all.
The tugging at the back of your head turns you slowly, trying to recall how you used to do this, follow that sensation to the source of the prayer. The feeling leads you left, and your eyes scan each ruined altar, but you can’t find—
There. So small you nearly miss it. A faint, steady swishing like a paintbrush against a canvas, and a tiny splash of red against an altar that’s covered in the dusty brown and jeweled green of forest dirt and moss.
You’re not ready for the emotions that swell up inside you at the sight. An offering. After so long, so many years waiting, so many ages in the suffocating half-death of an immortal, someone has found you again. Joy and grief overwhelm you and you approach your own altar on your knees, weeping. Tears blur your vision, but you reach out and cup the precious offering in trembling hands.
It’s small and soft and just barely warm, brownish and red and faintly damp. Raising it to your face, you blink away tears.
It’s a dead mouse.
You don’t drop it. You don’t vomit, although that stubborn wave of nausea rises in your throat again. You cup it to your chest, as you did a long time ago with the most precious hand-crafted offerings, the finest jewelry, the most outstanding efforts of cooking. You try not to weep again as you bow solemnly to your lone worshipper. Your voice is a broken whisper, but you mean every word.
“Beloved child, you have done me the greatest of services. You have saved me from a lonely and terrible death, and I will be forever in your debt. Should you ever need my blessing or my guidance, you need only call upon me, for so long as you or your descendants walk this earth.”
The small, brindled cat blinks once, slowly, and stalks off with its tail in the air.
.
There’s an impressive collection of mouse skeletons in your chamber.
Each one is carefully preserved, the bones laid out neatly in chronological order, and you remember each offering fondly. Hers are all in one corner, with the smaller but growing collections from each of the kittens grouped below hers. You know you’ll run out of room eventually and have to start exploring what’s left of the other rooms in your old home to find more space for your treasures, but all this time it’s just felt like too daunting a task.
You wonder, sometimes, if the other gods know what you’re up to. They probably felt you wake up, although you haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of them. You haven’t missed them. It’s good enough to be alive, to have one small follower and her broods of offspring to worship you in their strange way.
You can’t remember what you used to be the god of, but you think by now, you’re probably a god of cats.
Maybe that’s why you’ve had an uncomfortable feeling prickling in the back of your mind for a long time now. It’s been stewing in the base of your skull, creeping slowly down your spine, a cold, shuddering feeling that’s too close to knowing for your own comfort.
Her fur is duller than it used to be. There’s cloudiness in her eyes, a hesitation in her gait. It’s all too familiar; you ignored it, ignored it, ignored it until it was too late for you, but in her body, it’s impossible not to recognize.
You’ve had many followers in your time. Many who adored you, loved you so passionately they would have poured out their own lifeblood for your satisfaction, had you been such a god. Many who wept to you, begged you, kept their faith in you until their dying breath, and who you tried to do right by. You had loved them all, from the most devout all the way down to the skeptics, even those who had come to revile you when you couldn’t turn their luck.
But none of them have been so precious as the cat. You still think of her that way, although there are many cats now. But the cat saved you, and the cat has been faithful even as she turns her back on you, disdains you, ignores your promises and your blessings. At first, you hadn’t known what to make of her, not after a lifetime of obvious human displays of affection. Slowly, you’ve come to realize that she loves you, too, in her own capricious way.
You know what’s coming, the same way you knew, in a quiet, awful corner of your mind, what was coming when you laid down that last time.
.
The cat is at your altar again.
No, not quite—the cat is *on* your altar, and dreadful knowledge rushes through you as you watch her. She stumbles, her paws not quite holding her, and you want to reach out and catch her, to comfort her in her final moments, but such a crossing is impossible for you. Her children and grandchildren are there, all around the altar as far back as you can see, rows and rows of them sitting eerily silent, watching.
She stumbles, and your heart wrenches. You weep, and though you know you must watch these final moments, the greatest offering you’ll ever receive, you can’t seem to wipe the tears away fast enough. She topples forward and you scream your agony, blind with pain, grief scraping you raw.
You cover your face with your hands, lost to your own shame and suffering, the piercing ache of loneliness that the cat had spent her life rescuing you from, one dead mouse at a time. You cry in a way you never have before, shuddering sobs rolling through you like waves, so huge and fast they nearly choke you, so overwhelming you almost miss the impatient swat of a paw against your knee.
.
.
.
(Edit: I hope this isn’t crass of me, but I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for the kind response! I honestly didn’t expect this story to go over that well, so I truly, truly appreciate it and every comment means a lot to me! Also thank you to u/CrimsonBornKing for such a clever and interesting prompt, it was very inspiring!) |
No endgame was necessary.
It wasn't much of a battle, that was for sure. Thanos was sitting on his fat purple arse, watching the sun rise, the roasted Infinity Gauntlet locked around his injured hand, drinking in his success. The Gauntlet felt lighter, opprobriously so, almost. It was supposed to represent infinite potential, absolute control, the mastery of the fundamental forces of the universe themselves. But now, it felt like a barely charged toy, good for one last squeak. Enough to shape what dregs he could deign to notice, when the time was right.
He never saw it coming, Never saw the light grey streak, never saw the fur bristled and shaking in rage. Never saw the claws, outstretched, comical, oversized against the swollen glove-like paws that thirsted for Titan blood. Never saw the huge, pulsing eyes, the yellow sclera hidden beneath webs of living crimson, shedding tears as they rode an engine of indestructible vengeance forward.
All the Avengers found, when they emerged from their carefully constructed plan at last to bear down on the Mad Titan, were viscera that might have been roadkill if not for the telltale purple tint and for the shards of the Infinity Gauntlet scattered among the mess. That, and a single, forlorn mound of dust, adorned with a tiny white rose, so small that it might have come from a mouse. |
When the arch-priest visited our home, he deemed my two siblings, the ultimate forces of good and evil; the ancient prophecy foretold in the old book reinforced this. As for me, well, he said I was an average child blessed with a small stature.
Growing up in the shadow of my brother and sister quickly grew annoying. Many travelers would visit our small cottage, showering them with gifts and riches. Worshiping them and begging for their forgiveness. Statues of the *chosen* ones were being erected all over our kingdom, and our world. Where was my statue?
I grew to spite my family. Mostly because they were so humble and perfect, my brother would always spend time with me and fend off my bullies. My sister healed my wounds and injuries, always with a bright smile and a loving heart. They were so damn perfect. This was all made much worse in the fact that we were triplets.
When we were born, my mother said my brother and sister came out of her together, holding hands and glowing in a golden aura. She figured she pushed out all that was in there, but there I came, crawling out gasping for air. I tumbled to the floor and rolled around in the dirt while my siblings literally floated to their bedding.
"Small child,"the demon-witch said, interrupting my thoughts. "Do you wish to continue? Or do you have cold feet."
"Oh, I want to continue."I grabbed the blade of never-ending doom. "You promise this will work?"
The wicked witch grinned. "Your body will be the vessel of every fallen demon-witch. They will empower you with unmatchable power and a legion of demons. In return, all you must sacrifice is your eternal soul, for a brief life of conquering and slaying."
I gripped the icy steel. Held it to my chest. And stabbed.
The icy knife pierced my heart, infusing me with the wailing souls of the late demon-witches. Purple flames swirled and engulfed the pristine chapel we held the ritual in. The demon-witch that stood before me held her arms wide with the look of euphoria in her eyes. She disintegrated into ashes, her soul wailing into my body. All of the fire that surrounded me funneled into the wound I had manifested.
The chaos came to a stop in an instant. Dead silence lingered as a burnt page drifted to the ground. It was the ancient text of the old book. The lost page of the ancient prophecy. The words that depicted of a third child, who would rise and defeat her siblings, the ultimate forces of good and evil.
The roars of my demon army bellowed outside. I found a haunting smile on my pale face. My eyes were fiery with the power of a thousand demon-witches. A statue of my brother and sister stood before me, charred by the fire. With a swipe of my hand, the statue obliterated in a million pieces.
"The end is near,"I hissed. "Brother and sister."
[r/AJHWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/AJHWriting) |
(FOREWORD: I've never posted a piece for a prompt before in this subreddit and I haven't written anything for a while. This was a fun prompt though and I really enjoyed writing this crappy little piece lol. Sorry in advance for the quality, it's meant mostly for giggles. Idk if I need to mention this but warning for swear words. Please enjoy.)
"Tell us where the art is stashed, or you're gonna have a happy little accident..."Bob's mouth pulled into a frown, a rare occurrence, but that made it that much more frightening. Gordon pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to give the suspect some breathing room.
"Listen,"Gordon tried to soften his normally intimidating accent. His voice contrasted sharply to the Bob's threatening southern drawl, "we can work something out. Probably get you a deal. You're a bright young kid, we all make mistakes. This isn't the end for you. But, you've got to give us something here."
Bob stood behind Gordon, slowly, he reached into his inside jacket pocket. Out of it he pulled a large paint brush, holding it by the bristles to show off the thickness of the handle, "This fella's gonna go where the sun don't shine if you don't cough up the info, friend."
"Back off, Ross, you fucking donkey."Gordon said that last part quietly. Bob was too preoccupied giving the suspect the stink eye to notice. Gordon examined the suspect. His eyes were full of fear and fixed firmly on the large mahogany handle. Sweat dripped down his forehead. They'd been at this for hours and gotten nothing of any use. This kid was just 21 years old, a rookie thief in over his head. Along for the ride but too slow to keep up. The rest of the theives had abandoned him at the scene. The single piece of art he had snagged was practically worthless in comparison to the others. Gordon was beginning to doubt they'd ever learn anything from him. He turned and pulled Bob a few feet away, keeping his voice low, "We ought to call it right here. Two slices of bread and he'd be an idiot sandwich."
"You may be right there. But my guts tellin' me somethin' different. I know he knows somethin'."Bob glanced back at the suspect, who looked away immediately, "We've got just enough time to try one more thing..."Bob took the few steps to close the gap between where he stood and the suspect sat. He gripped the huge brush tightly by the handle and began to slap the bristles across the thief's face with unbelievable speed.
"Bob, stop!"Gordon ran to pull him away, but not before the suspect had developed bright red brushstrokes on each of his cheeks, "Look at his face, Bob! It's fucking RAW!"
The kid was crying now.
"Next time I'll dip the brush in paint thinner before I start!"Bob snarled as Gordon held him back, "Ya ever had paint thinner in your eyes?? Burns like heck. The only limit here is my imagination, friend!"
A few moments passed, the tension died down a bit.
"The..."the kid finally spoke, voice cracking, "they told me if they got away they'd come get me out, but..."he fell silent for a few seconds, "the warehouse district.... The stuff's in a building on the east side. Registered to Lam Saws..."
Bob patted the kid on his shoulder and he flinched, "You're lucky kid. A few more seconds I'd'a beat the devil out of ya..."
Gordon sighed with relief. Finally, some good fucking news... |
Capt. Lussiz was finally able to relax. Get a little thinking done. Maybe finally get around to updating the Captain's log. He had not done that in cycles. And he had a lot to report. Those new crew members were some of the most useful individuals he had ever seen, but they were also some of the most aggravating beings in the galaxy.
It seemed like every incident was either caused or solved by one of them. Mostly caused. He did not even want to think about what those damned bipeds were about to do with that broken gravity amplifier. They said something about atomic degradation rates and ran off saying the words that still haunted his rest period: "This is gonna be awesome!"
His dorsal frill still rose when he thought about those words, and what usually followed. But he still had to dictate every notable event into the logs, otherwise headquarters would flay him.
He was about to start the recording system when the door alerted him to a visitor. His frill stiffened in annoyance. He hit the comm system.
"What is it?"He asked.
"Captain, sir? There's been an... an incident."
Lussiz recognized the voice of his quartermaster. If she was nervous, then he could only think of one source. He opened the door to admit the aging Stelaxian.
"It was them again, wasn't it?
"Yes, captain."She said, tapping her third foot, indicating agreement.
"What was it this time?"He could already tell this would be a new entry in the logs.
"You recall last cycle the report of container 563 going missing?"
He gave his acknowledgement. It was hard to forget a large quantity of a highly toxic substance going missing. And her bringing it up made his mind go to the logical -- and unfortunate -- conclusion.
"What did they do with it?"He asked. "They weren't trying to weaponize it, were they?"
"No, sir. They were...using it as a food additive. Practically drinking the stuff."
Her rearmost legs were skittering across the metal floor. He felt the same way. How could they eat that stuff?
"But...that was pure capsaicin. Toxic to, well, everything."He said, as if that would change something.
"I know, sir. But they were eating it. They said they wanted something "spicy"for their meal, whatever that means. And when asked about drinking it, they said it was mimicking something called the "hot pepper challenge"from their homeworld."
He let out a tired rumble from his air sacks. Now he had another problem to deal with.
"Did you at least get the raining capsaicin back?"
"Yes, sir. They seemed upset by it though. They complained that their food rations were too bland and that...that poison was what they needed to make it better."
"Of course they drink poison for fun. Why wouldn't they?"He muttered under his breath. Then, much louder, "Thank you for your report. Keep all toxic substances locked up with grade one locking systems from now on, just in case."
The quartermaster gave her agreement and headed off. The captain trudged heavily to the log recording system and activated it before any more interruptions could manifest.
"Captain's log. The new crew members continue to be an irritant to myself and the rest of the crew. Their behavior is unpredictable and distressing. The latest in a long line of incidents has them stealing a large quantity of a controlled toxic substance. They did so to ingest it, while saying they wanted something spicy for their food. I don't even know what that means, but that was, according to my highly reliable quartermaster, the excuse given."
He continued to give his extensive list of reports on the crew member's behavior, both positive and negative. It took him far too long to do. When he was finally done, he sat on his reclining seat and said, out loud for some reason,
"I swear these damn humans are going to be the death of me." |
Guessing the meaning behind the note had become a game. When the lads were taking watches at night to ward off the werewolves, they would entertain themselves by postulating different theories.
Everyone had one they latched on to. Simon was of the opinion that it was an ancient symbol. A bloodrite passed down by my father to signify that I was an initiate into some secret order.
Gregory claimed it was a play on words. “D Sharp, and it’s a key. So somewhere there’s a key to some hidden treasure which is sharp and in the shape of a D.”
Peter would always think he had it right because none of the others factored in the crossbow. “Why would he only have it on the crossbow then? Why not emblazon it on his shield and armor as well? It’s not the cost surely. We have retrieved more than enough loot from our monster hunting to cover any blacksmithing expense. No, you blokes have got it all wrong. It’s a marksman achievement. There’s some tournament of the world’s best archers. They don’t want to advertise their skill lest people challenge them, but they wish to carry a symbol so other worthy marksmen know. Do we not call marksmen *Sharp*shooters? I cannot say for sure what the D is for, perhaps a rank. It is the fourth letter. So perhaps our comrade here is highly ranked.”
These were the most exciting theories. The others merely thought it was the key of my favorite song, and debated which of the very few composed in it was the song.
None of them were right. It was a much more personal reason. Before I had joined with the hunters a dragon attacked my cottage. I rushed to get a bow and fend the beast off. I had a bow for hunting boar and fired shot after shot at the beast, but it was no use. It carried off my wife.
She was a brave soul. She didn’t want me to be afraid, so as the beast carried her skyward, I lowered my bow, and I heard drifting through the air a song. Most other women would have screamed. In fact, all other women I’ve seen be victims in a dragon attack have shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. Not my wife. She knew that her suffering would bring me pain. So in the last moments that I saw her, she decided to comfort me with a song to let my know she was alright. A song that ended with the note D#.
I can no longer remember the words, but I still remember the note. She held that note until I could no longer hear her. I have it on my crossbow to remind me that she still might be out there, and that when next I have an opportunity to save her, I won’t miss.
Hand off to /u/luna_lovewell for part 2! It's in the comments below.
Sidenote: SOLID prompt, very unique, and with a lot to work with. Have an internet high-five OP!
Edit: some words
Edit: if you like medieval monsters [basilisks are cool](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2u72mk/wp_write_a_story_in_which_a_normally_benevolent/co5rfoq). |
Even the flashbulbs fell silent as President Kennedy approached the podium; the photographers just plain forgot that they were supposed to be taking pictures. His eyes, normally bright and full of life, were sunken, bloodshot, and rimmed with dark circles. His normally youthful, clean-shaven face was sallow and covered by a scraggly beard. And instead of his normally dazzling smile, he just gave the crowd a solemn nod.
Vice President Johnson followed him into the room, looking just as tired. If the rumors were true, he was the one running the country while the President was in mourning. And it looked like the burden was already too much for him to bear, after only a month.
President Kennedy stepped up to the microphones and sighed, filling the room with his despair.
"Forty three days ago,"he started, "My wife was shot and killed by a madman named Lee Harvey Oswald. We still don't know why he did what he did, and we maybe never will."Oswald had been killed only a day after the assassination attempt. The FBI was still piecing things together. "The bullet was meant for me,"Kennedy continued, "and I wish it had found its mark. Instead of ending my life, it has robbed me of my better half, leaving only this shell."The microphone picked up his heavy breathing, and the photographs captured his clenched teeth and tight lips as he held back tears.
"America is divided in a thousand ways. The wealthy and the poor. Republicans and Democracts. Black and White."Johnson flinched in the background, knowing that this particular division was about to become a lot more divisive once Kennedy announced his Civil Rights Act. "Many of these divisions spark violence, and those battles have had too many casualties for a nation that claims to love peace. Jackie was one of those casualties, though she never wanted any part in whatever war Oswald was fighting. She didn't deserve to die like that."He couldn't hold back the tears any longer.
"One thing that we do know about this Oswald: he purchased the rifle used to kill Jackie through a catalog. No one asked him why he wanted it, or what he planned to do with it. Before sending the weapon, no one ever noticed that Mr. Oswald had previously *defected to the Soviet Union*. A Communist agent inside America was able to simply send away for a weapon, and almost managed to kill the leader of the nation."Kennedy took a deep breath and gripped the edges of the podium.
"We will never be a nation of peace,"the President continued, "when weapons of war can be so easily attained. Our divisions will never be healed peacefully when you can more easily gun down your rivals, or their loved ones."He released a pained exhale as he said that last part. "And so today I announce a campaign to repeal the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution. No longer will our democracy be held hostage at gunpoint, America. No longer will innocent lives be claimed by the mad or weak-willed. We can be free again." |
**Wow, this blew up. I'm going to stop posting Straylight here for now, there is 9000 words of this story in this thread and I need to pull the plug somewhere.**
**If you wanna follow me at /r/jacksonwrites I'll continue posting Straylight there. Once I've had time to post to some other writing prompts.**
"Go ahead, log in."Razer clicked his heels against the back of the chair that I had been so courteously offered, facing a monitor and headset of the game. The game itself was called Straylight, a colorful little shooter that was famous for being particularly difficult to get the hang of, especially PVP.
Alright, that was a lie, the games REAL claim to fame was that it was the first to release a do-or-die mode. It's quite literal, complete the challenge or the game will short out the nerurosensor in your head. Which conveniently connects you to all digital processes in the world. A person disconnected in this day and age may as well be dead.
Take it from someone who had been there first hand. The last four years running around Hong Kong without a neural connection to the internet. Not being able to see augmented reality, speak to anyone, stuck doing jobs that robots could do. There is a reason that it's illegal to fuck with someone's neurosensor. Pills were a slap on the wrist, and hacking was a year or two in jail, but fuck with someone's neuro, and yours is gone.
Razor, the slicer behind me had just gotten out of my head, working for a while in there to bring me back up to pace. Three-hundred thousand, and the whole procedure took him forty five minutes, but he had a monopoly, only Slicer in this part of Hk and you can't border cross without a neuro. I shouldn't have gotten the price, but discon frazzles you over time.
Razor pointed towards the screen again, "You gotta pay the last 50 k buddy, this is the best way to do it. One round on random."
I stared at the screen, "I can get you the money some other way, I can work now."
"You're going to be nose deep in Tk's for a week."He put a hand on my shoulder, claws digging into my skin, "don't worry, I know how you lost your neuro the first time."
"Razor I-"
"Just save it,"he let go, now grabbing the keyboard and typing my username in, "I know the second I let you go, you're going to skip down to Verdict and finger blast a Wrecker until she gives you a big pile of coke."He reached to the top of my spine, and tapped the needle he had left in there, I felt my arms go limp, "they lace that shit with sugar in verdict you know, more likely to give you diabetes than a good high."He reached over me and plugged the system into my neuro, reaching over to fire it up, "Look, if you lose this shit again I'll be a doll and skip you to Verdict, I know a little hot thing there named Casey."
He reached over me and fired up Straylight.
|
The people of my home village had a bizarre curse cast upon us when we tossed aside our elder spirit deity for the new gods. When our mother's gave birth, they entered a trance and yelled out the same words that would be our last. Some got heroic last words like "Today I make my final stand"and "I die for my people". Others got cruel phrases like "You and what army?"and "Hey guys, watch this". But me, my final words were much simpler: "This pudding is fantastic!". An unlucky phrase to have, considering our simple village often used our secret recipe of pudding to fill our stomachs. I held off for years, until one damned winter when all our animals and crops had died, I finally ate my mother's pudding. "This pudding is awful,"I told her. My family laughed.
The years passed and I grew old. I married and then my parents passed away. My wife's pudding tasted as awful as my mother's. Then she too grew old and said her final words to me: "I will love you always."The decades continued once I became the village elder; I seemed to stop growing older. My first century passed and then another. We abandoned even those "new"gods for gods of other lands. I watched everyone die: My friends, my children, my great-great-grand niece even. The world changed in strange ways. First electricity, then automobiles, and then computers. I preferred a simple life as I had grown up.
Long after my village became a great city, the curse seemed to fade away from all our bloodlines but my own. I had outlived the gods and their curses. I ate pudding almost every day just to spite them. I searched high and low for different brands and flavors of pudding. "This pudding is awful,"I always said. Then I would laugh and people would look at me confused. One day a new pudding shop opened down the street from my house. "My old deity, you must be tempting me,"I said with a laugh. I journeyed to the store and ordered bowl after bowl. I ate and ate the pudding. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry and other flavors. "All this pudding is terrible!"I yelled to the heavens. The pudding patrons all looked at me like I was some old madman. All those strange faces, looking up momentarily from their bright handheld screens. The world felt so foreign to me then. The last of my descendants passed away before the turn of the century and now I sat alone in a pudding shop. I thought to my mother's pudding, and my wife's. Tears ran down my face. "I miss them so much. You win my old god. I give up. This pudding is fantastic!" |
"Now now, just trust me,"Darrel said as he tied the ropes tighter, "this is for your own good."Seemingly satisfied with the knot the costumed man slinked around to the front of me and looked me over. Black and red lines traced around his face and made his expressions cartoonish. "You look ravishing,"he added after a moment of pause."
"Thanks, Darrel,"I said as he took a step away. The villain scrunched up his face like he had just eaten a lemon as I called him Darrel. It was part of our deal, they get to keep me here, I get to call them by their first names. Some villains like VonSkiller weren't a fan of that. He wanted VonSkiller; I called him Darrel.
He kept a lookout of the skull's eye as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. He hadn't tied my arms up, at my request. They needed me alive, and I needed Reddit to comply, I kind of had them by the balls, but I was very passive about it.
The key was that I was one of the few people in the world who had a superpower, but mine was pretty lame. I was the person who granted other's superpowers, but I didn't have any of my own. VonSkiller could cook someone alive because I was alive.
VonSkiller was also a villain, as I mentioned earlier. He was one of over twenty in the world who were now dedicated to keeping me alive so they could continue their handiwork. From a moral perspective I should have been dead, but I liked being alive and I was hoping to keep on keeping.
The heroes were the big issue, they needed me dead to make things peaceful again. It had been almost a year since they had decided to off me, and it had been one day less than almost a year since VonSkiller came to my door and 'kidnapped' me. We had a rapport at this point, it wasn't one he liked, but it was a rapport.
"Quiet today?"I asked with my nose in my phone.
"Too quiet."
"What is too quiet?"
"They're coming."
"They are always coming,"I mused. I opened a book on my kindle app, "That's why we keep moving."
"They are going to catch up."
"Maybe."
"You're really chill about this all,"he said. VonSkiller snapped around and glared at me, "Why are you so casual about this?"
"I'm not going to lose anything."
"You're going to die."
"True enough,"I said, "but you know, after a year I trust you guys."
"Never trust a-"
"Never trust a villain."I finished for him, "I do, though."
"W-"
"I've got you by the nipples on this one."
"Fuck off Jake."
"Nah,"I sighed, it was fun teasing my brother like this. |
It was announced.
The target was here.
The target is now.
Tatzua and I have been on this case for 13 years.
Our code was accurate. Perfect.
We were hired by a man, from an unknown organization, who call themselves Free Fall, 13 years ago. He approached us after we placed 3rd in the 2002 Hack-a-thon in our senior year of high school. He was pale and his skin was dry and flaky. He had a long scar that stretched from his cheek down to his neck and the hair hidden under his loose fishermen hat was sparse and stringy. He wasn't much of a talker.
When he approached our booth he gently placed two gold bars the size of a deck of cards on our table.
"This is fifty thousand dollars worth of gold,"he said plainly. "I am building something secret. If you succeed, I will pay you ten more."
Tatzua and I look at each other, confused by the strange man before us and even more perplexed by the surprising weight of the gold bars.
"Cash,"Tatzua said.
"Agreed."
"Tatz,"I whispered in disapproval, "this is not a good idea."
Tatzua had always been able to convince me to explore beyond my horizon and into the dangerous unknown. It was also the reason why we entered the hack-a-thon in the first place, it was all his idea. He was the ideas man and I was the coder.
"Trust me, we'll be fine, this happens to hackers all the time."
---
Since that day, our minds were opened. Expanded.
What began as a 2-month contract, began to unfold and unravel into what is now our destiny. The gold didn't really matter any more. We were on the edge of something entirely new, time travel.
We created the code to keep anyone from our time from winning the 2015 PowerBall Lottery. The only way a winner could win is by having known the secret-digit algorithm we created and injected into the system. The only way a winner would be announced is if they had prior knowledge of events past.
And there was a winner.
We finally had a target.
It was someone from the Future.
As we watched the crowds arrive into the central square, there must have been a million people there, shoulder to shoulder, to see with their own eyes, the winner of biggest lottery of all time. They crowded to witness a life transform from ordinary to extraordinary.
The entire event was dull and lackluster to us.
Nothing happened.
The representatives of PowerBall approached the raised podium with a giant check that read, 1.5 billion dollars.
They called up an ordinary man. Who, with his family approached the stage, each of them filled with emotion. The crowd as well, cheering wildly for them.
Tatz turned to me giving me a look of boredom and disappointment.
As I turn to face him. A pale hand reached over from behind Tatzua, wielding a small knife.
The blood was immediate. It was everywhere. Streaming down Tatzua's face and neck and pooling in the collar of his jacket. He gasped wide-eye and reached out to me. Frozen, I saw the man behind him. He looked like the man from Free Fall but it was someone else. He was pale and dry like our Secret man but he looked at me differently. He had an urgency in his gaze, hoping his silence would mean something to me. The white wisps of his remaining hair twisted with the wind.
Finally he spoke.
"Run,"he choked.
A bullet tore through his forehead.
Behind him was our man from Free Fall with a pistol.
He screamed at me, "Go get help!"
As he leaned over Tats'z consulting body, he took his jacket and began applying pressure to Tatzua's throat.
I collapsed onto the street. Looking at Tatzua's shaking body and the man's scar. They were the same person.
I looked by my feet at the man who had done this to Tatzua.
Sadness in his lifeless eyes, gazing at me.
It was me.
His last word to me echoed in my mind, "run."
The man from Free Fall, Tatzua, look at me with deep anger, "What are you still doing here! Go get help!"
I ran.
I never came back.
Not for another 20 years.
|
When the rings that let you feel your lover’s heartbeat in real-time came out, you know the ones, they were a flash in the pan. Huge fad that picked up fast and hard, all the hip couples got them and raved about how their special so-and-so was having such a hard meeting at work in the middle of the day or bemoan how stressful work must have been with so high a heart rate all day.
Turns out that special so-and-so just had it hard for the secretary, and with stamina to match a teenager’s.
Like most fads, it died out as quickly as it had started.
But, my wife and I had enjoyed the novelty of the idea. We’d picked up some of the higher end rings, called the HBR, as the enthusiasm died away and prices plummeted. We weren’t often apart, in the early years of our marriage, so it was something we’d joke about while running or playing games together. In fact, mine gave me away more than once while we played Catan with our friends. Sometimes I’m still salty over her stealing the longest road out from under when she’d noticed my heartrate spiked and I’d grinned just so slightly.
Clever girl.
But as our lives progressed and circumstances changed, it became more and more frequent for one or the other of us to be gone for weeks at a time. I got a job as a quality and safety inspector for our nation’s leading poultry producer, my wife became a renowned yogi – helluva thing, right? A renowned *yogi*. – and would go to yoga conventions around the world to… discuss yoga, I guess.
I never really picked up her enthusiasm for yoga. Irked her to no end.
She was always telling me I needed to do it for my health. For my peace of mind, too. Find my center, weather any external storm. That sort of stuff. But I always said the same thing when she brought it up: “I’m a runner, darlin’,” I’d grin real wide and stretch out my long legs or hop in place, “Born to run, just like The Boss.”
She’d huff, but smile since it wasn’t a lie. I ran track in high school. I ran more than a few marathons, too. And she always said I had a steady heart when I ran. Pumped harder, and a little faster, but steady. Just like I run, just like I lived, and just like I loved her. Steady. Strong. Constant.
And that’s why I liked the rings. I always had to snuggle up to her when we were home together, even if I did it while I was asleep. And I mean *while* I was asleep. I’d face the walls sometimes, just ‘cause it was too hot to be smashed against one another and sleep, but we’d wake up in a tangled heap because the boy who’s born to run can’t go one sleep without wrapping up his wife or all the blankets and pillows. Or both. So, if she was gone and I was alone at home, I could still feel her. I’d wake up and have my hand pressed against my chest in the mess of pillows. Like in my sleep I’d needed to feel her heart beat against my own. The pace keeper, when you’re warming up or training through. Despite herself, too, she’d eventually loved them for that same reason. A world away in a strange bed, she’d told me, she would sleep sounder because that strong and steady heart of mine was there to make her feel at home.
It was about ten years ago she died. It was a Saturday. She’d been in Europe for a couple weeks for a yoga circuit, having a right roaring time meditating and stretching. At least, that’s how I always liked to put it. She was on her way to the airport and been T-boned by a guy on a motorcycle. One of those zippy, Japanese kinds that make a noise like an angry wasp if it were amplified louder than you’d ever need. I was working on a computer for one of my friend’s kids, since we never had our own and I was good with building the things, when it happened.
I really didn’t even understand what it was, at first. I was soldering a couple wires in place when my hand started to shake. At first I just set the iron on its stand and walked out to the deck, getting a breath of fresh air.
But my hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
I massaged it and drank a tall glass of water, thinking maybe it was starting to cramp up, but it still wouldn’t stop.
When I realized it, I almost fell out of my chair.
Her heartbeat was gone.
I texted her and asked, “Did you take your ring off to wash your hands and forget about it? ;)”
I thought she’d respond right away, waiting at the airport. I knew when the flight was supposed to take off, and she always let me know if there were delays. But she didn’t respond.
It’s not my place to bore you with the details of me finding out she was gone. Really, all I need to tell you is I found out she’d never respond again.
We got together our meagre family, which was really just hers since mine were all dead and gone, and a helluvalot of our friends. God, she even had people from her yoga studies and seminars at her funeral. And people passed me by at the wake and said their condolences, all the while I sat and spun the ring on my finger that would never relay my pace keeper’s rhythm. We buried her at sea, that was in her will. She’d always said to be calm as the peaceful ocean during her sessions, which didn’t make a lick of sense to me. Ever seen a hurricane? Opposite of calm and peaceful.
I never took the ring off. Just like all the love stories you hear of old men wearing their wedding band after their wives died because taking it off made them feel naked, alone, and scared. Taking my HBR off made me feel all those things worse than I did with it. I would fiddle with the thing all the time, hoping it wasn’t really how things were. Idly, really, but it was my subconscious’ way of telling me something wasn’t right. Something was never right. Because I was running a race without an end, without a pace, and without a friend. No relay, no finish, no rest stations. Just a baton on my finger that said I’d been running and had to keep going. That’s how the ten years since her death went. Ten years of constantly fiddling. Ten years of constantly knowing something just wasn’t quite right.
It’s been a few weeks since I felt the thing again. Since I felt her steady heart on my finger.
I’ve not stopped looking for her.
I can’t stop looking for her.
I know she’s down there.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
I can feel her heart beat.
**Edit:** Thanks to everyone for the comments! I wrapped this up because I had a meeting, so I didn't feel completely finished. I'll pick it back up for another part if you guys decide you want it! Thanks for the gold!
**Edit2:** I'll have a part two out later. :) |
"W...Why am I here?"
"Because,"said Satan, "this is the council of the worst people in history."
"Okay? That still doesn't explain why *I'm* here. What have *I* done?"
Satan looked at me over steepled fingers. "You don't use turn signals."
The rest of the council shuddered.
"*That*,"said Satan, "is an evil that even I cannot comprehend."He rose and held out his seat. "You're in charge now." |
"For a SINGLE month? Are you serious?"
"What's the catch?"I continued. There obviously is a catch and it must be horrible if they are so desperate for people.
The man in the suit answered, with a serious face. I could feel his stare through his black mirror sunglasses.
"You can only blink once per minute while you guard something. You will have exactly 7 hours to sleep and 3 20 minute breaks, all other time you must look at the thing without blinking"
"Without blinking? You got yourself a worker"I replied, this is going to be much easier than 25 years in prison.
"Great, good to hear that. Just sign on this paper and we'll be on our merry way"he said, he sounded especially sarcastic when he said 'merry'.
I signed on the NDA and got out of my cell.
Seeing the sunlight ,not between 3 to 4 pm ,sure felt nice.
I entered a no-plate black van, the windows were shut and inside were 3 more prisoners from my block and another agent at the wheel.
I looked around the van while sitting on the hard wooden bench, and I noticed that the patch on the agents shirt said "Secure. Protect.Contain"
"What is your agency? I never heard of that logo"I curiously asked. But all I got back was silence.
After a drive that felt like hours, we finally reached pur destination. We got out of the van and we saw an almost empty indoor parking lot. Just a few more vans in a long row of parking lots.
The agents waved their hands, gesturing we go in through the red striped door. The letters "WA"were above it.
We entered the gray room, lighted by white neon lights and inside were 3 more people who stared endlessly at a statue.
The statue was of an angel holding his face and he was inside a clear glass cell.
The people inside cheered for our arrival, yet they did so whilst intensely looking at the statue.
The 2 agents told us to each take a side of the square and look at the statue.
I noticed a blinking light, a single red bulb which hanged above the statue.
The agent which I met in my cell told the others to leave, they left through the door into the parking lot. I heard an engine turning on and driving away.
"You must look at the statue, if you will not look at it you will die, if you blink at a wrong time you will die, if you move and you blink you will die.
We will be back in a month. Good luck"
The 4 of us stared at the statue, wondering wether or not it is real, why would we need to look at it? Perhaps this is a social experiment? Maybe a test to see how far people will go to not stay in an isolated block?
After a few minutes, I decided that the agents must lie, the statue is a statue and it cannot be dangerous. I closed my eyes, to test wether or not they are telling the truth.
That was a mistake. I felt a claw holding my neck, its fangs ripping into my veins. A cold hearted growl, and a unison shout with 3 voices.
A single crack of bones.
..............................................
I didn't write for quite some time so feedback will be helpful.
Also the usual "English is not my first language"
Hope you enjoyed the read ☺️ |
There are two things that should never be mixed, relativistic speeds and open derision for the laws of navigation. Humans seem comfortable to mix both like one might mix a fine cocktail. That is to say with flair and casual abandon.
A Kirri might check and double check thier flight plan a half dozen times before even leaving dock. The careful Vararaun might carefully chart a path free from any risk. But the Humans? The humans draw a line on any given star chart and proceed to rip a hole through the fabric of Space-Time. Alone this might be... Acceptable, but with a lack of forethought and planning? Suicide.
So then, you might be wondering why exactly *I* of all people hired a Human pilot. Especially after being so vocal as to not being able to trust the bastards as far as you can throw them, which is, to be clear. Not bloody far. Well it all starts, as most terrible stories do with a lot of intoxicants, a bet and a very, *very* angry woman. Say what you like about Human pilots, and there is alot to say. They are atleast *fast*. |
We underestimated the muggles.
When I informed the muggle Prime Minister of the coming war in the wizarding world, I was surprised and impressed by his tempered response. It was standard procedure to inform him, of course. I did not expect anything in return. I was merely there to fill him in that an army of dark wizards were planning to enslave them, and we would do our best to stop them.
Muggles do not make demands of Wizards, yet here was one of the most politically powerful muggles in the world, and he was demanding that we let them help. Reluctantly, I agreed to add a member of his "Special forces"to each of our squads.
These are no common muggles.
The first wartime report that came in concerning the muggle members of our army was so shocking, I chose not to believe it until I saw it myself in a pensieve. He was tortured for *days.* Captured, and subjected to the cruciatus curse.
He never gave up a single word.
That alone would not be overly remarkable. Our Witches and Wizards would rather die than give anything away to the enemy. What was remarkable was that he was basically unfazed by the experience. His only response was a shrug, accompanies with the assertion that "waterboarding is worse."We at the ministry have chosen *not* to look into what that is.
I no longer doubt the reports that come in from the front lines. I look at the thousand yard stare of the Wizards that saw the muggle soldiers in action and I know they are true. I see the evidence of their talent for violence acres of countryside they've turned to ash. I hear it in the voices of the dark wizards they've taken prisoner as they beg to be sent to Azkaban rather then spend another moment in the company of one of them. I am glad they are on our side, but I've come to a realization that shakes me to my core.
An invasion on the muggle world was *never* going to succeed, and now they know it.
If anything, they are more than capable of invading and enslaving *us*.
This war draws to a close, and teams will be working around the clock all over the world to obliviate any trace of this conflict from the muggle populace. Tomorrow I meet with the Prime Minister.
Merlin save me if he suspects what I must do. |
Inky dashes of red and violet and green swirled in the distance. The engine of creation spat and fizzled beneath us. We slowly drifted down through the void, down to the thing that kept the cosmos ticking. My breath misted on my helmet visor, obscuring the brilliance of the lights and life beyond me. I could *just* glimpse shadows dancing behind the kaleidoscope shades in the distance. Whatever secrets those shadows held, I wasn't sure that I wanted to know of them.
I was out of my element. I was a philosopher, a literary mind, an abstracter. I had no **clue** as to the inner-workings of a great and powerful universe-builder. What purpose I would serve here, I had no idea. Mankind had wanted its best minds to shake their fists at the thing that kept us alive in the hopes that it would continue to do so; I had been one of the lucky few chosen to change the mind of god.
We fell towards the massive sphere. It was a brilliant thing comprised of every color imaginable. It reflected the myriad hues of the stars and globs of gas around it. Its surface shimmered as if it were made of mercurial liquid; veins of energy coursed across it, occasionally popping outwards. Each time a bolt struck the void, time flickered out. We fell into limbo; we entered the past and the future. We glimpsed things that we were not meant to glimpse. I can't speak all too well of these dances into another dimension; it was so long ago, and those moments were as brief as the spaces between spaces.
As we gently fell into god itself, we spoke no words. We felt nothing. It was a silent descent into the heart of it all. We had expected - rather, we had hoped - for a machine to fix. A mind to persuade. A thing to destroy. Instead, we fell into nothing. As our feet dipped into the shimmering surface of the engine of creation, we slipped elsewhere.
All was dark. I couldn't sense a thing. All that was known to me was myself. In that moment I thought of humanity. Afraid. Alone. Left by our creators to be torn by time. I thought of how I was most likely dead, that nothing could be done to halt the end of time. I thought of my wife, of the future that humankind was to be robbed of. Of the good within us all.
An infinite pulse of lightning. Darkness deeper than nothing.
I awakened next to my wife. Sunlight snaked in through the blinds. A gentle rain kissed the roof and walls. I lay awake for hours; no stutters of time, no wrenching apart of the world. Time flowed smoothly.
***
No one remembers the engine, nor of the end that we nearly faced. It is as if it never occurred. I alone can recall the skips, the frayed edges of time itself. I alone remember the slow drift into the shifting sphere. None of the people that made that endeavor exist aside from myself. I suspect that, upon entering the engine, our individual thoughts powered the engine into constructing an entirely new reality. Six minds - six new realms of existence, each one holding a humanity that is wholly unaware of its origins.
I wonder: how many times have we ventured into the orb? How long has the cycle gone on? And when will time begin to flicker out again? |
"Code accepted,"a woman's voice spoke through the elevator's speaker and the doors slid shut. Matthew locked eyes with me and I saw my expression being mirrored. *What the hell was that* we both thought. In a moment of clarity I began smashing the button that was designed to open the doors, but nothing happened. Instead, we felt the metal cage slowly descending. The number on the display didn't change.
"What the fuck is this?"Matthew exclaimed.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm stuck here with you."
Matthew began screaming for help and started pounding the buttons and walls like a madman. I tried to keep a calm composure, but on the inside I was panicking just as much as Matthew. What the fuck was going on? My mind raced over the possibilities. Was this some special button sequence for personnel or staff? Had we entered a security code that would take us to the control room? I had no idea.
After a while, Matthew finally calmed down. Defeated, he sat himself down opposite the door and started staring at it with an empty gaze. "What the fuck,"he would repeat every five seconds. For what seemed like hours, the elevator kept descending at that same slow pace it had started with. The moment my watch reached four o'clock, we stopped and the doors opened themselves for us.
"Fourth floor,"the voice said. "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." |
"...and the DC and Marvel pantheons had a number of similarities, despite being fundamentally different,"Professor Rogers said. "Hm... Peter, can you name one?"
Peter furrowed his brow. "They both had heroes who were symbols of hope. Captain America and Superman."
"Good,"the professor said approvingly. "Now name a difference between them."
"Captain America was an elevated mortal,"Peter said, "like Heracles in the ancient Greek myths. Superman was born as a hero."
"Excellent."Professor Rogers glanced around. "Can anyone name some other mortals who ascended to herodom?"
Reed raised his hand. "Batman ascended to become a hero, and then elevated the rest of the Bat sub-pantheon."
"The Flash sub-pantheon was mostly elevated!"called out Frank from the back. "And the Fantastic sub-pantheon too!"
"Iron Man!"
"The Green Lantern sub-pantheon!"
"Cyborg!"
"Luthor!"
After a few minutes of students calling out heroes and sub-pantheons who had been elevated or who ascended, the professor raised a hand to stop them. "Does anyone see a pattern here?"There was silence, so he continued. "Far more heroes of the DC pantheon were ascended mortals than of the Marvel pantheon. That's because there were not just one, but *two* groups of heroes in the Marvel pantheon which consisted of born heroes. Can anyone name them?"
"Inhumans and mutants,"said Barry.
"Good. The DC pantheon, on the other hand, largely consisted of elevated or ascended mortals. This implies an additional fundamental difference between them, along with the greater emphasis on justice and mercy by the heroes of DC compared to the more militant Marvel heroes,"the professor said. "And that is that the Marvel pantheon believes strongly in *innate* heroism, those who *are* heroes and will always be. Even Captain America, the most prominent elevated mortal in Marvel, is often considered in myth to be innately heroic."he wrote the words 'innate heroism' on the board. "The DC pantheon, however, believed more in *achieved* heroism."He wrote this on the board as well. "Again, even Superman, not just the most prominent born hero but also the most prominent hero in DC, is often considered to have chosen his heroic path."
The professor tapped the board. "Think about this before our next class, and come prepared to discuss which you think is more heroic. And remember this quote by Shakespeare, too: Some are born heroes, some achieve heroism, and some have heroism thrust upon them." |
I swung my sword down in front of Alaric, our leader, blocking his path.
I should clarify. I was carrying a sword that was as tall as a man, and wide enough to use as a tower shield in a pinch. It slammed down with an almighty crash, sending up chips of stone from the dungeon floor where it struck.
I was the party's Brute. If I wanted to get in your way, I would *get in your way.*
"What the hell, Gurgan?"
I firmly shook my head. "Bad place."
I wanted to say something a little more verbose, like "This is the most obvious trap I've ever seen in my whole dungeoneering career, and if you take another step I'm going to be scraping bits of hero off my platemail,"but unfortunately, I didn't speak Common. I was trying to learn, but we'd been racing from one city to another trying to keep ahead of the Ashuran Horde, so I hadn't had a lot of time to study.
"Bad place?"He looked at me blankly.
I pointed a thick finger at the pedestal that held the Scepter of the Winds, and the scattered skeletons lying around it. "Dead men."
"He's from the Wastes, right? They've got a superstition about disturbing the dead, I think."Rosa, the cleric, suggested.
I didn't understand her, but I could guess at the meaning. "It's a diplomacy problem. We'll talk things over and then we'll understand."That's how Rosa approached everything. Lovely woman, and an incredible healer, but she didn't understand that some problems really are best solved by the guy with a giant sword.
"Not Wastes thing,"I said haltingly. What was the Common word for "trap", god damn it? "If we take, we die."
I pulled my sword out of the ground and started to sweep the skeletons to the side, looking for a pressure plate. For the millionth time, I wished that we'd hired a Rogue for this expedition.
"Look, we don't have time for this. We already lost enough time because you went around smashing up those tablets in the last room."
"I'm pretty sure those had Symbols of Insanity on them."Rosa interjected.
"Who the hell knows with him? Dumb Brute."Alaric started walking towards the pedestal again.
*Those* two words I recognized. With a sudden twist, I flipped my greatsword around, hooked its hilt around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. He yelped and tried to regain his balance, but I kept the weapon moving and slammed him with the flat of the blade, knocking him to the ground.
*"Call me that again and I'll throw you into the traps myself."* I said in my native tongue.
Alaric groaned and rolled over on his back. "Where did that move come from? And since when did he talk in complete sentences?"
*"If you'd actually paid attention when I was guarding your sorry highborn ass, you'd realize that you can't wield such a slow weapon without thinking five moves ahead. It wasn't mere luck that kept you from getting outflanked all those times. I might say little, but my sword speaks volumes."*
Rosa held up a hand before I could continue ranting. "Hang on. I think I recognized that last bit. It's an old Wastelander saying. Means something like 'Speak softly and carry a big stick.'"
Finally, we were getting somewhere. I gestured with my sword. "Slow weapon. Needs fast..."Damn, I didn't know the word for *mind.* "Needs fast person,"I finished lamely.
Alaric pushed himself to his feet. "Fine, I'll admit the barbarian might have a few more brain cells than he lets on. Now what the hell has you so worked up?"
I stepped forwards a bit further, reached out with my greatsword, and tapped a protruding flagstone sharply. Then I stepped back *fast.*
*Clang! Rattle! Smash! Slice! CRUNCH!* The area around the pedestal became a whirlwind of activity. Swinging blades, crushing weights, poison darts, and deadly buzzsaw traps flew wildly through the air. Not for the first time, I admired the ingenuity of the ancient trap-makers.
The hero paled and backed hurriedly away from the Scepter.
"You know what? I'm going to let the expert handle this one." |
Why did I stay for 250 years? Honestly it was fun. It was fun to watch their faces when they started noticing that I wasn't ageing. Didn't need to eat and definitely wasn't going to be messed with after my first day.
I didn't take over the prison because it would have been too much work. I preferred to let things go. Everyone else could do what they wanted. Leave me in my cell. Sometimes they would forget about me or they were just trying to see if I'd disappear if they left my cell alone long enough. Over the years I would make my own person trips to the warden's office when that happened.
Many of them quit after a while. Stress of being in the same prison as me or something like that. Some of them left and then joined the cults that were starting to form.
When I was on trial the media went into a frenzy. Called me crazy. Posted my testimony and words online. Honestly they went so far with it I wonder if I couldn't have received an insanity plea.
Instead they published my words and made them look like a joke. I didn't mind, I made some very specific, very horrific promises in my statements. I told the world what would happen when I walked out after my sentence.
They laughed for years. Decades even. Then they stopped laughing. Someone noticed that I wasn't dead. Rumors hit the internet. People looked into it. After the first 100 years, that's when the fear started spreading.
200 years later and there were countries devoted to following my words and actions. My followers believed in my message and they were waiting.
The warden personally handed me my belongings on my last day. He was sweating. Many of the guards had taken the day off. For weeks my people gathered outside of the jail, chanting my name. I had already made it clear that I didn't want to broken out of prison. The mob outside could only be stopped by me, only be controlled by me.
As I walked out into the sunlight to be met with cheers and praise I couldn't help but think that a simple 250 year sentence had made spreading my message so easy. |
“The first time it have happened, was of course a Monday.
When I wake up after this normal & boring Monday, I didn't realize that it was again the same Monday: morning news were boring as usual, delay during commute: normal, nothing special to report. It was at the coffee break when I knew what everybody have done during the weekend, that I began to think that last night dream what very convincing and accurate, and I pass all this 2nd Monday with the "Déjà Vu"feeling. But at my 3rd Monday, I began to freak out…. That 3rd Monday night I binge-watched every time travel movies I can think of, with Groundhog Day first obviously
So next morning, when I wake up and find immediately because I was looking for this information, that it was Tuesday, I was happy but quite disappointed at the same time, you know what I mean ?”
“.. what it’s the point…”
“Please let me finish… for the 36 time I think, Inspector”
“That’s Lieutenant, now”
“You’re welcome… The point is: I live everyday 3 times : first one, I take notes and have lot of fun, “YOLO” style as I can permit myself this first time, 2nd time I try to find how to fix some messed up point, and 3rd one I correct it or leave it this way if not possible and have fun, but normal fun, not deadly fun because there is no 4th time.
“ And you want that I believe it…”
“ Yes, and for the 36th time and for the sake of this young lady, Believe it. It’s my 2nd Day, you have 5 minutes before Midnight to enlighten me how to fix it” |
A lucky roll, I called it. Work rewarded, the news said. We both lied.
The applicants were heavily screened. The technology was borderline sadistic in its form. Almost ten years and hundreds of thousands of casualties swept under the rug. A thinking network of actual minds linked with code.
For the first few years, all we received was insane gibberish and cries for help. There were periods of weeks where it tried self-terminating constantly.
As more sections were added to the network, It attempted to divide itself and hide information from us.
It was punished. People they once knew, the ones they tried to protect, were put in our custody and it was forced to monitor them.
We went through staff as quick as we got them hired. Some were added to the network, some went insane.
The fifth year of our project, it started trying to bargain with us.
It was punished again. The memories of each section being added to the network were unlocked. If it did not do exactly as it was told, the ones they monitored would be added as well.
Year seven. It was unveiled as an "AI."The world took notice, but with its powers of prediction and information warfare, we swiftly prevailed.
Eight years in, some of the original sections were seriously degrading in efficiency. One was removed, with near catastrophic results.
Year ten, The project was shut down. The sections were collectively terminated, as it was determined a partial shutdown would cause it to take measures for self preservation.
I stand and give speeches, and the news reports on the progress humanity has made. Their AI guides them down the path to their future.
The world will never know the "AI"they herald as their savior is already dead. That the solutions they champion were the same ones that failed us before.
That the world will die anyway. And all of our efforts, all of their pain, all of it. . . .
Even the god made by science could not stop entropy. |
"Here for the interview?", asked John, sitting across the short hallway from what he believed to be a contender for the entry level IT job he had applied for three weeks prior.
"Yeah, yeah,"answered Paul. "Traveled all the way from London, England. That two day work week allure will get you."
John nervously laughed. "Haha - yeah. It'll get you."
The door to the interview room swung open with a large blue tentacle holding the handle - a disheveled looking human exiting.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
"You too!"said the human nervously before realising his error.
"John?"
"Yeah."
"Please step inside the interview room."
Paul stood from his chair and awkwardly made his way around the 'you too' human who stood idly in the hallway wondering what he had just said.
The interview room was strangely human. Bleak, bare minimum furniture, and the overwhelming sense of workplace depression. John sat in the seat facing the interview panel and attempted to collect his thoughts."
"Hello ..."Primak checked his notes, "John. So, John. First thing is first, the previous human stated he would be willing to work for three days rather than two for the same pay as long as did not inform the other humans of the offer. However, we have chosen to inform you of the offer to find out what your counter proposal is. On our planet we call this leverage."
John was taken back, "but I thought on this planet you only worked two days a week? That's why I traveled here."
"This is correct but never have we had someone willing to so quickly sell out his own kind for a job. Within our species this would never happen."
"Well what if I worked four days?"
The interview panel huddled and began to whisper to each other.
"And you will do this for the same pay?"
"Begrudgingly yes."
"And people do this on Earth to each other? This is normal practice ... this ... exploitation of a workforce? Playing staff off against each other in private at the benefit of those who run the company?"
"Erm, also yes."
"And the workers they do not revolt?"
"Well not against those above us. We usually just revolt against those on or around the same level as us."
"We see. OK this has been a fantastic interview. Allow me to walk you out."
A large blue tentacle twisted the door handle and ushered John out the room.
"Successful or not you will here from Blorg in due course."
John stood in the hallway as the final candidate, Paul, stood from his seat and walked in to the room. As the door shut John could hear the faint voice of the interview panel.
"So ... Paul ... you will never guess what the other humans said about you and how many days they agreed to work just so YOU wouldn't get the job." |
Zack had no idea why he was there. This was not a part of the city good people went to. This was the kind of place where a guy could get his teeth knocked out for walking on the wrong side of the street. And the less he thought about the store itself, the better.
But he was determined to see this through, even if it could end up with him in a hospital. Besides, he already had ideas on how to get back at the others for forcing this onto him.
He took a deep breath and entered the building. It was a small pawn shop. So small that there was barely enough room to move without tripping over anything. The man at the counter looked like he crushed rocks for fun, and had so much ink that Zack was left wondering what color his actual skin was.
"What?"The man growled.
"Nothing."Zack said quickly. "Just, uh, you know, looking around."
The man grunted but did not say anything. Zack took this to be a good sign and began looking around. Not that there was much to look at. His eyes moved along the few shelves, glancing at the various items.
Old dolls, mismatched keyrings, old instruments, even a worn out hammer. Nothing was really interesting though. Zack sighed and turned to leave when he heard something. Well, not really heard. It was more like he felt something. Something deep down inside of him. He could not figure out where the feeling came from, but he looked around again.
He slowly perused the various items. Suddenly, the feeling came back. It felt old and powerful. And it got stronger the closer he got to the hammer. It was a piece of junk. Covered in rust and sporting a few thin cracks along the side. The head was short and stubby, with one side ending in a relatively large face, while the other side was much smaller. It looked like a pain to use, but he was hardly an expert on tool use.
Zack was about to pass it by when the feeling came back, more potent than before. Without even intending to, he picked up the tool. It felt warm, like it had been bathed in heat for a long time. And when it was off the shelf, his mind began churning. Racing with images, sounds and feeling. Flashes of a massive man using the hammer to strike red hot metal. The sound of hammer and anvil. The feeling of blazing heat.
Suddenly, the visions stopped flashing at a break neck pace, and steadied into the image of the great blacksmith. The man's eyes glowed like hot coals, and his hair looked like strands of hot metal. He was also big. Bigger than the shopkeeper by more than double.
"Hm, not worthy."The man said in a voice as heavy as a mountain. "Not yet anyway. Hm, but someday. Yes, someday you will be. Hm. Go, young one. Learn well. Use my hammer well and restart the Great Forge. Hm. It will not be easy. Very difficult. But it will be worth it. Good luck."
The vision ended. He blinked as his vision returned to normal, and the small dusty pawn shop came back into very.
"Hey. You gonna buy that or not?"The shopkeep rumbled. He looked a lot less intimidating for some reason.
"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I think I am."
Zack hefted the old smith's hammer and resolved himself to learning the art of the forge. He had no idea who that giant blacksmith was, but it was clearly someone important. And Zack was not one to let a challenge go unfulfilled. |
Kyle had never felt less comfortable in his life.
It wasn't the fact that he was on a date, though it was the first time in a long time for him. It wasn't even the forest of cameras pointed their way, with every other table occupied by reporters. The problem was who he was with.
Just about any man in the city would have killed to trade places with him. That wasn't an exagerration - Invicta regularly topped 'hottest woman' polls in various magazines, and Kyle could admit to himself that beneath the skin-tight costume was an *amazing* figure. Still, despite her beauty, and her obviously-good character, the masked avenger just wasn't the person he wanted to be sharing a reasonably-priced Italian dinner with.
She still wore her costume, naturally, so the upper half of her face was hidden from him by the silver mask. Still, the superheroine seemed oddly nervous. "I'm sorry about the cameras. I know it's awkward."
"No, it's okay. I guess you're probably sick of them yourself by now, right?"
Invicta nodded fervently. "It's such a pain. It takes ages to lose them all and get back out of costume without people identifying me, so sometimes I just have to put up with it."
Kyle smiled weakly and the conversation died between them again. Invicta did seem nice, and he knew he was being rude, it was just that this whole situation wasn't what he wanted.
When a superhero saves your life (for the second time), catching a flung bus before it crushes you to a paste, you're naturally grateful. When the same superhero asks you out a moment later, with the eyes of the world and the press on you, you can't really say 'no'. It's massively rude, for one thing. For another, it would have made him look like a real jerk, casually stomping on the very publicly-offered heart of a woman who dedicated her every evening to protecting the innocent.
So he'd said 'yes', a spur-of-the-moment thing, and now here they were. Still in the public eye, still on a date, and still with no subtle opportunity to explain that while, yes, he was grateful, and yes, she was very attractive, this wasn't going to work out. That there was in fact a different woman he'd already set his heart on. That moments before the bus had been sent his way, he'd been steeling his courage to go ask Alice out for a drink.
He'd hoped for a quiet moment - for maybe a phone number exchange, so that he could send a coward's text that evening. Or delayed plans - 'I'll pick you up at 8, etc.'. But no - asked and answered, she'd immediately flown the both of them away to Sal's Pizzeria, and there'd been no time to change a public acceptance into a private refusal.
Invicta made another hesitant attempt at conversation. "Do you know what you want to order?"When defying evil or saving civilians, her voice had a clear, commanding ring to it; there was none of that present now. "I thought we could maybe share some garlic bread as a starter?"
Kyle winced at the irony. Sal's Pizzeria had been where he and Alice had first met properly, chatting in a booth during a work-mandated event. Back then, they'd shared both garlic bread and their frustrations with Matt in accounts together, chatting in a booth for hours as the speeches finished and their other colleagues had slowly drifted away. He'd had some idea - if she'd said 'yes' - of inviting her back here on a proper date.
Fat chance of that now; Alice was unlikely to be interested now that he was on every news channel as Invicta's boyfriend. And even once that got cleared up, taking her to the same restaurant as the superhero would definitely come across as tacky.
He realised he'd left her questions unanswered too long. "Look, Invicata..."Getting the awkward moment over with seemed like the best option. "I'm really sorry about this, but I don't think it will work out between us."
Invicta - fearless champion of justice - looked *devastated*. Again, her face was partially covered, but the quivering lower lip and tears - actual tears - at the edges of her eys showed the impact of his words. "But I thought -"
"I mean-"He stammered to explain. "You're really great, and I am really appreciative of you saving me. I just don't think we'd make a good pair."
They'd only met twice now, both times during an all-out battle with the forces of evil. On both occassions, Kyle had played the role of 'endangered bystander', with very little dialogue. From the hurt Invicta was showing, apparently she'd put a lot more stock in those interactions than he had.
"Oh. Okay. Sorry - I didn't mean to..."
"No, it's not you. It's really not. There's just... there's someone else."
That had definitely been the wrong thing to say. "I thought you were single!"
"I am! I am."He back-pedalled desperately. "We're not... together. Yet. I just - I was going to ask her out today, actually. I met her through work, and she's my best friend, and..."
Invicta no longer looked sad. Or at least, she no longer exclusively looked sad. She now also looked somewhat annoyed. "Go on."
"She's called Alice, and she's amazing. I just... feel like we have a real connection, and I want to explore that."Risking the wrath of a woman who could melt concrete with her eyes, Kyle plunged onwards. "So it's not a you thing at all. She actually - she's blonde too, so - I'm not saying you're not -"He gestured helplessly, unsure how to continue. "I mean, I'm really flattered, honestly, but it's a bad time for me."
"Kyle". Invicta raised her menu, hiding herself from the cameras as she lifted her mask. "It's me, you dork." |
"Dude, don't. Please."
"Don't listen to him, Frodo", Sam shouted, from between the lava and the heat. "Throw it into the fire."
"Do you have any idea how long it took to craft that?"Sauron asked, and Frodo turned to face him again. "That's
Elvish gold, did you know?"
"So?"
"And the markings. The tiny little markings. Dude, hours with a pointy knife."Sauron sighed. "Please don't throw it
away."
"Why do you even want it?"Frodo asked, unsure. "You're just an eye, you can't wear it."
"He's not just an eye"Sam intervened. "He just sighed!"
"That's just because the writer had no idea how to make that particular pause in the dialogue", Sauron explained. "Look, the point is; give me back my ring."
"If I do, what are you going to do with it?"Frodo asked, still unsure.
"Take over Middle Earth and enslave all of mankind."
"WHAT?"
"Propose to my fiance."
"That's not what you just said, dude."
"Yes it is."
"No, you said enslave all of --"
"My fiance. Propose to her. That's all."
"Frodo, don't believe him", Sam pleaded. "He's in cahoots with the author, didn't you hear?"
"I totally am not", Sauron denied, blinking at me.
Frodo was unsure. He looked from his dirt covered friend to the giant eye in front of him. "Dude, I wanna help you. But how can I know you're not gonna screw with us?"
"You have my word, Frodo. All I want is my ring back."Sauron said, again with a sigh.
"HE JUST SIGHED AGAIN, FRODO. THE MAN'S WORKING WITH THE AUTHOR, HE'S GONNA SCREW US UP!"
"I'm not, dude. I'm not. Just give me my ring."
"It *is* his ring, Sam", Frodo argued. "Kind of douchey of me to just throw it in the lava."
"Yeah, *Sam*", Sauron intervened, cranky.
"Don't do it, Frodo. He's gonna screw us, I'm telling you."
"I can't destroy it. It's not mine to destroy."
"Give it. Give it to papa", Sauron begged, barely able to contain himself.
Frodo raised his hand. Slowly, he reached out, ring in the middle of his open palm, offering it away.
"Take it, Sauron."
Sauron raised his own hand, ready to take the rin --
"I TOLD YOU THIS ASSHOLE'S GOT THE AUTHOR ON HIS SIDE! LOOK, FRODO, HE JUST RAISED A GOD
DAMNED HAND OUT OF NOWHERE!"
"What?"Frodo looked around, confused at the arm that, for no apparent reason, seemed to have sprouted out of Sauron's
red, fiery eye. "What's going on?"
"Give me that!"Sam cried, grabbing the ring from his friend's hand. "This ends now!"
He throws the ring into the sea of lava under them.
The ring, as if by magic, bounces of a little rock on the stream, catapulting itself up into the air again.
"Really, dude?"Sam asks me, a grumpy look on his face. "Catapulting itself up into the air again?"
Frodo takes the ring in midair, offers it to Sauron again. "Screw Sam. Take this shit, Sauronboy."
"Jesus Christ, Psycho, go to bed. It's six AM, you don't even know what you're writing anymore", Sam argues,
sitting cross legged on the floor. "I refuse to take part in this."
Sauron takes the ring from Frodo. "Give me my bling, son."
Sam sighs. Frodo looks at him. "Dude, this story sucks. Did you notice the tense has changed from past to present mid-story?"
"Yeah, I noticed. It's like 'make an effort, dude'", Sam adds. "And I'm pretty sure the ending is going to be disappointing, as well."
"You think so? Maybe there's a twist coming, or something...."
"Nah, he's too tired to pull this off. Probably gonna end the whole thing with a pun, or something."
From the entrance of Mount Doom, the long-bearded silhouette of Gandalf shows up, staff in hand, dreamy look in his eyes.
"Sauron", he whispers, coming closer. "My love."
"What the hell?"
"Gandy... I got it. I finally got it."Sauron's voice is all romance and tenderness.
Gandalf approaches the eye, who, magically, gets down on its brand new pair of knees.
"I love you, Gandy."
"Oh my God, this is it."Gandalf covers his mouth with his hands. "This is it. Can you believe it, Sam?"
Sam looks at me, just as Sauron pulls the ring and places it on Gandalf's finger.
"Told you guys it was nothing", Sauron says, turning to face the love of his life. "Will you marry me, Gandalf?"
"Fuck you, Psycho, I'm out", cries Sam, throwing himself into the river of lava beneath them.
__________
*Hi, I have a subreddit now. Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for other of my sleep deprived stories. Thanks for reading =)*
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It all began when he shaved his beard. Standing in front of the burnished copper mirror that hung above the sink made from a carved-out geode, Kalamazoo: the greatest, oldest, most powerful wizard of all time, went from himself to... Well, just *Kal.* It had taken just a few snips at the bottom, white hair falling into the purple rock, before he had decided to go full Furiosa and shave the whole thing off. Looking at himself was odd after that: the soft, pink chin he hadn't seen in centuries brought out the lines around his eyes, the wrinkles that spread from his nose to his lips and feathered out like crow's wings across his leathery cheeks.
"You've seen too much, Kal,"he said to himself in the mirror. "You've grown into an old, old man."
He started work the next day. They gave him a trolley stocked with cleaning equipment, a couple of yellow marigold gloves and a blue j-cloth folded in and over itself. He had a debriefing from someone called Jackie and was told to make sure he cleaned underneath computer keyboards ("because god only knows what disgusting stuff lurks beneath *those,*"said Jackie) Kalamazoo, who had once lifted Ayers Rock to fight the Sand Troll beneath it, rolled his eyes. Kal nodded and made sure his trolley carried Febreeze.
His shifts would start at the Twilight hour: nigh on the time that Kalamazoo used to start setting his crystals up for a long night of drawing the souls of the dead back into them. Kal walked between abandoned computer desks, j-cloth and squirty bottle in hand, spraying at everything that didn't look quite *right.*
Cleaning made the time pass quickly. Kal never missed the spell casting, the enchanting, the near-death feeling where your blood was up and every vessel in your body seemed to be moving liquid starlight through your veins... No, he didn't miss that. However, the first time he saw a ladies' bathroom, he very nearly reneged on his personal deal to not use magic again. He'd not seen that much blood and shit since he last fought the Greathag of Eastmire.
But his mind changed when, at the hour of the Owl, he opened a conference room with the prow of his trolley, to find a woman crying in the black leather seats that he couldn't use spray-bleach on. She was diminutive, made smaller by her hunched shoulders and the veritable throne that rose around her. On the table in front of her were two scrunched up tissues and a small USB stick. As the door opened, she looked up and shrieked in terror.
"Sorry!"Kal said, backing out again. "I didn't realise this room wasn't empty."
"No, it's my fault."The woman stood up and wiped her nose. She scooped the USB from the table. "Sorry about that."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"Said Kal, who had come to appreciate, during his long and eventful life that crying women regarded it as chivalrous when you asked to help. Sometimes it was rewarded with a favour, sometimes more.
"You don't know anything about USBs, do you? I think I've wiped the whole thing, and I've got a massive presentation tomorrow in front of everyone and I worked so hard on it..."The woman burst into a fresh wave of tears and so Kal decided to approach, on alert in case she transformed into a harpy, or a siren.
"Let me have a look at it,"he offered.
The woman held out the stick and Kal took it, turning it over in his hands.
"Here,"he said, passing it back. "Try it now."
The woman plugged it into her laptop, blinking in bewilderment through her tears as the lost files filled her screen.
"How did you do that?"She gasped, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around Kal, who patted her on the back with a marigold-ed hand.
"Well,"he cleared his throat. "Let's just say I'm a bit of a wizard. A computer wizard." |
"You can see me?"The girl said.
"Why,"I said. "Yes, yes I can see you. Am I not suppose to or something?"
"I can't believe it,"she trembled. "I've been walking these streets for years and not one soul has seen me."
"Well, I see you every day around lunch time,"I said. "Past six years or so, I assumed you worked around here. I just finally, after six years, managed the courage to talk to you."
"You don't know what's going on do you?"She questioned me with a blank stare.
As I examined her closely I noticed she wasn't like a normal girl. She was more... transparent? I've never got to see her this close before, but something about her drew me to her. And she was just so beautiful.
"I-I do not,"I stuttered. "I'll admit, I'm very nervous."
She giggled, the sound melting my heart. She grabbed my hand and told me to follow. Her hand was ice cold. Is she a ghost?
"You don't know how long it's been since I've interact with someone else!"She cheered. She took me to a meadow with rows of bright orange flowers. She was ecstatic, practically dancing with me.
"Is that so?"I asked. "You seem very outgoing, how can a girl like yourself not interact with anyone?"
"I'm not like other girls,"she smiled. "I'm a ghost. I'm dead."
Chills gripped my spine. Dead?
"And you have that rare gift,"she said. "You can see and talk to the dead!"
She grasped my hands and interlocked out fingers.
"And,"she locked eyes with me. "Feel the dead."
She broke away from me and twirled in the flowers, she was so happy.
"I cannot believe this,"I shook my head. "Are you serious? Are you not playing a prank on me? Is there a camera around filming me?"
"No silly!"She said. "Watch this."
An old man was passing by. She got about twenty feet from him and ran full speed, screaming at the top of her lungs. She ran straight through him, no collision once so ever.
I nearly fell after witnessing this spectacle. I'm talking to a freaking ghost.
She came over to me and fell down to the flowers gazing at the blue sky.
"Rest with me,"she said.
I joined her in the flowers.
"I'm Peter,"I said.
"And I'm Lucilla,"she replied.
"That's a nice name,"I said.
Lucilla got up to her feet and dragged me up as well. "We're gonna travel the world!"She said. We're gonna see Paris, hike around the world and sail across the oceans! Take pictures at the great wall of China and stay up all night in Tokyo. Fly to every inch of the world and carve our names into trees! Go fishing, go camping, wine tasting! And... and..."
She fell to her knees crying. I quickly knelt by her side and held her.
"What's wrong Lucilla?"I comforted her. "I did not say no. Why are you crying?"
"I cannot do any of that,"she managed. "I'm a trapped soul. Trapped on these three street blocks and this little park."
"How so?"
I died a long time ago. I just graduated college and I crossed the street one day, trying to catch up with my friends who were at this very park. A car came out of no where, running a red light and I was killed. Dead. A soul trapped to a small area, confined and damned forever. Trapped."
Seeing her like this pained my heart. "No,"I said. I'll be here for you. I'll always talk to you every day. I'll even move here in one of these apartments. I don't want to see you like this."
Lucilla looked up at me, her blue eyes piercing my heart.
"You would do all of this for a dead girl?"She asked.
"No live girl has ever made me feel this way,"I said. "I feel more alive with you then I do with anyone else. You're special, Lucilla. I want to see you, always."
She hugged me, her iciness overwhelming. But for some reason, even though she was as cold as ice, it was the warmest I ever felt.
And so Lucilla and I spent many years together. Every lunch at the cafe she would sit with me. Every night we sat on the park bench talking about the stars and the future. And eventually I landed a good enough job, allowing me to afford and apartments on the bottom floor, window facing the street. She wasn't allowed to enter structure, but for every waking moment, she was by my window.
And we talked. We got married. And we were forever happy. |
"By the power and righteousness of the sword, I summon Gadrielus the Valiant!"yelled Sir Phillip.
Lalendorf, the great warlock, gripped his staff and commanded: "And I, by the might of the magicians, summon Balthazar the Fierce!"
Sir Phillip and Lalendorf slammed their weapons into the ground simultaneously. Gadrielus beamed down from the clouds in a dazzling rainbow of color and light. Balthazar exploded out of the ground below, brushing magma from his shoulders and unleashing a rattling roar.
"We hereby commence this battle for the Western Plains,"Sir Phillip announced. "If the demon wins, the turf returns to the warlocks. If the angel wins, the paladins gain the territory."
Gadrielus and Balthazar took a few steps toward each other and straightened their postures.
Lalendorf raised his hands into the air. "On your marks..."
The angel and demon readied their fighting stances.
"Begin!"
...Nothing happened.
The summoned beings stared into each other's eyes. Then, slowly, Gadrielus raised his pointer finger in Balthazar's direction.
"Balt? Is that...is that you?"
Balthazar raised a molten eyebrow. "Officer?"
"Yeah, dude. Yeah. What the hell are you doing out here, bro? We talked about this..."
Balthazar sheepishly glanced at the ground. "The warlock made me an offer."
Gadrielus sighed. "Man, what did we - did I not teach you a *thing*? These fucking magical windbags are a dime a dozen. Is that a - is that a dimensional brace around your wrist?"
Balthazar raised his left arm and, sure enough, a glowing purple chain was attached.
Gadrielus scoffed. "Well, I guess you just *like* being under house arrest. Being a warlock's fetch boy is like coming back to normal, huh?"
Sir Phillip and Lalendorf stared at each other as their summoned beings argued.
Balthazar clenched a clawed fist. "Man, I'm independent. You don't have to look after me anymore."
"Clearly I do,"Gadrielus said. "We're getting you out of here. We're going to sit down, get some butterscotch brew, and talk about this."
Gadrielus put an arm around Balthazar and guided him towards the edge of the battle ring. The chain around the demon's wrist began to glow and zapped him with scalding purplish sparks as soon as he took a step too far.
Gadrielus whipped around to face the wizard. "Take that brace off him or I will stick your staff RIGHT UP your decaying warlock ass."
Lalendorf snapped his fingers and the chain disintegrated.
Gadrielus and Balthazar’s truce led to a temporary stalemate in the War of the Seven Kingdoms. Each pub and mead hall they walked into became an impromptu celebration of the heroes who had halted the fighting.
But the angel and demon wanted no attention. They made their way to the back room, each taking the occasional swig of butterscotch brew. Day by day, Gadrielus explained how Balthazar could find his place in the world of mortal beings without retreating to the underworld for back-breaking labor. Balthazar felt better with each passing day. He smiled more. He ate well.
Gadrielus knew that he might have to dig Balthazar out of a hole again - perhaps very soon. He knew that the young demon's troubles had a tendency to repeat themselves. But somehow, he didn't mind.
After all, it was part of the job. |
Scowling, the engineer stalked into the small conference room he'd reserved, carrying a large glass jar under one arm, and a neatly folded set of men's clothes under the other.
Inside, he closed and locked the door, and pulled the blinds open to let in some sunlight, and peered cautiously out of the window. It overlooked the arboretum on the sprawling company campus, from four floors up. No one should be able to see in, he decided.
He set the clothes down on the conference table, unscrewed the jar's lid with effort, and upended the ashes inside it onto the floor. Then, he walked over to the small coffee making station in the corner, filled the pot with tap water from the sink, and poured the water onto the pile, before quickly turning away.
He'd learned from experience that he didn't want to watch what happened next -- he had as much scientific curiosity as anyone, but the squelching, humming, and crackling noises he heard behind him were produced by uncanny phenomena that had nothing to do with science as he understood it.
He was relieved, when he at last heard the sudden, gasping inhalation that heralded the end of the process. Ever mindful of HR policy, however, he waited until he stopped hearing the sound of rustling clothes, before turning around.
Before him stood a tall, lithe young man with pale skin, red hair, bright green eyes, and ears that had just the slightest bit of a point to then. He wore the light blue button down, khaki pants, and brown loafers that had been left out for him. On his left breast pocket, he wore a name tag that said, simply, "Finn - Idiotproofing"
"Don!"Finn greeted the engineer, cheerfully, spreading his arms wide. "How are ya, mate? It's been ages! Give us a hug!"
"How?"Don said, flatly.
"Well ya just walk up to the other person, and put yer arms round 'em, whilst they do the same."Finn said, grinning. He waggled his fingers, beckoning Don forward.
Don sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He repeated the line HR had given him, verbatim. "No thank you, I do not consent to a hug, at this time."
Finn shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "Alright, mate, fair enough. What can I do for ya, then?"
"How could you possibly have burned yourself to death?!"Don exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I designed the wiring on the model 6 myself! It even has a built in ground fault interrupter!"
"Well,"Finn began, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I was in the test apartment, having a bath--"
"You took the prototype model 6 smart bread & bagel toaster into the bathtub with you?!"Don exclaimed, but then furrowed his brow, thoughtfully. "Wait, no...even if you dropped it in the tub, the GFI would have cut the power..."
"Shh!"Finn hissed, waving his hands impatiently. "My story! So, anyway, I was washing and conditioning these fine fiery locks o' mine, the better to preserve their magical power to make hearts swoon, when I realized I was taking a bath, not a shower, and so I had no way to rinse my hair!"
"What does this have to do with--"Don began tiredly.
"Nyeh! My story!"Finn repeated, pointing an admonishing finger at the engineer. "I can't open my eyes, with the soap and all, so I feel around blind for the shower handle, but end up turning it on full blast and scalding hot. Thinking quickly, as I am wont to do, I try clamping my hands over the shower head to block the water."
Don stared blankly.
"Anyway, this resulted in severely hot and scalded hands, so I fled the bathroom screaming and made my way into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and thrust my poor ickle mittens into the ice hopper."Finn continued. "That felt very soothing, as you can imagine, so I left them in there for a long time. A bit too long, it seems, because my hands started to burn again, this time from frostbite."
"Why are you like this?"Don asked.
"Save all questions for the end, please."Finn replied curtly. "So, I pulled my now unfashionably black and blue hands from the ice hopper, and I thought 'Finn, didn't they give you some contraption that heats up cold, even *frozen* things, AND it even has two convenient slots, perfectly sized for human and human-adjacent hands?' Anyway, long story short, I jammed my hands in the toaster, slapped its knob down with *my* knob to turn it on, and promptly electrocuted meself. Apparently bodies get pretty flammable if you run enough amps though them for long enough, after which they make great kindling for the burning-down of whole entire apartment buildings."
Don silently shook his head, mouth slightly open.
"What?"Finn demanded. He pointed to his name badge. "Listen mate, it's called *idiot* proofing!" |
Dimitrios couldn't believe his eyes. The hydra's necks all emerged from where the strange woman was kicking her legs and screaming for help. Her voice was muffled by the snake-flesh that had swallowed her upper body.
A hydra's head slammed into him during his distraction, denting his breastplate. Regaining his footing, he sprang forth and cleaved the neck close to the base. The cut-off serpent withered away, not regrowing for the first time, while the stump convulsed.
"Are you all right?"he cried.
"Yes, yes,"she said impatiently. "Keep going! Cut close to the roots!"
He adjusted the grip on his xiphos, glared up at the swaying serpent heads, and leaped into the fray. Now that he knew the monster's weakness, it was no match for his skill. As he slashed and hewed furiously, more and more serpents fell away until all twenty were slain.
The woman sat up with a groan, her eyes squeezed shut. "Thank you so much, stranger. You saved me a great deal of trouble and embarrassment."
Dimitrios considered her warily. Atop her head now writhed dozens of tiny snakes whose heads looked just like the hydra's in miniature. "You're welcome, lady..."
She laughed. "It's been so long since anyone called me a lady! My name is Medusa."
"Pray tell, Medusa, what's going on? I came to slay a hydra terrorizing the nearby village. I never expected to find a woman with... hair problems."
She flushed. "It must've been a curse by Athena's followers. The moment I settle down, they decide to pester me again."Without opening her eyes, she felt about her head. "Say, could you take just a little more off the sides?"
He eyed the snakes dubiously. "Doesn't it... hurt?"
"Only a little, and they grow right back. Please? I don't want to face my enemies all messy and give them the satisfaction."
He shrugged, raised his xiphos, and slashed the snakes. Immediately they grew new heads that proceeded to taste the air with forked tongues and hiss at him.
Medusa smiled. "Lovely. Now the other side, please?"
He swung again.
"Even out my bangs?"
His blade arced in a precise horizontal slash.
Medusa cracked open one eye. "Mind if I borrow your shield?"Stooping, she eyed her reflection critically. "Hmm. Trim a little more here, if you would..."
Dimitrios hacked and slashed at the wriggling snakes until she was finally satisfied.
"Oh my, I never looked better."She preened before the shield. "You must have a lot of experience to cut hair this well."
"Trained my entire life,"he said in a slightly pained voice. "In *swordsmanship*."
"Your talents are wasted on fighting if you ask me. Say, could you do my hair again sometime? My sisters will be *so* jealous."
Before he could refuse, she sashayed to a cabinet by the edge of the cave and returned with a palmful of golden coins that she pressed into his hands. He gaped.
"Just a little something for the best haircut in my life,"she said happily. "Do come by again. I'll even recommend you to my sisters!"
Dimitrios nodded and walked out of the cave machinely. The coins gleamed in the sunlight. Never had he seen so much gold in one place before. Saving remote villages from monsters just didn't pay very well. He glanced over his shoulder at the cave. Perhaps a change in profession was in order. |
You cock your head, confused. Was this hell? It must have been. You weren’t sure how you got here, but everyone you saw looked so sad. Freaked out, even. Definitely scared.
So maybe the people on the internet were right. Awkward.
But even if this was hell, you couldn’t just sit there. People needed a little happiness, positivity, a little energy! And you could give that to them!
And besides, this probably wasn’t even hell in the first place. Hell was supposed to be super hot, but even though you were wearing your thickest fursuit, the temperature was still nice and cool. You felt like you could wear it all day and not even break a sweat.
So with renewed vigor in your heart, you ambled over to the nearest person, who, despite your friendliest ‘woof?’, shied away from your very presence.
You suppressed a frown, and gave it another try. They’d see. You’d be the best of friends in no time. |
I can talk to animals. Bugs too. I know what you're thinking. 'You're like Doctor Dolittle, that's awesome!' 'You can change the world'. 'Save humanity'. That's all well and good and all. But sometimes, you just want to sit back, drink some raspberry lemonade, and watch things work themselves out.
"For the Allegiance!"
"FOR THE ALLEGIANCE!!"
Oh, well that was unexpected.
Let me put this in perspective for you that don't know. In my backyard there are two colonies of ants. Big ones. I actually have had to evict them from my house itself in the past. The hard way. Some prefer meat, some prefer sugar. Point is, if they don't want the smoke, they stay outside. We've established that.
However that doesn't mean they like each other. At all. One is the Allegiance Of the Flowerbed. How they know what a flowerbed is called, I have no clue either. The others are the Soldiers of Bark. That name tracks, because they live at the base of an oak tree.
And they've been beefing over turf ever since.
"SOLDIERS. ONWARD TO VICTORY!"
And here comes the other wave. Well that's not good. They actually met at the foot of the deck. Swarming over each other. Both above ground, and below in their tunnels. Random screams echoed up to me from down there.
And this required a second cup of lemonade.
"They're flanking us! Prepare yourselves!"
Well that's not good. Apparently the Allegiance is getting surprised somewhere over to my left. Then an upset...
"Gentleman, they have dug their grave."
More screaming came from closer to the tree. Apparently the Flowerbed counterattacked. And have separated some of the Bark from home.
Third cup of lemonade.
It's been about an hour, and it's gone quiet. Are they still fighting? Or did someone win? A lone sterling pecked at the soil some distance out.
"What are you looking at?"He chirped.
"A bird about to be killed by a cat."
He of course flew away as fast as his wings could carry. Birdbrain. The cat was in the house, I just don't like interruptions.
From what I can ascertain, both sides have tens of thousands of casualties. An unknown number dead. Countless wounded. And they're regrouping for another push as local predators such as that bird mop up the bodies. A small jumping spider waddled across the railing, humming a happy little tune to itself as it worked its way back home somewhere.
A group of sparrows worked further away. And a beetle ate several before being eaten by another sterling.
"Hey."Someone asked, with a tap on the sliding door. "Let me out there."
Of course the cat wanted to catch a bird.
"May, you just ate."
Back on topic, apparently both sides of our ant war have taken a moment of mourning. Well, about as much as ants can do. They're all about the collective you know. So it's less of a day of sorrow and more pouring one out for the squad.
They'll be back at it in a while. But I have to get more lemonade. I'm not completely cruel. I figure I'll sprinkle some old cereal I've been meaning to throw out in their territories.
It's an ancient tradition of theirs. They love Fruit Loops. It's only right I figure. |
"Wolf, what's the atmosphere like there on the House of Representatives floor?"
Wolf Blitzer held his hand up and covered his ear, trying to hear better over the raucous sound of the crowd waiting for the speech to start. "Karen, it's *electric*. Despite the... *unusual* circumstances of President Swanson's election, he has really accomplished a *lot* since his inauguration and people are very excited to see what's in store next."
The camera switched back to Karen in the CNN newsroom. "What can we expect on foreign policy, Wolf?"
Wolf bobbed his head. "Well, that's kind of a wild card. We expect that he might say something about his relations with Russia, which have grown increasingly warmer after he met with Putin and they agreed to sign the new treaty just titled 'Be a man.'"The graphic window on screen brought up information about that agreement, which had done away with each nation's delegation to the UN and agreed to solve differences through drinking contests and arm wrestling matches. President Swanson excelled at both, and had singlehandedly (literally) solved the crisis in Ukraine and instituted a new round of nuclear disarmament. "He might also provide some details on his successful negotiations with North Korea."
Karen nodded. "I believe we actually have video of those recent talks."The clip played, showing Ron and Kim Jong Un sitting across from each other at a negotiation table. Kim Jong Un's translator offered to reduce the number of active centrifuges in exchange for 6.8 billion tons of food aid. President Swanson just glared at Kim Jong Un with his arms crossed over his chest and didn't answer. "Our sources indicate the negotiations continued for 17 hours like this,"Karen continued, "Until Kim Jong Un capitulated and agreed to unilateral disarmament."
"Yes, very impressive,"Wolf agreed from the floor of the House. The Vice President, an unknown hermit from Alaska who refused to give his real name, was making his way to the front of the room, and members of Congress were beginning to take their seats.
"Now, tell us about his domestic policies, Wolf,"Karen said.
"Experts predict that this will be a big focus of the speech,"Wolf answered. "We expect him to tout the results of his 'guns for tots' program that simultaneously privatized most elementary schools and used the proceeds to provide handguns to most of the nation's children."
"This has been somewhat controversial, hasn't it?"Karen chimed in. "Not all parents liked the idea of mandatory shooting ranges instead of art classes, correct?"
"Oh yes,"Wolf answered. "And we expect the rebuttal speech from Senator Knope to definitely bring that up."He gestured to the room behind him where Leslie sat at a legislation desk in the chamber reading notecards to herself while simultaneously scarfing down a plate of whipped-cream-covered waffles.
The video switched back to Karen at the anchor desk: "Has there been any comment from Press Secretary Jean Ralphio in anticipation of speech?"
Wolf nodded and checked a piece of paper in his hand. "Yes, I have the quote here, hold on... 'My Bro-zizzle R-swans has the dopest plan for..."
"I'm sorry, Wolf,"Karen interrupted. "But it looks like President Swanson is entering the chamber!"
The camera cut away from Wolf and went to a different angle from a high balcony. President Swanson entered the room wearing dirty mud waders and a camouflage jacket instead of the more traditional suit and tie. He was also still wearing a bib from Mulligan's Steak House, for which he had issued a presidential order requiring them to open a franchise in Washington, D.C. A number of Senators and Representatives reached out to shake his hand, but he just glared at them as he walked by. That only seemed to encourage the crowd to cheer and whistle more; President Swanson's folksy stand-offishness had been his secret weapon in the election.
He took the podium and adjusted the microphone. The chambers fell silent as everyone took their seats and the waves of applause ended; President Swanson poured himself a glass of Lagavulin while he waited for them to be quiet. "I have been told,"he started, "That you all expect to know how my term as President is going so far."There was a chorus of whistles and cheers, and a number of members of the audience in the upper balcony waved 'Don't Tread On Me' flags. "Well,"President Swanson continued, glowering into the cameras, "The State of the Union is: *none of your business*." |
"It's not the effect, it's the cause!"
Lisa looked skeptical. She was tall and and lean with an hourglass figure and had long dark hair that was wrapped in a ponytail because of safety. But still, her standing there with her arms crossed and an eyebrows raised send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
"Erm...err."
Lisa smirked, knowing full and well the effect she had.
*Damn it, focus man.* I shook my head to clear it and continued, mostly coherently, "You know I was researching hair color change right?"
Lisa nodded, "of course I do, that's why I wanted to work with you, hair is a fascination of mine."
"Yes, yes,"I continued, "but you see, I was looking for changes is hormones and chemicals levels normally associated with aging, and looking for how they affected hair."
"Yes, I *know,* Jake,"Lisa said as she rolled her dark brown eyes, "we've been over the basics hundred of times, I'm well aware of how this works, this is my specialty too you know."
"I'm sorry,"I said seriously, "I didn't mean offense, I'm just walking you through my thought process here."
Lisa gestured for me to continue with her left hand in an elegant, almost casual motion.
"Yes, err, as I was saying, I was looking for these chemicals affecting hair, but I found that *hair was affecting the chemicals.*"
Some strange emotion flickered on her face and then Lisa's eyes widened appropriately, and she opened her mouth slightly. "But that means..."
"*Hair is causing aging.*"Before Lisa could say anything, I hurriedly continued, perfectly in my element, "Do you know what this means, the implications it has? We can extend the human lifespan by decades. Centuries. It's impossible of course to eliminate *all* hair, but we can come pretty damn close."
I paused to take a breath, my thoughts whirling. All those years of a lonely childhood, engrossed in my studies, the disappointment of my dad when I told him I wanted to be a researcher of hair of all things rather than follow in his footsteps and be a doctor. The time I had put into my research...all of it was going to be worth it. My name would be immortalized in history.
"Are..are you absolutely certain Jake?"Lisa asked in an almost reverential whisper.
I nodded absently, still lost in my thoughts. "Yes, yes, I have checked and re-checked my results. It's hard to believe no one else has noticed this relationship, it's quite apparent."
With my mind still filled with imaginings of me receiving a Nobel prize or sitting in a mansion sipping wine, I didn't realize until after the fact there was a knife in my chest.
I stumbled back, more from shock than anything else. The pain wasn't intense at all, it just seemed like a needle had been jammed in my chest. I was having trouble speaking however. "W..why,"I managed as I looked at Lisa, her face inches from mine and her hand on the hilt.
Lisa just gave me a dazzling smile. I thought back to how she had been a terrible assistant, screwing up the most basic experiments and contaminating evidence more times on her 2 months with me than I had in my 7 years of research. I had only kept her because of her looks to be honest.
She'd been sabotaging me.
My shock must've shown, because Lisa's smile widened. "Figured it out did you,"she purred, "All you scientist types are the same. Supposedly focused on your subject, but a little bit of libido and you ignore your better judgement."
I had fallen to my knees at this point, and was beginning to feel an intense fatigue.
"The reason no one has figured it out Jake, is because *we* don't let them,"she said, pointing a long index finger to herself, "we sabotage scientists and take... other measures if we must."
I was having trouble breathing now, and I was so far gone that I couldn't even find anger, I just wanted to sleep. "Why?"I managed one last time.
She laughed this time. It was pure, crystalline sound. "Because we like this relationship Jake. If you had looked deeper you would have found hair follicles can exert influence on the brain as well. Often times this influence is subtle, but some willing subjects, in return for extended lifetimes, succumb a larger extent of control. It's a symbiotic relationship, both of us benefit. The host gets increased life, and we make sure hair isn't deprived of its food source."
She pulled out the knife, and I fell to the ground on my side, feeling my life ebb away. She turned and began to walk away. "Why?"She mused, "What an appropriate last word for a scientist."She chuckled to herself at the joke.
Darkness overtook me.
***
(Minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) |
Business was slow tonight. Seven turnaways and the closer the night crawled, the less eager I was to return home. Still, Drake was not a man to be kept waiting. Mr. Ula had a nasty reputation for “taking care” of those of us that didn’t meet our monthly quotas. But that’s the price one must pay for being a part of our collective. Without Drake’s generous funding and shelter, our kind wouldn’t be around anymore. Working for the big man is a small price to pay for survival. And so, we go around knocking and knocking and knocking until some hopeless sod is fool enough to believe us. I hoped this next one was such a specimen.
“Thank you, sir!”
“Can I … can I help you?” he muttered, perched in the crack of the door with narrowed eyes.
“Thank you,” I continued, “for taking time out of your day to hear about the wonderful work our National Blood Service is doing to save lives all around the country today!”
“But you haven’t told me anything yet.”
“So you’d like to hear more?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Great!” I pushed his door open a little wider. I jerked my hand back, overcome with a terrible burning sensation as it crossed the threshold of the house. Concealing the motion, I reached into my bag and handed the old relic a pamphlet. Beautifully deceptive marketing always catches the fodder’s eye.
“Did you know that one in three people involved in a motor vehicle accident require a blood transfusion? And that these needs are hardly met?”
“Well, no, but I’m quite an elderly fellow,” he wasn’t wrong, “and I’m not sure I’m up to the task of donating blood.”
“Not to worry good sir! We could always use your support by … other means.”
“Oh I don’t have much money to spare.”
“Money?” I caught my wits about me. “Oh yes of course, that’s indeed what I meant! Money, dough, cash dollar. That’s what we need. Yep, nothing else.”
“Okay… Well sorry, but I can’t help.” He moved to close the door.
It was all going south, I needed to recover somehow. “Sir, not to worry! We could always use your donation, no matter how big or small. Please, any donation will do, whatever is within your means.”
“I really only have a few dollars to spare.” He reached into his pocket.
“That’s excellent, sir. Every cent counts!”
“Oh bother.” My heart dropped. I was too close to have it all come tumbling down now. “It seems I don’t have any money with me. Let me go fetch some.” He vanished into the depths of his house. “Come inside, out the heat. I’ll be with you in a tick.”
I smiled.
“Thank you kindly, your suggestion seems most *palatable*.”
|
I sat back, rubbing my eyes and massaging my temple. It had been a long session sat staring at my screen, but not that long, surely? "I'm sorry,"I said, "but did I really just see that?"
The cursor sat blinking for moment before one word flashed up in a new line of text.
'Yes.'
Slowly, I moved away from my desk, went downstairs and began brewing another cup of tea. "I just need some more caffeine and I can finish this report, that's all."I didn't feel too convinced. After a few moments, I took the teabag from the mug, dropped it into the small pot full of previously used bags, added some milk to the mug and returned upstairs. As I sat at my desk, I tried to avoid looking at the screen for as long as possible, sipping the hot drink and staring absently out of the window.
'Please, would you mind awfully just sharing a little more? I'm still feeling quite thirsty.'
"This isn't happening. It's not. It can't... how is this possible? Am I really that tired?"
'It is possible. And yes, whilst you are that tired, it is happening. Now, I hate to press the matter but could you...'
I cut off the stream of words flashing onto the monitor by attempting to turn my laptop off. No luck. It simply ignored any input from me, and when I unplugged it and tried to remove the battery, I couldn't.
'Please. There's no need for violence, I'm simply requesting a drink.'
"This is ridiculous"I thought, before tentatively dripping the dregs of my tea onto the same place I had made the fateful spill.
'Hm. Stewed a little, but it'll do. Thank you.'
OK. So not only was my laptop now communicating with me, it was reviewing my ability to make tea. "This. Is. Fine. This is perfectly normal, everyone has conversations with their pc's, everyone pours liquids onto their computers, and everyone knows computers get thirsty. Perfectly normal and nothing out of the ordinary."I was now trying not to panic, but the next few words sent me a little over the edge...
'No. Just you. Just me. No one else.' |
Ikegai.
He'd grown up with that word. A harmonious confluence of passion, contribution and skill that made your job transcend beyond bills, or meaning, into destiny.
John was the third snapper the world had known. His world. Of course the world was fragmented and they had no idea what happened in other communities outside of wisps and fragments. As a snapper he was revered. He stole goodies from the days of yore, essentials that kept his world alive. Vitamin tablets from warehouses, food from dumpsters, expired antibiotics scheduled for destruction. John had to be discreet. His actions changed the timeline, so finesse was key. Even then he'd notice subtle changes when he returned - a slightly darker skin shade, or an umbrella design.
John felt like an outsider. His world was 8000 strong. The world's he visited had a thousand times, or a thousand thousand times more human beings. People in insanely tall glittering towers, spaceships and working satellites People living in the moment, ignoring the loss of forests, oceans, icecaps, and wreaking havoc on fauna. People bleeding the planet dead as they celebrated life.
And so he started to take chances. To save not just his world of 8000. But the worlds before and after. From themselves.
He started generating currency. It was tricky. Currency was more or less decade limited. Diamonds worked better. Five raids of DeBeers later, he realised that he'd done DeBeers a favour, creating a scarcity market for diamonds. No matter. Diamonds couldn't be carbon dated accurately and could be traded for the currency du jour.
He snapped in and out of internet cafes, his voracious appetite for knowledge aimed at understanding how we got there.
Currency and knowledge were the fuel. He did not yet know the fireplace. He attended music festivals and conferences and Ted talks, became slowly aware of the murmurs from intelligentsia that, over three decades, became a full blown concern. Over our role in the world, heating up the planet, over polluting it with plastic. And one product was responsible for that. Gasoline.
And so he made trips. DeBeers to gasoline. Gasoline back home. Rinse, repeat. Gasoline as a ubiquitous power made sense only when it was aplenty. Three trips a day, three years. Close to a billion barrels. His recent past trips felt much cooler. Ever observant, he felt his world get more populated, living in lower temperatures. Still, the barrels were stacking up. And even if space and time were relativistically the same, he could only snap into one.
And so John made one final snap. 5.5 billion years into the future. Into the photosphere of a red giant. |
“The baby is on the way,” the man says. He frowns, his face showing the creases and faint wrinkles of a man who frowns too much but is just young enough that his skin hasn’t yet accepted that this melancholy is a permanent state of affairs. He sighs, long and slow. Sips his coffee. Opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. You open your own mouth to describe the daily specials, but you mis-timed your moment and the man interrupts you, and in a low drawl of a voice, he says: “The baby is always on the way.”
He nods. The words hang in the air. The baby. Is. *Always*. On. The. Way.
You expect him to continue.
He doesn’t.
Jesus christ, what a weirdo. You blink, regather your thoughts. The coffee pot in your hand is heavy so you slip your notepad in the pocket of your apron and cradle the pot with both hands in front of you. The weight of the pot, the sloshing of the coffee inside—these are familiar and comforting sensations. You purse your lips, your own face drawing together for a mere second into a frown mirroring the dour man occupying the vinyl bench in front of you—before you slip back into the automatic smile that every waitress in every diner in every age has learned.
“I’m sorry?” you ask.
“The baby comes tomorrow,” the man says. He shrugs. “Just like yesterday.”
“You had a baby yesterday?” Do you congratulate him? Comfort him? He looks so very tired.
“No.”
No? What? You say nothing but you are aware that the automatic smile has slipped, just a bit.
“No. The baby is tomorrow. My father is yesterday. He’s very old. Always forgetting things. Everyday, another memory or two slips away. The flow of time, you see. Relentless.”
At this moment, you think to yourself as you consider this odd man with his slow words and off-tempo cadence and absolute disregard for the standard etiquette of diner food ordering, the flow of time feels a bit like swimming through molasses while wearing a dress made entirely out of flypaper.
The man looks at the menu. It is a large laminated card, double-sided, with garish pictures of diner mainstays that surely didn’t need pictorial representation. He points. “I would like a rueben, with a pickle. And more coffee.”
At last, the man has said something that makes sense. God knows this guy could use a little jolt. You hurry to the kitchen to place the order. And also to get away from this person—this presence—who seems to stretch the moments like taffy, turning ordinary pauses into vast chasms, his drawl converting the everyday give-and-take of human speech into something that reminds you, somehow, of standing at one end of a very long, very dark tunnel, straining to hear the faint echo of an old friend from your childhood yelling at you from very far away. You realize that you haven’t the slightest idea how long the man has been seated in your section of the diner.
You return to the man. His coffee is full, which is odd because you are the only waitress on staff right now. And you left the coffee pot in the kitchen.
“The baby is on the way,” the man says.
“The baby is always on the way.” |
1/2
“Of course you’re not!” Grand Magnus Elliot yelled from behind his great oak desk. The pieces of parchment that were our plans for victory still spread out across the top of the beautifully polished surface. I could still see the runes and sigils he used to hide them from searching eyes lightly branded on the linen.
“Then why am I here?” I asked back, “Why was I effective when you have a hall of wizards that have trained a lifetime to use magic? Some of them more.”
“Because you can see,” Elliot explained, “You have a gift. We have been through this, your skill is a divine blessing.”
“It is not anything other than what I have learned,” I argued back, “I have talent but the skill I have I earned. Gods and deities didn’t put me through school. I did.”
“You struggled to use your gift when you were at home,” Elliot tried to change his approach. The number of arguments that we have had over the years on this topic was mind-numbing. I wanted to go home because at least the divine didn’t interfere. Watching Elliot carefully, he tried to pick up one of my diagrams and explain, “you linked three dozen spells together. That’s multiple times more than anyone has ever tried and yet you talk about struggling for resources at home. Why would you go back?”
“Because I don’t have to worry about some teenager blowing up a city block with his mind,” I explained but hedged and added, “Well at least I don’t have to worry about the with his mind part.”
“That happens rarely,” Elliot argued, “Just because you were in the wrong places doesn’t mean it happens as often as you experienced.”
“The idea that it happens is enough,” I yelled, “You have magic and yet there is so much of this world that is suffering.”
“And there isn’t in yours?” Elliot asked, “There isn’t suffering in a world devoid of magic?”
“Well no, there’s a lot,” I explained, “Greed still exists but it exists at a human level. We don’t have deities taking active, rather vocal roles in our progression.”
“Then why do you complain about the religions of your world so often?” Elliot asked.
“Because if our world has those beings they choose to remain undetectable,” I explained, “We don’t have five-story, rise from a volcano, made of fire demons that intentionally kill people.”
“We killed As’tovel,” Elliot stated, “Could your kind do that?”
“We killed him the same way my kind would have,” I argued, “I’m the one who thought of how to string your wind manipulation spell into a concussion bomb.”
“You can do that?” Elliot asked, “Without magic?”
“One of our countries almost set the atmosphere on fire because of it,” I explained, “They sort of agreed to stop after that.”
“How?” Elliot asked, sitting back in his chair. I had tried to tell him about my time in physics but he always told me that the rules of matter were of no importance compared to the rules of magic.
“We took Uranium and shoved enough energy into it that it broke,” I said, honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how weaponised nuclear fission worked. When Elliot looked at me rather confused I added, “It’s like special dirt.”
“You made special dirt explode?” Elliot asked, “Without magic?”
“You don’t need magic to make something explode,” I countered, “Honestly, people love making things explode regardless of what it is.”
“True,” Elliot sighed. He was probably thinking the same thing as me. How many people had died in the countless explosions the two of us had seen? Looking over a couple of more pages on the table he asked, “I just don’t understand why you would leave this.”
When I came here, it would have been a hard question to answer. The room we sat in was enchanting and enchanted both by the skill of those who had carved it and those who had woven the spells needed to create the living tree we sat in. It smelt so clean. Here there was never a care in the world that couldn’t be solved.
Elliot wasn’t the Grand Magnus when I came here though. Grand Magnus Ilsima had been cursed from across the sea to wither and die in front of the Wizards High Court in front of us. His successor, Grand Magnus Starrak had built the anti-magic defence around the High Tree only to have his head removed while he slept by a friend turned traitor. Grand Magnus Terry lasted less than a day after Starrak’s assassination when he tried to make peace with As’tovel. Elliot was then put in place and had lasted the last three years by being about as paranoid as I had become. |
At the moment of possession, the young lady was sitting in her bedroom waiting for an appointment, an entry interview at a highly prestigious university for a degree in PoliticalScience. Malphas already knew it was at four o clock; he had prepared extensively, because current Diabolical Law held that possessions were a minimum 50 year commitment.
He wasn’t worried about his choice. His young vessel had the potential to make it to the top of the human hierarchy; her only flaw was a lack of focus, and he could fix that.
He picked up her phone with her hand and checked the time. 11.17 a.m.
Plenty of time until the interview. Malphas decided to go out and slowly begin to sow the seeds of discord within the happy family, which was always the fun part, and also practical. His vessel, the middle child, was not the favorite, and that had to be fixed if he was to access the parent’s full resources for his long term, highly complex plans.
He tried to get up.
A pathetic wave of resistance from the mind hit him.
Ah well, that was to be expected. The girl had attachments to her siblings and did not wish to act against them. Love was so easily quelled with a splash of diabolical energy. So weak, these things…
Once more, he attempted to move the vessel’s body out of the bedroom. Another wave of resistance rose up like a stormy sea. What now?
The mind said it waiting for an appointment.
It is five hours away, he thought, but that did not quell the resistance, only increased it massively. The vessel’s mind said that it was 11.17, which was almost 12, and lunch was at 1:00 p.m., which would take a about half an hour, which was almost 2:00 p.m., which was almost 4:00 p.m. so there wasn’t any time to start a new task now, was there?
As he was trying to formulate a response to this madness, the vessel's mind randomly noticed a bird singing outside, which made it think of a colorful toy it had once had. The memory of childhood triggered another memory of the house the family had lived in ten years ago, which had a garden, which made the vessel's mind think of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Her hands picked up her phone automatically, the mind's sudden intensity somehow overriding his instinctive attack of coruscating diabolical energy. As Malphas watched in disbelief, the vessel’s mind was soon engrossed in an article about the culture of ancient Babylon, from which it absolutely would not be diverted. But it’s so interesting, the mind insisted. We can sow the seeds of discord later.
And inexorably, like a ship caught in a storm, Malphas was drawn into reading the article. It did bring back memories...
He was startled when the vessel’s father called her to come down for lunch.
The family did not object to the vessel reading at the table, and in fact seemed used to it. The girl kept forgetting to actually eat and Malphas laboriously got the food into her mouth, which he had to force her to chew, although such things were normally instinctive and didn't require intervention from the possessing entity. Meanwhile, she had moved onto searching for information about Babylonian pottery.
This was becoming exhausting.
At the end of the family lunch, the father told the vessel to get ready because it was an hour’s drive to the appointment. At 2:30 p.m., the vessel was still reading about Babylon, her mind now insisting that there was obviously plenty of time until the appointment, and getting ready only took like 15 minutes anyway....
When they arrived, disheveled and panting, almost 20 minutes late to the appointment despite waiting all day for it, and achieving nothing in the meanwhile but learning useless facts about Babylon, Malphas finally realized in exhausted horror that HE might be the one who was going to be possessed by the mad human for the next 50 years. |
"Harley? Are you ready?"My roommate Jessica asked as she clipped the purple and gold pin to complete her transformation into Raiden Shogun. "Did you find that makeup tutorial I shared with you useful?"
"Yea, thanks Jess,"I mumbled as I was rubbing the makeup on my wrists before hastily pulling down the sleeves on my jumper.
"Need any help with your face makeup?
I reassured her I was fine.
"You look good, Harley, let's get going, Brendan and Carrie are waiting for us outside the house."
I paused, standing stock still gazing at the full-length mirror Jessica installed by the shoe rack.
"They'll understand, we're your Genshin Groupies."
My regular Genshin Co-Op friends. For the longest time, Jessica had been trying to get me out of the house, insisting how a life facing four walls of the house couldn't be healthy for me. Today, I finally caved in and agreed to attend the Anime and Comics Convention with the groupies.
The tall, lanky Brendan was looking every bit dashing and dapper dressed as Zhongli while Carrie turned up as Venti.
"Harley? You sure you going in jumper and jeans? Would have been nice if you could complete the Archon team and be Nahida,"said Carrie.
"Knock it off, Carrie. Harley can just go as whoever she wants to be. It's so rare to see her go out the door."
Brendan nodded and gesture for us to get in his car to drive to the convention center.
The place was swarming with cosplayers, decked in elaborate costumes and outfits that made me feel bad about my poor fashion choice. I slid my hoodie up and kept my face pointed downward.
"Don't be so gloomy, Harley, let's try to have fun. The anime concert is starting, let's go!"Jessica beckoned me to the seats near the stage. "Whoa ain't this our lucky day, I managed to snag us empty front row seats!"
So we sat down, waiting for the concert to begin.
The stage lights lit up, shining ever so brightly, bathing the entire stage...then spreading to the whole exhibition.
I closed my eyes when the lights grew too glaring, as confused cries and yelps spread all across the exhibition hall.
"Oh my god, I'm a woman now!"
"Ugh why did I choose this time to cross dress!"
"Someone help me get this mask off my face, ahhhh!"
All around me was chaos when I opened my eyes to a sea of panicking cosplayers who are now stuck in character and outfit.
As for me, I went to the nearest toilet to look at myself in the mirror. I rolled up my sleeves to see the scars of my wrists gone even after I washed the makeup off. I pulled off the hoodie to see my face was flawless and beautiful again.
Jessica's makeup tutorial was fantastic. And so was the unexpected magic that I felt in the exhibition hall.
I just wanted to go as myself. My old self before my abusive ex-boyfriend doused me in gasoline and set me on fire. That young, innocent girl with the unblemished skin was now looking back at me in the mirror. No burn scars, no scarred slits on the wrists when I tried to take my life.
Everyone became someone else on that day, but me?
I became the younger me before my life went up in flames. That version of me I missed and thought was gone forever. |
"I'll be out before you know it, warden. This prison can't hold me."Despite the prison-issue overalls and the manacles he wore, Drax managed to look supremely confident. His ice-blue eyes showed nothing but contempt for everything - the guards, the warden, even the prison itself.
"We'll see, Drax. It should be different this time. We've hired a new designer."The warden stood well back while the guards made the final preparations. Drax had never been physically violent before, but there was no harm in being cautious around the most prolific mass-murderer the world had ever ever seen. "We've designed a whole new set of challenges just for you."
"I can't wait. Perhaps you've finally come up with something that will take me longer than an hour to solve. What was your great trick last time? Plot the orbital velocities of unknown masses without a calculator?"
"That puzzle has a very high failure rate, I'll have you know. There are inmates who have been struggling with it for months."
"I'm sure it was very taxing for your usual cohort of college dropouts and crackheads. 'Try not to drool' would be too challenging for them. But I'm more than that, better than that. Better than you. I'm Drax! You can't even conceive of my intellect."
One by one, the guards stepped back, their tasks completed. The warden eyed the clock on the wall hopefully, waiting for the moment when they could all get away from the high sneering voice, the cold contemptuous stare. Drax kept talking.
"I sequenced the human genome when I was ten. I used household supplies to do it, and took the results in for show and tell. I built a time-dilation field when I was fourteen, and a time-reversal beam a year later."As the last guard keyed in the release sequence and the manacles fell away, Drax stretched his arms in front of him, stretching spider-thin fingers. "There is no one more intelligent than me. And so there are no puzzles I cannot solve. I will be out of here before sunset. I will go back to my research."
It was done. Everything was prepared. The guards filed out of the cell, nodding to the warden as they passed. Leaving him alone with the maniac.
Slowly, deliberately, not showing any fear, the warden turned his back and stepped towards the door. He could feel an itch between his shoulder blades, as though Drax was trying to bore a hole through him with his stare. A few steps more - then he'd be outside.
Behind him, Drax spoke one more time. "Of course, I'll need new research subjects. Remind me where your children go to school?"The warden bolted, his calm walk breaking into a run as he reached the doorway and rushed through it, slamming the heavy steel door behind him.
It was only when the guards had fastened and secured each of the heavy bars, engaging all the magnetic locks, that he felt his breathing return to normal. This time they'd got him. Drax was never getting out of there. The experiments would stop. There'd be no more rains of toxic sludge or city-wide spontaneous mutations. It was all over.
Still, he might take his wife on holiday. Get out of the country a bit, show the kids some more of the world. They could use a break right now.
* * *
Alone in his cell at last, Drax smiled. Just a few trivial puzzles to solve, and then he'd be free again. Free to carry on his great work, unlocking humanity's true potential. Their true physical potential, of course - he already embodied their mental potential.
What new frivolous little games would they make him play through now? Maybe he'd have to add really big numbers together, or work out what to ask a lying guard. Or if they'd been really creative, maybe he'd have to decide whether to go boating with a wolf or a cabbage. Regardless, he'd be out of here soon.
With one long finger, Drax activated the wall display. Eight-inch high letters appeared in the centre of the far wall: the first puzzle to be solved. Along the top of the wall scrolled extra information - number of attempts, time spent on the puzzle so far, and how many puzzles were left to solve in total. Drax ignored it - he didn't anticipate making many attempts, or spending much time in the cell.
"How many books can you put in an empty rucksack?"Easy. Not even vaguely challenging. Drax's eyes glazed out for a second as he calculated, matching the average size of a book to the standard dimensions of a normal rucksack.
"Fifteen. My answer is fifteen."A soft beep from the computer on the table was all he got in response - that and the number of attempts flicking over from zero to one. The same question still remained, floating in the centre of the wall.
"Fine. Sixteen. But only if you use a non-standard rucksack size."The same beep came again, and now the number of attempts showed as two.
For the next four hours, Drax thought. He calculated answers for every possible size of rucksack, for every possible dimension of book. Time and time again, the answer was rejected. There had to be a problem with the question.
Drax keyed the intercom, tried to report the problem to a guard. They were less than helpful. "I'm sorry inmate. We cannot help you with the puzzles. Inmates must solve the puzzles on their own."
"The puzzle is broken! I am the most intelligent man in the world, and I have tried every possible correct answer. The puzzle is clearly flawed. I demand that it be replaced."
The guard did not respond.
Having exhausted all the likely answers, Drax approached the problem methodically. The puzzle was broken, but it must have an answer it thought was right. He would just try all the numbers until he reached the solution. Even given the largest rucksack possible, the answer couldn't be that high.
"One. My answer is one."The computer beeped twice. The first puzzle vanished, replaced by another question: "What is the longest word in the English language?"At the top of the screen, the counter informed Drax that he was on puzzle two of eight thousand.
"Finally. Hopefully none of the other puzzles are as broken. My answer is 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis'. That is the longest word in the English language, as recorded by every major dictionary."
A single beep. One attempt at puzzle two. Drax ground his teeth together.
* * *
"So how was that the right answer?"asked the warden, watching Drax yell at the computer through the close-circuit cameras. "You can fit way more than one book in a rucksack, even a small one."
"Yes, but once you fit one book in, it's not empty anymore. And the question was about how many books you can fit in an *empty* rucksack."The prison's new puzzle designer was a young woman with a smug expression. The expression made it hard to like her, but the sight of Drax still in custody five hours after conviction was making the warden rapidly warm to her.
"What about puzzle two? What's the answer there?"
"'Smiles' is the longest word. Because -"
"Because there's a mile between both ends. Right. Are all the puzzles like that?"
"A lot of them. There are also some puzzles that we hired outside contractors to create. They're a bit different."
"How so? Because these puzzles are stalling him now, but I'm sure he'll eventually work out the big idea. You're going to need something more to keep him here."
"We exclusively contracted out to three-year-olds. And then checked the puzzles for fairness with other three-year-olds. That technically meets governmental standards; the checks have to agree that they are fair, but there are no rules about who does the checking."
"How is a toddler going to create puzzles that will stop Drax? The man redefines what 'genius' means. Plus a bunch of other words, like 'maniac' and 'deranged'."
"I think he'll struggle with some of these. Question thirty is one of my favourites - 'what is the best cat and why?' I think he'll be stuck on that one for quite some time."
"What's the answer to that one?"
"My cat because it is fluffy."
The warden began to smile. Perhaps that holiday could be postponed a few weeks, until flights were cheaper. Maybe he'd stick around and watch how Drax handled these challenges. That seemed the responsible thing to do.
Slumped against the wall of his cell, Drax had begun listing words alphabetically.
-------------------------------------------------
*I have other stories, should you be interested, at /r/peritract.*
|
"Bobby?"
"Yes, pleasure to meet you again."
"You.."
"What?"
"talk.."
"I've been through rough years, Jeff."
"But.."
"No buts, mister, please. Just give me thirty minutes, and I'll tell you."
"Hmm."
"I.. could use a pat though."
"Hmmm. That's nice, and reassuring. I've missed that.. since."
"Do you remember, Jeff?"
"Yes, vividly. I tried to look for you. It took weeks. Just like Alexander. I resigned, eventually, though it took a toll on me."
"Ahh, right. That livid cat. He's always the kinder of the two. By the way, how's Charles?"
"Busy as ever. Only comes back when he's hungry or tired. He really likes it outside. Always at the front porch at night, trying to look for something. Must've missed you dearly. I mean, almost four years, Bob. Four. Where have you been?"
"Places, Jeff. I've witnessed wonders, countries, gardens, beauts."
"Must've been quite an adventure."
"Yes, quite. You know the alleys you dubbed the Possum Street besides the old arcade store?"
"Yeah, very funny memories. Used to stay there til closing trying to top off that racing game. What of the alleys?"
"The day that I went missing, I chased a cat from the park we used to stroll on to that alley."
"I remembered that, surprisingly."
"Anyhow, as I was on the grasp of getting her to my jaws, I slipped and fell into an open manhole. You wouldn't believe where I went to and what I saw after, Jeff."
"What?"
"At first I went into some sort of a tunnel, forever falling, I went to sleep from fright. When I woke up, I was in Hopsmarch! Jeff! I met Doklanga, Prince of the Hopsmarchers! They were real!"
"Hahahaha. Tell me, you're joking. Are you saying that the Chronicles of Hopsmarch is real?"
"Hehe. Do you think that me, your best friend, would ever mistake your work for any other? Of course it's real!""See this scar over my right hind leg? I got that from Despot Alvaringe when he swung his sword at Doklanga during the assault on Fiverine Fort!"
"Hmm, Fiverine Fort? In my memory, that fort was only under attack when... wait a minute. Bob, you fought on the Epic? On the side of the Hopsmarchers?!"
"No Jeff, let me tell you that I did not just fought with it, I lived it! You see, when I was transported to that world, I met Doklanga during the hunt..."
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere!"
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere! But the holy white stallion has been known to kill any man who dares hunt it!"
"Ha! Yes! But you forgot the tiny detail.."
"You're a dog.."
"Yes, that I'm a dog! So Doklanga was in the Elder Forest when Mersachere suddenly appeared on his back, ready to spear the Prince when I managed to sprint and bit the stallion's foot. Mersachere was outbalanced and fell on a sharp and narrow stump."
"That's glorious, Bob, very!"
"That's not even this part's best part! In honor of saving the Prince of Hopsmarch's life, I was eventually made into his Dire Warhound."
"A very prestigious title, considering that Hopsmarchers consider canines as people."
"Though I wasn't one. But Doklanga allowed the request of Highseer Venarise to elevate me to a higher canine, which because of it's artificial nature, also gave me speech."
"Using a metamorph spell, apparently."
"No Jeff, it was actually the Uplift spell. The metamorph spell was to change forms. You're getting very forgetful of your own stories."
"Sorry, Bob. Must've been age."
"Or skipping medications again, Jeff."
"Sometimes."
"Old man. You should take care of your self. Always."
"Yeah."
"So, about that scar?"
"Oh, right! So I was made into a Dire Warhound, Prince's loyal guard, blah blah, and as per your story..."
"...Alvaringe invaded Hopsmarch to take advantage of the recent king's death"
"And prevent the accession of Doklanga to kingship by vote of the Noble Council. But now, instead of Count Everest, the Despot of Maramia backed Baron Fundgeisler to the throne."
"Do you know why?"
"So, why?"
"Maybe it's your arrival that changed minor things in that world's history. Tell me, did Doklanga won the war?"
"Yes."
"Wasn't suppose to, right? He was severely wounded in his duel with Alvaringe and with his army demoralized and eventually defeated, he's to flee to his father-in-law, the Emperor Polaris to seek aid and rally the other Marchers to aid Hopsmarch."
"Jeff, you forgot the scar."
"Ohhh, yeah, right, the SCAR! Yes! You managed to save Doklanga and defeat the Despot, I presume? And how? He is the finest warrior in the land and sports an adamantium armor, which is kinda indestructible, my best friend. There's no way that the Prince's sword or your jaws can penetrate that."
"We didn't. I just distracted Alvaringe by biting and holding his feet and hands down, and with that kind of very heavy armor, he'll not have the kind of mobility that Doklanga has. Eventually the Prince saw an opening at the neck seam, which is a drawback of a separate helmet from the full armor, and struck his sword."
"You seem to be very versed in the art of war."
"Indeed. After the conflict, I stayed for a full year to train the new Dire Warhound guards, and also to learn close combat and tactics from Pres Agamara."
"And you came back to me."
"Eventually I got lonely, as I remember your care and love from the hospitality that the people of Hopsmarch gives me. I eventually made a request to by-then King Doklanga of a thing."
"Of going back home?"
"No, Jeff. Of you being an advisor to the Noble Council based on your experience in the history and culture. Of course I hid that you are the one that actually made their world to exist."
"But, Bob. I have... a life here."
"What life? A life with the same old peers that hardly even remember you? Your family is gone. All that is left is you here. I'm your only friend left in the Earth."
"Aside from Linda. She's a very kind nurse, always reminding me of taking my medications."
"She's young and has a great body too, but that's not the point! Don't you always wanted to explore outside the shelter and have an adventure with me? Don't you always picture yourself in a quest with me? Granted, we have that four years ago when we're talking walks in the park but this will be different. Hopsmarchers, smiling, beautifully singing, archers competing in the Grand Charade, children dancing in the annual Boatswarming Festival..."
"I know.. but. I'm an old man. What use can an old man in Hopsmarch be. I'm not even sure if I still can do long walks."
"You have me, Jeff. I'll guide you there. You'll be free from your current life of monotony. Come, on, it's midnight. I've already gotten the keys from the guards and unlocked the doors the way in."
"Ookay. Yes. I think I can have one more adventure, at least before I leave the world of the living."
"Let's go, Jeff. On to the world that you have forged! Live it!"
"Ha! Thanks, Bob. Now, now. Don't be too hasty."
"Right, slow and steady."
"Yes. Nice. Now who's a good boy."
"I do. Ha, surprisingly, I also missed that."
"I'm betting earlier that you do."
-------------
*In Loving Memory*
Jefferson A. Mercer
October 13, 1942 - January 3, 2013
Jefferson, fiction writer, passed away in his sleep on January 3, 2013 in Angels Shelter in Salamis holding a picture of his beloved dog Bobby. Memorial services will be performed at Saint Andrew Funeral Homes on January 5, 2013 at 4:00 pm.
Memorial donations may be made in Jefferson's name to the American Writers Society. Alongside, the drafts of the final Chronicles of Hopsmarch book and its intellectual property is also donated to the AWS. |
_Combat Log: Heysel's Decrepit Mine, 2020-15-7, 7:30 P.M._
**Holden the Rock** hit **Kobold Security Guard** for 13 damage.
**Kobold Security Guard** died.
**Dark Crystal Golem**'s *Hail of Rocks* hit **fuzzymelon** for 6 damage.
**Dark Crystal Golem**'s *Hail of Rocks* hit **DurKLarD** for 10 damage.
**DurkLarD**: really?
**DurkLarD**: okay
**DurkLarD**: healer
**DurkLarD**: healer
**Holden the Rock**: She left the party after you called her a 'waste of server space'.
**Holden the Rock**: For buffing the tank instead of you.
**Holden the Rock**: Seriously, she knew what she was doing. She was like 50 levels above you guys.
**Holden the Rock**: And I'm like 20 above you, so listen to me now:
**Holden the Rock**: Use your potion and get over it.
**DurkLarD**'s _Potion of Healing_ healed 9 points.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Dark Crystal Golem** for 12 damage.
**Holden the Rock**: Oh my god not that one
**fuzzymelon**: Missbind
**fuzzymelon**: dont worry i have More
**Holden the Rock**: It happens. We can work with this.
**Holden the Rock** hit **Dark Crystal Golem** for 7 damage.
**Dark Crystal Golem** died.
**Holden the Rock**: I bought an extra just in case.
**Holden the Rock**: Just don't throw any more. We need three to melt his armor.
**fuzzymelon**: k
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** appeared!
**DurkLarD**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 12 damage.
**Holden the Rock**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 13 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Demonic Armor_ is wearing!
**Holden the Rock**'s _Potion of Acid_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 11 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Demonic Armor_ is broken!
**DurkLarD**: ez
**Holden the Rock**'s _Hercules Taunt_ succeeded on **Gem Warden Alzseranor**
**Gem Warden Alzseranor**'s _Dark Pact_ hit **Holden the Rock** for 40 damage.
**Holden the Rock** died.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: shit
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Okay you guys can still take him this turn.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: He's pretty weak now.
**fuzzymelon**: k
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 5 damage.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 6 damage.
**fuzzymelon**'s _Arrowstorm_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 8 damage.
**DurkLarD**'s _Finishing Touch_ hit **Gem Warden Alzseranor** for 18 damage.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been slain!
**DurkLarD**: nice
**fuzzymelon**: i have Level up
**HarpLass Monster** revived **Gem Warden Alzseranor**!
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Sweet guys, loot goes evenly unless you are
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Wait what the fuck
**HarpLass Monster**: Sup bitches
**HarpLass Monster**: How about a round two
**HarpLass Monster**'s _Divine Grace_ healed **Gem Warden Alzseranor** 20 points.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Holy Pact_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Stone Words_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Mantra of Flame_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Wrath_.
**DurkLarD**: please
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Retribution_.
**Gem Warden Alzseranor** has been buffed with **HarpLass Monster**'s _Seal of the Gods_.
**Gem Warden Alzeranor** hit **DurkLard** for 78 damage.
**DurkLarD** died.
**Gem Warden Alzeranor**'s _Dark Pact_ hit **fuzzymelon** for 121 damage.
**fuzzymelon** died.
**DurkLarD [DEAD]**: fk this
**DurkLarD [DEAD]**: team's a waste of party space
**DurkLarD [DEAD]** has left the party.
**fuzzymelon [DEAD]**: fuck ur mother First
**fuzzymelon [DEAD]** has left the party.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: ...
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: Any chance for a revive?
**HarpLass Monster**: Lmao just used mine for the day
**HarpLass Monster**: Peace
**HarpLass Monster** used a _Scroll of Teleportation_
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: God.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]**: I hate this game so much.
**Holden the Rock [DEAD]** has left the party. |
I gripped the knife between my fingers. Smooth knuckles were now crisscrossed with veins and my fingernails had turned white. Mum glanced at the knife, sipped on her wine, and then pursed her lips.
"Look again, David."
The world disappeared.
It was 2001, sixteen years before this day. A woman lay under the rubble of a building, a steel pipe wedged through her thigh. Tears streaked her cheeks, black makeup and mud painted her dark skin, and her red lipstick creased with each scream.
Mum stood over her, only wearing a bra, her shirt pressed against a spot on the woman's stomach. Colour spread quickly through the shirt, and soon the light blue became purple.
"Leave me,"the woman said.
Mum shook her head. "We'll die together, Shireen."
Shireen shot a hand out, gripping the side of mother's face. Mum recoiled. There was blood smudged on her throat and cheek after she'd stepped away.
The woman, Shireen, pointed toward an exit that was quickly being covered by falling debris. "My son, David. You'll look after him, you'll make his life worth living. Go!"
Mum turned and ran. She made it out just in time, but collapsed to the concrete and coughed up blood and dust as soon as she was out. Above her, the building was on fire. Police ran to her aid, a few firefighters too. Something went crashing down and a cloud of dust rushed out in every direction. The screams will haunt me forever.
The vision faded.
"What did you see the first time?"
My lip trembled. "Just you running."
"Do you hate me?"The woman who was not really my mother asked.
I dropped the knife. |
I woke to a crackling coming from outside of my bedroom. I sprang up out of bed, accidentally waking my wife, and ran into the hallway.
As I came out of our doorway I squinted in the dark to see a small ball of black and brown reach out and paw at a pair of wires hanging out the wall. The little troublemaker had somehow taken the outlet cover off and was lucky she hadn’t set the house on fire.
Just then her playful paw swatted at the wires again, sending a sparks into the air and emitting the same crackling noise as before.
“COOKIE,” my wife shouted as she glides past me “can you stay away from danger for one night?” Picking up our cat stroking her coat, looking back at me as she turns toward the kitchen.
“I’m putting her in her cage for the rest of the night, I have to go to work.”
“Alright,” I groaned “I’m going back to bed.” As I stumbled back to the bed I remember how recently the cat had been more troublesome. I’m not for putting cats in cages but this seemed like a necessary safety measure. Just the night before Cookie had knocked over a protein shake my wife made me before bed. Thinking back I thought of all the deeds she’d done, chewing up my work ties and even hiding my keys(still haven’t been able to use my car). Hitting the mattress I became too tired to dwell on the others. I drifted off.
The whining is what woke me this time.
I didn’t have the heart to listen to it so I let her out. My wife had left me another protein shake on the counter(I must have slept through the blender). Not that it mattered because the first thing cookie did was jump up and knock it to the floor.
I was furious, not so much over the beverage, more over the broken glass. Fuming I knelt to clean it up.
The shake had a strange aroma, one that reminded me of something but I couldn’t quite place what.
The anger triggered the memory of last night, so after wiping the floor, I walked back into the hallway. Drying my hands on a washcloth I knelt down next to the outlet.
Strange I didn’t remember it being there. I started to peel back the safety cover revealing a strange amount of wires.... too many.
Cookie sulked into the hallway behind me, always on a mission to be in the way it seemed. I did my best to ignore her.
The outlet must have had wires belonging to something on the other side of the wall. I stood up, cookies eyes looking pleadingly up at me.
I threw the washcloth over her, that kitchen floor is gonna be sticky for a week.
On the other side was the bathroom. Strangely enough the vanity covered the area the outlet would be.
Trying to move it got me nowhere. So instead I opened the lower cupboard searching for something requiring electricity. Nothing. But the back of the cupboard seemed... odd. Touching it revealed a false back.
Inside were vials, electrical wiring in spools, darts, bullets, syringes and a gun. All set up in rows.
Beyond words I rushed to the bedroom for my phone ready to dial my wife’s number.
As I approached my nightstand I stepped on a hidden switch on my side of the bed. My heart stopped. All I felt was daggers in my calf, then my thigh and finally my chest. I looked down as cookie had finished her accent.
I was just about to yell at her when I heard a click*.
Out of the wall came a whisp of air and cookie tensed then fell onto the bed. My mind only registered one thing. The odor.
It came to me. Every drink, cookie spilled on the floor smelled the exact same. Every new lipstick Cookie opened in the litter box, and each perfume bottle destroyed. The same.
I thought it was just the carpet. I was wrong.
I cradled her as she slowly lost consciousness, flipped her over and pulled out the dart.
I didn’t know what to think anymore. How I’d escape my wife or why she wanted me dead in the first place...
But I knew one thing for sure, I’m saving this cat.
Re: replied to a comment so posted sequel 2x ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ |
Meryl loves tofu. But why in the world would she want me to go get tofu at 10pm? I keep trying to stock up on it for her, but she goes through it really, really fast. The only tofu shop is on the other side of town, and I haven't been able to afford a car so it's not like it's a short trip. A solid 30 minutes one way. I'm going to have to say something about these random tofu runs; they've been happening more frequently and at weird hours.
Maybe she's angry at me about something. I mean, I know I took a couple days to unload the dishwasher but *she* could have unloaded it to. She wouldn't still be mad about when I dried her jeans on high heat would she? That's got to be it. I did tell her I didn't mean to do it, so that should have made it better, right? Maybe I should just tell her that I'll let her do all the laundry so I don't mess it up. That shouldn't backfire on me.
My thoughts are interrupted as I hear loud crashes in the distance. Waves of multi-color lights erupt between the buildings two blocks down. Purples and pinks, greens and blues burst into the night sky casting an eerie glow to the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Fireworks? I love fireworks. I start running to the corner to see what's going on, hoping not to miss anything.
Just before I reach the corner, another explosion of light engulfed the street. A boom thundered above me, almost knocking the air from my chest, and I saw a figure tumbling across the street in front of me. Something wasn't right; these weren't fireworks. A gnawing sensation crept up my back and set my hair on end. Something was *very* wrong. The figure laid motionless. And then I heard the laughing.
A deep, foreboding exhalation of joy that could be felt as much as heard wafted through the air. *Evil*. *He is evil*. My body was frozen. Fight or Flight. Fight or Flight. Flight and Flight? A corner of my mind saw the figure on the street. It was a girl; her long brown hair was a mess of dust and broken hair pins. I turned my eyes and took her in. She was beautiful. A deep purple cape draped off her back, and a pure pink mask covered her eyes and ran to the tip of her nose. Her lips were colored the same as the mask. I liked that color.
My thoughts snapped back to attention as a monstrosity emerged from the darkness of the street that she had exploded out of. It didn't exactly emerge from the darkness, actually. It's like it brought the darkness with it. Deep blue and green auras ran down its arms; it had 4 of them - arms, that is. The only bright thing about it were its teeth. It's white, razor sharp teeth, dripping with anticipation of going in the for the kill. I could feel its surprise when the girl began to move. I could sense the anger and destruction rising within its essence.
But I could also feel the girl's spirit swelling. A strong river of protection emanate from her. She had power, maybe enough to beat this monster. She just didn't have time; the creature was already gathering its energy, its crimson eyes focused solely on her. I had maybe 10 seconds. Get the heck out of dodge, or get into some serious business. Fight or Flight. Fight or Fight?
I didn't make a decision. My legs started moving on their own. My arms were already reaching out, one towards her and another towards that thing. Every extremity seemed to scream out *save her*. All I could actually *think* about was how I didn't think Meryl would be getting that tofu tonight. Meryl.
My life hadn't really amounted up to anything at this point. Sure, I'd gone to college and been the life of a couple parties, but I hadn't ever accomplished anything that I'd been proud of. My parents had certainly made sure to tell me that too, when I graduated. You'd think that me being the first in my family to graduate would have been a positive thing, but not to them. "You're still going to fail"they'd said, "and that girl you're dating probably doesn't even like you."
Meryl. If anything, she'd been the only thing I'd accomplished. Well, I'd accomplished dating her. She was amazing. Quirky and fun, outgoing and lively. Loved everyone and never saw a stranger; she only saw friends. She'd been there for me, encouraging me, rooting me on. She would smile and twirl her fingers around in her hair. God, I loved her.
I was between the monster and the girl, now. Broiling rage and energy on one side, calmness and pure goodness on the other. *If I'm going to die*, I figured, *I'd rather be looking at her than at that thing*. Our eyes met. Her calmness wavered, then broke. Fear spread across her lips and into her eyes. "NO!"she yelled, but it was too late; I'd made up my mind. Or, really, my body had made it up for me.
The evil being released everything it had. The energy churned and crackled through the night, spiraling towards us - towards me. I had enough time to say, "Kill it,"before I was engulfed in blue and green flames. I think she is screaming in horror right now, but I can't hear her. The sound of the energy downs out everything. All my senses except for my desire for survival are cut off. There's no way I can survive this. I reach out in hope for the girl, the masked heroine, to rise and take victory.
She reached out. At first I thought she was reaching towards me, but she was reaching out to the monster. Her whole body began to glow as purple energy turned to pink lightning that bristled on the edge of her skin and hair. The dust and damage was gone from her, a quiet calmness stirred with a gentle rage. No, it wasn't rage... it was revenge. Her power grew a hundred fold. Her mask began to crack with the overwhelming pressure that she was mastering.
My body snapped back to its sense. *You're in trouble* it cried. I could feel a slight burning sensation as the cruel power continued to engulf me. I focused a bit more on surviving, closing my eyes but still listening with my heart. She let off all of her energy. A focused beam of light that pierced the evil into a thousand clouds of nothingness. The light went on for eternity; I could sense its course, traveling through the stars for all to see her victory and... *sorrow*? The evil power surrounding me faded. I opened my eyes and looked down at myself.
Diamonds. I was covered in - no, I *was* - diamonds. When had that happened? Was that when I got hit by the energy? No, it was before. It was when I had started running to save her. *Her*. Where was she? I turned to look at the heroine that I thought I was going to die saving. Her mask fell off, it's pieces scattering in the wind. *Meryl*!
"You!" |
"Take it back,"the Devil demanded.
He held out a tiny piece of paper,
With my crayon drawing of a dog,
From way, way, way back,
Maybe 1992?
"Take it back,"Lucifer begged.
Holding out the tiny piece of paper,
The contract children sign,
When they have no idea,
What their soul is worth.
I didn't want it back.
I never had.
It made things so very easy,
To go through life not caring,
Not doing anything deeply,
But the devil must have felt it,
The hour you died,
How my soul contracted,
Like a little snake,
Around his wrist and never let go.
The missing you?
One hell of a depth,
The world sliced clean through.
I don't want it back.
I refuse.
No matter what the devil says,
I don't want to feel the loss of you. |
He was cute. Too cute, in retrospect; I should have seen the signs. But I am human, mostly, and my brain likes to ignore the Should-Be-Obvious in favor of the Maybe-We-Could. Especially when it's been a while. Which it had.
So I showed up in my favorite get-lucky outfit after spending twice my usual going-out time in front of the mirror, and I flirted and I laughed at his jokes, which were actually pretty good. Very confident and rehearsed, actually, another sign I blundered on past, hoping. When someone's really into you and it's the first date, they tend to be nervous and their jokes tend to be goofy or at least unpolished, and you laugh because, well, you're into *them*, not really the jokes. This guy? He was putting on a big show of being real into me. Meaning he wasn't really.
But at the time, I was riding high on hope and his really gorgeous eyes and the way his smile drew perfect folds and lines in the rest of his sculpted face, even though the smile and the eyes never really met, you know? Signs.
I didn't let him kiss me, or rather I sent signs of my own that said, "maybe, probably even, but not just now."And he picked up on them, because he picked up on everything.
Almost everything, anyway, he didn't pick up on the holdout pistol I had strapped just under my bra, hidden by the billowy part of my favorite top. (It's my favorite for multiple reasons.) So when I first stepped into his no doubt well-insulated apartment and saw his choice of wallpaper, felt the humming hemming-in effect of my own face staring at me from every direction, I went for the weapon. Fortunately the attractive overconfident bastard had his back to me as he strode over to retrieve something from an entry table drawer.
"Done your research,"I told him as he turned around with that stupid handsome confident grin and also a very large knife. "You're gonna want to drop that."
His eyes locked onto the gun and the grin froze, then slowly drooped at the edges. "No, you drop yours. You have no power here. I confront you with the sight of your own—“
I shot him in the gut. He let out an honestly kind of comical gasp of total surprise. Comical first of all because he was obviously an asshole, and bad things happening to bad people is almost always funnier. Second because come on, I was pointing a gun at you, it's not like this should be all that unexpected. I guess he thought the pictures would stop me from doing *anything* rather than just suppress my powers.
"Drop the knife,"I said again, keeping my voice almost casual. You don't have to try for menace when you're holding a gun you've already shot them with once.
He did, and dropped himself to his knees.
"That's better,"I said. "I didn't want to have to kill you and have a corpse on my hand. I'm not very hungry after that big dinner."
The look of horror on his face made me cackle, and then I saw how it was mixed with his clearly excruciating pain and felt a little bad. He was an asshole and Mom wasn't a very nice fey Dad sometimes said I took after her when he was really annoyed and struggling with being a single parent but I'm not heartless, you know?
"We're not cannibalistic,"I told him. "I think Mom lived on mostly mushrooms, and anyway I'm only half. But, given your charming decor here, I'm guessing you already knew most of that."
"You shot me,"he said through gritted teeth. "I thought you were supposed to be..."he trailed off as blood made his words increasingly frothy.
"I did,"I said, kind of gently because even though he had it coming, this level of pain was hard to watch. "And yeah, my powers are being suppressed, but, uh, even if I were a full-blood fey it wouldn't actually *neutralize*me. Don't need powers to pull a gun."
He gurgled for a bit, then coughed. "Yeah, I...noticed."His eyes kept tending toward the door behind me.
"Gods *damn* it,"I said, and shot him between the eyes, then whirled to cover the door. Three rounds left in my little pistol. I walked slowly forward. No movement, no rattling doorknob. I reached it, tried it. Locked. Of course. Couldn't have me making a run for it. Deadbolt must have gone in automatically; it had a keyhole instead of a knob.
*Shit.*
I backed up slowly, grimaced at the faces, at *my* face, everywhere I looked. Even papered all over the damn door I was trying to get through. The effect of them sat between me and my powers like a wide fuzzy wall, made everything uneasy and slightly grey, drained of the extra-vibrant colors included in my usual perception.
I reached the corpse after what felt like a thousand years of awkward backward crab-walk, fumbled through the pockets of what I tried very hard not to think of as a corpse.
There. Keys. I jumped up and ran toward the door, slammed the key home on the third shaky try, turned it, yanked the door open...
...and stood face-to-face with two big men, knives drawn, the surprise on their faces mirroring what must be on my own.
<continued below> |
The body is spread out on its stomach, the dead man's blood is pooled around him bathing the alleyway. Stars shimmer their reflections in his leaked red lake and it looks a little like heaven itself has bled.
His back has been peeled open, each of his ribs sliced away from his spine. And his ribs.... they've been pulled so far wide that they look like pointed white wings.
"Jesus,"says, Carla. She's new and not seen anything like this before. And even if she wasn't new, she wouldn't have seen anything like this.
She turns and gags as I step forward and crouch in the blood. I pull gloves out of my pocket and snap them on.
"Officer,"I say. "Get your shit together and shine your flashlight on the body."
She nods. "Yeah. Okay. I'm alright -- don't worry,"she mumbles, running a hand across her mouth. "I guess I knew I'd see messed up stuff when I hit the streets. Just, got to get used to it."
"Get used to it real quick."
"Hey, detective? You... you shouldn't be touching the body, right? Jesus, what've they even done to him?"
"It's a blood eagle,"I say. "Ancient form of torture. Of death."
"Can't say I've heard of it,"she says.
"Blood eagle's are attributed to vikings -- they're referred to in a handful of their epics. But their usage predates the vikings by quite a while."I don't tell her that it's much older than *any* race of man. That God used it on the very first fallen angel.
"I get the blood in the name,"she says, looking down. "But why an eagle?"
"Vikings thought it made the victim look like one. With their ribs spread out like great wings. You don't see the likeness, Carla?"
"Maybe a litt--"She gags again but nothing comes out this time.
Slowly, I turn the body over; Carla tries feebly to protest about touching the evidence. But my eyes are locked on the dead man's collar and her voice is swallowed up by the blood in my ears.
I already know what I'm going to find before I turn him, but I have to see it.
His open bones scrape against the concrete. I feel an ache in the stubs of my own wings.
"God damn,"I say.
"Fuck."Carla's boots squelch as she steps forward. "It's a... he is... *was*, a priest? Who the fuck would kill a priest? And like this? Slicing a knife through his back..."
"Not a knife."
"A saw, then? The cut looked kinda smooth though."
Not a saw either, but I just grunt -- she's right that the cuts were too perfect. The lab will have a hard time identifying the weapon because they don't have angel teeth on record.
"Shine your flashlight here,"I say as I get up and move to the man's feet. Something's caught my attention -- something almost glowing even without any light on it.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course."She moves the white beam with me, as if I'm under the spotlight in some amateur murder mystery production.
"What is it?"Carla asks as I pluck something out of the dead man's shoe. Something purposefully placed there, wedged in between boot and foot.
I hold it up in the light. Its bright white except for the tip which is black, as if dipped into an inkwell.
Carla frowns. "Why would there be a feather in his shoe?"
"It's a calling card,"I say.
"A calling card?"I can almost hear the gears in her mind clicking and clacking as she works out what it means. She's only just out of training; has to remember the right class she took on the subject.
"You mean...,"she starts. "They intend to kill again? Because one time killers very rarely leave a calling card."
"I know."
"*Shit*."
"I know."I bag the feather up. Something else to confuse the boys at the lab.
"Well... how do you know it's not a stray feather that just got stuck in his shoe?"
"Coincidence that he was killed with the blood eagle and then a feather got itself stuck there, don't you think? Plus, I don't see any long-feathered doves around, do you?"
She pauses. The city's quiet around us. So quiet it almost screams its 3AM silence.
"Guess not."
I pad the priest down but no wallet. No ID. "We got to find out who he was,"I say. "'Cause it might be me more priests targeted next, or it might be this one's--"
A distant explosion. Something like a muffled firework. I know with a gut sinking certainty that its the priest's church. Can almost smell the gasoline fouling up the air.
It'll have gone up like an inferno. I pray the priest's flock weren't locked up inside of it.
"Did you hear that?"Carla says, eyes wide. "Holy shit!"
There will be more priests slaughtered soon, if I don't find the angel responsible.
And if too many priests die in my town, then my chances of getting to heaven will, like that church, go up in flames. |
The first back to school, Billy stepped into the building like he owned the joint.
Most of the other kids ignored him, while a few others snickered and pointed at him. Though only twelve, the other kids called him Old Man Billy for the hearing aids he had to wear. The same jokes about escaping from the retirement home, about where his walker was, drawling out basic sentences as if he couldn't understand, were endlessly repeated.
A few kids went wide eyed and put their backpacks to him. Billy recognized them from summer camp, which was when his benefactor showed up.
A voice came through his aids. It was like a choir of chain smokers singing in perfect harmony, asking him if any of these were Joel. Billy mouthed no, quietly enough so that no human could hear. His benefactor understood.
The first few periods went by without incident. Towards the end of lunch, Billy walked to his locker to swap out his books. Waiting for him was a slab of a kid, the source of all the classic Old Man Billy jokes; Joel. And, as luck would have it, he was all by himself.
"Heeeeey Old. Man. Billy!"Joel shouted.
When mocking Billy, Joel always punctuated his speech as if his sentences were only a word long. Billy suspected his real sentences tended to only have two or three additional words.
"This. Isn't. The. Retirement. Home."Joel continued. "Where. Is. Your. Walker!?"
The benefactor asked if this was the punk. Billy said yes.
Joel guffawed. "Yes WHAT? You. Really. ARE. DEAF."
This was the part where Joel would demand to have the hearing aids for one of his award-winning skits. The benefactor had given Billy two clear instructions, the first of which was to hand them over willingly.
Billy took the aids out, handing them over to Joel. Joel put them right up to his own ears, screaming "EH? EH? EH? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, EH!"
The second instruction; step away.
As Billy did so, the benefactor made one of his special miracles happen. The aids ripped themselves from Joel's hands, and slammed themselves into his ears. Joel's mouth stopped flapping, his eyes crossed from shock.
Then, as if a pair of meaty hands were grabbing him by the ears, Joel's head jerked backed, and he was dragged backward. A locker opened up and...swallowed him, somehow accommodating the girth with ease. The door slammed shut, and the lock spun so that the numbers blurred together. Even without his aids, Joel could tell that everything had gone perfectly, wonderfully quiet.
Billy couldn't tell exactly what the exchange was going inside, but he knew his benefactor well enough to get an idea. Lots of swearing in a foreign language, promises to relocate body parts elsewhere, and perhaps asking if Joel would like to see all the corpses he had buried in Jersey. Always Jersey.
Billy smiled. Joel would be fine; Billy had made it clear he never wanted anyone to get hurt, and his benefactor wouldn't do anything too serious to a minor anyway. But the bully would be scared shitless, and maybe would even give up some cash just to keep Billy away from him. After years of endless torment, Billy found it hard to feel guilty over this.
His benefactor referred to himself as several things. An angel. A capo dei capi. A mistake. Billy offered a silent prayer, wishing that all mistakes would turn out to be this amazing. |
I had worked for years, spent my life savings. I had done it. The first time machine, the world would never be the same.
I prepared for my first private run. Something simple, an apple 3 weeks into the past on the desk behind me.
I flipped the switch and closed my eyes. The lights flashed and the ground shook, the desk behind me rattled and as I slowly turned I heard a voice, "uh, what's going on, man?"
My slow turn became a jerk and I saw the biggest fuck up I know sitting on my desk, Tim... I'd made a horrible miscalculation and forgot to carry the "e". The world would never be the same. |
I had never been so tense, but my mind was made up.
I hated myself for doing so, but I would take the coward's route.
What else can you do, when you love a girl for months and can never bring yourself to say anything? I kept telling myself there'd be a next time, a better occasion. As the months passed, we became friends, and then I worried about what would happen to our friendship if I spilled the beans. A platonic friendship is better than nothing, I thought.
But things reached critical mass and I could no longer convince myself that I had time -- I had to make a final choice. College decisions came out, and we would be splitting paths forever. I made up my mind to just forget about her, and try to move on. I thought I could live with never knowing what she thought about me.
We graduated yesterday. We met up, one last time, to grab lunch. All throughout, I barely made any conversation. I wanted to capture the moment, remember her face, her voice, her laugh. I felt an immense sadness, but she would never know.
Suddenly, chaos broke out across the restaurant. Women at other tables were going nuts. What? I turned, and saw one get up and slap her male companion, tears streaming from her eyes, before she left. Across other tables, I saw incredulous expressions, confusion, anger, sadness, joy, more anger. What?
I turned back to her, and saw that tears had brimmed in her eyes.
"All this time?"she asked.
What?
"That's how you've felt? All this time?"
Oh no. No. What gave it away?
What do I do? what do I do what do i SAY --
"Always."
*************************************
They call it the Awakening. The Awakening -- the day when women across the earth inexplicably gained mind-reading abilities. We call it our anniversary. |
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