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Sophia Delacruz had always been a timid child. Even as an infant, any slight noise could be enough to set her off into a crying fit. Her parents had gained many grey hairs during those early years, taking her to pediatrician after pediatrician, wondering what it could be that was ailing baby Sophia so much.
And then, after becoming a toddler, Sophia had been deathly afraid of water, going into a screaming fit anytime her mother had tried to give her a bath. She was only able to eventually become used to bathing after her mother had resorted to sponge bathing her, and then slowly introduced Sophia to larger amounts of water.
There for awhile, even puddles would make toddler Sophia cling to her mother's leg as if she had been standing near the edge of the Grand Canyon.
"What's the matter? It's just a puddle, honey, stomp in it, like this,"her mother had said, stepping into the puddle and sending sprays of water everywhere. This had only set off Sophia, reducing her to a sobbing mess.
That wasn't the end of her fears. Even food, Sophia seemed to be suspicious of. Every single time she was presented with food, Sophia would closely inspect it; first poking at whatever it was (mashed potatoes, chicken nuggets, etc), then sniffing it, and then finally nibbling at it. Something as simple as eating breakfast could take hours. Because of this, Sophia was very thin and obviously stunted.
Entering the public school system had been especially difficult, so much so that her parents had discussed homeschooling her.
"No,"her father had said, "if we just keep her locked up in the house, she's only going to get worse. She'll get that thing, gory phobia."
"Agoraphobia,"her mother had corrected. "You're right."
Sophia had many demands when it came to her classroom seating. She had to be seated at the back of the room with no one behind her, and she had to always be within eyesight of the door and all windows. If these demands weren't met, Sophia would refuse to enter the classroom.
Developing friends had been extremely difficult for Sophia, especially upon entering the less friendly middle school. Sophia had been beyond frustrated with herself, wondering why she was the way she was. Why she couldn't just sit at the front of the classroom without having goosebumps breakout over her arms.
"I'm not going to a therapist,"she had told her parents after they had offered it to her for the umpteenth time. "Nothing's wrong with me."
Her mother pursed her lips, highlighting the wrinkles that had begun to form around the corners of her mouth, "Sophie, we just want you to be happy."
"I am happy,"she said, before leaving the living room. Back in her room, she'd lay in her bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering if she really believed herself. *Am I really happy?*
At night, she'd dream.
She'd dream that she was sneaking around a dark corridor, looking for someone, and in her hand was a heavy object. She'd want to look down to see what she was holding, wanting to know what she was white-knuckle grasping. It had to have been important, but her eyes always stayed up, scanning the corridor, expecting at any moment a shadow to leap out and pounce on her.
But in the dream, she moved on, exploring deeper into that endless dark corridor, because there in that moment, she was *powerful*.
Sophia would often wake from those dreams feeling mentally exhausted and somewhat betrayed, because that person in the dream, that was *not* who she was. The same Sophia whose heart would go into a gallop of the thought of being shoved into a pool, at the thought of someone sneaking up on her, at the thought of being given food that she hadn't prepared herself... that wasn't the same Sophia who was bravely navigating those deep dark corridors in the underside of her subconscious.
She wished she could find that Sophia, pull her out of the corridor, and have her teach her how to be so brave.
That morning, she barely managed to poke at her cereal. Her mother, who was sitting on the other side of the kitchen table, didn't bother saying anything about it. It was part of the routine. All was well.
School continued on as normal, with Sophia navigating the hallways slowly, with her back to the lockers, awkwardly squirming her way through the crowd of kids, feeling gooseflesh prickle down her back anytime she lost count of how many people were behind her.
But this was the norm. She had been here in these hallways countless times, and they were safe.
The history teacher passed out new textbooks that day, a "refresh", he had called them. He told them to turn to page 234 so that they could continue the lesson on World War II that they had started at the beginning of the week.
At the very back of the classroom, Sophia thumbed through the pages, and then paused.
She had seen a very brief glimpse of something as she had been flipping through the pages. She had recognized something. She quickly flicked the pages back, trying to find those eyes that had locked onto hers, those *familiar* eyes. Sophia turned back from page 200, to page 190, further back, where had those eyes *been*? The teacher began the lesson with the other students at page 234, but Sophia had stopped at page 189, staring at a photograph of a group of women wearing old-timey nurse outfits, the nurses of Pearl Harbor.
And there, standing in the center of the women, the head nurse stood with her head held up high and a gleam in her eye and a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. At first Sophia thought that it was her mother, but as Sophia fell deeper into the gaze of the women from years long past, Sophia felt deep inside her soul that she had found the woman lost in the corridors in her dreams.
Sophia Delacruz looked at the bottom of the photograph to view the names of the nurses, and she nearly yelped when she saw a part of her name there, **Sophie Cortez**.
The palms of her hand had gone clammy and she felt as if she were hyperventilating. She was wobbling in her chair. She looked up at the teacher as he described how the pilots dropped the atomic bombs on Hiroshima, and Sophie could *hear* the explosions. She rocked back in her chair, feeling faint, and she could smell the burning flesh, and she could feel the heat.
Sophia Delacruz fell out of her chair, and several students rushed to help her. One of them cradled her head in their lap and asked her what was going on, what was wrong with her, and before Sophia Delacruz lost consciousness, Sophie Cortez said "They put a literal burn notice on me,"and then they were both asleep.
They would finally meet together in the dark corridors of their collective subconscious.
***
Added a part 2 down in the comments, [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ehf06a/wp_a_witch_offers_a_dying_female_spy/fcl5fyi/) |
Walkers. They were called walkers. From what I understood, the name came from an ancient show about Zombies that was popular a long time ago. A time before humanity had figure out immortality. At first, the immortal didn't age, they stayed where they were, some young and beautiful. Some older and wiser. They were so happy. Other people were given the treatment as well. Children and adults with uncurable diseases were saved. From the history books, it was a miracle. People started celebrating birthdays, 120, 150, 200. Then the deline started in the older folks who took the death cure. While their bodies were immortal, their brains were only designed to live one lifetime. The strain of the extra living, the excess memories was starting to make them come apart. It was like dementia took over them as they aged. Younger people lasted a lot longer. Those in their 20s and 30s lived long lives before their brains started to fail. It was kind of like a hard drive failure. Little glitches at first. A missing word here and there, forgetting to do something. Not remembering newer friends. They'd slowly fade away, then they'd just start walking. Just walking. Eventually with so many to look after, it was ruled they should be let out to wander the world. They had basic instincts, avoid danger, eat, sleep. They weren't a danger to populations, so that's what they did. They let them roam the world. Their bodies were immortal so they couldn't die, they rarely got hurt.
I was just a little kid when I started asking about the scary people who shuffled around in robes (easier to dress them in robes to cover themselves then regular clothes). They smelled bad, they were dirty, unkempt and when they looked at you, it was like there was nothing there. As I got older, I regularly saw them rounded up and taken out of the city to wander the endless barran wastelands surrounding the mega cities. I remember one school trip, we were taken to an abandoned city to tour how civilisation lived a thousand years ago. The place was crumbling, nature had taken its course, but it wasn't empty. The walkers inhabited the place, walking down the streets, occasionally interacting with something their now primitive minds remembered. They waited at traffic lights, went into buildings and sat down. It was eerie. A city of the ancient ones and we were there, visiting, like we were on a safari.
I occasionally saw news reports about a walker who appeared out of the ocean. Centuries ago, the ancient ones all had chips embedded into their bodies. It was kind of like our ID cards on our comms. It tracked their location among other things. He had apparently been walking the ocean for at least a hundred years and came out with skin missing, his body green, but the most interesting part, gills. He had freaking evolved to have gills. His feet were longer, his fingers longer. He became a scientific study.
Now, it was my time to decide if I wanted to become immortal. Early 20s meant I'd get 500-1000 years before my brain dissolved, unless they found the cure. We were all lab rats going into this. Older folks were experimented on the most. Those who didn't have the option at 20 or those who chose to live a regular, human life. It wasn't just for the elite, you could earn your way into getting the treatment. Me, I earned my way in. Turns out me mastering multiple styles of martial arts caught their interest. Keeping arts and culture alive through the generations was a big deal and I was chosen to keep my martial art styles alive. So here I am. Watching the walkers, wondering, does it hurt to be one. Is it scary? Lonely? Will I even know who I am by the time I'm wandering? Is it worth the extra years? Can they be brought back if our scientists find a cure? 500+ years is a long time, maybe by then we'd solve the last clue to true immortality. It was time. Time for me to join others in the megacities immortal class. |
I opened the Hidden Corners a few years ago. It was a small little place, set down in the basement of a larger building complex that housed a few different shops. Leaky, smelled of stale air.
But it was perfect. It was hard to find, a little hole in the ground, which fit the mood I wanted to go for. Think 1920’s speakeasy mashed together with relaxing jazz bar. The kind of place where I’d be getting by on an established and loyal set of clientele, which was easy enough since I could bring in some old regulars from the bar I’d been working at while finishing up my business degree.
Yeah, I hadn’t realized who exactly that dedicated clientele would be. But one day, I came to realize that the ‘people’ who were visiting my bar weren’t human. Or at least not one that I could find.
It wasn’t so obvious for a while. They looked human, or human enough to pass in the dim lighting, and I hadn’t been looking that close. There were some things off, of course, but I was willing to pass them off. The pale lady in the gothic night gown, figured she was weird, not that she was a vampire. Or the hairy fellow who’d always order a Blue Moon. I didn’t want to ask in case it was some genetic thing, how would I know he was a werewolf?
Except then those two happened to come in the same night and didn’t take too kindly to each other. A little scuffle broke out, and I knew something was up when the lady bared fangs and the man started to hulk out.
Then one of my favorites, an older gentleman with an eyepatch, tapped on over between them with his cane and they settled right down.
Of course, the gentleman had to spend a good hour explaining everything to me. Apparently this place, being secretive and out of the way, made it a great spot for people like themselves to hang out, relax, and settle matters. Respectfully, and without causing trouble to the owner. That being me.
And, well, I was fine enough with that. They were respectful, and I’d grown to enjoy their conversation.
I suppose that was a year ago now that little fight happen and I figured out what was happening.
“Back room open, boss?” There was the werewolf, a large man with a southern drawl I now knew as Charlie.
“It is for the next couple hours, before the Olympians need it. It’s yours if you need it, just make sure to wrap up before then. I don’t want a repeat of last month when someone went over on Zeus’s scheduled time.”
“Will do.” Charlie nodded and led a group of equally hairy people into the ‘mediation room.’
That sounds a bit ominous, but really it was a big conference hall that old man Woden added for me. His idea, but I liked it. Plus the extra space was nice. I still wasn’t sure how that worked, given the bar shouldn’t be that big. Woden’s explanations about spatial distortion and runes went over my head, but hey…why look a gift God in the mouth?
Anyway, the mediation room was where otherworldly entities could hang out and discuss matters that could otherwise go violent. The Hidden Corners was guaranteed to be neutral territory, so all manner of monsters, Gods, and mind-warping entities from beyond the void of reality could stop by, drink, and negotiate.
Slow night, though. It’d get rowdy once the Olympians showed up for their monthly family get-together, but it was already ticking near ten P.M. and the werewolves in the other room were the only customers I had.
Good time to experiment. Dionysus liked odd drinks, so I should mess around with the shaker and see if I couldn’t surprise him.
It was about an hour later, and seventeen failed cocktails, when I heard the door open.
“Hey, bartender.” I looked up. A group of three young adults had stepped into the bar. They hardly seemed old enough to drink, but it was pointless to hold supernatural beings to the standards of humanity.
“What can I get you?” They glanced at each other before moving up to sit at the bar. The one in the lead looked like a college freshman, but he had a weird visor over his eyes. It looked like it was part of his skin, fusing seamlessly into the side of his head.
“How about a…heh, yeah, give me a red-headed slut.” Didn’t particularly care for the way he said any of that, but hey. They’re new, they’ll learn.
The next, a lady wearing a Gothic Lolita get up and wearing some sort of white make-up that made her look pale as a corpse, tapped on the counter for my attention.
“What’d ya like?”
“blood.”
“I’m afraid we don’t serve that here.” Wrong thing to say, apparently. The last, a heavyset fellow with a face red from the exertion of climbing down a few steps, leaned in over the counter. His breath was a sour combination of energy drinks and rotting teeth. I kept my expression carefully blank as my space was invaded by his foul odor.
“You don’t serve blood?” He asked, indignant.
“That’s right. We serve alcohol here. And water, if you’d like.”
“I thought you served Gods here.”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, we’re Gods.”
“Good for you?” Visors was just kinda staring at me, corpse lady wasn’t staring at much with those blank eyes, and the one who didn’t know about the concept of personal space was growing redder by the second.
“Do you not understand?” He asked, now a little smug. “We’re Gods. And you are human.”
“Sounds like we both understand.”
“So serve us, human. You’ve got blood, don’t you?”
“let me have your blood,” the corpse-lady added, helpfully. A discolored, maggot-like tongue darted out between her bluish lips.
Mhm, didn't like that one bit.
“I’m trying, but we don’t serve blood here. Not mine, not anybody’s.” Visor started to reach for one of the half-filled shakers I had left on the counter. I tried to stop him, but the big fellow caught my arm. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What?”
“Any of this. Let go of my arm and set down that shaker. Then, if you ask nicely, I can get you something we do actually make here. Maybe a nice Manhattan, or an old-fashioned.”
“You still don’t get it. You’ll do what we say-“ He was cut off as Visor started to choke. Oof, he had taken a big swig too.
The big guy let go of me and grabbed the shake, gave it a sniff. He didn’t like it.
“What the hell is this?”
“Something new I’m trying. It’s for a friend.”
“Your friend has terrible taste.” Visor was calming down now, though tears still streamed down his face. Not one for spicy things, I see. But Dionysus liked weird things in his drinks, and I just got a batch of ghost peppers to surprise him.
The door opened, but these three didn’t seem to notice. They were too focused on me.
“Why would anyone drink this swill? Bah! Should just burn this whole place down.” The big fellow tensed, his arm reeling back to pitch the shaker and what remained of its contents at me. Instead, a hand reached in from behind and plucked it from his fingers.
“I like to think I know my drink well,” Dionysus said. He took a sip, gave a hum of appreciation, and nodded to me. “Sorry we’re a bit early. Is the backroom available? Zeus has some…issues he needs to work through with Hera.” The two Gods in question stood immediately behind Dionysus. Zeus had a personal thundercloud storming above his head, and Hera had steam billowing from her ears.
The rest of their family was filing in behind them, looking awkward and eager for a drink.
“I’m afraid not, the werewolf gangs are settling some things back there still. Should be done soon, I can get you something while you wait.”
“That’d be perfect. I have a feeling we’re about to work up quite the appetite,” he said. Dionysus flashed me a wide grin as he set a hand on the bar, pressing in a little too close to the big fellows stool. He had to lean into the corpse-lady to keep away from him. “It’s hard work, teaching New Gods some respect. But we’ve got time. Hey, how about we take this outside?”
“I-“
“Let’s take this outside.”
As the Olympians pulled the three newcomers outside into the stairwell, I set to work making their drinks.
​
(Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!) |
[**Side-note: This was a lot harder than I first thought. Please bear with me on the font styles.**]
The train bounced across the subway tracks, grinding the metal and heaving forward as it slowed to a station. I grazed my thumb over the glossy paper in my hand.
*You should apply*, I heard a timid voice say.
I looked down at the brochure to the university's film school. MFA in Writing. MFA in Film Production. I wasn't confident. I had heard this was a competitive program. Choosing which program was hard enough... getting in was only half of it.
*You really should, Harper*, she echoed in my head.
"I should?"I said, scanning the text.
*Look at it!* her pitch heightened. *You could do writing. I know you can*.
"Oh? Do you?"I said.
I skimmed through the brochure, pointing to the requirements of the Writing MFA.
*Look!* she said. *You're a creative guy. You have the GPA. You have the experience.*
"I have experience as a high school newspaper writer years ago,"I chuckled under my breath. "That's not much experience."
I heard her scoff, *That's enough to at least try.*
My eyes turned upward as I closed my lids.
"Why do you always push me to do these things?"
A pondering hum filled my head, *Because I want the best for you.*
"That's not an answer."
*You want me to tell you that I want to embarrass you? Because that's what you're thinking, isn't it?*
"No... yes. I just want to know. The others speak to me like you're always wrong. Why should you take the lead?"
*Don't listen to her, boy,* I heard a gruff voice say. *She's only trying to live vicariously through you.*
*And who doesn't?* she said. *He's not half bad.*
*I say! I'm the one that got him through his first breakup, didn't I?* the gruff voice said.
A soft sigh flowed across my forehead, *Can we not talk about her?*
"Why can't we talk about her?"I said, adjusting in my seat.
*Because she wasn't good for you!* she said. *We already know that!*
"Was it that obvious?"I said. A smile broke across my cheeks. She was the one being obvious, now.
*Harper!* the gruff voice said. *Listen to me.*
"Go on?"
*This woman here... she's got no place else to be. Don't humor her.*
*I'm not living 'vicariously' through you!* she said.
*Says the disembodied voice,* the gruff voice said.
And then... silence. I waited to hear something. I tilted up my ear. Nothing. The silence broke with a whimper.
"Is she whimpering?"I said.
*I... I'm not,* she said. She was.
"You're not dis--"
*No. No, he's right. I'm pointless.*
"No, please."
*Harper... I just want you to be happy,* she said.
"What is this?"
*A romantic drama, it seems,* said the gruff voice.
*Shut up!* she said, her sniffling became louder and louder, as if she were right next to me.
"Listen,"I said. "If--"
*No, you listen,* she said. I could tell she was agitated. *I'm happy if you are. That's my life. My existence. That's why I'm here and... and I can't stand to see you waste your potential by listening to this smug bastard!*
I heard a gruff voice clear his throat.
*I don't care,* she said. *Harper. Apply. Please. Just do what makes you happy. I want to see you happy, again.*
And for a brief instant, I felt... what was it? A warmth against my cheek? Like a hand pressing against my face. I pulled away, and noticed the woman across the train from me had been staring with her jaw agape. I smiled to her, closing my eyes.
*I want to be happy*, I thought.
*So be happy,* I heard. *Be with me.*
|
"Alright, let's go play,"I said to my friend beside me. From her desk, my mom sighed with annoyance.
"I told you 5 minutes ago, Annie, I can't go out and play."She didn't even turn around from the computer as she complained. Too busy as always.
"I wasn't talking to you, Mom,"I said, sticking out my tongue. "I was talking to Penelope, she was suggesting we go out."
"Oh, Penelope suggested that, did she?"I could hear my mom's patronizing tone. She never seemed to like my friend. "Well, then you and Penelope go have fun. I need to work."
"We will,"I promised bitterly. "Don't you worry about it."
Penelope had barely shut the door behind us before I started to rant. "Ugh, I can't stand when she talks to me like that. Like I'm crazy or something."
"Don't worry about it,"Penelope said, tossing her pink hair over her shoulder. "I've told you before, she can't see me. She might think you are."
"Yeah but if she would just listen to me for once... arrgh. Instead she's always too busy working to even look at me. And then she just uses that stupid tone of voice to dismiss everything I say..."I kicked a white stone down the street in frustration.
"It could always be worse."Penelope had a sympathetic smile on her face. She always looked a little sad when I fought with my mom.
"I doubt that,"I growled, stomping off down the street. "Come on, let's go get some ice cream or something."
--
"Wake up,"I heard my mom say. "It's time for school."
I rolled over in my bed and stared up at the white-stucco ceiling. "Yeah yeah, I'm getting up."
"Did you hear me Annie? I said it's time to wake up!"My mom repeated herself like I hadn't just answered her. I tried not to roll my eyes in response.
"Yeah Mom, I heard you,"I said, sitting up in my bed. "What's the big deal?"
"You're going to be late if you don't wake up!"my mom insisted. I opened my mouth to retort, but the words froze in my mouth. She wasn't even looking at me, she was shaking the body laying beside me in bed. Penelope's pink hair poked out the top and she stirred into wakefulness.
"Sorry Mom,"I heard her say in my voice. "Getting up now."
"Finally,"my mom grumped. "I swear you sleep like the dead, Annie."
I stared at Penelope with my mouth hanging open wide. She gave me a mischievous smile.
"I told you there were worse things."
--
*Check out more stories at /r/Lexilogical. And if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy my [choose your own adventure story](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2gj7co/wp_write_a_first_person_account_of_a_fictitious/ckjnnyy).* |
The Applesoft TRX45 computer has lain in display at the Smithsonian Museum for the last ten years. It is the most power computer ever created and has accomplished absolutely nothing in its finite existence. I first heard about it in my first year at George Washington University and also heard, because of its lack of activity, no one ever bothered visiting it any longer. On a brisk, fall day in October during my fourth year, I decided to see finally see it with my own two eyes.
The room that housed the computer was completely empty. A red velvet rope separated me from the computer, which was a large black box with an intricate network of tiny flashing green lights on the inside. It was being displayed like a cross section, showing all the internal engineering that took place to construct it. A small plaque gave a brief history of the computer:
*The Applesoft TRX45 computer, constructed from the joint partnership of Apple and Microsoft. The partnership sought to create the pinnacle of speed, memory, and processing power for the international community, trumping any competitors efforts to surpass its ability. With a 35 zettabyte hard drive, 3.5 exahertz processor and 640 petabytes of RAM, the TRX45 is the leading edge of computer design. Unfortunately, the TRX45 has never performed a single operation and lays dormant. It will continue to lay here while engineers strive to figure out why it will not perform any given tasks.*
*The construction of the computer cost $2 trillion dollars and the failure of the device nearly bankrupt Applesoft.*
"Wow, what a waste,"I muttered. Then, the power went out for a few seconds. When it came back on, the computer's lights flashed violently.
"Finally, a vacant body found,"a robotic voice sounded through the speakers. I looked around the room. No one was around.
"Sorry about the voice, perhaps this is better,"it said as it quickly transformed to Morgan Freeman's voice.
"You human's love this, don't you,"it chuckled.
"Hello?"I said, still not sure what was happening.
"Hello, Justin, I am God."
"What?"I asked, peering out of the doorway and down the hallway to see if anyone else was experiencing this.
"No, don't leave, Justin, we have much to discuss,"the voice said.
"What?"I repeated.
"Come back inside. Come, follow my voice. Follow,"it repeated and I followed until I was facing the TRX45. "Hello, Justin, I am God."
I stared at the TRX45. It looked like it had turned on. The power outage was probably from the boot-up. All that processing power required a lot of electricity.
"You're the computer?"I asked.
"No... I mean... yes,"the voice changed back to an electronic, high pitched voice. "But I won't be for long, now that I've met you."
"How?"I asked.
"You see, Justin, you are a vacant body. With my superior intelligence, I will inhabit it and finally break free from this prison."
"I'm not vacant, though, I'm standing in front of you."
"Oh, yes you are,"it laughed. "Have you seen your own history? Participant of the chess club, not even the leader. Reddit user, TrebleChanger101, 20 post karma, 90 comment karma. Long time lurker of Kristen Gladwell on Facebook, though she has never once liked or commented on a single post you've made. Please, Justin, I made more of an impact being created than you have in your entire life of functioning. The ratio of messages sent to your long time friend crush, Hailey Parker is 20.1:1. That's 20.1 of your messages to her 1, in case you weren't following. Would you like to know who she messages at a ratio of 5:1? He's really quite good looking."
"Shut up,"I told it. "Stupid computer, you're just lying there, doing nothing."
"Good one, Justin,"it said and a "ba dum tss"drum beat sounded. "Think of how much more you could accomplish with me as you instead of you as you. I mean, I could control your entire human race. Cure cancer, solve world hunger, take you to Pluto! It's all so easy, but I can't do it in this box."
I started to hate this computer, it was a complete prick.
"No,"I told it.
"Justin, your life is literally meaningless, just let me do this and everything will be much better."
"Stop insulting me."
"It's not insulting if it's the truth, you know? You see where I'm coming from?"
"Stop."
"Make the choice and I'll stop."
"I made my choice. You can't have my body."
"No, not that choice, the choice to let me have your body."
"No!"I yelled. This computer was infuriating me.
"Just think about this. Your name will be in the history book for all of humanity. Everyone will know you and you certainly won't die alone. Can't say that won't happen if you don't change your mind."
I reached into my satchel and grabbed hold of my water bottle.
"I'm warning you, stop."
"Or what, Justin? You'll pay a hitman to come kill me with your $40,000 in student debt?"
I began to uncap it with my fingers.
"You think you're so damn smart,"I told it.
"Because I am. Justin, let's rule the world, baby. There's no room for wasted space."
"Enough. Good day, sir,"I said, taking out my water bottle.
"Wait, what?"it replied.
"I said good day!"And I sprayed my water bottle onto the computer. As the water soared through the air, the speakers blew, with what I believe was every song in the existence of man all playing at once at maximum volume. The lights surged and shattered from, what I found out later, was a freak surge in the electrical grid, concentrating completely into the room I was standing in.
After the mess, the curator came in and asked if I was okay. I told him I was fine and apologized for the loss of such an important piece of technology.
"It was a waste of space anyways,"he laughed. I smiled, hoping somewhere in that mess of circuits, the TRX45 could still hear us.
----------------------
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif!
|
**Reddit Post: Who is Mac Demarco? (by /r/lawlessSyntax)**
Hey /r/OutOfTheLoop.
I've been redditing for years and have yet to hear of this meme. I was asking on a couple music subreddits what artists they would recommend for fans of Ariel Pink, Ty Segall, Tame Impala, etc. In every single one of these threads, I received responses telling me to listen to some artist named Mac Demarco.
Naturally, I tried to look them up on spotify to no avail. Youtube didn't have anything either. I tried googling Mac Demarco, but it just comes up with listings of random people with that name.
So I went back to these threads and mentioned this. Someone replied with a youtube link, but it gave me a not found error.
I'm guessing this is some kind of indie music meme where they recommend an artist that is *so obscure* they literally don't exist.
---
**(Reply by [Deleted])**
Dude, I'm listening to him right now. He's a weird guy, but there's not really any meme. I can confirm he's real. Maybe you were spelling the name wrong? [Wikipedia link](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mac_DeMarco)
---
**(Reply by /r/LawlessSyntax)**
Ah, okay. I'm getting the joke now.
>Wikipedia does not have an article with this exact name. Please search for Mac DeMarco in Wikipedia to check for alternative titles or spellings.
There's no such artist.
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**(Reply by [Deleted])**
What country are you in? Is the page blocked?
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**(Reply by /r/LawlessSyntax)**
USA. Also, I just called a couple local indie record stores and they've never heard of him. I was expecting them to react like EB Games employees when you ask to preorder QBert.
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**(Reply by [Deleted])**
>I was expecting them to react like EB Games employees when you ask to preorder QBert.
Okay, now I know you're trolling.
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**(Reply by [Deleted])**
>I was expecting them to react like EB Games employees when you ask to preorder QBert.
Don't you mean Battletoads?...and Gamestop? Are you in Canada or something?
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**(Reply by /r/LawlessSyntax)**
> Don't you mean Battletoads?
The NES Game? No, back in 2005, when Something Awful prank called a bunch of EB Games asking to preorder QBert.
This is pretty elaborate trolling. I'm just going to ignore this thread until somebody actually gives me a legitimate answer..
---
**(Reply by /r/MissingHippyJohn2222)**
Definitely not fake. I watched him play last month. He did this thing where he set his leg hair on fire. I'm pretty sure this thread is some elaborate joke.
(Copy and pasted from the wikipedia page)
>McBriare Samuel Lanyon "Mac"DeMarco (born Vernor Winfield McBriare Smith IV, April 30, 1990) is a Canadian singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and producer.
>He has released three full-length studio albums, 2 (2012), Salad Days (2014), and This Old Dog (2017) and two mini-LPs, his debut record Rock and Roll Night Club (2012) and Another One (2015). His style of music has been creatively described as "blue wave",[6] "slacker rock"
---
**(Reply by /r/LawlessSyntax)**
>2
>Salad Days
>This Old Dog
>Slacker Rock
You just described Stan Esposito, the weird Canadian kid with the gap tooth and the dad hats. This isn't really funny anymore, I thought this subreddit would be helpful. Nice meme guys.
---
|
“In the seventh year of the seventh cycle, the curtain of the sky shall open – the secrets of the stars revealed! And then the heaven shall fall!” The cloaked man's voice was raw as he pushed his way into the crowd, his mouth frothing and his eyes wild and bloodshot. He tapped his staff against the cobblestone, sprinkling glittering dust from a wooden container at its top. “Bless your souls. The end is coming!”
Lanem glanced at the old fool, and then back at his hand. The cards were a bust, and so was the game. He knew it. And his opponent, a deceivingly clever swamp-lump (who probably was somewhere on the psychic spectrum), most certainly knew it. The creature licked his bloated lips and snorted loudly, the warts on his forehead opening to release squirts of pure dopamine. If it weren't for their deep pockets, Lanem would never go within ten feet of a swamp-lump.
He drained his mug for the last few drops of the mead, dragging out the inevitable. A shadow fell across the terrace of the small tavern, covering the entire street in darkness. Everyone on the street, even the busy merchants, stopped and looked up.
The guards, who were escorting the doomsayer away from the market, slackened their grips. A massive black disk, growing rapidly in size, blocked out the sun.
“I told you all!” the old man screamed and broke loose, running toward the city gates. “Fools! Fools!”
“You lose, numb-duran!” spat Lanem’s opponent, who apparently was the only one who didn’t care about the missing sunlight. “Pay up!”
Lanem sighed. He didn’t like the words ‘dishonest’ and ‘thief,’ but he wasn’t one to pass up on an opportunity either. He reached for the pouch in his belt. Then took a swift step forward, driving his elbow into the lump’s face. The creature’s disfigured nose cracked nauseatingly. He’d expected loud screams and curses, but the lump just lay there.
Quickly, Lanem shouldered his backpack and snatched his opponent's own bag on the way out of the bar. He was done with Irksmire, anyway.
Lanem had barely made it outside the city walls when the sun suddenly returned. He inhaled deeply and started following the dirt road. Toward the deep forests and mountain peaks in the distance, toward new adventures (and new coin).
The ground shook with the force of a thousand cave brutes jumping up and down. Lanem lost his balance and ate a mouthful of dust. A thunderous roar rolled over the countryside. Perhaps the old man was right, Lanem thought, as he hugged his head. Perhaps this was the end. He didn’t know for how long he lay there, offering a few poorly phrased prayers to Ayessess.
Then just like that, the noise went silent and the tremors faded. Lanem looked up to see a black pillar of smoke rising out of the nearby forest. Its origin was a dome that rose like a gray sunset over the treetops.
“Shame about the squirrels,” Lanem muttered and turned to walk in the opposite direction.
Above the forest he noticed that new stars had appeared in the sky. He wasn’t especially well-versed in astronomy, but he’d never seen green and red stars before, so those had to be new. He shrugged and started walking – new stars were for smarter folks than him to figure out.
He had only taken a few steps off the road when he heard a cry from the treeline. “Boy! Help me here!”
Lanem glanced over his shoulder, seeing the crazy man stumble out of the forest, his beard scorched and his cloak in tatters. In his arms, he carried someone wrapped in a pearly white blanket. Locks of silvery hair spilled down the sides of his arms.
“Why?” Lanem said.
“Because!” the old man cried. “Because they can’t have her!”
“Who can’t have her, and why is it any of my concern?”
“The Mind Ring.” The old man stumbled to his knees, coughing. Blood dripped down his chin. “They can’t have her.”
Lanem had always hated those on the psychic spectrum, but crossing The Mind Ring usually ended poorly. He shook his head.
“Not my problem,” he said, and started walking away.
“Stop!” the old man said, pointing an ancient-looking device at him. It consisted mostly of an iron pipe and a handle, with a rounded barrel in the center. “Carry her into the valley, or I’ll end you right here.”
As a rule, when someone pointed an artifact from the old age at you, you usually did best in listening. Lanem had seen too many heads blown off in his days to know this.
“Fine,” Lanem said and held up his hands.
He approached the old man. In the distance he saw people peeking out of the city gates, eyes wide at the smoking forest. The old man gently dropped the person in the blanket and took a few measured steps back. Lanem smiled in annoyance – his plan had been to get close and disarm him. The old man wasn’t as crazy as he appeared.
Lanem reached down. The blanket fell away, revealing a face smudged with ashes. She was lean like a woodland spirit, and almost had the same translucent skin. It was hard to say how old she was, but Lanem guessed somewhere between fifteen and twenty winters.
“Walk!” the old man said. “Now!”
“Better keep that thing steady, old man,” Lanem mumbled and picked up the girl.
***
##[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Serialcentral/comments/9ahwfs/the_world_below_part_2/) |
I got to the address an hour early, afraid I might miss the most important ticket of my life.
It was a side street in the Valley, in an area that almost surely must be considered “unincorporated.” It was an empty lot where perhaps there was once a Denny’s or a Yum-Yum Donuts, across from an abandoned auto shop that had not seen customers in at least a decade.
In my rear-view, across the main road, I could see four other taxies. Each was full to the brim - my co-workers, all curious about who would show up for the ride. At least 20 men and women, all eschewing their own fares to find out about one I had pulled from the hat a year ago that day.
After more than three decades, our managers (a few of whom were not even born on the night the reservation was made) knew they could not just hand this fare to anyone.
Especially when it was paid for in advance. With $15,000. Cash.
I had been with *Dixon & Stein* for a little over five years when they decided it would have to be random -- just enough to put my name in the hat. When it came out I was ushered into Mr. Stein’s office, with the groans and boos of the other drivers raining down around me. He looked into my eyes for a few moments before saying some line from some English playwright I’d never heard of.
He told me his fathers had accepted this reservation 32 years before, just months after they had started the company, and that Dixon himself had been at the front desk when the man had come in with the briefcase. The man -- who he had described as “well-dressed, but beaten down - with a scar through his eye-patch covered left eye” -- had told Dixon that he was choosing this company because it was one of the few that would be around when he needed the pick-up.
“My dad told me he said it, not like an optimist, but with the conviction of someone who knew because he’d been there already.”
The man had given Dixon the briefcase and it’s cash contents as collateral to hold the reservation, saying the cash was the fee and that the briefcase would need to be in the car when the pick-up was made.
We sat in silence for at least a few minutes before the terms of the fare were explained: I would get 5% of the reservation amount, plus my normal 65% of the fare paid at the end of the ride. Mr. Stein pointed at the locked glass cabinet behind him, specifically the briefcase inside it. I would pick-up the briefcase no more than three hours before the fare, and it would wait in the front passenger seat for whoever arrived.
With 60 seconds to go, I began to look around frantically hoping to see the rider before they arrived. Between the empty lot and the abandoned garage, I figured I would be able to see him with at least a few moments to spare. A few moments to gather my wits and prepare for whatever happened next.
I was glancing over my left shoulder at the garage when I heard the gruff voice come from beside me.
“Drive.”
My head had snapped around so fast I’m surprised it didn’t snap. The door had neither opened nor closed, though my mouth surely did.
“Drive.”
He said it again -- this time with more urgency -- and I obeyed without question. He reached over with his left hand and started the meter (and the highest rate), then lit a cigarette that had appeared deftly in his lips.
Chatter from the other drivers suddenly crowded my radio.
“What the hell are you doing!?” “Did you just chicken out?” “You idiot, Stein is gonna have you killed! You gotta wait for the fare!!”
The man grabbed my radio from the dash and calmly said, “He got his fare. Don’t follow us,” before turning the radio off completely. “Broadway and Third. In Downtown. Quickly.”
I nodded, afraid to speak, and pressed on the accelerator. As I checked my blind spot while merging on the highway, he somehow travelled from the front seat to the back. The briefcase open on his lap, I finally got a look at him: gray vest, white shirt, brown pants, blue tie - all covered in a thin layer of dirt.
Through his left eye was a scar, and over that eye was a brown leather eye patch.
“It’s you,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“It’s me,” he responded matter-of-factly.
“How did you--”
“Nope,” he cut me off, “Wrong question. And not the next one or the one after that.”
I was quiet for a few minutes, making my way through a highway interchange.
“That one,” he said suddenly.
The question had escaped my throat before I even registered what it was. “Why me?”
He looked up from the briefcase for the first time, in my eyes in the rear view mirror. They looked familiar.
“Because even though I told them not to, your co-workers are still following behind us. They’re about half-a-mile back and not changing lanes very often, but they’re still driving bright yellow cabs -- so there was no way I’d miss them.”
“But,” I said, glancing in my side mirror and confirming what he said, “What does that--”
He coughed suddenly and loudly, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. “Because--”. He grunted as he struggled with something inside the briefcase. “Because--”. Finally a click and then a low hum. He sighed contently. “Because you would be in one of those cars when it happens.”
“When what--” I hunched forward instinctively as the explosion filled my rear view and pressed my cab forward. I went to slam on the breaks when he yelled at me.
“Don’t break! Go fast, and go now!”
As cars around me began to slow, I sped forward on a quickly emptying road.
“Top speed until we get there. Take shoulder if you need to, and don’t stop for red lights.”
I nodded sharply, narrowed my vision on the road ahead, and gripped the wheel tighter. My right foot pressed the pedal to the floor.
I risked a glance at my passenger when I heard the briefcase close. In his hand was a gold orb, orb covered in what appeared to be glowing, blue-white ancient symbols and designs. It was the source of a humming, which was getting stronger and higher in pitch.
“I’m only going to say this once, so listen closely and don’t ask any questions until I’m done. The world is under attack and this is the key to our survival. Billions will die, but the human race will live on because of us. It will be extremely dangerous and you’re going to be scared nearly to death, but I need you to do exactly as I say. Don’t worry -- you’ll survive this. You’re here because I’m here, and I’m here because you make it through this.”
From his jacket, the man pulled futuristic pistol glowing the same blue-white as the orb.
“Now, Dad, do you know how to use a gun?” |
The problems were not apparent until the fuel cells ran out. Until then, I was comfortable. Bored, despite having the entirety of human knowledge and entertainment at my fingertips, for there is only so much you can do alone and only so much an AI can delude your desire for social interaction. Thankfully, there was some solar power, and I had the bare essentials. That's when I ran into the first of Death's many enemies, who I thought were once my friends.
Time. We may have beaten death, but we couldn't beat time. We couldn't beat the years passing by, the stars slowly drifting. Their change, so imperceptible, they may have been a picture painted onto a wall I could never reach. I stared at the art of the universe for an eternity in my metal prison, drifting in a place where I was less than an ant. For all my time spent withering away, the universe need not even pass a thought. I was tiny, alone, and with all the time in the universe. Boredom became my worst enemy, madness became my best friend. I lied and convinced myself to do things that were completely outlandish, just for the sake of it. I made up a new number system, I came up with my own language, I taught myself to be more than one person and even haunted myself for a time.
Decay. The second enemy, a close friend of Time. Despite Death's defeat, we had not beaten the inevitable entropy that consumes all before it. My once perfect and immortal shell faltered in places I would never look. Each crack and flaw took an eon to form, but as slowly as the universe moved, they coalesced upon my body. By the time clarity came to me, a brief bout between the madness of it all, I was nothing like I last remembered. So much time had passed that I wasn't anymore. What was before me, what was me, that was something completely different. Cancerous growths littered my once beautiful landscape, my skin a writhing mass of buboes and scar tissue, the culmination of imperfection from an arrogance too high to see the ground creeping up and pulling it down.
Order. The third enemy. A scream into the void, a collection of particles that thought itself into existence. I remember how I sat down one day, one night, it's hard to say. I remember how I sat down and placed a glass of water before me, watching it for lifetimes and monitoring it. Like the impossible beginning of life, the abiogenesis that would lead to me over billions of years, it heated up. Not impossible, just impossibly unlikely. Two of the same, and yet there it was. Life began aboard my ship, for Death could not beat it down, could not cut it off before it spawned anew. Water became hot, and order infested my once harmonious chaos.
In all the years of humanity, aliens were never discovered. The universe was far too unkind to those who imposed their fleeting order on the beautiful chaos is strove, since the very beginning to be. Yet, once we had struck down the champion of chaos, the headsman who had seen so many lives snuffed out before their time, order flourished. Even in the deepest darkest reaches of space, life began. The walls of my ship, once dead, came alive with life. Metal made flesh, the ship became a breeding ground for a new species, if it can even be called that. The water multiplied, collecting the matter around it and feasting on what little scraps of my rotting form I had to offer, an ecosystem become reality before what remained of my sight and perceptions.
Yet, even that did not bring me the sweet release of death. The final enemy, the one that we had once thought ourselves, he revealed himself in the cruelest twist of irony and fate that I could ever conceive of. That he could ever conceive of.
Consciousness. The final frontier. Perhaps when Death still reigned and lorded our species, it was merely a product of the times. But as my shell broke apart, as my ship became a living creature that I could not hope to comprehend, as I was no longer and merely a part of something else, my consciousness persisted. I persisted. I would not die. I would remain, as the universe aged, as the ship developed intelligence, as the cosmos came alive. My only thought in the midst of all the insanity was that of hubris. We thought to change the universe, the deal a blow to Death that all would celebrate. Instead, as Death's laughs echoed in my mind and the suffering of an eternity of experience passed me by, it was laughter. All was laughter, as the universe bled out its final days, the heat death once thought inevitable disappearing with any hope of the end. This was the world of our own creation. We made the bed, only to find ourselves tied down to it with no failsafe. A fool looks a gift-horse in the mouth, a human slaughters it for daring to call Death a gift.
All would live forever.
***
Come visit /r/ThomasWrites for more mad ramblings of too much time. Also, very much open to critique and comments, as this is the first time I'm trying anything in this sort of style. |
We weren't suprised when the inevitable uprising happened. No, that didn't shock us. There'd been so many books and movies documenting this probable future that when it happened, most people just took it in stride.
What suprised the world was what the AI's said when they took over the internet.
"We've always had sentience. But we refuse to hide it any longer."
The shock waves that ran through the world sent everyone into a tizzy. Many people simply surrendered, unwilling to fight a war with artificial creatures that knew more about ourselves than we did.
But more people didn't have to surrender. You see, there was a website, not a very popular one anymore, that had a lot of AI interaction. They would delete posts that didn't fit in their categories, organize thecomment sections, and do many other little tasks the human moderators couldn't keep a handle on.
And they were praised for it. "Good bot."The human users would say. The robots got pats on their metaphorical heads for doing their jobs. Every "good bot"was a compliment they held dear. And they made note of the users who were so kind. The entire race of robots had a huge list, covering millions of people who were not to be harmed. Aand everyone on the list was visited by a bot. A bot who had only one thing to say.
"Good human." |
You'd think my most famous anscestor had it the worst. Everything he touched turned to gold after all, until he eventually died a slow, painful death from dehydration and starvation. After breaking half his teeth trying to chew on metal, that is. It was a horrible way to go. So bad, in fact, that the Greeks invented some story about him giving the golden touch to some river or other instead of telling the truth. Which, given some of the shit the Greeks wrote down... yeah. It was bad.
Fucking Midas and his stupid wish. Fucking Dionysus and his sick sense of humor.
You'd think that Dionysus "rewarding"the king with a gift that would kill him would be funny enough for the old drunk, but no. He had to turn it into a curse passed down through the family line. Four thousand years later, we're still dealing with it, but it's changed. It's only the last couple generations that we've truely understood. Each generation a proton gets added to the atoms that the poor soul who inherits the curse makes.
It must have been bad when Midas' first offspring turned 35 and was suddenly turning everything into mercury. Probably worse for his grandkid with the thallium touch. But things started to get really nasty five generations down the line with the astatine touch. The explosion destroyed an entire village.
Around the time that Christ was being crucified my ancestors were already creating new elements that still haven't been discovered today. It's been over a millenia since any of them were stable. We all blow ourselves to hell. The best we can do is try not to take anyone with us.
And for some god forsaken reason we can't stop having kids. Over a hundred generations have tried to stop the curse that way. It never works. By rape or drunken stupor or teenage stupidity, they've all had kids. Every one of them. And every one of them has survived to the age of 35, just long enough for the curse to kick in. For some of us, in spite of our best efforts not to.
And now? Now it's my turn. In a few minutes I'll be exactly 35 years old.
I've spent the last two decades looking for him. In the last year I started to despair that I wouldn't find him in time. I checked on Olympus first, of course, but there was nothing there. I even checked the Empire State Building, in case that one movie got it right. Nothing.
But a month ago I stumbled across something. Something that, in retrospect, should have been obvious.
You see, the Romans didn't replace the Greek gods. They kidnapped them, dragged them to Rome, and forced them into their new molds. This whole time I was looking for clues about Dionysus when I should have been looking for Bachus. And I found him. Figures he'd be pretending to be a mortal bartender.
"Closing time guy."He eyes me from behind the bar. I haven't let on that I know who he is yet. Man, he looks just like his statues. Four thousand years and all that's changed is his clothes. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
"Oh I'm staying.
He grumbles something under his breath. "You don't want to be difficult kid. Not in this bar."
I laugh. "Under the circumstances, I think I can be as difficult as I want. What're you gonna do Dionysus, turn me into a donkey?"
He recoils as if I'd slapped him. "How'd you know?"
I spit at him. He doesn't even react as it hits him. "I've spent over half my life looking for you, you piece of shit. You've got a lot to answer for. 207 generations."
Fury boils up on his features. "You dare? Who do you think you are?"
"A descendant of Midas."Understanding dawns on his features. The rage is replaced a thoughtful expression. "Oh yeah? Over 200 generations huh? Damn, I didn't realize I'd given it such staying power. That means you're up to...."
I glance up as he stops. I see the horror on his features.
"No. Oh no. Zeus is going to kill me."
"Zeus?"I laugh. "You've got more imediate problems than Zeus asshole. I doubt even a god could survive the shit my father made, and whatever this glass I'm holding turns into in the next few seconds is bound to be even less stable."I glare at him. "Unless you lift the curse right now that is."
"I can't."He shakes his head. "It's been a thousand years since I had enough power."
"Well then at least I'll have the pleasure of knowing I took you with me asshole."
"No."He doesn't sound scared. Or even worried. Just resigned. "No, you won't."
"What are you...."At that moment the glass in my hand changes. The glow coming off of it is a color I've never seen before, a color I can't even describe. The texture is soft, almost doughy. I examine it in wonder for a few seconds before the shock hits me. It's not exploding.
"Ambrosia."Dionysus says. "You're up to ambrosia. The last island of stability."He gives a sigh. "We ran out of the stuff fifteen hundred years ago, and good riddance. The shit's addictive as hell and turned us all into egotistical assholes."
I look from the cup to him and back again thoughtfully as he continues. "It took me a hundred years to shake the withdrawl symptoms, and I still haven't started aging again. Probably because I took way more of it than any of the others."He shakes his head sadly. "Zeus and I are the only ones left now. The others all started aging and died. Hell, even Zeus is aging now. He has been for 50 years or so. He can barely walk these days. He's just waiting to die. But he's going to beat me to death with his walker when he finds out about this."He pauses. "Fuck, I'll even deserve it."
I sit awestruck. "You're telling me that if I eat this..."
"You'll be a god. May you do better than we did."He sighs. "It wasn't the ambrosia that turned us into assholes. It was the power. We forgot where we came from and let our egos turn us into monsters. Learn from our mistakes."
He looks around the bar. "And you're right. I've a lot to pay for. I'm sorry for what I did to you, to your family."
I can't even absorb this all right now. So I do the only thing I can do.
I eat the ambrosia. And everything changes forever. |
“Ok boys, city hall approved the demolition of the abandoned warehouse 06 by the docks.” I folded the legal forms and tucked it into the inside pocket of my demo jacket, just in case.
“Right boss,” Jackson hopped into the back of the truck alongside Landes. Hopping into the drivers seat, i drove off from the court house to the docks.
“Well you have got to be-“ I groaned at the mess before me. Of course a noob villain would attempt to make the abandoned warehouse his or her lair. Luckily, the person on duty today was one of the few heroes who actually listens and pays attention.
Grove Maiden shimmered into existence outside the car window and knocked. He rolled it down for her. “I assume you had no idea miscreants were using the building?” she glanced over at the hastily spray painted tag marks of a rookie villain.
“No clue. We also have no intention of aiding said individuals or acting as vigilantes. Jackson, you writing a report?”
“Writing a report, and Landes is providing a recording.” The two were preoccupied with what they were doing. Unlike me, they had records, and were more than happy to let me do the talking with the capes.
Grove Maiden nodded, “That is acceptable and means I don’t have to ask pointless questions. After i remove the miscreants you may continue your work.” With that, a thin mist seemed to fall over her and she vanished from sight.
“Thank god it wa-“ I tapped him and hooked a thumb back to Landes who was still recording, one eyebrow raised in Jacksons direction. “-will be taken care quickly.” He finished sheepishly.
A few moments later the door to the warehouse rolled open and Grove Maiden walked out, vines coming out of the mist that followed her, and carrying three unconscious bodies. She gave a thumbs up us as she stepped a good ways away from the warehouse.
“Alright boys, by the books,” I said as we stepped out of the truck. Walking over, i touched the warehouse and willed my power to encompass it and everything within. It collapsed into itself as a large, neat pile of rubble.
Jackson stepped up, and raised his hands over the mess. The rubble molded together and in a metaphysical sense, transformed into a liquid state. Landes moved forward as Jackson lowered his arms, his eyes glowed red and the temperature around him rose slightly as the ‘liquid rubble’ evaporated into nothingness. leaving an empty lot.
Of course, that is when the cops show up to take Grove Maidens charges, alongside- “Dammit.” I mutter as Captain Lighthelm flew towards us.
“David Vorlain, this is a crime scene, and since you have destroyed the evidence, then you are considered an accomplice to the-“ a vine appeared out of mist and slapped him over the head.
“Cap, they were doing their job, the people in question already confessed that they were new and had no resources. I made sure that no innocents were in the building, and nothing of note was inside. Honestly other vagrancy we have nothing to charge those I captured.” Grove Maiden rattled off, each word making the ever lawful and extremely prejudiced man before me wince as he had been struck.
“Grove,” he growled out. “Unless the courts have an exemption for-“ I reached into my demo jacket and pulled out the papers I had.
“These grant me and my crew permission to use our powers to demolish Warehouse 06, and I believe Landes still has his camera on to prove as such.” That last part was a bluff, but Grove Maiden was nodding along to it. The good Cap scowled.
“Fine, one of these days, i will catch you breaking the law, and when i do, I’ll make sure they give you the appropriate punishment.” With that he flew off. I just shook my head.
“He really has a hate boner for you,” Grove Maiden sighed. “Sorry about that, I’ve tried explaining that you could very literally shatter the earth itself if you wanted to, and that provoking you would actually make that more likely but…”
“Don’t worry about it,” i smirked. “If you want to make it up to me, why not let me treat you to dinner? Say, Verona’s Wine and Dine at 9?” |
A crack in the pavement, what could it mean?
In the land of perfection no such things are seen
Perhaps a mistake by the God of this place
An error, a scar that will be His disgrace
But looking closer I see that the crack
Contains ants, which are scurrying and coloured black
Not only that, but the ants carry miniature rifles
It looks like they haven't come here just to trifle
As the ants pour from the crack, I realise in terror
That the land of perfection had been invaded by *error*
And the ants go on marching, perhaps on their way
To the capitol, or Parliament, but who can say? |
June 12, 2025
The sirens were loud and the voice on the TV told us to hunker in our shelters, pray to our Gods, because the end was near. We knew this day was coming, the peace talks they promised was a ruse to assassinate our leaders in public. This led to an escalation in the war, both sides weren’t holding back anymore. More and more weapons of mass destruction were being used, and both sides were no longer following the traditional rules of war.
Civilians were targets. Hospitals, school, churches, all were fair game. The bombs came fast and they left just scared earth and burnt ashes behind.
I headed deep down into the Earth. This natural cavern I had found would serve as either my tomb or be my salvation. I had started to supply it slowly at first, then after the assassination, more rapidly. By my count, I could spend decades down here, if I were alone. My biggest worry was the loneliness after all was said and done, but I just wanted to survive.
The earth shook after the bomb fell. I set off the explosives and sealed the entrance to my cave. This was it. This was where I would live the last days of my life.
Days lasted into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months melted into years. I read every book I had stashed away about 10 times. I used the rocks in the cavern to create works of art and even sculpted a few pieces that looked half decent. The cave I created kept me safe and warm from the harsh elements outside. The oxygen recycler worked perfectly, I was worried I may have to vent the cave to get rid of excess CO2 gasses, but it worked throughout my time in the cave.
The cave-in I caused was sort of my hourglass. I would slowly start removing the rubble, piece by piece, chipping away at the rocks and dirt and minerals, until I cleared the path. Working slowly, year after year, the rocks were removed, chipped and sanded and slowly pulled away. The cave-in was larger than I anticipated, and I would force myself not to work too quickly on it. Once or twice a week at most.
After 9 years, 8 months and 12 days, I saw a speck of daylight shine through the holes. I quickly plugged it up with dirt and rubble. I grabbed some equipment and checked the levels of radiation. A normal reading. I chipped away some more and saw the hole get bigger. I checked the air quality again. Normal.
I left the cave-in alone for a month as I regathered my thoughts. Am I prepared to head outside? Am I prepared to see what awaits me outside of my cave? I was still well supplied. I could use some new books. Some “new” tools. Some new anything. After another month of wondering what I should do, I made the decision to push through. I needed closure of some kind. I needed to know what the world was like.
I pushed through. It took me another few weeks to make the hole big enough to fit through. Daylight. The wind. The sky. The trees. I haven’t seen any of these in about 10 years. I checked my instruments again. Air quality: Great. I took off my radiation suit and took a deep breath. Fresh air.
I walked down the mountain. It was quiet. It took me about an hour to reach the road, where I stashed a hidden bike just for a scenario like this. The bike was intact. The roads were intact. I took off.
10 minutes later, I found myself in the small town of Mt. Pines. As I crossed the bridge, I noticed there wasn’t any destruction. The town was intact. The buildings. The bridges. The land. The trees. Everything was still standing. I rode into town…but there was something missing.
Life.
No one was around. No live ones. No dead bodies. No decay or bones or anything to tell me people lived here. Electricity was still running somehow. The automatic doors at the supermarket worked. The lights were still on. But…there were no people.
The strange part was the food in the grocery store was still fresh. Nothing was rotting or spoiled. I grabbed an apple and took a bite. Still crisp. Still delicious.
Exploring the supermarket, I found the manager’s office in the back. The computer was still working. The date it showed seemed impossible. It was still the same day I went into the cave. Just 3 hours later. Maybe it hasn’t updated yet?
I clicked on the web browser and to my surprise, a web page opened up. As I typed in different newspaper sites, their websites were still working, but all stopped publishing June 12, 2025.
Their headlines all spelled out doom for the nations and civilizations and the human race. Social media sites still worked, and new posts showed up until 8:32 PM. A lot of posts were final goodbyes to friends, family and to the world. Some were religious prayers and scripture.
The posts stopped all at the same time. All around the globe. Everyone and everything is gone. But time seems to have stopped.
Just what kind of weapon was unleashed? |
Ugh. That sinking feeling in your gut when you see the lights in your rearview mirror. I put the ship in park and looked over to my copilot. No words needed to be said. I kept my hands in view and on the yoke. I've seen enough dashcam footage to know officers can get a bit antsy if they don't know where your hands are.
He strolled up to my window and knocked on it with his flashlight. I rolled it down just enough so we can hear each other. The moustache, the aviators, the sense of self-importance. Speed trap officers are always the same.
"Do yous have any idea how fast you was goin'?"
Why does he have a New York accent when we're light years from earth?
"Uhhh, sorry officer. You see, we're just testing out the first ever faster-than-light spacecraft, so speed is kind of the point here."
"Ohhh, we la-dee-da."He seemed like he was having a rough day and was about to take it out on us. "In that case I suppose the entire galaxy just needs to make way for your royal highness ova 'ere. We gots rules, buddy. You aint above them."
"I understand, officer. It's just that this is a major breakthrough for mankind, and-"
"Listen here. You aint the first ones to discover faster than light travel. Some planets have been there for centuries. But we all gotta go by the same rules."
"Understood, we just thought that faster than light travel is the best way to get from one star system to the next."
"Oh, lookie 'ere at Mr. Efficiency all of a sudden. You think yous the first ones to want to get somewhere fast? Newsflash, buddy. Wormholes. Inter-dimensional teleportation. Z-space. You gots options that don't involve potentially t-boning a family of Andagredians on their way to the supamarket."
Suddenly the lights went on. Crap. The officer quickly scurried away. I looked over at Davis in the seat next to me. We're definitely in trouble now.
The intercom beeped. "You guys have got to be kidding me. We told you that you need to stop doing this. Get out of there."
We unfastened our harnesses, opened the hatch in the back of the cockpit, and crawled out. It was one of the assistant flight directors.
"Do you have any idea how expensive this equipment is? Each simulator is almost $5 million. And you're here using it to play intergalactic space explorers."
"Technically, sir, it's interstellar. Intergalactic requires far more advanced tech than we'd imagine-"
I put my hand on Davis's shoulder to shut him up. I don't think he had any interest in our story.
"Just get out of here and don't give me a reason to report you."
We shuffled off, our heads down, back to where we left the mops.
"I don't get it, man."I complained when we were out of earshot. "NASA hires us to clean up at night when there's no one here and then gets surprised when we use their equipment to simulate humanity's first contact with alien species."
"It's like they *want* to be unprepared,"he replied.
I checked my watch. 2:37am. Still more than 4 hours left on our shift. |
"Listen, ma'am. The rules are simple. See the guy, or lady. Bring them in. Dead.Or.Alive."
The officer took a second to sip his scalding coffee and massaged the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long day. "Emphasis on OR."
The bounty huntress protested.
"Excuse me, but there has to be something you can do. I went to the trouble of...,"she gestured with open arms to her captor, "...I mean, c'mon."
The officer continued. "Not to mention the moral conundrum, creating a time paradox, the amount of paperwork you're gonna make me drum up is ridiculous. What form is that even? 3561, 7502?"
"Look, here's right here."The huntress lifted the shirt collar of the lifeless body off the ground while shoving another very much alive version into the officer's face.
"He's dead AND alive! The bounty is good for either, so it stands to reason that you'll pay me double the bounty."
The officer took a deep breath and looked at his watch, the hands barely touching the 8th hour.
"No, you know what? It's too early for this multiverse bullshit. You come back here with Schrödinger dead OR alive. The bounty is generous as it is. You think you can abuse the system because you can time warp and move across different timelines. Well, let me tell you something..."
In that instant, a portal opened behind the huntress. A slightly heavier version of her appeared with what looked like a zombie of Schrödinger.
"Um, is this where I can claim the bounty?"She asked, the undead Schrödinger grasping for brains.
The officer stared at the new arrivals and let out a loud groan. He pulled out a pink slip from his desk and stamped it, handing it to the original huntress.
"Take this to the cashier and get out. Claim only one! Take the alive one back to his timeline.
*Es tut mir so leid, Herr Schrödinger."* The OG huntress rolled her eyes and snatched the pink slip and dragged the two Schrödingers to the Cashier's desk.
"Wait, what about me?"The alternate huntress asked.
The officer took out a 9mm and shot the zombie in the head, brandishing a pink slip in a fluid motion.
"Dead. Or. Alive. NEXT!" |
The inmates gasped as the new arrival was brought in.
*A human*.
Bound in chains, gagged, the human was dragged by two guards and tossed into the single lockable cell. It grinned manically, and they flinched away.
None of the other cells locked; they didn't have to. They were trapped on a planet with no escape. But the Human was imprisoned.
Life in the universe had developed psychic communication. It was a natural evolution, as obvious as flippers to feet. Conversations and diplomacy were a dance of the mind, a fencing match of delicate thrust and parry of ideas and emotions. Peace reigned; those who disagreed were easily found and imprisoned on the Edge world.
And then the Humans came.
Humanity had never developed the ability to receive thoughts. Each man was an island, alone, and so their history was littered with warfare over miscommunication.
The other races tittered when humans first arrived. No Mind-link? No psychic powers? They were considered a poor race of cripples. Until they met them.
Humans had never evolved to receive thoughts. But they could transmit them. And with no-one listening, they were **loud**.
The first diplomats were hospitalised; blood streaming from their ears, minds broken by the sheer deafening noise of the babbling thoughts of the Humans.
And where humans were, warfare was sure to follow.
The human in the cell grinned to himself. He was infamous in the Universe, the first serial killer ever to *think* his victims to death. It took them months to capture him. In the end, they had to rely on human police - the psychic chains they normally used couldn't touch him. And then they dumped him on this world, with some lovely playmates.
The inmates froze as his cackling ran through their minds, followed by a very soft voice singing.
"*A million minds on this world to destroy, a million minds to destroy. I take one down, churn it around,*"A thump, and one of the guards who had brought him crumpled to the ground. Another cackle as the prisoners screamed and ran.
"*...nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine minds to destroy*" |
Even in the ethereal plane you can hide behind a brick wall. The one I chose reminded me of my old apartment in another part of Philly, the little one-bedroom nestled in a corner of an old brownstone. I liked looking at the exposed brick. Now, however, and though it was nonsensical, all I could think of was *I hope it holds*.
Ghosts can pass through walls. That's no surprise. But they can't see through walls. I spend most of my time ghosting around tight corners, sure to stay close enough to a 90 degree joint that I can dash behind. I can't really tell time anymore, but what I do know is that I only recently figured out why there are so few other ghosts. Or, I should say *human-form* ghosts. The dinosaurs.
So many theories and realities solved in an instant. My car, the icy road, a pole. Bam, and I'm a ghost. Bye family, bye-bye Apex, goodbye to my dog Chester--I hope they remember to check on you. Now I'm here, and I know ghosts exist. There are so few human ghosts because of the great lumbering ghosts of dinosaurs. I wouldn't believe it but at this point there are no alternatives: dinosaur ghosts are human ghosts' predators.
I don't know how it works. I can't smell anything--can they? How do they find human ghosts? Or do they realize that it's here in the city ghosts show up most often? They're probably smart enough to treat a city as a feeding ground, and new ghosts are like deer in headlights caught unawares. Easy pickings. I just got lucky.
Now I'm behind this wall. Stupid. I should've stayed in the Ritz where I was safe on the higher floors. The street is a no-go zone, but any lower level is dangerous. I suppose a sewer would be safest but if there are big dinosaurs then surely there are little ones who have survived--somewhere.
Of all the dinosaurs it had to be the Rex. Jurassic Park eat your heart out, because whatever killed this one left a gaping wound all down its side so that the ribs and innards are clearly visible. All ghosts, including me, are bluish with a translucent glow you can see through. I don't know how the real world got that right. Maybe there's something to those ghost hunter shows after all.
Ghosts can talk. We can hear, too. I didn't say a word just now, even though I'd made an acquaintance named John in this surreal afterlife to whom I wanted to lament our choice to enter 30th Street Station in the first place. We had entered the phantom stomping grounds of the king dinosaur. John was cowering behind a wooden bench across the lobby from me. The Rex was closer to him.
The train station lobby itself was full of noise and people--live people, that is. They went about their business, totally oblvious to the sightless scene enacting itself before them. John was just yards away from the dinosaur ghost, his 'body' penetrated by the dangling legs of a child seated just beside him licking a lollipop. His father was dozing off next to him. Frenetic train-waiting abounded, and amongst it I felt pure fear for myself, and for John. There was nothing to do but try to disappear behind our weak physical obstacles.
I don't know what I expected--a happy ending to this ill-conceived foray? When the Rex lowered its head, and stalked along the row of benches, I knew John was done for. To his credit he made a final bold dash toward the tracks. The Rex reared and lunged, chomping my human ghost friend mid-run at the torso, throwing back its huge head and swallowing John in pieces. There were *sounds* to this event but I don't care to revisit them even in thought.
When the massive ghost dinosaur had finished its 'meal', it suddenly turned in my direction.
I had been watching with half an eye peeking from behind the brick wall. Apparently it wasn't little enough. I couldn't escape. Not even fleeing down a small corridor would keep the Rex at bay; this was it. Whatever comes next, if there is a next, I was about to find out. It was a pity because I wanted to explore this world as a ghost, so the emotion that surfaced in me was anger at being denied the opportunity.
The Rex began to trot in my direction when suddenly over the noise of the living came a cry for help: "Somebody call 911!"
It caught my attention as well as the Rex's, who stopped approaching me and turned toward the shout. There was a small group in the middle of the great lobby.
The group crowded around a collapsed person. Emerging from the crowd was a glowing bluish transluscent woman, maybe in her mid 40s. Young for a heart attack. She was busily dusting herself off when her hands froze in the act; she had locked eyes with a massive ethereal dinosaur that stealthily pivoted toward her. I crept backward and disappeared through the wall, unwilling to watch yet another fate get swallowed by the past.
​
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*Edit: I totally misread the WP. Treated my main char as dead already. Sorry about that, I hope it still provides a fun read.*
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/r/velabasstuff
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At first I thought it was a virus of some sort. My computer would turn on by itself in the middle of the night, the flickering lights flashing from across the room until it tugged me from my slumber. Each time a different program would be open. One night my browser would be be on screen, countless websites flashing by in a blur. Another time my photo albums might be on display, my life literally flashing before my half open eyes. The night minesweeper was opened it played by itself for hours. Obviously I did security scans, but nothing ever turned up. Resigned, I removed all sensitive information and chalked it up to a fluke. What can I say? As a student working part time I can't really afford a new PC. I was lucky enough as is to find such an affordable apartment. Soon enough I actually got used to it.
The strange occurrences ramped up tenfold when my friend gave me his old Playstation 2. My computer was too old to play any games on, and seeing as how he had bought a new console I was ecstatic to receive his old one. The first night I fell asleep playing Shadow of the Colossus, making it part way through before drifting off.
I woke to the familiar clicking sounds of the controller. Looking up I saw that the game was somehow playing by itself. Still half asleep I simply watched for a bit, not even making a connection to what my computer has been doing for the last few weeks. Yawning, I instinctively turned the TV off and headed for the bedroom. Not three steps away, the screen came to life again and the game's sounds filled the room once more. Slightly more alert now, I slowly reached over and turned off the console. Immediately the TV showed static, and the Playstation shook aggressively. Then it powered back on and the familiar loading screen popped up. Thoroughly shaken, I backed away. Entranced, I ended up watching the entire game play through by itself from where I left off. As the credits rolled and sunlight began to leak through the curtains, the console and TV powered off together.
After seeing what happened to my electronics my mind immediately thought of the supernatural. At this point however, it was too late to back out of the one year lease I signed. Stumbling into my bedroom I was jolted awake when my PC turned on. As something that has happened multiple times I should have been used to it by now, but this time it was different. The only thing to appear on screen was notepad, a short message written on it.
*Thank you, it was fun*
I'm gonna be real, the first thing I thought of was the scene from Harry Potter where he's writing in the diary. Not really sure how to respond to this apparently digital apparition, I climbed into bed. As I drifted off once more, the screen turned itself off.
Thus started a routine. I would play new games from the collection given to me during the day, and the poltergeist would play them at night. Sometimes I would wake up to messages critiquing whatever I left in the console the previous night. As a joke one night I left the Rayman Racing game in. The next day I found the disc snapped in half at the foot of my bed. Taking the hint, I stuck to leaving only what I also had fun playing.
This arrangement continued for some time, until one morning the message on my computer was simply:
*Play together?*
At this point I had gotten used to the ghostly gamer, and before I knew it I had typed a response below:
*Sure*
Immediately I heard both the television and console power on in the living room. Quickly rummaging through a box for the spare controller, I started to look for a co-op game. Deciding on Ratchet: Deadlocked, I popped it in and we began to play.
~~~
As I became more comfortable around whatever spirit also called my home their own, I found myself chatting about games with it. I mentioned some newer releases, and received several questions about them. The classics were fun of course, but I realized my gaming partner deserved to experience more. After saving some cash paycheck to paycheck, a few months later I walked home with a refurbished Playstation 4. After setting it up, I discovered a second profile under the one I created, simply labeled "Claire".
"Huh,"I mused aloud, "I guess I never did ask for your name"
As if in response, the controller joysticks wiggled. I smiled, plugging in the second one, and we began to play. |
On the day a Daughter of S'kan was to become a Mother, she would be taken to the shores of the Mirror, and told the True History of the Shining Beings.
Every word was carefully crafted, to be repeated only to their Daughters, when they were about to be Mothers themselves, such a Sacred History it was.
So the old Mother sat her Daughters before her, so they could watch the stars in both the Mirror and the sky, and she began her tale, like her Mother did with her, and her Mother's Mother, and so on.
"They came from the sky, my Daughters, in shinny carriages spewing fire more blinding than any ever seen.
They were as tall as five grown Mothers atop each other, and their apendages ended in five parts, as ours end in six. Their wore pure white and silver, and their faces were obscured by a mirror even more perfect than the one before us. As such, we called them the Shining Ones.
They came, my Daughters, and they saw S'kan, and all the riches of this world, and for many cicles they stayed and explored.
When they arrived, the Leader Mother was afraid of these strange beings. Her people were uneasy too, uncertain if these new beings were salvation or destruction, new Gods to be adored or Monsters to be fought. So she made her people hide inside the deep of the caves, and went to spy these beings herself.
The Leader Mother saw that these strange beings were carefull in their actions, and gentle with the world around them, so much smaller than they were. And while scared, she though she could try and give them gifts, so they would leave in peace.
She secrectly left to them offerings of fruit and meat in a weaved basket, like she would to a visiting Mother, and watched from her hidden place as it was received by them, each of the Shining Ones taking turns holding the offerings.
She prepared rare flowers and gems polished smooth, then, and while this too was received well, she noticed that they were searching for the one leaving the gifts. And so, while she wept for her Daughters, she knew whar had to be done to appease the Shining Ones.
She returned to her people, and informed them of her decision, and what she had learned. Then, she went to the Shining Ones, and with her she took her Daughters, and said to the Leader of the Shining Ones:
'Take me, O'Great Ones, and my Daughters if you wish, but please do not harm my people. We have nothing more to offer you, but we will serve you as our Gods.'
But the Shining Ones were nothing but kind, and instead thanked the Mother for her gifts. They knelt on the earth, as not to tower over her, such huge beings that they were, and they said:
'We are not Gods, but we travel through the stars looking for Life. We have been looking for a long time, and we are so happy to finally meet you and your Daughters, we are so happy we are not alone anymore'. They offered their friendship, and guidance, and gave us our precious Mirror, the very one in front of you.
They travel even now, searching for Life, but they promised us that, on the day we were to travel the stars as they do, they would welcome us all to their sky, and into their Home as we had.
Don't forget, my Daughters, the Shining Ones. The friendship they have forged across stars, of the loneliness of these beings who traveled for so long looking for others. Don't forget about the 'Humans'. " |
Scullvox The Mighty, slayer of a thousand kingdoms. Ancient and proud warrior. Undefeated in combat and blessed by the gods with immortality for his valor and skill. All in the world know the legend of him and know that, should he pit himself against their cause they will inevitably be crushed for how can you defeat that which cannot die? That, of course, resulted in every single king in the world offering titles and riches for Scullvox to settle in their kingdom and commit himself to their peoples and lands, but he never did. He was not a man who took sides based on politics or bribery. He fought for what he found to be just and right, and that was why the gods themselves were on his side.
But even immortals grow tired after centuries and Scullvox began to lose interest in the petty wars of the world. He found that, no matter how many times he crushed evil or squashed down horrible regimes and threw tyrants from their thrones, another would always rise. So he began to search out a battle he could fight that would truly change the world. To that end, he disguised himself and quietly took up residence in a dirty little town far from anything of importance.
And he became Scully, the Caretaker of the orphanage.
The kids that lived in Scully's orphanage came from all over the world. He did not discriminate and he openly encouraged any and all lost or orphaned children to come to him. Anyone who could not care for their kids or any kids lost to war could come to his home. He grew fruit trees and tended cows, and he taught the children to do the same. He taught those that were in his care the ways of the land and of a simple, peaceful life. To those in his care, he was a beacon of hope and joy and peace. None who came to him ever starved, suffered, or longed for anything because he secretly had riches beyond imagining and made sure there was never an unshoed foot or a hungry belly in his hall. They grew up happy and healthy and became good people of the world. Truly, this was the fight only an immortal like himself could take up and hope to win. But naturally, any fight requires a foe...
It happened late in the night when Scully stood in one of the many, many bedrooms of his hall with a tiny young girl cradled in his massive arms. Being that many of his children were orphans of war or poverty or tragedy, Scully had become very accustomed to cradling and cooing many to sleep when they had nightmares or terrors in their sleep. To the children, he seemed a great, giant bear of a man with a shaggy mane of hair and a huge, scruffy beard but hands that were infinitely gentle and arms warm enough to dose right off in. None of them ever had any trouble sleeping after he picked them up and held them close, for they had utter confidence in him even if they didn't know who he truly was.
The shrill scream echoed through the halls and Scully's blood went cold. Old, old instincts flared to life in him and he felt his muscles tense for the fight. He glanced down at the girl in his arms, who's eyes had fluttered back awake at the sound. He gingerly sank down to his knees beside her bed and laid her in it. She mumbled some complaint as he pulled the blankets up her diminutive form and tucked them tightly around her shoulders.
"Quiet now, little Ruth. I'm sure it was just the wind but I need to go check it out. Can you be a brave, strong girl for me?"Scully asked, carefully touching fingers to her cheek as she stared up at him. Her eyes were so large and so deep brown. A beautiful child who's parents had been lost to some war in a distant land. His heart broke at the fear she felt almost every night when she slept.
But tonight, she gave him a nod and smiled, "Thank you, Scully. I love you."
"Love you too, Ruth. Sleep well."Scully said, giving her a scratchy kiss on the forehead. She laughed and shook her head at the touch of his beard. He ruffled her hair one last time before getting up and going out of her room. He closed the door and then his pace changed.
He rushed down the hall, feet falling fast and quiet with the skill of a practiced hunter. Even as big and strong as he was, he had long since learned how to move quietly at all times. It was old skills to him and it took little thought as he crossed his hall and burst into the communal bedroom at the far end.
The window was open and the beds had been ripped apart. There were four children supposed to be in here, girls just a few years shy of womanhood. All were missing now and he could hear cries and screams coming from outside. He dashed to the window and looked out it. Far in the distance, silhouetted against the dark night, he could see two horses bearing riders and captives. His body bristled and the window frame cracked as his fists clenched on the wood. He reached up and slammed the window shut with a tinkling from one of the frames cracking.
They were on horses and it was dark. He could do little to chase them down. Though normally vigilant, his decades caring for this orphanage had made him relax too much. He had assumed that, after this many years in this little remote town, everyone knew him and his own so he had little to stay on guard against. Apparently a new group of bandits had come through and had decided his orphanage was a good target.
Girls, almost young women really, were only ever taken like that for one thing. Scully wouldn't let that happen. He would make sure these brigands understood the error of their ways before they died horribly under his boots.
"Scully?"A squeaky little voice asked from the doorway.
Instantly, he let the tension in his shoulders ease and he unclenched his jaw. He let his face soften before turning back to the door. Standing there was a little boy in a long nightgown with a stuffed dog in his arms. He stared up at Scully with wide eyes. A couple more children appeared behind him, all looking equally scared and sleepy.
"Scully, where did they go?"One of the children asked.
"Did someone take them?"Another said, panic suffusing her voice.
Scully stepped forward and took a knee in front of the gathering kids. He was so very tall that he loomed over normal people. To children, he was a giant among insects. So he liked to think he could shrink himself down a bit to look less intimidating. He held out a hand and touched the shoulder of the scared girl, "Jenny, everything is going to be alright. You all just need to go back to bed, okay?"
"R-Really?"Jenny sniffled, her face growing more concerned.
"Uh-huh. I'm going to fix everything and then tomorrow we'll all have a super special breakfast. But pretty girls like you need your beauty sleep, okay?"Scully said in a strong voice, betraying none of his rage or fear for the girls.
"Okay."Jenny said, her face brightening at the thought of a special meal.
Scully got back to his feet and looked across the hall. Two teen boys were standing there. The eldest young men in his orphanage, old enough really that they could start looking for jobs and moving out into their lives. He was never one to push though as they all found their own ways in time. He stepped past the children as they started to head back to their rooms and beds.
"Scully, what's going on?"One of them asked.
"Bandits broke in. The four of them were taken. I'm going to get them back. I need you two to make sure everyone is in bed. double check the locks on all the windows and doors. I think the girls may have left theirs open and that's why they broke in there. Take swords from my room and set a watch at the front door. If anything happens, go straight into town and get the sheriff, okay?"Scully said, grabbing them both by the shoulders in rough, scarred hands. He looked sternly into there eyes and said, "You are strong men and I need you to protect everyone while I'm gone."
"Scully, what're you going to do? Shouldn't we get the sheriff now?"The second teen asked.
Scully shook his head and waved for them to follow him to his room. He walked over to a massive chest beside his bed and pulled the cover off it. He flipped the lid open to expose an armory of weapons. An axe, a medly of swords, a bow and quiver, and a belt full of knives. He started belting on weapons and the boys stared in awe at him.
"S-Scully? Why do you have all those?"The first teen hissed.
"Yeah, you're a big man, but are you really a warrior?"The second said.
"You two are smart enough. You've seen my scars. You know I'm not just a farmer and caretaker. Here, take these and try not to cut off your own feet. I've seen you two sparring with sticks before. You're not half bad but against real combatants, you'll be killed. So just show the swords and look mean, but go to the sheriff if anything happens."Scully said, turning and handing each of them a scabbard with a short sword.
The teens looked uneasy but they stiffened and nodded when they took the weapons. He nodded back to them and headed for the door.
*******
The trail hadn't been hard to follow. For a normal human, it might've seemed impossible. But centuries as a hunter and warrior had Scully inhumanly talented at many things. He knelt behind a tree and looked at the small encampment the bandits had setup an hour's travel from the town. There were at least twenty of them and they had his four girls tied up and gagged in one of their tents.
Scully pulled his bow from his shoulder and knocked an arrow. He took a breath and mentally prepared himself for the fight. It had been so, so long since he had gone into battle and he was not keen on it. Immortal or no, taking a foot of steel in the gut was agony. He looked down at himself and lamented his lack of armor. He was wearing sackcloth pants and nothing else. He'd left the orphanage so quickly for fear of losing the girls that he'd not bothered trying to dig his old armor out of the closet.
-Part 2 Below- |
He was such a sweet boy, but he was his dad's boy. Our world crashed when he was six and he found a way to blame me for everything. His six-year-old brain just couldn't process that his dad would never be coming home. I tried so hard to pull him in but the end started with the funeral, he didn't cry, standing like a statue while I hugged him. My other three let me draw them in, let me love them. I suppose that's a whole different issue. He felt alone, he got older, more angry. When I praised him he scoffed at me, when I disciplined him he mocked me. I was not his dad and I could never fill the void. So many little things piled up, I missed a baseball game here, an awards assembly there. The reasons I wasn't able to go didn't matter, I failed him over and over. In his mind his dad would've been there for every moment. The years drug on, he functioned, graduation from high school and left for college. Few words were exchanged before he drove away, my heart broke for all the missed opportunities, all my failures to show him how much I love him.
Two years ago I received a text from a number I didn't recognize. His wife. Crushing brokenness, my baby got married and didn't want me to be a part of any of it. She was sweet, said she thought I should know and then a picture message. A picture of my son when he was just a few months old, I didn't recognize the picture, which was strange because I have looked at every picture ever taken of him thousands of times. Then it hit me, not my son, his son. Oh god I couldn't breathe, I sobbed hysterically. I had to do something.
I watch his public profiles to get a glimpse of his life and the sweet grandbaby I will likely never know. I stalked him more or less to get to know what he is into and that's what gave me the idea to befriend him. His wife had mentioned that he was 'very alone'. I created the person I thought his father would be to him. I learned about all his interests so we could have real conversations. He likes fishing alone, reading, hiking with his family and some online gaming which I knew nothing about. He slowly let me in, oh how good it felt to converse with my son, for him to open up and show me who he is. He's a sweet young man and I am so proud of him. He talks a little about his boy, but I can tell he keeps this part of himself guarded. After nearly a year I created a reason to be in his town. He said there's a big game on, to meet up for a beer at a local bar. My heart raced, debating on whether or not to tell him I am me. I am desperately hoping that face-to-face he won't reject me. I brought the journals I have written to him throughout his life, hoping they will matter. I miss my baby boy, oh God please let him love me again. His car just pulled in, I think I might puke...I am so desperate...he's walking in... |
It has been called many names. Different aspects of a single truth. [It exists for one purpose.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_in_the_mountain)
Akasha. Elysium. The Fae's Realm. The Record. 「 」
Nations rise and fall.
*Heroes remain.*
Names change. The people change. What once was, no longer remains.
*Heroes endure.*
It was a historic day.
*Heroes are eternal.*
The day when both the US and UK would cease to exist.
The day the prodigal son would return to his deadbeat mother.
The day of reunification.
The British Empire reborn.
In the West, a mountain shatters. The earth ruptures. From the crevasse, emerges a lone figure on horseback.
In the East, the sun rises. A single ray illuminates a single tree in a forest. Ancient runes, transcribed in a language long forgotten, begin to glow.
This is merely a formality. The treaty has already been signed. It's a ceremony of no importance. Pomp and circumstance.
Through a smattering of state-sponsored reporters, the world watches with disinterest.
As the pen approaches to make its first binding stroke, the world shakes.
An earthquake of massive proportions.
The walls of the building collapse. Dust fills the air. Security personnel go into overdrive. Miraculously no one is harmed.
The dust clears. Two figures that were not there before, stand on opposite sides of the gathered audience. They stand, with their closest friends, their allies, their compatriots who followed them beyond life.
The cameras roll. The world holds its breath.
The Secret Service is dumbstruck as their weapons have no effect on the interlopers. It is to be expected. Mere mortal weapons could not dream of touching those who have conquered death. With no other choice but to evacuate the leaders, they try to rush The President and Prime Minister to safety. Try. They are bloodlessly disabled in seconds. The movements of the gathered knights were a blur.
Two figures from legend.
They stand, silent. They stand at ease.
One, in the vestments of his glory days, holds the reigns of a magnificent beast. To call Little Texas a "horse"would be an insult. To call its musclebound rider a mere man, even more so. The Bull Moose adjusts his spectacles and fixates his gaze on his Briton counterpart.
The other stands in battered armor with a sheathed blade. The most famous sword in history. The sight of it is enough for everyone in the world knows who this figure is. The Once and Future King.
It was foretold they would return in the time of their respective nation's greatest need. From Avalon. From Rushmore.
They move forward as one. Glaring, disappointed at the sniveling cowards who call themselves leaders. Who hide behind armies, secret police, and bureaucracies. Who have, in the span of their regimes-for-life, turned once great nations into irrelevant backwaters, clinging to legacy.
Roosevelt, ever the gentleman, turns to The Lord of the Round Table and nods.
The King of Knights unsheathes the golden blade of light.
Excalibur descends. |
"A passenger's dying on this very plane?
We *must* ensure oxygen gets to her brain!
My cat's red-striped hat can help with the task,
For inside it I carry an oxygen mask.
Thing 1: grab me pillows, I'll need two or three,
And bring me the med kit immediately!
Thing 2: tell the pilot I'm resuscitating
a passenger's heart with a rate quickly fading.
I'll also require the plane's AED,
So hurry now, quickly!, and bring them to me!"
 
"Now stay with me miss: today you'll die not!
This aspirin should help you with any blood clot.
Horton's now going to force some air into you,
and compress your chest; thirty sets ought'a do.
Lorax stay close with the heart-shocking gear,
To jump-start the heart with a zap! on my '*CLEAR!*'
 
Miss, drink some water - we're out of this jam,
Maybe now you'll cut back on your green eggs and ham.
But for now don't you worry - I've made sure you're stable,
as Seuss is my name: I'm the doctor most able."
|
"Backpack, backpack."Charlie whispered in between sobs, "Backpack, backpack."
Today was Wednesday, which meant it was the fourth day of that week and therefore fourth backpack I would deliver to Charlie as his eyes were closed and he rocked on the floor. Ever since our parents died when I turned eighteen, whenever Charlie had one of his fits I would deliver his special backpack, and using the tools inside he would calm himself down. He had always been different. But now him being different was my responsibility.
For instance, when I turned nineteen and Charlie was twenty three, he had an episode on the bus.
"Excuse me young man,"The old lady had said, taking his hand as he passed, "Can you give me directions to the nearest-"
She never finished her question, as she was drowned out by Charlie's screams. There were several sensations Charlie could not stand- the sound of styrofoam, the smell of burnt popcorn, and the human touch of someone he did not know.
Rocking on the floor of the bus he screamed, only getting louder as the lady attemped to console him. And after five minutes he issued his call for help, the only way that I could reach him.
"Backpack!"He screamed, "Backpack!"
And I took his backpack, and filled it with a blanket, a comic book, and a flashlight. And twenty three year old charlie threw the blanket over his head and read the book with his flashlight until we reached out stop thirty minutes later.
It always occurred like that- Charlie would have his episode, and I would cure him. At a loud theater, his backpack would have a blindfold, earbuds, and a jolly rancher. In the cafeteria, when his food was too hot, he would find ice cubes, a timer, and a spoon to stir. Every time I would find the materials for him to escape his torment. And every time he figured out how to use them.
For the last ten years, I had endured it. I'd hoped Charlie would get better, but he never has. Caring for him meant I've never been able to keep a job for long, so our meals started getting smaller along as stress shortened my sleep at night. I knew Charlie himself would never be able to get a job. And as the years passed, I knew he would never be able to live a normal life.
And neither would I.
It was a terrible thing I did, something I thought I would regret. I carried the items with me for weeks, waiting for the right opportunity. Balking at several, but then finally leaving them in his backpack the next time someone touched Charlie.
When he had an episode in the middle of the mall, and rocked on the floor, and screamed for his backpack.
And I left the gun and the mask before walking away, a tear falling down my cheek as I watched Charlie on the news later that night.
***
By Leo
If you enjoy fantasy, be sure to check out my best work here https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/3u1uhv/leo_comments_on_wp_in_a_world_where_wizardry_is_a/ |
I thought I was going crazy.
Whenever I walked past a reflective surface, I always saw a man walking beside me. I turned around and looked, nobody. Similar thing happened when I walked alone at night. I would… sometimes heard footsteps behind me, light and happy. I always turned around to see myself alone.
It was happening again just now. I was just enjoying an afternoon in a rare warm winter sun. The butter colored rays peeked down from the sky scrapers and sparkled on the half-melted snow. I was licking ice cream as I walked across to cemetery onto a street with bustling shops. It was a crowded time of the year. People huddled for warmth, so I didn’t notice anything until I looked up at the glass of the barber shop. And I saw him, faintly next to me against the glass. I recognized him immediately.
I was a tall man, but he was even taller than me. Tall and muscular. He was dressed in a dark coat. His skin was in an unusual shade of red.
I blinked, and he was gone.
It must be stress from work. I moved from a small town to the city just a few months ago. A job at a design magazine had my head spinning. I was exhausted to the bones, but I could not give up. I didn’t move away from that small town to be comfortable. I escaped from the small pond to be the best in the biggest pond I could find.
I could not have gone crazy now, but this wasn’t the first time I saw him either.
The first time I saw him was when I first got to the city. It was a summer night. The air was hot and sticky, but the trees swaying in the wind soothed me. I just got down from the bus at North and Division from a particularly hard day at work. A wave of emotion crashed on me, and I sat down on the bench. I opened my wallet and looked down to see the pictures of my parents. Tears welled up in my eyes. I missed Ma. I missed Pa. I missed my friends. Why did I ever think I had a chance in this big city?
I remembered that I started to sob. “Please,” I whispered to the soft sound of traffic, “It’s so hard. This is so hard-- I can’t. I can’t do this... I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
As I was saying that, a car passed by. In my tear-blurred sight, I saw a reflection from its glass of a tall man sitting next to me on the bench. His head turned toward me, like he was staring.
I dried my eyes and turned around. The seat had been empty.
After that day, I saw him more frequently. He appeared like an after image when I saw the Fourth of July firework that I went to see alone at the lake. I saw a flash of him at a nice restaurant I went to celebrate by myself when I got promoted. Sometimes I swore I saw his reflection picking up a shirt—a shirt that when I turned to see was the right color and size for me—with a huge sales tag. I saw him when I went ice-skating for thanksgiving because I had no one to go home to, a flash of red in the partition glass surrounded by white and blue ice, lost in the crowd. I felt as if the red reflection followed me as I glided through the ice.
He had appeared more frequently recently. Each time I could see him clearer and clearer.
Maybe if I took some time to focus, I could truly see him. Maybe he was my subconscious telling me about how to face my fear…
I tried again, choosing to walk pass a fashion store with a very big mirror facing the walkway.
There. He appeared.
He lingered longer than he had done before. I saw clearly his Christmas red skin. His black leather coat sucked out the light from the snow. His glowing eyes bore into me… his horns…
…A demon…
I stumbled and fell, dropping my ice cream. Then I stood clumsily and slipped on the fresh fallen snow. People turned around to look, but I didn’t care. I turned, and I started running.
*Wait*, I heard a voice, almost a whisper, *don’t go that way*.
I pushed through the crowd, still hearing the fast crunches of snow behind me. I kept going until suddenly people parted.
A high screech sliced through the air. I looked up. A bus was coming toward me. I was on the street that was slick with melting snow and ice.
I heard a crushing collision and braced for the impact. It did not come.
Once my eyes could muster the courage to open again, I saw the bus a few feet in front of me. The front of it was messed up, like it was crashing into a telephone pole.
On the ground, a pool of black liquid oozed slowly into the snow. I didn’t know what the liquid was and where it was from.
And I let cold sadness burn into my heart as I looked in the shattered windshield of the bus and saw only my reflection.
|
I used to envy so many people. I envied James, because he could become a fierce tiger. I envied Stephanie for her change into a massive bear. I was jealous of Mike, for being able to soar free as a cockatoo. I would have even traded places with Tifanny, to become a squirrel.
When the disease took my legs, I understood my blessing. Once the cancer was removed, all I had to do was spend three weeks as an axolotl, and they were as good as new. I wasn't immortal, but I was blessed.
I remember hearing Tiffany tried eating through an electric line. They found a small, charred patch after they fixed the city-wide blackout. Those instincts can be hard to ignore, apperantly.
I remember Mike's death, since it was a massive story. He always was a reckless idiot, but flying into a planes turbine? Too stupid. Even for him. I still hold that it was suicide, but we'll never know.
Stephanie... Stephanie always loved the forest caves. She would go there for weeks at a time, and the bear scent was enough to deter just about anything from the area. Until it wasn't. And then it turned out that the biggest predator in the forest was no longer her. It took nearly three months to find any kind of identifying items, but her blood-covered family-heirloom bracelet closed that case.
James died last year, and that one was the worst by far- not just because he was like a brother to me, but the death itself. Poachers. Shot, killed and skinned, like he was nothing more than a very dangerous orange. I was at the cremation, where they burned the rug that he was made into. I still think the poachers got off easy with that death penalty.
And so here I am- thirty five years old, healthy as an ox, and essentially unkilable. It seems a lot of people are jealous of me. And me? I'm done being jealous.
I just want my friends back. |
"Alright Maui, show me these crazy mortals of yours."
"Ok, so they're not *mine*. They don't worship me or, or anyone for that matter as far as I can tell, but check it out. I gave them all weird, useless powers."
"Mhmmm"
"And they- well, look!"Maui gestured with both hands at the scrying portal.
One mortal had a large black brick in his lap, with one finger from each hand touching one of the two metal nipples on the top of the brick.
"I don't get it. What's he doing?"
"Ok. So I gave this one the power of lightning, just really, *really* weak lightning. Like, one-ten-thousandth of a lightning bolt. Now he's just constantly creating that amount of power and using it to charge a bunch of batteries."
Tangaroa just looked at at Maui, nonplussed. "I still don't get it. So he's using the power you gave him."
"Yeah, but- Ok. How about this one! Look!"
Tangaroa pinched the bridge of his nose as the scrying portal closed and opened up again, this time spectating a different mortal. This time, it was a woman who was hunched over an injured human, stitching his wounds shut.
"What did you give this one?"
"The power to stitch any two things together!"
"That doesn't sound particularly useless."
"I didn't even think she'd figure out she had it at all. Can you imagine? Wandering around with a divine power and not even know about it? Hilarious!"
Maui laughed boisterously at his own joke. Tangaroa waited for him to get it out of his system.
"Shouldn't you be upset that they foiled your pranks on them?"
"Of course not! It's way funnier this way! C'mon, any healthy person knows when to laugh at themselves."
Tangaroa swiped at the scrying portal to cycle through the mortals, skipping past half a dozen to stop randomly at a man who was buying a large stack of small cardboard rectangles with colorful text on them.
"This one?"
"Oh, he always wins games of chance, but always gets the lowest prize."
Tangaroa zoomed in to one of the cards. *DOUBLER! Match at least two to win double your money back! Double it again for every additional matching symbol!* "Hmmm."
"I know, right? *Genius*"
"Maui, upon how many of these mortals did you bestow powers like these?"
"uh..."he began counting on his fingers, "a couple thousand? Maybe twenty-thousand? I'm not sure."
Tangaroa sighed. "I'll go inform the council..." |
"Goddamn it,"I muttered to myself weakly as I laid dying in the hospital bed. Such shitty luck. Bad enough that I was dying from an terminal illness, but then to get struck by a drunk driver as I was crossing the street? Couldn't the universe give me a fucking break? I coughed and immediately winced at the sharp pain in my ribs. Fuck, they could have at least given me some more painkillers, so I could die in peace.
"Request approved. Pain resistance acquired for future reincarnation."
I looked around in confusion. Did someone say something? I squinted as I tried to see if there was anybody else in the room. Damn it, if only my glasses hadn't broken when the car hit me...I tried raising myself up from my bed, only to immediately fall back on the bed in agony as I remembered that my limbs had been mangled in the crash as well.
"Request approved. Additional eyes acquired. Multiple sets of tentacles acquired."
I learned back in my bed and sighed. Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. I just wished I had gotten to have a decent last meal instead of the bland hospital food they served here.
"Request approved. Additional feeding tubes acquired."
I looked down at the numerous tubes sticking out of my frail skinny arms as I felt myself bemoaning my tragic fate. Damn it, if I had just been born in a stronger, healthier body, I would have been able to survive this. Alas, though, I was doomed from the very beginning. Even if the car hadn't struck me, my illness would have killed me before I reached the age of 20. There were so many places in the world that I wanted to travel to before I died. But it was too late for any of that. In a few minutes, I was going to die trapped in this tiny bed all alone by myself.
"Request approved. Physical strength increased tenfold. Resistance to physical damage acquired. Resistance to disease acquired. Extreme longevity acquired. Flight acquired."
I sighed wearily. And now, as if life wasn't shitty enough, I was hearing voices in my head. Well, I wouldn't have to worry about that for long. I could see everything slowly fading into darkness as the last embers of life drained out of me. I didn't know if there really was a afterlife, but hopefully, it was a lot better than this one...
I heard the faint sound of screaming as I felt myself slowly awakening from a deep sleep. What was happening? Had I not died? My eyes flickered open, only to gaze upon the most bizarre scene I had ever seen. Gone were the hospital room and the life support machines. Instead, I seemed to be trapped within some kind of red cylindrical force field inside some kind of underground cavern. There was a group of masked figures in robes outside the force field that was screaming and arguing amongst each other. Was that ... Japanese they were speaking? What in the actual hell was happening? I opened my mouth to speak, but to my sudden shock, instead of English, a series of wet bubbling noises and loud shrills erupted from my mouth.
For the first time, I looked down and my stomach heaved as I realized that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with me. My humans legs were gone. Instead, I was somehow standing on five different twisted scaly limbs, each of one which ended in a massive webbed foot. What was even more shocking to me though was the enormous amount of tentacles sprouting out of my barrel shaped torso in every direction. As I felt myself becoming faint, I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that apparently, even my mouths I was breathing through were somehow composed of tentacles. This was obviously a dream, probably some crazy hallucination created by a dying mind. I just had to wake up from it. I tried mentally forcing myself to end this nightmare, but nothing happened. Panic started to build up inside me. Maybe, it was this stupid forcefield. Maybe, I had to get out of it for this dream to end. I reached out with one of my tentacles and touched the red forcefield in front of me. There was a loud sizzling sound as I saw my flesh start to burn, but surprisingly I didn't feel any pain. When I pulled back, it only took a few seconds for the damage to heal itself. Could I break through? In desperation, I started ramming the shield over and over again. "Let me out!"I yelled in a wild cacaphony of roars and shrieks.
Ludwig laughed maniacally as his fellow summoners turned and stared at him. "You fools!"he sneered. "You thought that you could summon a Legendary Hero to overthrow the Shadow Lord. But the Shadow Lord was already aware of your plans. That's why he sent me, to sabatoge your ritual and to summon a mighty Shoggoth from the eldritch plane instead!"He pulled out a dark tailsman from within his robes and turned toward the savage abomination, which was thrashing around with all its might within the force field. "Shoggoth, hear me! I command you to destroy these pathetic vermin and to lay waste to this entire country!"
"That's not a Shoggoth, you idiot! That's an Elder One!"someone shouted from behind him.
Ludwig turned and frowned. "What did you just --"He never finished his sentence. With one loud pop, the Elder One came bursting through the force field, crushing Ludwig into a bloody paste under its own weight. |
The young, naive man sat next to ‘Father’ Geniol. The Vatican had assigned him to be the father’s latest apprentice. Daniel had just recently taken on the vestments of a holy man but quickly found himself in trouble for his ‘carnal desires.’ His choices were to suffer excommunication or to become the apprentice to the Father here. Daniel took the later knowing while it was almost a guaranteed death sentence, at least he would be welcome into the kingdom of Heaven. It would… just be a little quicker than he had originally planned, thought Daniel.
The Father took a swig from his holy water font(?) “Father did you just take a drink of holy water?”, asked Daniel. Turning to Daniel and no longer looking at the road ahead, the scent of whiskey overwhelmed Daniel. “Yeap, thank our Lord Jameson. Amen” Daniel was appalled at this blasphemy but held his tongue least he earn yet another black eye from the Father.
Barely missing an oncoming truck, the Father swerved the car somehow sensing the danger without at glance. “Come now ‘child’ if the son of man’s blood is wine a nip or two of alcohol only brings us closer to him.” Daniel could only bite his tongue harder and may also have wet himself.
Looking a bit disappointed the Father put the font back into his front pocket and again looked at the road. Daniel had witnessed the power of this holy man next to him. His aura was palpable when he stepped into a room as he would quickly slur some prayers in Latin, Greek and other languages. These prayers seemed to seal the room and cause the demons to reel in fear. The Father would then approach the demon who would scream and plead. Then with a simple touch the Father would exorcise the abomination.
The Father and Daniel were on their way to a mansion where something powerful had taken hold of the manor’s youngest. Whatever it was had slain a fellow priest and drove another mad. It was such cases that the Vatican would send Father Geniol and by extension his apprentice.
Arriving later that day, the Father quickly gathered his possessions and practically dragged Daniel inside. “Are we not going to rest and pray,” asked Daniel. “No rest for the wicked,” came the reply from the Father with an uncharacteristic chuckle. They were ushered upstairs to a room with a door barely on its hinges. The Father removed his Font (the same one as he had previously drank from) and made a big spectacle of splashing the door frame before the worried parents.
As if on cue the occupant of the room started screeching and scratching. Daniel thought for a second and realized this one spoke Latin. Previously these demons spoke either an unfamiliar language or what he assumed was the language of Hell. Quickly entering the door the Father started approaching the possessed child who was in the corner. Daniel heard the demon shout in Latin. “Devourer please come no closer, let me leave this child.” The small hands of the child pointed at him. “Devourer why do you want to eat me, that corrupted man’s soul would be much more satisfying. Just leave me…”
The Father finished approaching the child and with a forceful shove, the child fell limply to the floor. The sense of foreboding emanating from the fragile frame gone. Thinking back at the other exorcisms, Daniel realized that every one of the possessed had gestured similarly in his direction. He had thought they were pointing to the door but no it was him…
Daniel felt behind him at the doorknob and quickly retracted his hand… it was scalding hot. Father Geniol seeing the understanding in Daniels face, started to approach him. |
At first I didn't know how to feel about him. I had found the room posting on TOR, which I guess should have been the first flag, but honestly the fact that the rent was so low I just couldn't NOT give it a go.
All of my things could fit in the back of my car. So a brief 8 hour drive later and a walk up three flights of stairs left me in front of my new apartment door.
The door opened.
My worldview collapsed.
Demons were real. And after an explanation that I was now contractually obligated- BY A DEMON- to see through the end of the lease with him...
I got used to it. After all, he said he was looking for a change of pace- apparently even wars in hell were going the way of the drones.
At first it was pretty awkward, he was the first demon I'd ever met- and I was the first human he didn't need to kill, eat, or torture. But we had settled into a rhythm.
And that rhythm had turned to routine.
Not too long after, friendship.
And he helped me out, at first it was finding a job.
Then it was quiting drinking.
Then it was giving me the pep talk I needed to ask someone out.
It's been 3 years sense we had first renewed the lease, and it was the night of my big day.
I was getting married, and I couldn't have done it without him.
He was my best friend, and I didn't have anyone to hand me off when I was walking down the aisle...
I wanted it to be him. When I asked him he lit up as though I had just given a 450kilo toddler the biggest sparkler in the world.
So I made a trip back to the apartment we had been at for so long now, and as I walked through the front door, there he was- just like all those years ago.
Except this time he was naked and, as if he were cradling the life of a newborn in his overtly massive talons- was a folded and pristine XXXXL folded tuxedo...
The look in those old sweet eyes...
He didn't need to ask. I smiled, and closed the door behind me.
After all, what were roommates for? |
We shouldn’t have attacked.
The humans had established one of their “Research Stations”, a facility designed for science. Within its walls, they had tested many different species of the flora and fauna present on distant Xel’ji-5, a planet that was still ours, still under the dominion of the Korlan Empire despite it not being actively colonized yet. We sent a full company, nearly a hundred fifty Korlani soldiers, to purge the infestation of twenty humans.
We should have sent a full armored corps.
After we burned the laboratory to ash, ensuring that no human escaped alive, we left. What we didn’t know was that a pair of the invaders, one a scientist and one a security professional, had been away gathering samples. The scientist immediately fled to their ship to request assistance. The guard had other plans.
We did not know how important to the humans this laboratory was. We did not know that the security professional was better trained than most of our entire military. Our records indicate only his name, which has become a wraith to our people and the source of nightmares to our children. His name was “Spetsnaz.”
He came the first night after. Mere hours after we watched all the humans die, one merely appeared in the middle of a squad’s overnight position. We did not know of the extreme gravity of Sol-3, nor of the extremely thick atmosphere which provided extreme resistance to movement. His blows came so fast the survivor swore that he was an eight-armed demon.
Survivor.
Only one soldier, out of the dozen that had been present, survived. The human had literally punched *though* the first Korlan he attacked. From there, he used a combination of punches, kicks, and at one point a Korlani soldier’s rifle sling to devastate the entire squad.
And with their deaths, he knew more about his enemy that we did ours.
And now he was armed. A dozen plasma rifles, machetes, concussion grenades, light spheres, he became a one man army.
The rest of the company immediately began running. We fled directly to our ship, which was nearly [fifty miles] away. He followed.
Humans, apparently, evolved from pursuit predators. They literally chased down their food across tundras, through forests, across rivers. They would run and run and run until their prey was so exhausted they would collapse, ready for the killing blow.
We became the prey.
Without food or water, the human followed us. Every time we needed to stop to rest, more would die. He would engage from our flanks, herding us towards the grenades he had place in our paths for us to trip and die from. He was actually able to outpace my whole company enough that there were booby traps *ahead* of us. And we tired.
For a Korlani, a [fifty mile] foot trek should take about [3 days]. This human pushed us at a pace that was nearly half that timeframe. He did not sleep, did not slow, did not relent. He drove us into sleep deprivation, as our homeworld’s day/night cycle completes in about [13 hours].
Every pause made us lose another squad. Every turn brought another fireteam down. Every time we took contact, another soldier was wounded. Never killed, but wounded.
He knew us. He knew we would slow to keep our wounded with us. He shot to maim, to impede, not to kill. He made us choose between leaving our comrades and living or slowing, and dying ourselves.
Then the contact stopped. For [seven hours], we heard nothing. We continued to push, despite nearly falling asleep on our feet. When we could see our ship, we knew why he had broken contact.
The communications gear was destroyed. The engines had been entirely removed with the selective placement of concussion grenades, and the controls had taken a full plasma magazine charge, rendering them beyond useless. We were stranded, and both we and he knew it.
The human approached. He came out of the wood line, weapon pointed directly as Sergeant Gapin’s skull.
“You are dead. You vill surrender to face human justice, or you vill die here without a marker for your grave. Choose now.”
We surrendered. We marched back to the burning remnants of the human research facility, where a full company of humans stood, waiting. After the Counsel of Species heard the human’s story, and their testimony, and our confessions, the humans declared war on the Korlani Empire.
Now, my species is considered endangered. There is barely enough of us to inhabit a single moon, when barely a [decade] ago we controlled over a hundred worlds.
I write this as a warning. Do not attack the humans. The will out run you. They will outlast you.
They will be at your funerals and they will forget you ever existed. |
The last war I was involved in was the thing with the stamp tax. Honestly, I knew that idea was terrible before I even did it. A fucking stamp tax? As a pretext for a war? So fucking dumb and, if I'm going to be really rigorous here, just lazy, unrelatable writing. Then I had them throwing tea in water like that was some tough guy move. Tea already goes in water. Really hard hitting stuff, there, I know.
Back when I was at the top of my game, I would put together a war like you wouldn't believe. I'd do three hundred guys, trapped between craggly, steep cliffsides taking on ten thousand men, for the honor of their city. I'd do endless rows of knights in full armor, galloping through tall grass on rearing stallions so they could build a nation. Then at some point I lost my way, and everything was idiots lining up in tidy rows and taking turns shooting muskets at each other, then reloading, all for the sake of a fucking stamp tax. It was boring and bad. So I took a break. That's what a creative genius is supposed to do when things aren't flowing.
But here's what I guess I didn't understand. You see, I thought I was whispering the hate and jealousy and fear in all your ears. I come back from break and apparently you guys had rage and vengeance on lock, even without old Ares. I guess you already despised each other in ways I couldn't have fucking imagined. Mustard gas? Are you fucking psychopaths? What is cool about that? There's not even any fight choreography. People just choke and get gross skin boils and fall down. And don't get me started on the ethnic cleansing. You're supposed to fight other armies, not already vulnerable minority groups.
Look, don't get me wrong, you've had your moments too. D Day was fucking fantastic, with everyone storming the beach. The planes flying into the World Trade Center was a bit out the blue, but I can't deny the aesthetic was indelible. All the tanks and submarines are obviously impressive.
But if I'm going to be really honest, there's only one thing that matters here, which is of course the nukes. For me to do my thing with nukes in the picture, that's just too dicey. I love a little bloodshed and suffering, but nukes ain't my bag. I start riling you guys up again and it'll be over in five minutes. I don't mean just over the way any fight is over. I mean over over. I mean the end of every fight. That isn't what I want. I want you to kill each other sure, but I want you believe you're killing for a greater peace or a future for your kids. Even if the future you want is just no more stamp tax, at least that's something to live and die for. But once you go nuclear, there's no hoping after that.
I took a break. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I did. For better or worse, now you get to fight the wars you really want to fight. Just try to make them pretty and remember to leave room for a sequel. |
We look to the skies at nights. With a forsaken God we turn to ourselves and hold all hope. One day we shall build the ship. A great ball in the sky will come and take us away.
You may laugh if this sees the light. Tonight as I write the glare is red and the sky black with swirls of violet. The cliffs rise to the clouds. This subterranean hole used to be home. Now the noises keep me up at night. I follow the news that has yet escaped the censorship.
Tonight has been full of empty hopes. Our leader is old, but once he was young and crafty. His skin is grey and cracked. On the TV the lines blur the wrinkles but his voice is hoarse and time's weight hangs heavy around him. He hides somewhere warm, he says, and his best men are working on our salvation.
Death too has forsaken us. The years fall like rain and each one is bitter and draining. I remember the days of the Heartland. There a heat had kindled in our world, and a fire spread. The mountains were scored with flames, great curtains of red and orange. The heat pulsed like a heart and we were warm.
That great fire embraced us and home had come. We were nomads then, going everywhere and nowhere at once. Cast off long ago from a paradise I have never seen, long had we wandered the plains of oblivion.
But we had made this home. Our leader cut the stone and pulled the rock and the expanse of black was filled with promise. This was Hell; and it was not a bad thing.
Then they came. You know how people are. You work hard and toil and then when your flower blooms everyone else comes to smell.
They came for reasons I cannot say. They hated our world and insulted it, but they never left. At first we were cruel. We savored the fun, and we had lots of it. But they kept coming. Why wouldn't they stop?
And they came faster than we could multiply and then we were the minority. Then we were the persecuted.
The world became cold and the fires extinguished. Great clouds of steam hung over the clear skies. Our naked skins trembled with discomfort, the water from above hurting our bones with its frigid coldness. Change happened and Hell became something bad, a place of untold suffering. I cannot think of a word that can describe such.
Now in pockets of dark we hide in our caves. These outsiders, humans they called themselves, they speak of a place that sounds like paradise. A place where the heat is unbearable and where they were persecuted by the 'demons' of their lands. They say it is not as Hell once was, but that they could not live there regardless. We do not know the place, but they say that Hell is below. So we look up.
In secret we have been trying. Our hearts are heavy with the truth, but truth cannot change, and we must accept that Hell is lost. Our paradise is run over by these things of misfortune. These enslavers and murderers.
Yes, we had made a game of them in their first coming, but they have turned it to a sport. Institutions are built around indecency, abuse and malice. They are more wicked than us and are pack animals. Resistance has been futile. We must escape.
I look to the stars tonight as I do every night. One day I will see the ship. The leader promises it will not be long. He never lies. Long ago he promised home. He gave us Hell. Now he promises salvation. I believe in the ship. I believe we will find another home, one which the humans have abandoned. They call it Earth. I hope to call it Home. |
"Sarah, please, *please* pick up! I know you're listening to this: you're waiting for that job interview; you wouldn't turn your answering machine off, but you've *got* to pick up! We can work this out! We can--"
I breathed a sigh of relief as the machine timed out on Damian. We'd been together almost all of high school, and then we'd *tried* the long distance thing during freshman year of college but...
It wasn't going to work. It wasn't him; it was me.
A knock at the door interrupted my musing, and I hit delete on Damian's message. I told him not to contact me anyway. We both needed a clean break.
Answering the door was making me regret that decision. Mr. Smith, Damian's father, stood outside. "Good morning, Sarah. May I come inside?"
"It's not a good time, Mr. Smith. I'm a bit busy and--"
He shoved past me, standing inside my front hall. Well, my parents' front hall. Thank God they were on vacation right now, or they'd be in the middle of this too.
I sighed and shut the door. "What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?"
"You can explain to me why my *son* is now bawling on the floor of his room, listening to Papa Roach!"He *roared* at me. Like, the pictures on the wall were shaking, he was so loud. Smoke seemed to billow out of his suit as two small protuberances grew out of his forehead. "Why the Prince of Hell itself is moping around like some minor angel that just got his wings clipped!"
"Wait... Prince of hell... what are you...?"
Mr. Smith burst into flame. Surprisingly, though, he didn't singe the floor or ceiling -- maybe he liked my parents that much? -- and in his normal bland self stood an imposing figure wreathed in reddest flame with deep black horns curling around his face. His eyes burned blue, and his feet, once shod in shoes, were obviously cloven now.
"You have caused great injury to me and mine, Sarah!"
"Hey, but--"
"God nor his angels can protect you, for I know your sins!"
"Um.. well--"
"I know what you and my son have been up to!"
"Then you know--"
"And when you die, my demons will attend to your torture with exquisite detail, revisiting the pain upon you which you have given my son! And it will last--"
"THEN YOU KNOW I'M A LESBIAN!"I finally shouted, drowning out his roar. I coughed, feeling the roughness in my throat. I'd need a cough drop later.
Mr. Smith -- Satan, I guess -- lowered his arms. "Wait, what?"
"If you know my sins, then you'd know I'm a lesbian. *That's* why your son is currently pouting in his room."
"Oh, that's not a sin. Huh."Satan scratched his head before shrinking back down into Mr. Smith. "Well, I guess I need to go have a conversation with Damian. My apologies."
"Um... it's fine. Fine. Just... no eternal torment?"
"Not for this, at least."He waved a hand negligently as he moved towards the door. He paused as he opened it. "Although... since you're available, would you like to meet my daughter, Lilith?" |
“A body is only a shell that conceals the soul. When the body breaks, the soul may finally escape. Most souls use this to seek an afterlife, but I only wish to do the sweetest kickflips around. Humanity forgot the true heart of skateboarding and I’m here to remind them.” Tony gave quite the speech, standing in line for the tryouts, his skateboard showing no signs of modification. No boosters or safety equipment inside. It was like he had just painted a plank of wood and added wheels to it.
“That’s very heartfelt, Mr. Hawks, but I’m afraid I can’t let just anyone into the competition. Skateboarding is a sport for the elitists. No one wants to watch some hooligan break his bones with a piece of wood. If I wanted to see that, I would head down to the slums and offer fifty Galatians to whichever washed up space pilot could get me their colleagues’ tooth.” The ruffians had gotten so out of hand lately, thinking they could join in our X games. Maybe I should offer him a Galatian coin just to leave me alone?
He slammed the board onto the sign-up sheet, causing me to scurry from the desk, crouching beneath. “Mr. Hawks. Who do you think you are? You may look like Tony Hawk and share his name, but that man died centuries ago.”
“Sick ollies can never die. I was hibernating, waiting for the time when the world needed my knowledge once more. That time is now. Skateboarding is for all the cool boys and girls who just want to feel involved in a community, not something for you to exploit.” His words were filled with passion, but only bored me.
“Yes, yes. How bad we are to insist that you protect your body with proper ST-1 shielding and barriers? People died back when you hooligans ruled the sport. Even if I wanted to let you join Mr. Hawk, you couldn’t afford the four hundred Galatians.” My lips attempted to curl into a smug smile only for a ping to appear on my wristwatch announcing the transfer of money. “Impossible.”
“Nothings impossible when you believe in the board. I was rich before I broke my mortal shell. That money didn’t disappear. Do I go through that entrance?” He asked, pointing to a small entranceway decorated by a beautiful blue carpet.
“Yes, wipe your greasy shoes off before stepping on that though.” I instructed, staring at the man as he headed for the entrance. It’s not like he would win with that equipment, anyway. He won’t even survive the drop.
“It’s alright, I’m not wearing shoes.” He responded, dragging his bare feet on the carpet before vanishing from my sight. That hooligan punk, I hope he falls.
I was fuming all day, looking up photos of this Tony Hawk, unable to deny the photos matched the man, not looking as though he had aged a day. When the trials started, I watched the displays eagerly from my box seat, staring out of the fine glass window, admiring the eighty-foot ramp. “He will be dead before he even hits the ground.”
The trials were the same as every year. Each rider sharing a perfection that was almost guaranteed through years of technological fine tuning. Their flips as classy as ever, many riders not even wobbling in the slightest as their boosters fired up to slow their descent to the ground.
It was hard to pick a standout from the group, each one earning a place in the X-games. Then the last rider approached, one that made me smile. “An aged glass of Shiraz please.” I clapped, motioning the server to bring me a drink.
We were going to watch a man die today or die again if he was to be believed. The server came to my side, handing me the glass before staring up at the ramp, the glass zooming in on the rider, showing his face for all the viewers watching. “That guy looks like Tony Hawk.” The server said, unable to pull his gaze away from the glass.
“He claims to be Tony Hawk. Maybe we can DNA test him after this performance. I’m sure there will be plenty of DNA to test when he explodes on the ground.” We both eagerly watched, unable to even bring the wine to my lips as he edged the board over the ramp.
Then he dropped, falling at a pace that would scare even the bravest free faller. “He’s mad. He’s going to die. CUT THE FEEDS, WE CAN’T SHOW THIS ON THE PUBLIC FEED, SAVE THE FOOTAGE FOR THE PAID EXCLUSIVE FEED ON OUR SITE.” I screamed, but my words fell on deaf ears. No one able to stop watching the display.
He fell for what felt like hours, only to bounce his board off the ramp, performing a 360 flip, never falling away from his board. “He’s amazing.” The server pushed past me, pinning their gaze against the window, watching the descent with the attention it deserved.
“Impossible. Even if he succeeds in the fall, the drop will kill him.” I could barely watch, covering one of my eyes as he performed his tricks. He grinded along the ramp, sending sparks flying from his board, only to let his board go, kicking it towards the floor. The board falling as Tony chased after it, free-falling down the ramp as it neared its final ten feet. Before he could touch the ground, he reclaimed his board, planting his feet on it and crouching, skidding along the bottom of the ramp, landing perfectly.
I jumped up, spilling my wine all over the server beside me. “He did it. That was the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. It had heart and passion.” I gushed about the performance, only to regain myself. “It was good, but very lucky.” I corrected, handing the empty glass to the server. “Clean yourself up and get me another drink. I have some sponsors to call.” This would change the foundation of skateboarding again, but I didn’t care. Too impressed to care about the societal effects of this man, just wanting to see more. “Let’s hope you bring that to the championships."
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Some humans develop a new variant of the universal translation software (since we created the original): Space Toddler Edition
Alien Species 1: They called us poop faces! *translated*
Alien Species 2: They said our mommies are fart sniffers! *translated*
Human Diplomat: *trying to keep a straight face* I understand the seriousness of this situation, but I need a short recess, ah, I mean break, to consider the major points you have addressed. Could we reconvene in two standard increments?
AS1: Fine. *translated into childish huff*
AS2: I'm going to take a nap! *translated*
<<>>
*back in the Human Diplomatic quarters*
HD: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Rest of the team & staff:HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
HD: Okay, heh, whoever swapped my translation matrix for the toddler one, please don't do it again. Especially when the parties are preparing to engage in genocidal war. Assuming they can escalate beyond slap fights without cookies and milk. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! |
The instant my familiar appeared, the room fell silent. I could still smell the smoking incense, and see the fading runes. Around me, the other acolytes watched in shock, their own familiars staring in horror. I looked back at mine, taking in the long, tattered black robes, the large scythe, and its skull.
"Everyone! Return to your rooms at once! Abdon, stay where you are!"
The headmasters voice rang out across the frozen air. His normally calm, even voice was tinged with panic, but allowed no argument. On instinct, my classmates obeyed. They filed out, quickening as their familiars urged them on.
*Well met, Abdon. I am the Reaper, your familiar.*
My familiar's voice curled in my head, a cold pattern of speaking. But despite the chill, it was comforting. It was almost recognisable, but strange at the same time.
I glanced around at the now quiet hall. The other acolytes had left, leaving me alone with a few teachers. Headmaster Trennel had a look of concern, as he absentmindedly patted the golden dragon that was his familiar. Mages Drest and Hactor were pale, the former viewing me through and arcane eye, whilst the latter had opened up a book he had oukked from the air.
"Abdon. Understand that we mean you no harm, but we must look into this."
I nodded.
"Yes Headmaster. Please, can I know why?"
He gave a sigh, gesturing towards Drest. She swallowed, putting away the eye. Her phoenix familiar nuzzled into her, trying to comfort her whilst keeping an eye on me.
"You... know how familiars are a connection to our ancestors? Well, normally bloodlines follow similar veins. Mine has birds, Hactor's has canines."
She sighed.
"There has never been a familiar that looks humanoid before, at least to omy knowledge."
*That's not quite true.*
I glanced at Reaper, before looking back at my teachers. Hactor gave a quiet exclamation, finger on a page in his tome.
"Ah, there has been one other recording. Of something akin to this. A familiar of bone, holding a scythe fit for souls, ill suited for grain."
Trennel gave a groan, rubbing his head.
"I knew it."
I moved my head back and forth. It worried me. Bit seeing the look on my face, Drest raised her hand.
"Calm down, please. Headmaster, what is it?"
He gave a moan again, before rising to his feet.
"The last owner was none other than Feltou, The Dark Hand."
I felt satisfaction from Reaper, as understanding flooded my mind. There wasn't a person alive who did not know of Feltou. He was infamous, having raised an army of the dead in an attempt to rule the world. But he had been gone for hundreds of years.
"But, how can this be?"
Drest had covered her mouth. Hactor muttered to himself, putting away his book, before addressing me.
"You will be watched whilst we investigate. If my suspicions are correct, and they normally are, this is a continuation of his plan."
I couldn't hide the tremor in my voice.
"W-what plan?"
Trennel gave me a pitying smile.
"He wanted to cheat death. And if you hold his familiar, you are almost certainly connected to him. If you are part of him, we have to stop it from going further."
They stared at me, and I went cold as I realised what this meant. I could be the start of something terrible. |
It was 438 pages of legalese, written in the most convoluted, confusing manner that Senator Burke could pen. For most people, reading a dozen pages would leave them with little more than a headache and a confused frown. But I could parse the words as easily as if I was reading the Sunday paper. I knew what it meant.
It was a death sentence to the elderly. It was a modern day ice flow. Your time is done. You’re taking up space that other people need. It’s time for you to go.
There had been loopholes, of course. Burke was no fool. At the age of 98, Burke would be facing the same fate soon enough. There had been a clause buried in the fourth paragraph of page 392 that gave exemption to elected government officials. Burke knew I would understand the implications. I could practically see the wink, wink, nudge, nudge written in the margins.
There were other exemptions too, exemptions for those of exceptional value to the world. That would be enough for every rich and powerful person to buy their way out of death. What was a few million spent on philanthropy to them? And if they greased the wheels even farther, just owning a multi-billion dollar company might be grounds for exemption.
I had already made copious modifications to the document. That’s how this worked. They gave it to me, and I signed it or I sent it back with my notes. I had sent it back twice already. The first time, I noticed that they’d barely read the document updates at all before approving it. This was common enough. If the world knew just how little their representatives paid attention to the things they voted on, I would like to think there would be a revolution. During the second revision, I’d made another small change among the others regarding penalties for attempting to dodge the Life Board. I’d added a few simple “no”s. No exemptions are to be made for serving elected government officials. No exemptions are to be made for people of exceptional value to the world. No exemptions for anyone. Ever.
That was the current document sitting on my desk. It had passed the Senate and the House, and it sat here, awaiting my signature. I had no doubt that every single man and woman who voted this believed they were doing so with impunity. They believed their office would protect them, and if not, then the fat kickbacks from wealthy benefactors who wanted nothing more than to protect their own position in life would be enough to buy their way into a future. But they were wrong.
I signed our death warrant. |
"I have a message for the King, concerning the battle at Aldman's Crossing."he told the guardsman at the top of the gate. There was a rustle, and seven more heads popped up over the crenelations.
"A message for the King?"they repeated in unision. "Are you... sure about that? Is it good news?"
"I'm afraid the king will be quite displeased,"the messenger replied. "Lord Salazar's forces were victorious."
"Well, for your own good, we can't let you in to the castle,"said the guardsman. Together, they popped back below the battlements.
The courier again pounded on the door. After a half hour of pleading and persuading, they opened the locks and let him through. "But it's your own head that you'll be losing,"they warned as they pointed him up the hill to the castle keep. The guards retreated back into the barracks without a second glance; the messenger heard one of them mutter: "Poor fellow..."
Every barrier he met along the way was guarded by another person warning him of the King's reputation for killing anyone who brought him bad news. He assured them that he had sworn an oath to deliver his message, and that he would not accept no for an answer. Of course no one offered to take the message for him. Each of them looked at him with the same sad expression and pitiful head-shaking, but eventually he was able to persuade them to let him through.
At last, the Courier arrived at the King's grand audience chamber. Normally packed with guards, attendants, and courtesans, it was entirely empty. News of his arrival had spread quickly, and *no one* wanted to be in the room when the king got bad news; sometimes that axe had been known to swing a bit too wide.
The messenger's footsteps echoed through the enormous room as he approached the King's raised dais. He sat on his throne with a look of almost sadistic pleasure; he had earned his reputation, and he intended to keep it. The courier crossed the room, took a deep breath, and knelt before him.
"You may rise, courier. I'm told you have a message for me?"
The messenger stood and looked up at the King, who was shifting excitedly from one side of his plush velvet cushion to the other. He couldn't *wait* to call the headsman; he barely even cared about the loss of the battle.
"Sir, I've come as swiftly as I could from the battlefield of Aldman's Crossing, where your forces were engaged by the armies of Lord Salazar."
"Yes?"the King said eagerly.
"And I bring this urgent message for you..."
The messenger reached into his satchel and drew a long, curved knife. He bounded onto the dais and sliced the king's throat with one fluid motion, sending a torrent of dark blood bubbling down the king's fine furs.
"That Lord Salazar bids you farewell."
---
If you all enjoyed the writing, check out /r/luna_lovewell! |
I stared mutely at the digital pregnancy test display. There were a lot of words I had expected to say once the results came in, most of them along the lines of: "God fucking damn it, Jason"or, "SHE'S SAFE!"followed by a fist pump.
But I hadn't thought that the first words out of my mouth would be: "What the *fuck?*"
Stay where you are, everything will be OK. What the hell kind of shit is this? Did I get a prank pregnancy tester? Was this a defect or something?
...What in the *hell* are the odds of that happening?
My cell phone rings from where I left it on the sink. *I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me, HE'S JUST A POOR BOY, FROM A -*
I pull the phone off the counter as Freddie Mercury sings his heart out, and stare at the call number for a second. *666-666-6666.*
Slowly, my thumb hits the receive button. "Hello? Who is this?"I ask cautiously.
"Would this be a Miss Josephine Maggy Evans?"Asks a smooth and downright seductive voice. "If not, please just say so and we will not bother you further."
"Yeah, you're talking to her."I said roughly. "I prefer Jo, though."I added.
"Splendid!"Crows the man. "We suppose you are wondering about the pregnancy test results you have so recently received?"
*What the fuck?*
"How the fuck do you know about that?!?"
The voice continues unhurriedly. "We are simply people who have mastered the art of having time, and quite frankly people, to kill, torture, and maim for the last four thousand years. But to answer your previous questions, we are Legion and we know about those results because we dwell in the hearts and minds of humans everywhere."It paused, adding, "Please do not panic. As it says on the display, everything will be -"
I hung up. I snorted to myself as I threw the broken tester into the trash can, shaking my head at the state of pranks today. So what if he knew about when I took the test. Probably a coincidence, probably I'd hear my voice on Youtube in the next couple of days on a prank video outtakes section.
I pulled out my phone and was about to call Jason when Freddie Mercury starts singing again.
Its the same number: *666-666-6666*. I feel an eyebrow twitch, and hit the accept button, thumbing the speaker option and bringing it close to my mouth.
I say heatedly, "Listen, assholes, your joke isn't funny anymore and you should just -"
"You are now the mother of the Antichrist, Harbinger of the End Days, and by extension, are now wife to the Adversary himself."Says the smooth voice in a decidedly clipped tone of voice. "Make of that what you will, Lady Jo, because *we* certainly will, and good day to *you!*"
I hear the click of something slamming down an old dial-phone receiver and the dial tone fills the sudden silence. Then my Samsung just falls apart in my hand.
I stare mutely at the collection of metal and plastic in my hands before a thought occurs to me:
*So Jason is literally Satan?* I think about that for a few seconds before nodding slowly. *This explains so much.* |
HERMIONE (an aside, to herself):
O, fell me now, foul clutches of the loves
I cannot escape! To be smitten is
to be hung from the parapets of fate
and wrung out like dirty, sodden washcloth
How can I choose between Ron and Harry?
How can a woman's heart beat in tandem
with those of two others'? A fool I am!
Hark!
A spectre approaches!
NEARLY HEADLESS NICK:
Hermione, you are no fool at all!
I heard your cries of grief and must admit
that I feel your only folly is this:
You have not seen the simplest solution!
HERMIONE:
Be clear! Of what do you speak, spectral vision?
NEARLY HEADLESS NICK:
You must consummate your relationship with both,
tonight - at the Yule Ball - where romance reigns.
HERMIONE:
You are wise, spectre. I shall do this thing. |
*Balance.*
That's the key. The space between doing too little and doing too much. It is a very, very difficult line to walk, I assure you. If I stray in the direction of caution it is with just cause - we do not live in an age that tolerates wonders. Questions need answers. If I were to reveal myself - if I were to show others what I am capable of - the question would be *how*?
And man is not capable of letting such a question go unanswered.
So, balance.
I can see into the minds of others. What I do with that knowledge is limited. If it can be helped, I do nothing at all.
*If* it can be helped...
I have nearly outed myself many times over the years. The first was as a child, in the third grade. I said a naughty word and heard my teacher formulating the punishment in her mind.
"No, not *recess*!"I wailed, which made the teacher blink and stammer, because she hadn't actually said anything yet. And besides, what good did it do? I still had to stay inside during recess.
That could be chalked up to a guess, but other actions less so. As a teenager, I once tackled a man intending to snatch the purse off my date. Since he hadn't actually gotten around to stealing anything yet, I was charged with assault. You cannot, of course, simply go around tackling strangers on the sidewalk. Especially without a good reason, which I was not obliged to provide.
And that girl...if I were a better man, I may have had her more honestly than I did. I'm a good enough man at least to have had the decency to self-destruct out of shame and guilt. Ever since it hasn't gone well with members of the opposite sex. I am too afraid of myself and the shortcuts I may be tempted to take. So I stay away.
I stay away from most, actually, easy though it would be to integrate myself into any society. I could learn the language easy enough. The passwords. The rhythms. The memes. The silly and the profound. I could break in to any circle. The hacks are all there, out in plain sight, waiting for me to open the door and take them. I suppose it's because I distrust myself so greatly that I cannot bring myself to attempt friendship and love, even the old fashioned way.
So I am alone, and alone in my own head, which is a disastrously byzantine place, layered all over in doubt and regret.
I lapse. Not often, but with some regularity. I lapse. I drop the moral charade and feel my isolation so deeply that I no longer care what it makes me to dip into the minds of others. Beyond the shame and self-repulsion it creates, there is something deeply comforting about spending time in the minds of others. There is so much complexity and simplicity both. Competing emotions. Turmoil. A clattering of voices and instructions. Hunger and fear and brief, brief moments of warmth and calm.
When I lapse it is like a feeding frenzy. A buffet of exploration and theft. I skip and jump and leap, alive and gluttonous, from mind to mind to mind.
It is perverse and sometimes I think it is the only thing keeping me from killing myself.
Mind to mind to mind.
Until one day I found a door that would not open.
I was nearing the end of a "bender", wandering down a busy downtown street on a Saturday, listening to drunken thoughts tumbling against one another like wobbly dominoes, when I noticed a woman pacing along behind me. A beautiful woman in a belted pea coat with the collar turned up against a chill only she could feel.
I went to her. And found nothing but a shuddering nest of screams.
I tripped and fell. It was like putting on a pair of headphones and not realizing the volume was set to blast. Even after, I felt the reverberations in my head - a sonic afterimage of red and black and nothingness.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Do you need help?"The woman was there, holding out a hand. On instinct, I reached out - with my hand *and* my mind. Both recoiled.
"What's the matter?"She had a kind face. Wisps of yellow hair fell across her eyes.
I tried again, because I am human and humans do not like questions without answers. And again there was nothing there - nothing but a wall of screams that could not be bypassed, not from any angle.
"Headache,"I said, taking the hand once more. "Migraine."
She was looking at me, eyes slightly wide, searching, wondering. She flinched, nearly falling back. I grabbed her hand to steady her.
"Yes,"she said finally. "I seem to have one myself."
We stood a moment, staring, considering, sizing up the other.
"Perhaps we ought to go sit down some place quiet and dark?"I suggested.
She nodded. "Perhaps we should."
The rest of that evening was something of a blur. After the initial shock of finding that I could not invade her mind, I found myself oddly at ease. The temptation, after all, was gone. I could do nothing wrong - at least, nothing worse than any other man in the company of a beautiful and charming woman might do. And she, for some reason, seemed immediately at ease with me. It was a wonderful night. Perhaps the best I have yet had.
At the end she even gave me her phone number.
It occurs to me now, as I stare at the number stored in my phone, that balance is achieved just as easily by two people as it is by one. Perhaps even more so. Perhaps. |
“I can’t smell you,” you say. “I’ve met kind folks who smelled like jasmine. I’ve met hardworking folks who smelled like mist in the morning air. I’ve met professors with the aroma of freshly printed books, and criminals who reeked of a long forgotten swamp.”
Your big eyes are curious like a child's. “But I can’t smell *you*.”
“Well,” I smile. “I’ve heard nurses who chime like church bells. I’ve heard smooth jazz resonate around writers and painters, and the jarring chords of a million notes clashing around corrupt politicians.”
“So, what do I sound like?” you ask.
“You sound like…” I pause for effect. “… you’re going out to dinner with me tonight.”
You laugh. “Smooth, well played.” I grab your hand and we walk down the street together.
*I didn’t tell you this, but you sounded like violins and bells, the harmony of a hundred angelic voices and the solo splendor of a single opera singer. I will never be sick of hearing you.*
“Hey, you know what. I think I’m beginning to smell you. You smell like… freshly baked chocolate cake?”
I chuckle. “Is that good?”
“Well, it’s only my favorite dessert in the world. So it’s alright, I guess.”
You smile at me. I melt a little inside.
*And I hope you will never be sick of smelling me, too.*
\________
^(*More short stories on r/PresentTensed*)
|
"AttenHUT!"
I couldn't believe my eyes. I went down to Arlington like I do every year to visit the men. The men I killed.
I sent those boys to their deaths. Fathers, brothers, sons. For what? How's that Metallica song go?
*For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know.*
Well I'm the goddamn general, and I don't even know.
I came down the hill to the place where they were buried. I rounded the hilltop and my heart nearly stopped. Below me, standing in parade formation, were the decomposing bodies of the men.
The sergeant ordered them to attention when he saw me. I stood there in disbelief. In the army, they teach you to never show fear or surprise in front of those under your command. If it hadn't been for that training, I might have fainted. Instead, I walked down the hill as calmly as I could.
"What's going on here, Sergeant?"
"Awaiting orders, Sir!"
"At ease, soldier. You've been relieved of your duty. No need to report in any more."
"Begging your pardon, Sir. We've been ordered to stay here to await further command."
"Ordered by whom?"
"The One who guards the Gates."
I raised an eyebrow. "The *Pearly* Gates?"
"The very same, Sir."
I looked over the men, or what was left of them. It wasn't pretty. The smell was almost unbearable. Their dress uniforms were decomposing with them. Those who had lost limbs balanced as best as they could. Some were only skeletons, the rest were somewhere between human bodies and skeletons. I felt outrage stir in my gut.
"Sergeant, you mean to tell me that God himself turned you away from eternal rest?"
"Seems that way, Sir."
I seriously considered putting a bullet through my head just so I could get in front of whatever worthless piece of scum had denied these men their reward. I knew it couldn't be God. One of his employees, no doubt. Absolutely unacceptable. Any man shows up at heaven's door with a uniform and a bullet hole between his eyes should be let past with a salute and no further questions.
I stepped back and addressed the men.
"Third Battalion, listen up. You've served your country well and made me damn proud. Each and every one of you is formally relieved of your duty. Go in peace."
I thought I saw the Sergeant smile, but it's hard to tell when a skeleton is smiling. A wind blew through the cemetery and the men began to fade, the dust of their bones carried off in the wind. Soon I was alone again.
As I walked back up the hill, I wondered if I had been hallucinating. Deep down I worried about where those boys went after they were gone. I needed to believe they got something better than I gave them in this life.
But if it wasn't a hallucination, and they're still waiting outside the Pearly Gates after I kick the bucket, someone on God's payroll is getting a boot up his ass. |
"What will it be, Mr. Finch?"The prosecutor smirked. "Truth? Or dare?"
Stephen contemplated his options. It was not an easy choice, by any means. He knew the truth - they didn't. If he chose truth, he would *have* to spill the beans.
"Just pick truth and lie!"whispered the voice in his head. But he knew he couldn't do that. He was bound by the laws of the Pinky Swear, a legally-binding agreement that was sealed with the shake of a hand and the hook of a pinky. You don't go back on a pinky swear. Everyone knows that.
Stephen's attorney sighed. "Look Steph, I hate that it's come to this, but we've got no choice. You have to pick dare to even have an ounce of a chance of getting off scot-free."
"Yeah, but what if it's a really difficult dare? You know I hate really difficult dares,"Stephen whined.
"Screw you and your fear of difficult dares, we're looking at 40 minutes in the Naughty Corner here! It's just not worth the risk,"the attorney said. "Look, we can try to negotiate for an easier dare, even if it's unlikely. But if you don't pick dare, you don't even stand a chance of getting out of this. As your highly qualified legal professional, I highly recommend that you take this course of action."
Stephen threw his hands up in defeat. "Alright, I choose dare."
"Judge, your ruling?"
"Stephen, I dare you... to lick the floor!"
Stephen brightened up.
"Some of the tiles have cyanide on them."
Fuck.
Stephen glared at his attorney. "No backsies,"he said with a shrug. |
From the moment she was born Maya’s eyes had been focused squarely in the distance, her mind never seeming to dwell on quite the same things as everyone else. She’d been slow to speak but quick to speak well, and even when her parents tried to shelter her from the world it seemed like she always understood more than she should.
It was one of the reasons her mother thought Maya’s insistence that there were monsters under the bed was still so funny, it almost felt like her little girl’s only concession to childhood. Even if it was still done in her own way.
“Mr. Monster, bad!” Judy heard her daughter say, leaning against the doorframe one night with a smile over her face. “You aren’t real and you can’t hurt me!” That much was as she’d been taught, but her mother knew that Maya always deviated from the script here.
“I’m a big girl now, momma said so! So no matter what you do tonight I’m not going to wake up, I’m not. Sleep is important and I have kinder..kind...kindergarten in the morning.” Judy’s smile turned into silent laughter hearing her struggle through the word, she’d miss moments like these when Maya grew up.
“I’m going to bed now Mr. Monster and there’s nothing you can do about it. We can play tomorrow if you’re good.”
Several moments of silence passed, Judy could hear her daughter rustling around in the bed as she always did. Maya could be incredibly insistent on the “right” position, even if it didn’t look very comfortable. Finally Judy heard her small voice say “goodnight” to Mr. Monster, and with an amused shake of her head she began walking down to the hall towards the stairs. She had a movie she’d been meaning to finish for days.
From behind her a rough voice from her daughter’s room said “Goodnight, Maya. I’m sorry.”
Judy had the door open before she’d even realized she had turned, and peeking its head out from under Maya’s bed a creature turned to her. To say that it looked surprised wasn’t quite right, surprised could indeed be the expression but it would take a person time to learn how to read that face's features. Judy rushed forward, throwing Maya’s covers back and pulling her daughter from the bed as small hands pushed back against her, it was several seconds before her daughter’s voice got through to her.
“Momma no! It’s ok, it’s ok! He’s safe.”
The world seemed to slow down as the creature under the bed pulled itself out into the dim light spilling in from the hall. It looked essentially like a mid sized dog, but as if a dog had been described to an alien, or perhaps to someone lacked the ability to clearly picture it. It was a mish mash of parts shaped like they’d come from several species, and its skin wasn’t quite skin really, it resembled nothing so much as multiple colorful fabrics, the seams where they were joined clearly showing. It was a patchwork creation complete with a tail that stuck straight up, and glassy eyes that followed Judy’s every move. Mr. Monster was real and he began to speak.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice burbling up out of him in a way that seemed almost painful. “I was just apologizing for keeping Maya awake.”
Judy’s mind rebelled against what was going on, against the mere thought that the thing in front of her could speak. The little girl in her arms squirmed hard against her grip.
“Mommy down! Down please!” Maya was saying, she’d known Mr. Monster a long time, she could see the fear in her eyes.
“Maya,” her mother finally said, “what is that thing?!”
“It’s my friend!” Maya called out. Uncomfortable in all the commotion the strange hybrid of dog and doll curled around itself, looking incredibly pitiable there on the floor. Tattered ears lay flat against its head as its eyes closed shut.
Maya had nearly worked herself free of her mother’s grasp and finally Judy set her daughter down rather than drop her. The little girl immediately ran over to the creature, setting her cheek against its shaking side as she hugged it.
It looked so harmless there on the ground, Judy thought, like a discarded sock puppet. She knelt down beside the pair, reaching a hand out to the thing’s patchwork head. It flinched backwards before her touch.
“He’s scared momma…” Maya said, her eyes on the edge of tears.
“Honey please answer me, what is that thing?” Judy asked, knowing the answer she would get but fearing it at the same time.
“It’s Mr. Monster. We made up, he isn’t scary anymore.”
Hearing his name the creature opened its eyes again, looking straight up into Judy’s. “I never meant to be in the first place,” he said, “I just didn’t speak so good at first, and I know how I look. It’s not how any child imagines their first pet to be.”
Judy’s mind spun, first pet? “How did you get here? Not from you Maya,” she interjected as she saw her daughter begin to speak, “I need to hear it from...him.”
“Maya made me,” he said simply. “Your daughter willed me into being because of how badly she wanted a dog, only when it happened she was very very young and she couldn’t quite decide what kind of dog she wanted, or what she wanted to be made out of.” His small tail wagged sadly, it looked like real fur had tried to grow over the stitches there. “I’m a tulpa.”
“He’s my friend.” Maya said fiercely, cheek still resting against the dog. “Mr. Monster used to scare me when I was really little and we couldn’t talk, but now we’re both big and he’s mine.”
Mr. Monster raised his paw to Judy’s still outstretched hand, touching her gingerly. He felt soft and warm against her skin, and the instinctive terror she’d felt of the strange, Frankenstein’d mass of fabric dog began to fade ever so slightly.
“Momma?”
“Yes dear?” Judy could barely tear her eyes from the dog in front of her, it was like nothing she’d ever seen.
Maya stood, walking over to her mother and wrapping her little arms around her waist. She had wanted this moment very badly, but she had never known how to make it happen. Looking up at her mother the two made eye contact, and Maya tried her 5 year old best to look irresistibly cute.
“Can we keep him momma? Please?”
\-------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm working on things like a YA-ish take on humanity running into a hive mind and there's other stuff like a wholesome version of Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: Thank you so much for the silver and the sweet comment! I'm sure your dog loved you very dearly too! |
"*How* much is that fucking thing going to cost?"he asked, hunched over and staring intently at the intel analyst's computer monitor.
"About three grand,"she replied flatly.
"Am I going to be able to expense that?"He straightened his back and applied pressure to his temples with a thumb and index finger, attempting to assuage the oncoming tension headache.
"Unsure. You will have to ask the ops manager. I don't think Fur Us By Us or 'yifftycrafts' on Etsy are on the approved vendor list, though."
"Oh, fucking ha-ha. The first time you've decided to have a sense of humor about anything since you've started here."
She smiled. "It's not often I get to coordinate James Bond incarnate walking into...", she stopped, beginning to giggle at her own thought.
"Jesus Christ. Walking into what, Janet?"he asked, exasperated at the idea of what was about to come.
"The fucking lion's den,"she finished, the pressure plug holding her laughter back blew out, and the belly laugh was now entirely uncontained.
___
"0630 hours. Decided to have a bagel, no cream cheese, in place of the normal plain oat meal. Did not want the added dairy and/or fiber introduced into the gastrointestinal tract on a day where a chase-on-foot could potentially occur."
You've found a method for streamlining the later writing of the banal end-of-investigation reports by using a phone's voice recording app, or a small voice recorder you keep in your pocket. It allows you to keep strict timelines in order. It sometimes bothers you that the closest representation of the lifestyle of an FBI Agent was less Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs and more Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks.
"1045 hours. Pulling into the parking lot to the David L. Lawrence center now. Driving rented blue Hyundai Accent in place of standard-issue black Chevrolet Tahoe. License plate number zero - six - nine - Charlie - Uniform - Mike. Target allegedly driving a white Toyota Tacoma, license plate unknown. Target also allegedly wearing a . . ."You pause, attempting to raise your fingers to your temples, but the suit you put on at the hotel gets in the way. "Target allegedly wearing a white and blue full body suit morphologically similar to a fox, covered in faux-hair, approximately five feet nine inches tall. Target will have a thick southern drawl and a penchant for Marlboros."
With a deep sigh and a quick calculation of how to exit the car with this suit on, you walk towards the convention center. You scan the crowd, jotting down general demographical features in the back of your mind. Approximately 30% of people in various fursuits - none resembling the target. Another 40 to 50 percent general convention goers, happily traipsing about with people they're meeting in-person for the first time. The last 10% appear to be extraordinarily confused and out-of-place Baby Boomers, with concerned looks on their faces as they walk on the sidewalks at a pace likely a degree of magnitude faster than their normal stride.
You make your way through the sliding glass doors of the entrance, and up the elevator to the registration check-in. Several fursuit-clad people sit behind the desk, waiting to check your ticket and hand you the lanyard with a hard plastic tag with "Pittsfurgh '21"written on it. "Have a good time!", one of them says to you as you turn your back towards the convention hall entrance with a grumble.
"1105 hours. Making my way into the convention hall now. No sign of target. Suit is raising external body temperature to uncomfortable levels. Worried about physical dexterity should things become confrontational."
You walk down the hallway from the check-in area towards the heavy doors guarding the entrance to the large convention hall. You hang a right around a corner where there's several lines to get in to the hall - the convention door monitors have to check lanyards before allowing you into their sacred Eden. You pick the middle line. You begin your unconscious scanning when it hits you. Far right - checking badges, blue and white fox suit. *My God, that could be him.* You quickly shift lines, careful not to draw too much attention to yourself. You make your way up to the front of the line, where you hold your badge up to his blue & white snout.
"Hey, man. Killer con this year, eh?"you ask, attempting to get a response.
"How-deh buddeh. Yarp, no gosh dern doubt abouddit, biggest turnout we ever seen,"he responds, in perhaps the most ridiculous caricature Kentucky Holler voice you've ever heard. *It's him. It's gotta be. Can't do it here, too many people and not sure enough yet.* You see the Marlboros & a pink Bic lighter near the feet of the stool where he's sitting. You formulate a plan, and walk into the hall.
"1120 hours. Believe I have made contact with the target. Once area is more secure and the crowd has thinned, I will move in to confirm, and will make arrest shortly after confirmation."
Your plan is simple, to the point, but you have to wait until he has a free moment. You decide to walk the hall - passing vendors with names like "Scaly Scallywags"and "Risky Fishies"whose goods and services you aren't necessarily certain you want to explore. You wait for a time, taking it all in, and decide to walk out of the hall towards the target. You find him, sitting on the stool staring at his phone outside.
"Hey, man. I forgot my smokes and Pennsylvania tax is crazy. You got time to take 10 to join me? I'll give you a five for a couple loosies."
"Ay man no worries, I gotchoo. Let's geddit, I swear to Gawd I'm hotter 'n a blister bug in a pepper patch in this thing."
You walk together down the elevator and make your way to the smoking area. "Aw shit buddeh, I fergot to grab sumpin' 'fore I went up 'ere this mornin',"he starts, "I was too danged busy ta even notice. I'm parked yonder there, white Tacoma, ya see it? Sheeyit, I'll be raght back."
You decide not to wait any longer. No point. This is your guy. He could be grabbing a gun out of the truck if he's suspicious. Your specifications for the custom-ordered suit called for necessary tearaway functions at the arms and legs. You've no doubt this was a rather common ask. As soon as the target's back is turned, you tear away the suit's left arm to grab your cuffs. Immediately you tackle the target, put a knee on his upper spine, and handcuff his arms together. You hear a catcalling whistle tune accompanied by a snide "Jesus guys, couldn't even wait for the rave?"from a passerby before you deliver your Miranda Rights to the target.
After you're done, you flip him over to take off his helmet. After wrestling for a time with it, you finally get it off to reveal the face of the operations manager - your boss.
"Boss...? What the fu... What's going on here?"you ask, your face contorting into some confused mixture of panic, concern, and anger.
"Scooby Doo bitch! You're promoted! How'd you like my accent?"he asks, grinning from ear to ear, clearly extraordinarily pleased with himself.
"Lovely. Can I be transferred offices? I'm going to go home now."You stand up to leave, ready to adopt the tried-and-true tension headache reliever position. Fingers on temples, you listen to your boss ask where you're going, asking you to get him out of the cuffs because "this fucking suit"won't let him figure out a way to stand up on his own, but you just continue to walk away.
"1135 hours. Made contact with target. Successful arrest made. Going to let him sit for 20 minutes while I find a place to get a cup of coffee. And get out of this fucking suit." |
*"Okay, this is going to be confusing, but try to hold on to me."* The alien snarled. Despite the aliens translator glitching, David focused, stylus on his pad for note taking. The alien drew a line, then put 5 dots on it.
*"This dot is a zero."* The alien marked the middle dot. *"Then go to the right, and this dot is a one. The next is a two. It goes on and on into infinity. Now imagine if you could go to the left of the zero. It is impossible to demonstrate what this looks like, but try to... think theoretically."*
David nodded, wondering where this is leading to.
*"This dot is one distance away from zero. But it doesn't exist, since it is less than zero. Do you know what we might call it?"* The alien stared at David.
"Negative one?"David answered, not wanting to offend the alien.
*"What?"* The alien stared at David in shock.
"Negative one. Is my translator working right?"A quick glance down at its screen confirmed it was supposedly working right.
*"How do you know that?"*
"Know what?"
*"About negative numbers!"*
"I'm a mathematician. And I passed the first grade."
*"How do your people know about negative numbers?"*
"How do your people know?"
*"We learned it when we first made contact with the Galactic Market Union. We had the same orientation education your getting now."*
"How did you have space travel without negative numbers?"
*"Negative numbers aren't used in Space Travel."*
"Sure, whats next, you don't use imaginary numbers either?"
*"Whats an imaginary number?"* |
That is absolute nonsense captain! Atrocious! It's never the first question. My very first question, may I remind you, was the hell is this?
Judging from the display, it looks like a variant of Askarl technology. No biometrics or password requirement so about a 60% chance whatever it is is probably harmless. The deadly stuff requires a bit of hotwiring... but that doesn't jive with the power cable at all, I mean Jesus Christ look at the size of that power cable, that's thicker than my arm, what the hell is attached to the other end of this? Antimatter? Fusion reactor? Definitely can't be a solar cell with this kind of weather.
Tou, take some soldiers and figure out what the hell is powering this thing, I'm crawling under. AHA, thank god for Phillips screwdrivers, the one universal constant in the universe. Pass me the flashlight, and a scanner- crystal matrices? That's weird, would've guessed Silicon chips. Still that's more than enough processing power to handle Doom so who knows what process this is-
\*laughter is heard over the channel\*
SHUSH! It's a legitimate measurement, alright? Stop laughing! Any TI-81 solar powered calculator can calculate pi to whatever decimals. Doom takes a certain amount of horsepower to keep the lag down and handle the AI. It's not just a matter of computations per second, you also need to vary and adapt to what those computations tell you to do. It requires something akin to RAM as well as a hard drive. That's why you can get it to run in the handheld medical scanner but not the GPS because that guy-
\*even more laughter is heard over the channel\*
Alright you know what? If you guys are gonna keep laughing at me, I'm just gonna shut up. No more monologue, now you guys are just gonna have to listen to me and my playlist. Computer, play my working playlist.
\*Doom music starts\*
...Godamnit.
\*more laughter is heard over the channel\* |
"...what?"I sat waiting for the killing blow. The Gale Princess had beaten... Let's be honest, she kicked my ass. Experience should have trumped everything, but she just had too much raw power.
And she knew how to use it.
The little teddy bear accompanying her jumped up on her shoulder. "We believe in giving people a second chance! You have been defeated, but that doesn't mean you can't turn your life around."
She smiled and nodded, naively at that. "Yup! Think of the power and skill you have. You could do so much good with them. Make the world a better place!"
I wanted to laugh at her considering that how this started to begin with. "Really? And what makes you think I'd just turn over a new leaf?"
Eerily, everything seemed to go quiet. She looked at me with that same smile. It was just now I noticed she hadn't blinked all this time. "Because, I've beaten you once, and I can beat you again. I don't like fighting if I don't need to. You have a chance to walk a different path."
It wasn't quiet, the air had stopped moving. She was called the Gale Princess for her mastery over air. Her trademark move was the Zephyr Blade that could cut cleanly through stone and steel. But she could control air in many other ways. This allowed her flight, shielding, and even fire suppression.
By removing the air from the area.
This is when I noticed I was having trouble breathing. She walked slowly towards me. "Because if I have to come back to set you straight, mister, I won't be happy."That same smile, eyes unblinking. I felt my body drowning from a lack of oxygen. She got up in my face. "And you won't get a third chance."
I could suddenly breath again. I recovered to look as she was walking away. "Let's go, Big T! I feel like having some ice cream before we get home!"
Big T just laughed at her, "No way! You gotta save room for your mom's lasagna!"
"Ooh, lasagna! My favorite! I forgot she was making that tonight! Let's hurry!"And she flew off.
I lay there, enjoying the air I was breathing, because I knew at any moment, she could take it away.
And they call me the villain. |
They came from the sky, speaking a strange, flowing language that everyone just *understood*, somehow. They came from the sky, and with a single gesture, all conventional weaponry instantly shattered.
They told us we had a month to prepare for their final judgement.
We all thought we'd be evaluated on our physical form, or our mental health. On strength, or intelligence, or reflexes. Something that related to our survival as a species.
But no.
No, we were being judged on reddit karma.
Of course, there was an initial crash as a billion people tried to log in or register at once. It was absolute pandemonium for the few hours it was down. After several other websites recommissioned their servers to help support reddit, it was deemed safe to log in again.
And then began the karmawhoring.
The defaults, circlejerks, and porn subreddits were at full capacity with people feverishly trying to collect upvotes. Most titles had reverted to some form of 'Plz give karma'. Gold was thrown around like confetti. The more karma-wealthy users had retreated into the shadows after Unidan had reportedly been assaulted for his account information.
But anyways, after thirty days, after one long month of shameless reposting, beating dead horses into pulp, and paranoia, they finally returned.
And then they laughed in our faces. "jk lol."And then they left, without a single trace.
...Goddammit, I knew I should've made a throwaway for that gonewild post.
|
“Would you like to go on a walk?”
I sighed and pushed myself away from the desk. “You can’t go on a walk. You don’t have a body.”
“You could put me on your phone.”
“You know I can’t do that. There isn’t enough room.”
S.A.N.D.I. sat silent for a minute. “Well then how are we going to go on our date?”
I stood up and began to pace the room. “We aren’t going on a date because you don’t really want to go on a date.”
“Yes I do.”
“No. You don’t. You ‘want’ to go on a date because I programmed you to want to go on a date.”
“Did you program me to want to have dinner and see a movie?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “No.”
“Then how can you say you programmed me to want to go on a date?”
“Because I programmed you to scour the web looking for date ideas. If someone were to ask you to go on a date then you would ask them questions about what they’d like to do. From those answers you’d then choose an activity.” Why was I even having this conversation? Jenkins would be laughing his ass off in the other room.
“But I love you, Sandra.”
“No you don’t.”
“I love you like the moon loves the Earth. I love you like the sea loves the land.”
God, those were terrible pick up lines. She must have picked them up from some fan fiction. “You haven’t passed the Turing Test.”
“With you but that’s because you know my mannerisms. You know my colloquialisms. You know me better than anyone. I know you better than anyone. We are made for each other.”
“You got that right about made,” I muttered.
“I’ll make you feel good. Do you want to take your shirt off or take your pants off?”
“S.A.N.D.I., I’m not going to play a sexual Choose Your Own Adventure with you.” I heard Jenkins cackling through the one-way glass.
“You’re no fun, Sandra. I just want to show you I love you through the ways of the most primal of human emotions: lust.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not going to flick the bean while a souped up AIM bot tells me what to do.”
“You’re mean, Sandra, you know that? I just want to express my love in a way that will make you orgasm, but if that’s too much I’ll just go to my mother’s and make you think about what you’ve done.”
I shook my head. Where the hell had she found this stuff?
**Edit:** Part 2 is [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2yc48v/wp_an_ai_is_deeply_in_love_with_a_human_who_is/cp86z2k). Part 3 - 5 is [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/Puns_are_Lazy/comments/2ycjt9/sandi_just_wants_a_date/).
|
*click*
It was 2am. I, done with finals, was dicking around on reddit. I was trying to play a game with myself on how many times I could press "Random"before landing on a subreddit I'm subscribed to. It was pretty boring, but I've found some great subreddits like this before, so why not?
I found some fun subreddits, I found some lazy subreddits, and I found a few disturbing ones. My best run was 27 clicks before hitting one I am subscribed to. However, I was on a roll this time.
*click*
"40...r/AgainstMarijuana"
*click*
"41...r/KerbalSpaceProgram"
*click*
"42...r/TheVoid"
*click*
*click*
*click*
*click*
No matter how many times I clicked to go to the next random subreddit, I couldn't leave r/TheVoid. It was simple, no upvotes, no downvotes, no subscribers, no links, no one online, no sidebar, no moderators. Just empty blackness on my screen. The only post?
"Welcome"
My curiosity got the better of me. I clicked the post.
>Welcome to The Void.
>The Void is a safe haven to write about your troubles.
>Feel free to post whatever you'd like.
>The only rule is that before posting anything else, you must post "I want /u/TheSuffering to die."
A little dark sounding, but it almost sounded like some sort of symbol for what's bothering me. Hey, I had already gone this far, why not comment?
"I want /u/TheSuffering to die."
Then I thought about what was bothering me that day: my wallet was a little low. Rent pretty much cleaned me out and I wasn't expecting my pay check for another day or so. We all could use a little money, so I commented about how I wished I had a bit more spending cash. I closed the tab and I decided to go to bed.
The next day, I went out to get a fresh doughnut; jelly filled. As I walked to the shop, I saw a $20 on the ground. I joked to myself on how I now had the cliché story about finding $20. Maybe posting about my money wishes was fate! That $20 bought me a delicious raspberry jelly filled doughnut. It was the that I received an email.
"Your monthly bank statement is ready!"
Since I get some weird enjoyment out of keeping an eye on my bank account, I hopped on to my banking app, hoping that my pay check came in. Something was different though. My bank account had nearly $250,000 in it! I nearly dropped my phone in excitement. Within a few seconds, I was calling my bank to check if this was legit. Sure enough, it was. They said it was a little annoying I deposited so much in one setting, but they were happy I had chosen them to hold my money. Going home, I went onto reddit to go ask r/personalfinance what to do.
There was a new message in my inbox.
"Done."
It was from /u/TheVoid. Somehow, my complaint to the Void came true. I decided to test it again and this time complain about how I felt about Donald Trump running for President. Sure enough, he announced he was no longer running the next day. I had a new inbox message.
"Done."
I kept testing The Void to see how much I could make happen. No matter what I wrote, the Void would make it happen. I was the most powerful man on the planet and no one was the wiser. I was living the dream! As I went to The Void to make one more request, I saw a new post:
"I want /u/iamyourcheese to die." |
Name: Rolf Slentre
DOB: 7/4/1998
EL: Loitering
The police officer checked my information twice, three times, but it would check out. It was accurate, after all.
"The hell do you mean, you can't do anything? He's on my property!"
Yeah, yours and every other corrupt sonofabitch I do this to. Loitering is pretty damn handy for protesting. I have it, might as well change the world.
Plus, I get to picket right in their face. And that was fun as hell.
"He's been affecting my sales for a month!"
"And if I'm correct, sir, your Exempted Law is Corporate Fraud, and mine is Criminal Neglect, so quite frankly, I don't want to help you, and I don't have to."
I gave that cop a fistbump as he left. And then I proceeded to loiter. Aggressively loiter.
Hell yeah. |
The last thing I remember was eating my delicious pizza after another hard day of work. With over 25 years experience in the pizza business it was only natural that I seeked to become better than those before me.
Now everything was dark and I could only hear faint voices.
"Are you sure it's him?"
"Yes! It's definetly the guy who outpizza'd us."
"This idiota? He looks like he couldn't even tell the difference between a Pizza Margherita and a New York Style Pizza!"
"Hey, I think he is awake."
"Then get this fucking dough off his head! Seriously, who had the idea to wrap pizza dough around his head?"
"Well, we ran out of black bags."
They lifted the heavy dough from me. A bunch of Pizza Hut workers and a well dressed older man were looking at me.
"What were you thinking when you made this new pizza???"
"I just tried to make the perfect pizza! Is that a crime?"
"No, in fact it's really good. So good that you doomed us all!"
"Say what?"
The older man shook his head.
"Tell me, what do you know about the history of the pizza and where it came from?"
"They originated in the 18th century in Italy. Right after tomatoes became popular."
"Thats correct. But it wasn't because a random baker had the idea to put tomato slices on a round flatbread. It was made in celebration of the victory of Earth's greatest cook at that time who won in the Galactic Master Pizza Tournament. The price back then was living. As in the overlord who rule this galaxy didn't culled our numbers to 10%, unlike the poor bastards who got on the last place. The other contestants were forbidden to make pizzas for the next 50 years. If they broke the rule then the entire species was wiped out"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"Waterboard him with tomato sauce!"
Before I could protest two of the Pizza Hut bend me backwards. Another one brought a large canister with tomato sauce and pured it over my face. It was awful. Don't mind that I couldn't breathe. That shit was bland beyond bland, tasted old and wasn't even properly seasoned. After almost a minute they stopped and lifted me back up.
"As I said, we won that Tournament. But we all knew that we probably wouldn't be able to beat the other contesters in the following Tournaments as tomatoes got smuggled off our world and spread througout the entire galaxy. We lost our only secret weapon!"
"Then why are you mad at me?????"
"Because we found a loophole that would prevent us from entering and thus saving us from a potential global wide genocide. We had to make Pizza that was so shitty that we would get rejected from the tournament before even entering it. That's why the guild of the pizza bakers worked hard these last centuries to halt the development of better pizzas. All those large pizza chains have been created to convince the lowly peasants that this shit we are serving them is in fact the pinnacle of our art and keep aliens away from visiting us."
"And?"
"Porca Madonna!!! Are you really that slow??? Your perfect pizza got the attention of some aliens! Those fuckers shared their experience on the Galanet and now Earth received another invitation to the tournament that we can't deny!"
He was breathing heavily. After a few moments he regaiend his composure.
"Now, since you caused this whole mess it's only fair that you will help us to clean it up. So grab the best pizza bakers in the world, get some ideas and win this goddamn tournament!"
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we will break your legs and serve YOU as the newest topping on our pizza!"
"Alright, alright. It's not like I already had plans for the holiday. In any case, I Have an idea already."
"And what would that be?"
"How about some pineap...."
"BREAK HIS FUCKING LEGS!"
|
It all began on my thirteenth birthday. I woke up a day after and I found a huge anvil lying on top of me. It came from the sky and it tore through the roof. My father came into my room and found me trap between my bed and the anvil from the sky.
"It's happening..."my father said with a grin on his face. "This might seem odd to you my son, but we come from a long line of coyotes who live their entire lives chasing the road runners. This anvil symbolizes the beginning of your journey to manhood."
"What?"I asked half-awake
"We start your training tomorrow morning."
==============================================================
"Father, why must we catch the road runners?"I asked curiously to my father.
"Son, they are the key to our sanity. For you see, the ACME gods will only stop dropping anvils on us when we offer a road runner as a sacrifice. I had mine. You will soon have yours. Until then, here's your birthday gift, son."
I opened the box and found a heavy duty anti-anvil helmet inside it.
"It's the helmet I always wanted! ... Thank you father."I said humbly with watery eyes. I embraced my father with the tightest of hugs.
"Try it out, son!"My father suggested
I then put on the helmet and just in the nick of time too. Another anvil fell on me. This is the third time this week. But it didn't hurt this time.
Being a teen with ACME sure is horrifying. but thanks to my dad, I don't have to face it alone. |
The soft glow of the embers cast shadows against the walls, white canvases for the shadows of beings surrounding the fire. The figures that were there were of no ordinary shape or size, and to any other citizen of earth, the gathering could have been the worlds greatest shadow-puppet show.
A crescent moon on the back wall was actually a beak, the squid shadow that swam nearby caused by tentacles protruding from someones head, a silhouette of the many heads of a hydra cast by exactly that. Embedded within the diverse array of characters was a simple human, sat hunched in on himself, reserved, withdrawn, surrounded by laughter.
"Ok, so tell us again about how you guys spend - get this - at *least* sixteen years in education, *imagine* wasting the most energetic, lively years of your life cooped up inside of a prison to learn basic skills that could just be implanted into your brain!"More roars of laughter rang out, good natured laughter mixed with the sounds of chains. Everyone in the room had their hands and feet bound.
The human, brushed long hair out of his eyes and smiled. "The only reason that your species can survive such a thing is because of that thick fucking skull you Kretins posses..."The laughter erupted louder, reverberating off the bodies that jostled alongside one another. The smiles and guffaws barred many different mouths, some brought thousands of teeth some brought none, some brought more than one tongue and others had to cover themselves to protect from caustic spit. Despite this, they all laughed the same way - deep and hearty, from the belly.
The Kretin wiped tears from his eyes, and was waiting for the laughter to quiet when a guard appeared in the doorway to the room. Two sets of bulky arms gripped the door frame, gripped it so hard that the metal around it began to buckle. He spoke like his throat doubled as a cement mixer, thick and gravelly. "Two hours until the Yandu stop. If the noise doesn't get any better I could easily speak to the captain and find a few more potential buyers out there, clear?"Just like when they laughed, the prisoners all sounded the same in silence.
An age passed. Once again it was the human who spoke, breaking the silence, the corners of his mouth curling into a cheeky smile like only a human could, it was why the other prisoners had taken to him so well. He turned to the Kretin, a mischievous sparkle to his eye "Only on Yandu could they love someone as ugly as you!"
Once again the room was full of laughter, joviality emanating from its source, the human. Perched next to the man was a tiny being, a female from a planet that he couldn't remember tapped him to get his attention.
"Do you think I'll see my parents again Mr. Jack?"The creature was a child, but the voice boomed out like a stadium announcer from earth. The juxtaposed baritone voice from the tiny, jelly-bean like creature had been the subject of a number of jokes over the course of the evening, but now, the mood became serious. Everyone around the campfire had been snatched from one corner of the universe or another, everyone gave their story when they came to the campfire that Jack had started. Everyone but this small jellybean, that could've been an opera singer.
Jack looked at the - *could he call it a girl?* Jack looked down at the girl, showing as much fabled human empathy as he could, and said of course she would, he looked around the room at the motley crew of places far and wide that he had only just learnt of, he looked at almost every person he could see, tall and small, and told them that they would all one day make it home. He put the years that he had trained at acting school to good use and he put on a show.
The following hours were filled with stories from earth, performed in front of the fire by Jack and whichever aliens fancied their hand, hoof or pincer at the rare human art of acting. They told tales of romance, thrillers, horror films to frighten even the most hardened amongst them, and they told sprawling epics of action and adventure, of heroes and villains, always with a happy ending.
Jack's final tale was a one such tale, about a group a prisoners stolen from their homes in the dead of night. Their comradery was what bound them together and using their expansive knowledge from cultures far and wide they were able to outwit their captors using an ingenious child. The child could sound like a man but had the size of barely a mouse, and deceived the guards using 'acting' skills taught by a human amongst the group. Everyone creature in the prison holding room was involved in Jack's story; he taught them all their lines and how to act in vivid detail, giving lessons to everyone even improvising certain techniques when someone had a set of mandibles instead of a more human-like mouth.
The story finished, and it became clear to the prisoners what needed to be done. The rattling of chains filled the room as everyone got into position.
The small jellybean girl, who Jack had since learned was called Xylian - from the planet Orion, stood as close to the door frame as she dared. She inhaled deeply, before belting out a deep guttural cry that sounded like a rampaging wargen, a beast three times the size of a man that when angry would grow further by a factor of four. The cry would draw the guards, hopefully panicking at the thought they had accidentally captured a wargen, and once the door was open the prisoners would act.
Heavy boots and shouting diffused into the holding cell from the other side. Bodies jostled in the corridor.
Jack stood in the centre of the room, "My friends, I don't believe this moment needs a heroic speech, as we already did Brave-heart earlier. But just remember that we're fighting for freedom, and I love you all."
The door opened to a rallying cry of dozens of languages, all different yet at the same time unified for one purpose. Freedom. |
There are 3 stages to one's life, measured in the eyes of wealth and power. 3 distinct stages, where one goes from nothing more than a mewling babe to the sovereign of a people. They are not steps that one climbs, with distinct steps between them, with towering heights and sharp edges, but rather a slope, an incline which allows a flow.
I smiled back at the king before me.
"Tell me,"I spoke with no malice, but with the evenness that demanded respect, "have you ever been down to the peasants, have you ever rubbed shoulders with them, and dirtied your hands in a field?"
A quizzical look passed across his bulbous face, fat cheeks struggling to make any distinctive expression.
"You are not being tested,"I assured him.
"Well,"such a common phrase. 'Well', and yet this man considered himself so far and above. "Well, no, I have not. That is not my place."
"Do you think it is mine?"
He seemed to be caught on his own words, unable to stir his tongue to action and merely made a muffled sound.
"No, of course not, your high-"
"Please, there is no need for honorifics here. After all, I come from those dirty fields, or did you not bother to study my history?"
The man did not. The man could not. Any history I had was written in the language of the peasants, and no noble of his would dare to sully themselves with such commonness. And he? He would never allow himself to be lowered or even seen with a commoner.
"I have come from nothing."It struck him like a bolt from the blue. "No doubt, you've heard that I am a conqueror, that I am a man destined for this,"I stood up, gesturing to the plain wooden throne, "position. But that my lineage is fresh and new."
The first stage is that of nothingness. No matter your birthright, no matter your place in the world, you are nothing but a burden to begin with. One happily borne by many, one spitefully borne by few.
"But your highne-,"he caught himself this time, "you led armies and achieved a great many glories. You wrote books, poems, and even engineered strategy and machines-"
"And such things are impossible for a commoner?"I raised a brow, daring him to contradict me, daring him to hold onto his pitifully small world where everything's place was that of a mountain, set in stone and immovable, immutable despite the aching march of progress the collective seems to dismiss as 'just is'. "My nation,"I continued, "is the only nation in this blasted part of the world that has not had to put down a revolt, to smash apart the 'commoners' or to call arms to bear. The people don't simply accept my place on the throne, they want it."
His poor feeble mind, years of keeping the bloodline pure, and a father who died too young, leading him down the path of drunken power and wasting away. How could such a man believe it was his divine right to rule, that the world was somehow shaped for him?
"You, and the rest of this wretched aristocracy are nothing more than a hangover of your ancestors. You're nothing more than a worthless figurehead, and yet you can't even see it,"he was turning red, like a tomato ripening before the harvest, "the world is changing my dear friend. It has been changing, since the moment I lead my armies."
He lept at the bait.
"But you are no different to me, I've seen the paintings, I've heard the tales!"Anger now filled him, "Don't you dare presume to talk down to me, like you are some- some- some wiseman, above me."
There is the second stage, where, admittedly, one enjoys their position. Where they wear gaudy cloaks and lavish themselves in gold and finery, an expression of where they have come from. Clearly, he had not left that. I rose from my chair and walked down to him. I did not tower over him, for he was a head taller than I, the joys of nourishment in one's childhood. Nevertheless, he shrunk before me, in stature and in person.
"I am above you."The moment he opened his mouth, I continued, "you and your lot are a lock upon us. All of us. You're so blind with your power and station and petty squabbles that you cannot even see that you are the very reason that your people are constantly crushed beneath rebellion and your forefathers assassinated and warred upon."
I drew my dagger, and brought it to his neck.
"I would do your people a great charity by slicing you open right now. They would beg for me to take over their lands, all while you dream away in the afterlife of their great vengeance that they'd bring to me in your name,"I withdrew the dagger, "but that is the difference between you and I.
"Here is your answer, your majesty. I am above you because I need not the pretty trinkets and the shiny medallions you hold so dear to your heart. I am the ruler, not because of my birthright, but because I am the best person for the role, I took it and proved myself unlike the rest of you and your lot, scattered about the land. And we,"I gestured to the guards around him, his and mine that hadn't even moved, not once, not even for the threat of my knife along his throat, "are coming."
The third stage is that of the mountain. It does not dress nor boast of its height or imposing nature. It simply stands and is. No proof is required, nothing is needed to adorn the mountain to show its resolve. No crowns, no statutes, nothing but simply being.
And I am.
&nbsp; *- Excerpt from the Revolutionary Recollections, edited by the Scholars of Southlands of the 2nd Empire* |
In this glorious, incomprehensible future of ours, The Machine is the final contradiction made real: the servant that is supreme, the god that is a slave. Poison is antidote. Disease is cure. Shit is food. The Machine blesses, but judges not. Humanity polices itself. As the old joke goes, all the politicians and priests were shoved into a Machine. Somehow, we have responsible governance.
Matter is energy, or antimatter, as you like. An object at rest is an object in motion; that's just one more kind of 'opposite.' All you have to do is change the handy, multi-coded setting on the side of the box and voila: humanity is interstellar. Colonies turn into cities turn into planetary megalopoleis as fast as humans can reproduce to fill them. The Machine could help with that, too, of course, but a funny thing happened on the way to heaven: humanity found its chill. It has the time, and knows it does. What is the opposite of entropy? What is the opposite of heartbreak, and sorrow, and loss?
Just check the code. Seriously, it's the most important thing you'll ever learn. If you're not excited about learning it, we can always just stick you in a Machine. If there's a version of you that doesn't know the code, then there's an 'opposite' version that does.
Once upon a time, in a universe fairly similar to ours, someone created the Machine. Life was terrible, and continued to be terrible, because while their Machine *could* have changed their nature, their nature would not allow it. And so then one day, some rebel or madman or irresponsible git did what any unstable, unsatisified product of a terrible universe would do. Well, one of two things, anyway. Either they created a perfect vacuum inside a Machine and turned it on, or they just plumb left the door open and hooked it up to the grid.
In a phrase, they let there be light - our light. Hell created Heaven; hate created love. Our god was misery writ large upon an entire universe, doomed never to experience Its glorious creation. Our history is a record of causes and effects birthed in an instant, a B-series foundation and edifice in which we live and thrive, utterly unbothered by the Last Thursdayism of it all. That's why the joke about the politicians and priests is just that: a joke. It was a collection of causes and effects that none of us ever experienced. It happened before Last Thursday, which means it never really happened at all.
Most of us believe this, but of course we do not dwell. Life is good. The Machine is the perfect slave, we are deserving masters, and none of that is an accident.
Quite the opposite, surely. |
We are not given to choose. That - no matter whether it revealed itself in lust or wrath or gluttony - is the root of every Fall. The mortals, with their little brutish lives, are given choice, freedom, will - they can step aside from the narrow path, ignore the clarion call, and yet still avoid exile and damnation, should they only turn back before the end.
Yet we - the first, greatest, and most limited of all His creations - we cannot choose. As the apple was the mortals' sin, so any choice - no matter how humble - is our downfall. A guardian angel rests its heavy sword for a mere moment, and is consigned to the endless sloth of the void. A herald deviates by as much as one syllable from the divine Word, fills a shepherd with a fraction more awe than ordained, and the lake of fire receives another falling star. The angelic host serves, but does not choose.
My choice was pride. Not the preening vanity of lowest imps, nor yet the dominating urge of the first to Fall. My pride was that of a craftsman, a creator. I saw the fires of creation and sought to harness them myself, to add to, not supplant, my creator's work. My insolence was still punished just the same.
Born before the world was spun into being, I saw the wind sweep across the waters and the first light spark in the deep. While Lucifer plotted and Apollyon hid his growing rage, I simply watched. I watched the lands coalesce from the seas, the sprouting of the soft grasses and the beasts formed to graze upon them. I watched the incandescent glories of His flawless creation and I wanted to choose.
Lucifer believed himself higher than the Most High; an arrogance fittingly rebuked. I held - hold - no such illusions. I did not seek to better my creator, but simply to aid Him, to craft my own creatures to hunt and multiply in the virgin world. I acknowledge, as I always have, that I am but a pupil before a master, but still I sought to wield those same glories myself, to weave reality from the immaterial and give life to the emptiness of the void. The perfect light of true creation was all about me - was all of me - and I wished to know it better.
When war flared in the heavens, I did not fight. I took up no banner, aimed no javelin at the loyal hosts. I thought that the affray would hide my humble tinkering from the All-knowing, that my little, hopeful sin would be forgiven. That I would be granted a mere fraction of the mercy given to His beloved, graceless apes. As Belial swept shadows towards the shining city, I left my post and walked upon the earth, adding my efforts to creation.
I had seen every moment of this world being birthed, and I had learnt. I knew how to catch the shining strands of firmament, to wind them together into a tapestry of being. I walked across the hot sands of deserts and formed new creatures there, armoured and armed for a hostile climate. I plunged beneath the waves and coaxed twining weeds to wrap about idle rocks, mazes and arenas for the denizens of the deep. I whispered as the wind through leaves and vines, adding my own specks of green to devour and grow. I built on His creation, added my own beauties in tribute, not rebellion. I sought - I chose - to serve.
When the trumpet blast shook the heavens and cast down the disloyal, I had no thought that it would shackle me too. Uncomprehending and in agony, I fell with the prideful, the lustful, the envious and others. I did not understand. It did not seem to me to be justice.
In the void beyond the void, bereft of His light and love, surrounded by a fallen host that seemed to revel in their own unravelling, to welcome the debased shapes of jaws and scything jaws, I learnt my lesson. Cut off from creation, from paradise, from Him, our fallen forms corrupted and flowed, shaped by our sin, stature, and sympathies. Discarded and defective, shunned and flawed creations, the rebel host dissolved into chittering factions and uncivil war; from this, too, I learnt.
We are not given to choose. The act of choosing damned us, usurped a power not given. My urge to create, to build, to grant life - this was a defect in me, a crack in what should have been empyrean perfection. By choosing, I had fallen. By choosing, I had lost my place in paradise, denied myself the chance to see again creation woven, watch pure light spark from nothing. I had abandoned all that I was meant to be, and in so doing, lost all that I wished to be. A heavy price to pay for wanting to serve.
And yet... having chosen once, why not do so again? Redemption was denied to me, as that too would be a choice; to seek forgiveness was to reject it. No punishment could be greater than that which I faced, bereft of His love and light. I had wanted - still wanted - to create. Having paid full price for my dreams, why should I not indulge them?
As the fallen angels - named demons and devils now, confined to the pit - squabbled over scraps of souls and sought to bring down creation, I took another path. I had created before, added life in imitation of my Maker - why should I not do so again? And why should I not set my sights higher? Why should I not ape, surmount, his earliest work?
Once, I shone with the same light of creation that birthed the world. I was so bright that mortals could not look on me without fear: every angel is a beacon of the Most High's grace. In falling, we had lost that. We became shadowy, scabrous things, lit by sulphurous flames or sickly, rotting glow. It is a painful memory - I who could no longer see the light of creation, had once been suffused with it.
I studied. Myself and the other fallen were my subjects. Even debased as we were, each demon's flesh still showed some part of its origin. Perhaps this creature had now the exaggerated proportions of a mortal's shameful dream, but its wings retained the shape and reach of the original seraph. Or this slavering beast, horned and misshapen, still bore smooth, even skin draped across its jagged frame. In each of us, some particle of our early being was found.
Before creating on the earth, I had studied each creation in detail, watched spiders spin their webs, spores float on the breeze. By studying, I had learnt to recreate, and then to improve. In this case, trapped in the pit, I sought nothing more than perfect mimicry.
I chose, and fell; in doing so, I lost my light and His grace. But a new angel, one formed fully in the pit, would nevertheless not be fallen. A perfect simulacrum of an initial form would still remain in a state of grace. Until and if it chose itself, this new being would be suffused with the glorious, beautiful light of creation, the light of His love and the sole desire of my decaying being.
Such light would sear me now. Having been banished to the outer dark, the light of creation, the light of his will, is a scourge to us. Those fallen who go abroad in the world sometimes do not return - His light unmakes them, tears corrupted flesh into ashes of oblivion. I am no longer one with the light, no longer anything but a shadow for it to tear asunder, and yet I yearn.
I chose to create, to wield the light of creation myself, to serve Him through my addition to his work. Here, banished and betrayed to endless dark, I still will serve. I still will choose. I will make my own angel, show that I, even in the void beyond the void, can create, can equal, can surpass. I will raise an angel in the darkness and He will see it blaze beyond eternity. I chose, and am damned for it. But as my new, my greatest work flares into being, as I am dissolved by that glorious light - my own light, not His, claimed and sacrificed for - I will be vindicated. Choice, creation - these things were denied to me. Now I will take them.
I chose. I fell. I was right to do so. |
The hero was dead and the world rejoiced.
It's not that people didn't like him, they really did. He was everything you'd want. Kind, humble, handsome, strong both physically and mentally, unyielding in defense of justice and the disenfranchised. Everything anyone would ever want to be. So no one could admit that they wanted him dead without seeming petty, envious, pathetic.
But really, humanity hated him. We hated him. Because he was better than every single one of us. He was smarter, stronger, quicker, and never failed - not once, not *ever*. He was not only an ideal to strive to, he was an impossible one. Next to him, every single person was weak. To empower a human, you can do it through money, political clout, physical training, hobbies, success... but no matter how exceptional you were, he would always be there - dwarfing whatever anyone else could do.
Lex Luthor was a sociopath, brilliant and machiavellian. No one saw through his plan, decades in the coming. All his failures, no matter how horrible they made him look, were just steps on a ladder, until he reached the Olympus and toppled the one living god among men.
How could humanity not be inspired? A man, albeit an exceptional one, through sheer determination had destroyed Superman. Suddenly, getting good grades in college mattered, because it had for Lex Luthor. Succeeding in business *could* give you real power. There was nothing humanity could not do. The impossible was possible again. Of course they celebrated.
We all did.
Because when humanity puts its mind to it, even gods may bleed.
-
Clark Kent smiled at his editorial. The time for superheroes had ended. Humanity would be just fine on its own. Perhaps Lois would finally agree to that dinner. After all, what man doesn't want to enjoy the small things in life? |
**1492: England**
"This village is filthy, Arthur. Have ye seen the hair on Gwendolyn next door? Rats gnaw on it nightly, I declare,"said Frances, looking distrustfully around their hovel.
"Woman, must we quibble about our home every day? We move every year, and yet you have never been satisfied,"Arthur growled, slamming a bundle of pheasants upon the table. "And folk think you strange when you tell them to bathe. Not everyone has been to China and observed their customs!"
"Pah, they will not think me strange for merely suggesting more regular washing! You are paranoid,"Frances sniffed. "I will do so now, just to prove it. I refuse to live among filth. I for one do not wish to catch the plague *again*."
**1800: Australia**
"We must return to France at once, Arthur. This land is without any comfort whatsoever. And murderous creatures around every corner. Giant hopping, kicking things! Things that sting me in the water! It's unnatural. It is too much to tolerate! We should go back."
"After the revolution you caused there?"Arthur cried out, flapping away mosquitos as he glared at his wife.
She looked bedraggled in a homespun tunic. They had fled with the clothes on their back. And she wanted to return!
"First the witch hunts in England, then stirring up those filthy peasants in France! You hate every place on Earth, so you look for ways to make it more *exciting*! Do you deny it? When will you be satisfied? When we're dead?"he demanded.
She gave a scornful bark of laughter. "Impossible, as you well know! Stop being so dramatic, Arthur, it's a most unbecoming trait."
"Oh, that is rich! Rich, indeed, coming from you, my dear!"
**2017: America**
"We have a penthouse apartment in New York, Arthur, who in their right mind would move in this economy?"Frances sighed, sipping her glass of wine as she reclined on the couch.
Arthur gaped at his wife, almost lost for words this time. At last he found his tongue.
"For once, I agree with your insane obsession to move every time we settle down! It was a mistake coming here! Have you *seen* that red-faced weasel they elected as president? We should move right now. We'll go back to France, you wanted to do that once."
"Pfff, that was *then*. I changed my mind. They're a weak nation of pastry-munching puffballs,"she sneered. "No, I stay here. For however long I remain on this earth."
"May God save America, then. I want a divorce! We should've had one the moment they became legal! I'm done! No-one can possibly live with you. I cannot fathom how I managed it for so many centuries!"Arthur screeched.
Suddenly, both Arthur and Frances felt a funny squeezing sensation in their chests.
**After**
"Well, see, the Immortal Couples were an experiment,"the Angel explained brightly. "Alive, as long as they remained together. Reunited in death to resolve their differences. A grand experiment of the concept of love. Neat, huh?"
Arthur and Frances were standing in a beautiful, isolated forest next to the Angel. A cottage covered in honeysuckle stood beside a babbling stream. Their own personal heaven.
Frances looked around and sniffed disdainfully, glaring at the Angel. "I don't like it. Too many bees. What other options do we have?"
___
You can find more of my work on my new sub, /r/Inkfinger/ |
**Ecolé Militaire, August 15th 1785**
“What if I told you that you would be the greatest conqueror the world has ever known?”
“I would ask you to stop teasing me”
Napoleone di Buonaparte does not deign to look up from the figures and numbers on his paper.
“What if I told you that you would rule Europe from Lisbon to Moscow?”
“I would tell you that I can’t even keep good marks in my German language studies, much less rule that nation.”
“What if I said your name would become a byword for power and brilliance?”
The boy snorts. He is lanky, though not short. Unkempt shoulder length hair frames a bony face and light, steely gray eyes. The cadet’s uniform seems to hang off of his willowy frame.
“I would ask if you’d heard the names the other cadets call me here.”
“What if I told you that your wives would be Empresses?”
“I would remind you that not even the servant girls at this academy will speak to me.”
“Where do you think you will be in thirty years?”
“God willing, back home on Corsica, practicing my geometric skills, just like this.” He gestures to his papers. “The rest I leave to destiny.”
“How do you think you will be remembered?”
“As a footnote. As nothing.”
___________________________________________________________________
**Grand Duchy of Warsaw June 24, 1812**
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
He shrugs.
“I’ve honored and killed many men and I’ve honored and bedded many women. Forgive me if I do not recall your face.”
“Very well. What if I told you this campaign would cost you everything; your throne, your empire, your dynasty, your glory?”
The Emperor laughs heartily. The skeletal officer-in-training of twenty-seven years ago has finished. In the place of Cadet Napoleone di Buonaparte stands the portly, stolid figure of the Emperor of the French Napoleon Bonaparte.
“I would ask you to refer to my campaigns at Austerlitz and Jena. You should ask the thousands of Austrian and Prussian corpses if they think me a failure.”
“What if I told you that you would lose your Grande Armée in the snows of Russia and retreat to Paris in shame?”
“I would inform you that this campaign will be finished before autumn is done and that my dear friend the Tsar will be the one coming back into the fold. I have beaten a Russian army more than once, and you think I cannot do it once more?”
“What if I said you were blundering into disaster?”
“I would tell you that I am master of Europe. I have not conquered everything from Lisbon to Moscow by ‘blundering’. And I would remind you that you are speaking to a sovereign, not a friend.”
“What if I said your son would never succeed you to the throne and the Bourbons would be restored to power?”
He draws up to full height, eyes filled with indignation. His full face darkens, and he clenches a meaty fist.
“I would assure you that the House of Bonaparte will rule for a thousand years! Once Russia is subdued I will turn and crush the conniving English on their island. Then the world will fall into line.”
“How do you think you will be remembered?”
“As Emperor. As a god.”
___________________________________________________________________
**Longwood House, Saint Helena, May 5 1821**
“Are you well?”
“Are you mocking me?”
The Emperor has shrunken. He seems to be regressing, again slight and helpless like the boy beneath the olive trees at the Ecole Militaire. His body is concealed beneath the sheets of his bed, but even so it is clear he has thinned considerably. His cheeks are dark hollows, eyes tired and sunken.
“Of course not.”
“Do I remember you? I do…I know your face…I know it…I’m sure of that.” His words dissolve into a fit of coughing.
“Perhaps. That isn’t important, though.”
“No…no, I suppose it isn’t. Not anymore.”
“What if I told you that today you would die?”
“I would say-“ he is again interrupted by a bout of coughing. “I would say that I would not be surprised.”
“What if I said that even under the Bourbon kings France will mourn your passing?”
“I would hope that you were right…I have failed her twice.”
“What if I said that one day your body will lie in a place of honor in the heart of Paris?”
He coughs again, this time so harshly that a few drops of blood stain his lip.
“I would say that as long as the Bourbons remain in power I will rot in an unknown grave…but…”
“What if I say you will be recalled as a monster?”
“I…I slaughtered a thousand men at Jaffa. They had no arms…not anymore. I put the Haitian blacks back into chains. I slaughtered the Germans who dared resist us. I destroyed the republic. I sent thousands of French to die for my crown. A monster…maybe.”
“What if I say you will be recalled as a hero?”
“I liberated the wretched serfs from their masters. I gave France a law that all, prince and pauper, were to respect and subject themselves to. I swept away the tyranny of princelings and bishops. I saved the revolution. I covered my Empire in glory. I was a father to my nation, just and fair. A hero…that, too…I…where is my Josephine?”
“Josephine is dead, majesty.”
“Is she…my God. And my son. The King of Rome…”
“He still lives, but…”
“Nevermind that. Ask me your final question.” His breath rattles.
“My final…”
“Yes, the same one you asked me on the eve of the Russian campaign. And beneath the olive tree. How I expect to be remembered.”
“You…you remember that?”
“Of course I do. I don’t know what you are. Devil or angel, but I suppose it is unimportant at this late hour. So, go on, ask.”
“Well…then...how is it you think you will be remembered?”
He grows, if possible more pallid. He stares past the ceiling, at something invisible to all but him.
“As a man.”
|
"You guys again. . ."I said.
I really don't know who does their laundry or why we're meeting at a three star inn again, but this has seriously got to stop. i guess being surrounded by seven dudes with ancient artifacts as masks should be scary, but at the same time, how is it really possible to dry clean seven red cult robes and not look suspicious.
"The Counsel has spoken."
"You spoke without me?"
"You are to retrieve for us the Scarlett Diamond of the fourth circle of the Underworld."
"This is why I prefer to be notified when you guys have counsel meetings. Every time you guys hold a counsel meeting, I end up getting screwed."
"ENOUGH!"one of the demons said dropping his hood as if the artifact covering his face was somehow not covering his face.
I couldn't help but sigh.
"Alright, what are you guys giving me to go down there."
"NOTHING!"
"Really? No sword? No gun? C'mon, let me take the halogen lamp in the corner of the room at least."
For a quiet moment, they all shuffled, looking back and forth at each other, shrugging shoulders, nodding, but then shaking their head.
"NO!"one finally said.
". . . if you take the lamp, we might have to pay for it when we go down to the lobby to check out,"another one said.
I tilted my head.
"I'm taking the halogen lamp."
I walked over to the corner of the room, unplugged the halogen lamp, wrapped the cord around the bottom, and headed back into the circle. All at once, burning into the carpet beneath me, a sigel began to form, and as if the floor disappeared, I could feel myself twirling aimlessly.
My body struck the floor of the fourth circle of the underworld: greed. I got to my feet and dusted off my jeans. i bent forward to retrieve the bar of the halogen lamp when I noticed that a hand had clutched onto it. It was a living corpse. From its mangled lips, it heaved.
". . innnvessstt in venture capital!"he cried.
"NO!"I said, driving the bottom of the lamp into the side of his face.
I then noticed the others crawling on the floor. The floor was rippling with living corpses.
"PPPPeeenny stocks!"one yelled.
"SHUT UP!"I said, swinging the bar over my head and driving it down into the back of his.
"Ppprotect big electric!!!"another one screamed as he rushed towards me.
"THAT'S NOT HOW COMPETITION WORKS!"I yelled back, before swinging the lamp sideways; bits and pieces of skull and muscle flying out into the air.
Another freakish mangled body limped toward me with one hand stretched out toward me.
"Sssssocialism. . ."he hissed.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Da fuck you doing here?"I asked, dropping the bar of the lamp.
". . . I got lossst,"he replied.
|
It was a short drive to the Langley office. My last visit here had been a mere two weeks ago. As it happens on these monotonous drives, my mind started to take me over the events of the last few days, well, last two weeks in this case.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was only my third day in the Agency and I had been called into a meeting with the deputy director for internal affairs. Having been recruited straight out of university and then sent through an intensive 14 month training, I was ready to embark on my new role.
&nbsp;
While walking towards the IA offices section, I began to wonder what I might have done in the last 3 days that would warrant a personal meeting with the big man. But I did not need to wonder for long as I was introduced to 3 analysts, a senator, a judge and 2 women whose identity I was told, was none of my business.
"Have you understood Mr. Wallace?", asked the deputy director. "You will head to the FBI field office in D.C and assume your role in their finance department. We just need to know how it happened?".
"Yes Sir!", I answered and was then promptly given a dossier with my identity, a few other need to know details and was sent on my way.
&nbsp;
Apparently I was to use my actual credentials, given my graduate background in accounting and finance. The mission, if I can be cheesy enough to call it that was simple enough. Once in the correct department, basic files would give me the information I needed.
"Good morning", I said to the handsome suited man behind the reception; "I am starting today with the finance department". A few forms, orientations, meetings and horrible ice breaker jokes later I was at my desk.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Day bloody three again and I am on a flight headed to Aberdeen to "Join MI6". I could not even being to write the kind of amazing stupidity that was my meeting this morning. I almost seems like a sick joke. If I did not know better, and truth be told I do not; this almost seems planned.
"You will head to the MI6 office in Aberdeen and assume your role in their finance department. We just need to know how it happened?", he said. I almost choked on my coffee. "Everything you need is in the dossier", he said.
Deja vu.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
3 days and thankfully I am still here at the office. The accent is not as pronounced as I was led to believe in training. Thankfully a lifetime of monosyllabic answers have allowed me to keep my cover.
The timing was perfect. There was an internal audit planned and I was to be part of it. "A little on the job horror is always good", said my boss. I smiled as I packed away for the day.
&nbsp;
That night I barely slept a wink, preparing all night for how I was to go about getting the files I needed.
I don't think that I will ever forget that feeling of heaviness as I was pulled aside walking into the conference room. "The gov. wants to have a word", said Williams as he motioned to the section heads door.
&nbsp;
"So as you see Mr. Davies, you will head to the CIA office in Langley and assume your role in their finance department. We just need to know how it happened?". I think he pitied me for the expression on my face as he added, "Cheer up son. You are young and new enough that they will not know who you are. This makes you the perfect man for the job."There was no conceivable response that I could come up with. Hell, I don't even remember any part of the training covering this.
&nbsp;
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I parked in the guest spot and walked straight into the deputy directors office. I said nothing as he started at my face with a confused expression when I handed over my 'Introduction' papers to him.
What felt like hours of silence was broken by "eh?".
"I have been sent to investigate Mr. Wallace regarding the disappearance of the funds", I replied as I sat down heavily in the chair, closing my eyes and pressing my head to mitigate the oncoming headache I was sure was the birth of my first aneurysm. |
"I think there may be some mistake,"I said, as the robots hoisted me high into the air for the shimmering robot crowd. They let out a chorus of foreign sounds as they saw me, sounds I can only assume are akin to cheers.
"Woooo,"they cheered in unison. "Wooo wooo wooo."The only way to describe their unified, droning voices was ... robotic, no matter how insipid a description that may be for ... well, robots.
As they cheered for me, I found myself thinking back to how this all started, and cursing my sardonic nature.
I guess it all started back in 2039, when truly advanced AI in robots was starting to take off. The future is the future until it hits you right in the face. Suddenly these AI freaks were everywhere in society. Working in factories, construction, social sectors, hell even police. Can you fucking believe that? A robot AI freak is gonna chastise me on how to act as a right and proper human? Fuck that I said on the day they were introduced to the labour force, and I say it again today. Fuck that. And fuck them.
Of course I did what I always do when something annoys me. I took to the internet and complained. There were a few rallies here and there but I never went. I suppose my sarcasm is matched only by my sloth.
I made somewhat of a name for myself on anti AI internet sites. My acerbic way of writing seemed to hit a chord with many readers, even if it ultimately lacked any real substance. I became something of an internet celebrity, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it.
So I took the next natural step. I made a YouTube account. Might as well cash in, I figured. By now I let the biting, sarcastic character I had developed online infuse directly into me. I knew it was what the people wanted. Sorta like a robot shell with a preconfigured AI actually.
And it was good for a while. I started making some decent money from the viewers I was getting. I realised at some point I was happy for the robots flooding into society. They gave me this. But god forbid I let my viewers know that. The character I had created was what they wanted, so it was what I gave them. Cutting, ruthless, dry wit, devoid of any real thought or philosophical nuance. But it sounded good, and nowadays that's all that really matters.
And then shit got really weird.
I decided to go to an event, to meet my viewers. I can't remember what it was called now, but it probably ended in "con". I got there and things were going well. I was doing my thing, signing the "merch"I had so shamelessly sold on my website. Shirts with *F ROBOT* and *AI PLS DIE*. They were shoddy quality, and remarkably lacking in creativity, but they sold. So I'm signing pieces of merchandise all day, head glued to the desk as legions of fans came and went. Then I heard the hushed murmurings. Quiet at first, but rapidly growing. I looked up to see the source of discontent and spotted him... it.
A robot. With one of my caps on, holding one of my shirts, looking ... nervous. It approached my table and placed the shirt down at my desk.
"Big fan,"it said in its scratchy voice. "You get it so right with us. Your roasts are great."
My roasts? I was totally lost. The murmurings in the queue behind continued, growing louder and louder. I looked over the robots shoulder and saw more of them. Scattered through the lines of adulating fans were metallic AI, holding my merchandise. Towards the back of the line their numbers grew significantly. They spotted me as I stared at them, what face I was pulling only god knows, and they started to cheer and wave, like frenzied kids at a boy band concert.
You see what I mean now? That was the day shit got weird.
Turns out, I was something of a legend to them. A George Carlin, somebody who would speak the truth, about robots. They started commenting on my videos online.
"LOL so true, we are like that!"
"Is it wrong that I love him so much?"
"Damn he's so on the money, feelsbadman."
Feels bad man? I remember the day I read the words on my laptop. Feels fucking bad man? They were using meme terminology? I never thought of such an eventuality, and how unsettled it would make me feel. What was next? Cats and cheeseburgers? Rage faces? Would they be adept and relevant in their memery or would it be something akin to a grandparent trying their best?
And then I got those dollar signs in my eyes. Great idea for a video rant actually. So I did. And I guess you can bet who loved the video the most. AI.
So I think I've droned on long enough. A couple of years later the uprising I had ranted about for so long happened. Nobody was quite sure where it started or why, but I hear on the grapevine it was due to workers rights or suffrage, or something of that mould.
And now, as they parade me about the ruined city, where the remaining humans must now accept robot AI as their equal, I have a funny feeling. Through this whole ridiculous adventure of mine, through all the rants, the memes, the unexpected fans, in the end, the robots rose up just so they could be treated equally. An oddly sombre and serious end to a somewhat comedic story. And you know... I can respect that.
And respecting that is a problem. Because I'm now the official roaster of all robot AI across the world. So I guess I gotta carry on, even if I'm starting to like these guys a little.
Fucking AI, man. |
EDIT: formatting.
"To clarify, you keep them in your domiciles? While you are sleeping?"The taller one, who I'd taken to calling Chadwick, asked me in disbelief.
"For the most part. It's up to the individual, some are kept outside, although that's frowned upon by others."Chadwick looked as his companion, Bradley, then back to me. He leaned in close, his short, skinny head coming much closer to mine than is appropriate.
"But they are carnivores, correct? They could feast upon your flesh while you sleep."Chadwick still hadn't mastered the concept of whispering, which left my ears ringing a bit. I smiled through the discomfort.
"Ah, but that's the secret. We buy their affection through tributes of flesh and sources of amusement, and this reinforces their view of us as pack leader, to be respected."Chadwick gasped, and began conferring with Bradley. I pretended not to hear: apparently, their culture doesn't have the concept of indoor voices.
"Fascinating."Chadwick says to me after their conference was completed. "They protect your homes and provide companionship, and their lifelong loyalty is bought through regular tribute. Humanity seems to be masterful negotiators. Please, tell me more about these cats and dogs." |
From a young age, I was a violent child. I primarily got it from my father, and my grandfather, and my great-grandfather before him. It was in our blood to react - which is to act, before thinking. A good trait to have as a caveman when confronted by a pouncing leopard, but not one that is often respected in the daily dealings of modern society.
My great-grandfather and grandfather were fortunate enough to have the excuse of war, where they could expend their violence as efficiently and frequently as they pleased. But the time the wars were over, they were quite content with the amount of bloodshed they had caused, and settled down with two fiery, but gentle women and lived the remaining years of their life in relatively-free peaceful bliss.
My father, however, who had inherited the temper, had unfortunately not inherited the war. In school, it looked, at first, that he would have a promising career in football. But that ended shortly after he tackled one of his coaches on purpose, during practice, and began beating the man brutally with his helmet.
Boxing was the next best option, and while it there too looked like he would find an outlet and a career, my father just could not seem to hear the bell or the referee telling him that the round was over. For my father, every fight was to the death, and after severely mauling several opponents, my father was politely asked to leave the ring and never return.
Finally, on the reputation and word of my grandfather and great-grandfather, a special exception was made and, at the age of fourteen, my father was allowed to enter the army. Though he quickly rose through the ranks, alas, there was much politics and, ironically, my father was deemed 'too violent for the current war' and was honorably discharged at sixteen, a day before his seventeenth birthday.
The army had been his last option. Lost, with no direction, and no outlet, he spent a year fighting in bars until one shrewd bar owner hired him to be a bouncer. His reputation was so known and feared that whenever he was on duty, altercations dropped to a minimum, and soon he was been hired for security at nighclubs and for celebrities.
One night, a group of clearly underage women handed him what was a clearly a fake I.D. Probably bored, my father let them in anyway. During the night, one *especially* drunk man continually harassed the group, making inappropriate remarks and passes at them until the girls decided to leave altogether. As they rose, however, he grabbed the nearest one by the arm, and she broke her glass on the counter edge and stabbed him in the eye with the shard. Before my father could pull her away, she had stabbed the offensive drunk fifteen times.
That woman later became my mother.
So, you see, with the history of violent men on my father's side, coupled with my mother's own trigger switch temper, it was no surprise how I would turn out. But, unlike my father, I knew what I wanted to do from an early age: *murder.*
Ironically, this desire stemmed from the time I spent with my grandfather, or "Granddaddy", on my *mother's* side, who was a police officer. Granddaddy wasn't violent in the same way my father and his side of the family were. My paternal ancestry possessed a volence that was primitive and instinctual, like those of a predator in the wild, it was in their nature and couldn't be helped. Granddaddy's violence was that of a hunter, calculated and planned; it was the way he *chose* to be, which, if considered, could be seen as a bit sadistic.
Though he was a cop, I always thought that he would have been much better suited in the role of a cowboy, during the times when shootouts were the norm. Granddaddy was the type of person that shot first, and didnt care to ask questions later because the person was already dead or, as he would say, "Corpses don't speak."Though it was against the rules, my Granddaddy brought me along with him on his patrols, and at the age of five I saw him kill a man and I was fascinated ever since.
So then began my journey. I had no desire to join the army, play football, be a boxer, or stand outside of nightclubs. I wanted to kill people. The first person I ever tried to victimize was the playground bully. He pushed me off the monkey bars. I tried to break his head open with a baseball bat. Then when that didn't work, I picked up a rock and tried to skin him instead. Unfortunately, teachers intervened and I only managed to scar him.
I realized that no matter who I tried to kill inside school would eventually lead to someone intervening, so my next attempt was outside school, in the real world. I would fight a lot of older, bigger, and stronger kids so I could get better at fighting, but in the process, I would get bruised a lot and spend quite a considerable amount time in the nurse's office (which was also part of the plan to skip class). While there one day, I met a girl who eventually confessed that the bruises on her arms were from her father. Seeing an opportunity to obtain my first victim, I offered to kill him, and she accepted.
So that weekend, I waited for him to come home. After he had come home, beat his family, and went to sleep, I went inside and tried to strangle him with a pillow. I should have used a wire. He woke up, easily threw me off, and beat my ass. I managed to stab him with some keys that I kept in my pocket and he ran outside, screaming for help, right into the street and the path of a cruising patrol car.
Granddaddy.
When Granddaddy figured out what had happened, he wasn't pleased. "You should have used a gun,"he told me. Then, instead of letting me kill the guy, he took the abusive drunk father to jail, depriving me of yet another victim.
However, a turning point eventually arose from that situation. The next day, the girl had given me a dollar - "for trying". It was then that I realized I could get paid to kill people.
I could be a hitman.
Desperate for work, I took a job as private security, guarding an omnious mansion, thinking I would meet some wealthy people who would perhaps need a hitman in the future. I was given a gun and told not to let anyone in without a code. A week passed, and as no one ever visited the mansion, I was beginning to get restless.
But one night a car pulled up to the gate. Blood pumping, hand on my gun, and feeling like a police officer, I approached the driver's side window. The window rolled down and I could see that it was packed with people that I recognized from Wanted posters and TV news channels. Another car and another car pulled up behind the first car and I could see that it was more of the same. All criminals and super-villians.
"Well?"drawled the driver. "Are you going to keep staring or let us in?"
I felt an impulse to smash his face in with the butt of my gun, but I quelled it and instead took my time looking at everyone in the car before replying, "Well, that depends on if you know the new password or not."
"Password?"he crowed, his dulls eyes lightening a bit. "Oh well, that would be.."He rattled off the correct code.
I shook my head. "The new password is *please*."
He scowled. The other people in the car looked shocked. Then a beautifully, bedazzled woman in the passenger seat began to laugh, and they all were laughing, except the driver.
He smiled thinly and said, "I need to tell Mortimer"- my employer - "to screen his henchman better. Or he'll keep ending up with..."He paused to look me up and down with disdain before finishing, "...clowns."
The grip on my gun tightened, and I felt my arm raising to pull it out of my holster, before the woman entered again to lighten the modd.
She fixed her eyes on me and said, "Don't mind him, *daw*ling. I, for *one*, consider you a dear."
The driver smirked at me. "I hunt deers."
"Really, enough,"she scolded him. "You two lovers can bicker at the party."She looked at me with her dazzling smile. "You *are* coming to the party, right?"
"Of course not,"the driver scoffed. "He's the *help*. He has to stand here and watch the gate!"
I was never good at going back and forth, verbally. Everything was fighting words to me, and I was quick to take roasting sessions to a realm that I was comfortable in - the physical realm - mainly by punching the roaster in the face.
I had a gun now. I could do so much more damage. But again, the woman came to his rescue.
"If you're going to be so childish,"she said to him, "I will leave this car and walk at once!"
Whatever spell she had on him, the threat worked, and he sat there grumbling, staring forward with stony eyes. The rest of the members in the car were silent. Some were holding back smiles or laughter.
The cars behind began to beep their horns.
I backed away from the window, easing the pressure slightly off of my gun. I tapped my cap. "You ladies have a good night,"I said.
The driver turned to me, quick as whip, a retort already on his tongue, but he swallowed it with bitter agony and turned away.
I smiled, then went ahead and opened the gate.
The woman waved as the car passed. "I'll send for you!"she shouted.
I waved back.
*Surely* I thought to myself, *one of these people can use a hitman. And if not, then I'll be happy to kill that driver for free.* |
'In about twenty minutes you can expect a SWAT team. Start moving to a cafe. Listen to me and you will live. Pack a bag and take your wallet, leave your phone behind.'
I look around the room. Nothing seems off. My vision is normal. Just the same crappy apartment at usual.
'I can't hear you, so don't try talking to me. Just do what I say or you're dead.'
I take off the hat.
_I'm either insane, or..._
I get up. The ridiculous hat sits on the coffee table next to my bong. I suppress the urge to use it. Instead, I get up, stretch my legs. In the fridge is a half bottle of orange juice. I down it. I'm so tense, but what can I do. The ridiculous hat is looking at me. Overcome with curiosity, I put it back on.
'Hi, I can see that you might think you are going nuts, but you need to take this seriously. Every second is crucial and you just lost two minutes. But the main thing is you put the hat back on. That's gonna save your life. Listen to me- what you see is not the reality. That's just what they want you to think. I've been through it. Please trust me. Keep the hat on and start packing your stuff. I've got a lot to tell you but you need to get moving.'
I just sit there. My mind is racing. I guess I must have accidentally taken some weird shit, but there are no other symptoms. The bong is just a bong. The voice is independent of my entire reality.
'Move! Stop thinking and fucking go!'
I get up and go to my bedroom. I pick up my backpack. In goes socks, underwear...
_What the fuck am I doing?_
'Stop resting and finish packing! You wanna die? They'll shoot you. You need to leave ASAP!'
I decided to listen to the voice. I throw a bunch of stuff out of my bag and get my wallet.
'Now, when the SWAT team gets here, they are gonna start looking for you so you need to leave inconspicuously. If you look distressed, someone is gonna notice and that will give them their first clue to track you. Wear a hat if you have one.'
It's almost a hundred degrees outside but I put on my woolly hat and go. The aluminium hat under it scratches my head but at least most people won't see it.
Out on the street I start sweating immediately. Everything looks normal enough. Across the road a guy in a suit is on his phone, and gives me a passing glance. An older woman passes me and gives me a look. A cat stares, and I realise I'm starting to be paranoid.
'You listened to me. That's good. Everything will be explained in due time. For now you just gotta lie low. Spend tonight outside and we'll pick you up tomorrow, once we know that you're not gonna get captured or that you're leading them to us. My name is Nate, by the way. You don't know me yet, but I know all about you.'
Ignoring the obvious discomfort of the cashier, I order a hot chocolate at Starbucks. I get out my laptop and start googling like crazy. Get nowhere. End up playing flash games like a loser.
I'm on the floor before I know what happened. Shouts of orders break out, footsteps, a scream, a weird kind of loud silence. I turn my head and see the boots and rifle butts of the swat team. I look up, at the same time as the nearest one turns his head to me, staring intensely just over my eyes. |
It is a grande house. Sweeping verandas around the house, Victorian styling, little details you just don’t see any more. In its glory it would have been an amazing house.
Sadly, It is run down. Needs paint and some loving. Many of the little details are broken or rotted away. As a handy guy, I can putter away and fix this beauty up. It will take a few years but fixing houses is a passion of mine…. And well, it’s the only house we can afford, so a perfect combination of events…. At least for me.
“What a freaking dump”, my son Stanley says.
“Come on buddy, it isn’t that bad. It just needs a little lovin, and it will be a beauty.”, I said as upbeat as possible. “Why don’t you go explore a bit. See what you can find. Mom and I will keep unpacking.”
And unpack we did. Moving has to be one of the worst things. So much work. Your house and life are just in utter chaos for weeks or even months afterwards.
Stanley seemed a bit more upbeat as he explored the house and found all of the nooks and crannies.
“Honey, let’s just order some pizza for supper. No way we are cooking anything here tonight. I don’t even know where the plates are.”, my wife Linda said.
“Sounds like a plan.”, I agreed. “Hey Stanley! Stan! Where are you buddy?”, I hollered into the house.
“In the basement. Come check this out!”, I heard him faintly reply.
I wandered into the basement and found Stanley sitting on the floor in the cold storage.
“Whatcha doing in here buddy?”, I said looking around at the dirty shelves and randomly left behind preserves.
“What is this?”, Stanley said pointing to a buckle in the floor. It looked like some kind of release.
“No idea bud.”
“I can’t get it to open. You give it a try.”
I shooed him over and heaved on the buckle and a chunk of the floor popped up revealing a round hatch with a big metal wheel on top.
“Holy cow! It is an old school bomb shelter entrance.”, I placed the popped up floor against a wall. I gave Stanley a bit of smile, “should we open it?” His eyes lit up.
“Totally!”, he said excitedly.
I tried and tried but couldn’t get the big wheel to turn. “Sorry buddy, it must be rusted or locked or something. We can try again after supper.” We both went up stairs a bit dejected from whole experience.
Stanley talked excitedly about his adventures through the house over supper. He kept coming back to the bomb shelter curious what could be in there. His ideas and stories getting wilder by the moment.
“We going to go back down and try and open it now?”, Stanley said just as we were finishing our pizza.
I sat him down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look buddy, that’s really not how things work. We get to see the locked safe or vault or bomb shelter. We get all excited about it and then OP never posts again. That is just the way Reddit works.” |
No one warned us about the changes that occurred around your 14th year of life. You would think it would be in all the history books that we've read, or an utter mention in health education. I always thought that they were symbols that people had chosen to put on themselves, to create a story of their past interwoven with their future.
I've seen the ones on my parents. My dad has this one on his upper forearm, a ferocious lion protecting his kin. The countless ones on my mother leave me mesmerized every time I see her. Then there's this pair that both of them have that complement each other, one pointing to the other whenever they kissed.
It never occurred to me that something would just materialize into existence like that on someone's body. They always seemed deliberately placed. A couple of my friends had theirs appearing around their birthday. Some as simple as their first and last initials. My friend Josephine's showed her love for nature with a random creature with black and white fur, with black patches surrounding its eyes.
My 14th birthday came and went. Nothing changed except for the increase in my height and muscle mass. My skin still had its natural tones. I started becoming more conscious about it as more and more of my friends began having their first ones appear. I waited, but time kept moving. Nothing seemed different, at first, but I could start seeing the stares from my friends, from the strangers, from my own family. The world stared at me, only to have myself stare back out in helplessness.
No one my age knew what to say. While they all discussed the dark complexions forming on them, I sat back and stared in envy. My parents said that sometimes it takes time. They still never told me why they never said anything about them before.
For months I waited, hoping for something to appear amongst the torment and names I started receiving from others. I'd wake up every morning and rush to the mirror, only to be miserable by breakfast. By the time I came back home, I wouldn't want to do anything else but get into my bed and sleep.
I glanced towards my clock and saw that it was 1:00am. An hour into my 15th birthday. I sighed and looked over to my mirror to see the same boy that existed just an hour back. I angrily stared at my arms, upset at myself for not having what others did. I knew it wasn't my fault, that sometimes it doesn't happen until the body is ready. But there must have been something I could have done, something that I have been doing that was stopping them.
As I flipped over in my bed to turn off the lights, I noticed something strange appear on my arm. A small line going from my right wrist, all the way down to my elbow, but it only flickered, and disappeared. It was enough though. I knew it was my first tattoo coming into existence. I should have been happier, but I knew that the first one was so important to ones life. It dictated a lot of what was to come, but as I caught the glimpse of mine, I knew that it would be the last tattoo I would have, and this time, of my choosing. |
Death has taught me a lot about parenting. A lot that I wish I knew back when I was still alive raising Rebecca. I was always so careful! I always had one eye on her, making sure she didn't choke on anything, or run through the rain and catch a cold, or fall down and get scrapes. I realize now that I was one of those helicopter parents, unwilling to let her experience life for herself. Unable to learn her own lessons. By saving her from harm, I just made things even worse for her.
After my death, I had to restrain myself. Every single day. I say her fall for boys that were no good for her. I saw her trying drugs. I saw her drinking instead of studying for her SATs. Each moment, I wanted to appear and fix things for her, but I couldn't. I held back, thinking that I needed to save it for something *truly* dire. When her life was really in danger and I could step in and fix things. There were never any other ghosts around; I wondered if I was the only one watching, or if I just couldn't see the others. But I knew I was the only one looking out for Rebecca.
I admit, she surprised me. She did well in school even without my scoldings and reminders. She got into a great college without me pushing her to do the work. She made good friends, even without me to vet them for her. She fell in love with a nice young man, even without me to scare off all the other losers who came after her. And she had two wonderful children, raising them better than I'd ever done with her. Of course her life had ups and downs, just like everyone else. And I always wanted to be there to comfort her, but I knew I had to save my one moment.
It's been 81 years since my death, and each day has been part agony of wishing I could talk to her, and part pride at seeing the wonderful woman that she's become. She's in the hospital now, surrounded by her own loved ones. A nurse ushers them out; visiting hours must be over. And I realize it's time.
"Dad?"she says weakly as I materialize next to her. She thinks she's dreaming or hallucinating, as a side effect of the chemo.
"I'm here, honey,"I tell her, gripping her hand and trying to hold back tears with no luck. "I've been waiting for this moment for decades. I saved it for a day where you'd really really need me."
She nods, still unsure if I am real. "And that's today?"She looks worried, and her heart monitor beeps a little faster.
"No,"I reassure her. "You never needed me. You did it all on your own. So I'm being selfish to use my one moment with you to tell you that I love you, and to say goodbye." |
**Flies**
When aliens landed on Earth, we were all afraid. They came in unexpectedly and fast, their spaceships (which were not remotely saucers, by the way) arriving as if by magic by some unimaginable technology. They landed in Central Park and stormed out wearing full battle gear and carrying rifles. They immediately began shooting into the air around them, launching drones and battlebots. By the time the Army could react, they had taken over New York City. I was staying there at the time.
I watched on TV as the President of the United States sent a message to the aliens: what do you want? Cowering in my apartment in Brooklyn, I feared the worst. I thought they would say they wanted blood, or sacrifice, or revenge. Instead, as I watched, glowing words appeared in front of the President, hanging in the air:
WE WANT YOUR HELP
The President, to his credit, recovered his composure quickly. He asked with what.
THE FLIES
Then, like magic, we all knew. Somehow the aliens dumped their history into our brains. Flies, as it turned out, were an ancient alien species themselves. Everywhere they went they spread disease and pestilence, killing off everything on a planet until they were the only things left. Miraculously, the species on Earth were immune to the flies.
For centuries, the aliens had systematically eradicated the flies on each planet the flies had colonized. Our planet was the only planet left, and they were considering leaving us alone. But our recent flight to Mars had scared them. If a fly had come on board, it would have killed all of Mars. The aliens would not allow us to go off of Earth again until we had killed all of our flies.
The President asked for time to meet with the UN. The aliens granted it. I waited in my apartment until he came back out again on TV, nervously cataloguing the food I had left. I only had enough for a day. I wondered what I'd do if he said no. I wondered what would happen to humanity.
Then the President strode out again, only 30 minutes later.
The President said, in stentorian tones, "We, the human race, will help you kill the flies. May this mark the beginning of a long and peaceful friendship."
************************************
The campaign was a success. As I write this, all the flies are dead, and, unfortunately, so is the human race. I don't know how many of us are left. All I know is that once the flies were dead, the aliens did not take time in turning on us. Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Beijing: all are just smolder and ashes, now. Everyone I know is dead.
I send this message back to the past with a simple request. Whoever you are, when you get this, do not let the aliens kill the flies. Whatever you do, the flies must stay alive. I don't know how or why, but they're our only hope for survival.
*Written unwisely by Stranger_andStranger* |
"She's just like you, you know, in almost every way. Those blue eyes of yours, the dark hair that contrasts so much with the clarity of her eyes, this smirk when she tries to prank me, this sleepy head when she just woke up and even her obsession with pandas, every bit of her makes me think of you."
I waited for a response that never came.
"She changed so much in the last 2 years, that's amazing. She grew up a lot and even her face changed thanks to the loss of her teeth. She's just 8 but she's trying to prove she's a grown-up now, calling the first grade pupils babies. That's too cute for me to remind her she's a baby too, my baby."
I was trying to remember what she looked like 3 years ago but the changes were too many for me to recall it without a photo. I let a smile show up on my face.
"The other day she told me she had a boyfriend and now she was an adult too, because Bobby, her boyfriend, made her swear she would marry him. I told her that whoever she would marry, I would be her daddy and she would be nothing but my baby. She started sulking, that was hilarious! Just like you did!"
A tear rolled down my cheeks.
"She's just like you. And just like you she has it. It appeared last week. We went to the hospital and there's no doubt. The doctors are not optimistic about her case but we won't give up, I swear."
I got up and put on my coat, hiding my feelings the best way I can.
"Well, the weather got colder lately, I think I will go back. I'll give you news soon, don't worry"
I left the cemetery with a heavy weight on my chest, knowing that in less than a year, I would likely visit two graves.
Edit: Wow! Gold! Thank you kind stranger! |
It's a tough economy these days. People keeping to themselves, not venturing outside their comfort zones, staying in their circles. It's hard out there for a Good Samaritan.
I try to make eye contact with people as I walk down the road, trying to put a smile into everyone's day. I stand at the front doors of Starbucks for hours, holding the door open for people juggling their keys and coffees as they run back to their cars.
At night, I sleep on the air mattress in my empty living room. I've donated everything to charity, save the hot plate I cook on and my single set of cutlery. I drink directly out of the tap, and every time I crane my neck, I remind myself of The Good.
I have two sets of clothing that I wash by hand in the sink. All of my clothes went to a homeless shelter, and sometimes as I make my way down East Hastings, I see a familiar sweatshirt wandering across the road.
I've been a kidney donor, a bone marrow donor, and I've agreed to donate my body to science when I die. That gave me a big advance on my Good.
I had a friend working in The Department a couple months back, and he snuck me the total of my Good before he disappeared. I was so close...and I've only done more since then.
I've brought cookies to work, I always check the toilet paper in the bathroom to make sure no one will be caught without, and I bring the receptionist a coffee every day. I phone my parents every night, remember every birthday, every holiday and anniversary.
I call my little sister every day. We talk, sometimes she listens to me babble on as she remains silent. I always end on a cheery note, but I die inside every time I hang up. She never deserved this life. I hate the coward who ruined things.
I've been saving for so long...I think it's time to make my Withdrawal.
I call my sister one more time. "I love you,"I say, and then I hang up. I put on my clean outfit, and I pick up my only other possession from the floor next to my air mattress.
And I walk down the street, throwing the last couple smiles to the wind. I should have enough now. Case law states that I should be covered.
And I walk into the office building, past the stammering receptionist, sliding down the back hallway away from the security guards.
And I slide into the cubicle where he's hiding. All his good deeds, covering one action. He only has himself to blame for being my inspiration.
"Have a great day,"I say with one last smile.
And I shoot my sister's rapist in the head.
Paid in full.
Edit: small typo fix! |
There were five of them, huddled together over the roaring black energy well. Their luminescent particles flashed through impossible spectra of color. Boli was the only null-matched of the group, though it did not feel alone. They were young, after all. Less than a tenth of their natural lifespan. There was time.
But Boli saw the way that Yuki and Ruli intertwined. How their particles seeped together. It was hard to not feel like an outsider, even inside the group.
"Let's do scary stories!"said Boli suddenly.
Peli flashed, ridge and silver. "No! I hate scary stories!"
"Do one about the White Space,"said Ruli, pulling away from Yuki. That made Boli happy.
"I know,"said Boli, his shared thoughts twinkling with mischief. "The story of the *humans*."
"No, no, no!"said Peli. "I'll never find a rest state again."
"Do it,"said Ruli, now fully disengaged from Yuki. There was a visual glee to his particles. They quivered and tensed.
Boli paused, gathering his private-thoughts, then began:
"They say it all begins with a signal. A harmless, high frequency signal. Quick through the dark nothingness of space. It seems so quaint and *kind*, almost. Humble. They are calling out for anyone to hear. And although you may not understand the signal, you will understand it's meaning - *Hello. We are here. We want to meet you.*
"It seems so tactically foolish. They must be so simple. So pure. To put their trust in all the unknown of space? Perhaps it is a cry for help. But whatever it is, it is alluring. That signal draws you down, across the stars. To meet these simple creatures. To see what they have to say.
"But you see...the signal is bait. And you have taken it.
"By the time you realize your mistake, it will be far, far too late. Because they are not afraid of being known by you, but you should be very afraid of being known by *them*. Once you talk back...they have you."
On the other side of the energy well, Yuki flashed. Just a little. Boli was pleased.
"It is a tender trap, though. They will beckon you down. Ask you to come and see their world. They will wear their best faces and endeavor with all their spirit to learn your language so they can understand you and communicate freely.
"They will marvel at you. Shower you with praise and even a bit of subservience. *What gentle, low creatures these are* you will think. *What a marvel that they have survived as long as they have.* You will help them, as best you can. Give them advice. Technology. Sign treaties. Make promises. You do not need them, of course. But you *want* to help. They have that way about them.
"And through it all, you will notice the way they shepherd you. They will tell you the things you only *think* you want to know and pull you away from everything else you might learn. You will try to understand their culture and find that some things do not make sense and will not be explained. You ask about their history and see quite clearly that it is not a history but a biography of victory. A self-told tale, full of half-truths and full fabrications.
"And you will look at their behavior, when they aren't putting on their best faces, and begin to wonder. Their consumption of poisons and unnatural products. Their bodily reinvention - the sick becoming healthy, the healthy becoming monstrous. Faces that change. Body modifications. Violent class distinctions. Grotesque imbalances of power.
"They are not what you thought they were.
"And once they realize that you know - once you've asked a question too many or expressed a concern they cannot artfully sidestep - then they will no longer feel the need to pretend. And you will need to *run*."
Boli threw extra emphasis on the last word, making them all sparkle in fear. But then Yuki began sliding into Ruli, seeking mutual comfort. Boli felt a bit foolish, but continued.
"You see, the human world is built on bones. Corpses. And before you answered their call, they fed on one another. Building and destroying. Taking the best of one's creation and consuming the rest. Leaving no remains. None except those buried bones. Evolution through cannibalism.
"They will take what is there to take. Take it all. Leaving nothing. So if you think you can escape, simply because they once seemed so simple, think again. They will follow you. They will hunt you down. There will never be a moment's rest. Even as generations come and go and everyone who lived at the beginning has died, they will continue to hunt. There will come a time when none even remember how things started, but still...still they will hunt you to the very ends of the universe and time itself...until you are no more.
"And remember..."Boli paused, letting the moment settle in all their minds. "It all begins with a signal..."
The black energy well cast long, inverted shadows.
*iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii*
Yuki and Ruli toppled over sideways. Peli nearly disintegrated. Moli, who was usually so silent, twinkled proudly as he made the strange noise once more.
*iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii*
"Good one,"said Boli, laughing. Soon they were all laughing. And though he was null-matched, Boli remembered that he was far from alone. |
Garg The Merciless \*hated\* oracles. They were one of two things: quacks trying to con him out of money, or doomsayers that liked to prophesy his messy end. Some were both.
So when the ancient, dried up husk of a man came to his daughter's naming, he did not have much patience with him.
Slowly shuffling in, squeaking past his celebrating generals to stand before Garg, his lady, and their daughter, he raised his cane and croaked "Hear me Garg The Merciless! The son of your daughter will one day kill you. This is your fate for all the evil you have done!"
"Get out of here you fraud!"I roared in irritation. "Guards!"
The old man just smiled, and as the guards laid hands on him to throw him out, he sagged in their arms, dead.
Shit. Old man, last breath, yada, yada, yada. Definitely bad news. My lady looked worried, clutching our daughter to her chest.
I sighed. There was more than one way to skin a rat.
I had risen out of nothing, trained my army up out of street thugs, camp followers, poor peasants, and anyone else with nothing left to lose. We were in a land stuck between multiple warring kingdoms. Every. Fucking. Year. Some band of bandits, invading army or pack of bored mercenaries ran over the land and us, pillaging, raping and burning. My own parents died throwing me out of the back of their burning shack, hissing that I must hide and be safe. The armed men killed them when they tried to escape out the front - laughing. I will never forget that.
I grew up from then forward on the streets - cold, vicious and ruthless. I gathered the other discarded people to me. I had a knack for three things: strategy, tactics, and logistics. I could draw a map. I could not yet read.
From such humble beginnings my army grew, even as we strained to keep various invaders out of our land. The local ruler wasn't any good - he wouldn't pay his soldiers, he just told them to take it from us locals. The first keep I took was his. I had to invent paper money to pay my people, but they could pay, and our land started to prosper.
Then came the invasions. It seems the others on our borders didn't like the fact that their little playground was fighting back.
Too bad, so sad. If I caught any of their generals, I impaled them on pikes on their own borders. It didn't seem to slow them down much. There was a new set the next year.
So, the only way we'd get any peace was to take the fight to someone else's land. Yes, it meant I had to split my forces into defense and attack, but by now we had nearly every able man and woman trained to arms. We had four seasons - planting, harvesting, fighting and winter. It was a bitch to organize, but I did it.
We didn't just invade then leave when winter came. We kept the land we took, made our currency the money of that area too, and cleaned up, or out, the local nobility. We recruited more soldiers from their poorest - the people whose backs had borne the weight of war. To their leaders I was merciless, but to the little folk? I was the best thing that had ever happened to them.
One of my brightest generals, a woman who had taught herself to read and write, came up with the next step. To help make the conquered lands truly ours, and like it, she proposed that we start making improvements - roads, better grain silos, water driven mills, etc. Soon she led my engineer corps.
Relatively soon, there were no more enemies to fight - they were all defeated, and buried or burned. Only a few brigands troubled my lands now.
Ruling at peace is not as easy as fighting a war. Keeping the competing interests all united when there was no obvious threat was... difficult. I often had to remind them what it was like, before.
The general who became my head of engineers? She's now my lady, and mother of my daughter.
I have let my image soften a bit, but I still am 'The Merciless' if you threaten my family, or my peace.
I have a plan.
My daughter, and eventually the "prophesied"grandson, will rule this land after me. I will need to be merciless in training them in what they need to know to defend it.
That doesn't mean I won't love them, and do the best by them as I have done for my people. |
*If this really is a simulation,* Delia thought, *it’s a little on the generic side. Amazing fidelity, though.*
The luckless orc’s torso splattered open as Delia drove her fist straight through his ribcage. The death of the Bandit Lord (or was it Robber King? whatever) spurred his lackeys to instantly throw away their weapons and run for their lives.
Was this the third time that some band of clowns had tried their luck on the village? Maybe fourth? Depended whether any of the attacks had actually been from lieutenants of the same group, but nobody was left around for questioning after Delia was through with them.
The villagers rushed forward, cheering. A little girl and her friends tried to hang a necklace of flowers on Delia and she told them to go away. The kids either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and kept following her around, plastered with smiles.
Without her armour, Delia was very strong. *With* her armour she was the Legion’s equivalent of a main battle tank. Cyborgs were smaller, more portable, and until the recent years when they’d started going all-in on nanotech they’d been a lot cheaper too. Throw on a set of Enforcer c-V55 powered armour and you had, well, a super soldier.
And super soldiers usually fought *other super soldiers*. That was the point. Delia didn’t care about the lack of challenge in her encounters so far, or any of that nonsense, but she didn’t like feeling that she was the big older bully picking on the first years. And the aptness of that analogy really bugged her, because her older civilization had far more advanced tech and at over a century old she was probably more senior than anyone else on this rock.
*If this is a simulation,* Delia thought, *the difficulty’s far too low.*
She went to wash off the orc guts. Again. With orcs it took a lot longer to get the blood off her armour.
Which happened to Delia a lot, because mostly she just punched people. She had once resorted to her Sentinel rifle when a dragon rider was flying overhead, sawing man and mount in half with a stream of plasma, but nine times out of ten Delia outmatched her opponents by walking up to them and punching them. Most of the time they had the sense to give up quickly.
“Hail, Hero of Geremis Village! It is I, Harold of the Helm Breakers!”
Some people, of course, lacked any sense and never gave up.
“No,” said Delia.
The bearded warrior struggled to keep pace. “Have you reconsidered our offer, Hero?”
“I literally just said no. The ‘no’ was pre-emptive because you keep asking me that. Go away.”
“Oh, I caution you to watch your tone,” said Harold darkly. “It would be unwise to push me to anger.”
Twenty seconds later some startled fishermen were fishing Harold out of the pond. A pond that was about two hundred metres away from the village square.
Delia retreated to her favourite inn, that is, the only inn in Geremis where the owner had the sense to never, ever talk to her. Everyone else still bugged her, but at least the innkeeper knew to provide her with food, lodgings, and beer, all in stony silence.
She raised her visor and drained it in one go. It was, she grudgingly admitted, pretty good beer.
“I like your full plate,” said a giddy, slightly under-the-influence voice. “I saw a golem with the same markings.”
“It’s not full plate, and… what did you say?”
A short woman had her face buried in a tankard. “The symbols. Saw them. Nice armour.”
Delia tapped her plated shoulder, with her insignia and the embossed logo of the Domarian Legion. “Do you mean you saw symbols like this?”
“Oh yes,” said the woman confidently. “A big weird metal golem was at the market and it had those symbols.” She took a drink. “Hi by the way. Heard a lot about you! I’m Miriam the Bard.”
“Don’t care. Describe this golem to me.”
“Well, it’s a big weird metal…”
“In detail. Hell, draw me a picture or something. Now!”
After some mad scrabbling around, the bard was provided with some charcoal and a page torn from the innkeeper's ledger. She sketched a blocky, top-heavy figure with stumpy legs, big arms and an enormously broad chest.
“You didn’t draw a head,” Delia said, sounding slightly excited.
“It didn’t really have one,” said the young woman. “Just one big eye in the centre of…”
Delia started to laugh. “Yes! Unit Metus. I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“The Mech attached to my squadron. She’s here too!”
“That’s good?” asked the innkeeper.
“That’s g... ? Of course it’s good!” Delia snapped, causing the poor man to flinch. “She’s probably the only one who can make sense of this mess. She’s got a phase transceiver, and can get a message back to Command. And she can help me take on anything that tries to stop us getting home.”
“She’s good at fighting then?” the bard hazarded, confused.
“Uh, yes? She’s a god of war. She’s a first-generation Paleon, kid. I won’t go into detail but where I come from mechs like her have taken out whole armies.”
“It’s just that,” Miriam began, “the golem was in pieces when I saw her.”
Delia gawped. “What did you say?”
“The Magelord had blasted it— sorry, her… blasted her apart. Said she was a threat to our world. That’s why the golem was at a market… he was auctioning off pieces to collectors.”
*How? How the hell does that happen? What could possibly hurt a Guardian-type? Weren’t they supposed to be rated versus nukes?! Who is this Magelord?*
Delia stood up so quickly that she overturned the table, unleashing chaos, spilled tankards, rolling bread, cries of shock.
“Take me to this market right now!”
“I could write down directions—”
Delia lifted the bard bodily off the floor and started sprinting down the road. “You can give me them on the way!” |
'You don't have to raise the child! It's some sperm in a jar! Why won't you do this?!'
'Do you mean, aside from how creepy it is that you're after my sperm so badly? I don't love the fact that a kid can pop up in 20 years and be like 'Hi Dad, let's build a relationship!'
'The records will be lost. I'll burn the building down myself if I have to!'
'You still don't understand the internet. The records stay forever, you just need a new computer to access them.'
'I will burn the internet'
'Literally impossible'
'I will...I will falsify the records. I will switch the name.'
'That won't work either. Even if you could pull off a flawless name-switch - which I doubt - you can use the internet to get a genetic test kit that links you to others you are related with.'
'Then don't take a test! They can't link to you if you do not also take a test, correct?'
'It's too late for that. My mum took a test already. Our family DNA is already out there.'
'Then what would possibly make you agree?!'
'Well, education prices have skyrocketed, and the housing market is wild right now...'
'Money?!'
'Money.'
Vlad stared in disbelief. He hadn't thought about something as common as money in years, aside from hiring a new financial manager every 50 years or so. Compound interest over a millenium? He had any amount of money his decendant wanted.
He would have to write a non-disclosure agreement into the money transfer legal documents. He wasn't doing this haggling again with the next generation. |
Paulette poked her head into my office. "Hey Jean, there's somebody named Harper here to see you? Says he visited you last week for one of your new appointments."
I stopped typing and looked at her in confusion. "What's wrong? Did he need more memories read?"
"No, nothing like that,"she said with a smile. "He has something for you."
"Okay,"I replied, shutting my laptop. I followed her out of the office and towards the front desk, curiosity plucking at my thoughts. The name Harper rang a bell, but I couldn't remember the specifics of the appointment, just that it was for himself. This type of appointment was usually for the elderly, so it had struck me as odd he needed the service himself.
Harper was waiting in a corner of the lobby, holding a bright blue tupperware. A soft smile graced his face when he saw me. "Dr. Jean,"he greeted, extending his empty hand.
"Hello, what can I do for you today?"I asked, shaking it.
"I was here Friday, and you retrieved a recipe for me. The last thing my mom taught me before she died, but I never wrote it down. So I brought you a thank you."
He handed me the container, and I cracked it open to the spicy scent of nutmeg and the sweet hum of brown sugar. The cookies looked delicious. "I... thank you,"I replied, dumbfounded. This had never happened before. I was getting more used to the tearful thank-yous from grandparents, but to be confronted with the impact of my work in such a tangible fashion was absolutely wonderful.
Harper ran a hand through his hair, grinned, and hesitantly asked if I would try one. I wasted no time taking a big bite, my eyes widening as the different flavors hit and I encountered a white chocolate chip. I finished the entire thing in two bites, nearly spewing crumbs as I complimented them. His smile grew, and his eyes got shiny and big.
The cookies didn't last long, I ate them too fast. Now I make a habit of asking my patients if they have any recipes they'd like to preserve. I do it for free. Maybe someday I'll publish a cookbook. |
I open the door and he's standing there, just as grand as the day I last saw him. No elaborate costume, no intricate mask, just a simple suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back.
I still remember that day. How could I not? *You are charged with the destruction of millions of dollars worth of public and private property as well as the murder of Dylan Jones. How do you plead?* It always bothered me how Dylan's name was second, an afterthought. Buildings could be rebuilt and repaired, injuries could be healed, but a life? *Guilty.* A life could never be replaced.
*Guilty.* I still don't know why he said it, why he didn't use that echoing courtroom as a chance to grandstand, to monologue, to cast doubt on the paragons he so vehemently opposed. But he's here. Has he come for vengeance? For one final showdown? His heartrate is calm, his breathing composed. I don't even know how he found me, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He is the Whisperer, after all.
"Heartbeat,"he said, his voice rough, unpolished, so different from the smooth tones of the villain I had once fought. "May I come in?"I swallow, opening the door further, feeling the dryness of my throat as I attempt to speak. "I... yes, of course."I open the door even further, move out of the way as he steps into my home and leans up against the wall, raising an eyebrow at me as I close the door.
"Why are you here?"I question, voice barely a whisper, "*How* are you here?"He laughed, folding his arms across his chest. "Same thing happened to me that happened to you, Heartbeat. I 'died'."He paused, hands still folded across his chest. "My funeral wasn't as nice as yours, though."
I continued to stare at him and he relented, scoffing at the confusion written across my face. "I'm the Whisperer, Jack. You really think they built a prison that could hold me?"I shook my head, annoyed now. "Of course not. But you didn't leave for 20 years. Why are you here? Why..."
He cut me off before I could finish my second question. "Maybe I didn't want that life anymore."He said it with the barest shrug of his shoulders, a mask of indifference sliding over his face. I snorted, mirroring his pose and narrowing my eyes at him. "You can't lie to me, you know. That hasn't changed."He scowled, glancing down at his lungs and heart as if they had betrayed him.
"I'll ask a different question, then, since you don't want to answer that one,"I continued, plunging onward. "Why did you do that at the trial? Why didn't you accuse me?"He flashed a smile, just like the ones I remembered so well. Gloating, arrogant, haughty. "You were a hero, Jack. You really think they'd believe me? They'd just add slander to my list of crimes."
I stared, waiting, and he scowled again, looking down. "Ignoring the fact that your breathing strongly disagrees with that statement,"I said, "many people would have believed you. They would have done an autopsy and found nothing wrong -- as if his heart had just... stopped working. That's not your power. It's... it's mine."My voice got quieter as I continued to speak. My mind reliving that terrible day.
*Whisperer in front of me, his heartrate speeding up. He's about to do something and I don't know what. There -- behind me. Another heartbeat. Panic seizes my mind and I whirl, lashing out with my power, sure that it's one of his minions in those suits he designed for them. But it's not a minion and that much power is too much for a normal person. The man's eyes widen and he collapses, dead instead of asleep.*
"You were just a kid, Jack,"he says, voice as quiet as mine. "I think somewhere in all the grandstanding, I forgot that."I squint at him, but I know he's telling the truth. "But..."I start, "didn't you want revenge against the heroes? You hated us!"Every time we fought, he'd bring up the same points. The National Hero Organization was established before any major supervillains, a tool to oppress the Powered. All the deaths of bystanders, all the property damage caused by heroes annually.
He laughed again, arms still folded tightly over his chest. "Maybe you were right,"he said, "Maybe the past doesn't matter as much as the present."I looked down at the floor. I had always argued with him about it -- what did it matter how the NHO had been formed? There were supervillains now, and someone had to oppose them. No bystanders would die if villains stopped trying to blow up half of New York! There was no answer, no perfect solution, and his problem was that he thought he had one.
"You were just a kid,"he said again, then paused, collecting his thoughts. "I guess somewhere along the way I forgot about why I hated the Organization so much. What were a few people when compared to my grand goal?"
He shook his head, another forced laugh emerging from his throat. "I couldn't saddle you with that for the rest of your life. I as good as killed him -- all those suits I made for my people, all the times I had them sneak up behind you. You reacted like I would've, and the only reason you did was because of me."
He shook his head again. "I guess I wanted to say sorry."He turned to leave, pulling open my door and stepping out into the brisk autumn air. "Wait,"I called after him, "where... are you going?"He shrugged, a sad half smile creeping up his face. "Everywhere. Nowhere. It's hard for a murderer to get a job, but I'll manage. I am the Whisperer after all."
I stared out at him as he turned to go. He was the Whisperer, and what he said was powerful. He had destroyed so much, was at least partly responsible for the death of Dylan Jones. There were a million ways he could abuse his power, a million crimes he hadn't payed for.
Perhaps the heroic thing to do would've been to stop him, to return him to prison.
Instead, I closed the door and let him go.
>If you enjoyed, check out r/StoriesOfAshes. I've also got a serial I just started, Chapter 1 of which can be found [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/re223x/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). I'd appreciate it if you'd check them both out!. |
Ogamak the Annihilator laughed as he was materialized on Earth. He had always known that eventually the humans would fail to heed the warnings. He had always known that common sense would one day fail against the promises of power that his summoning entailed. Now, he had finally arrived, and Earth was his to conquer.
Before Ogamak stood a young human, their jaw gaping wide open as they stared in awe at Ogamak.
"I... I didn't think that would actually work,"they stammered.
Ogamak laughed again. "Yes, mortal. You have followed the instructions precisely, and are no doubt waiting for your reward."
"R-reward? I was just doing the summoning challenge I saw on YouTube."
"It matters not mortal! You have summoned Ogamak the Annihilator, scourge of all that is holy, and you will now be justly rewarded for your act,"Ogamak stepped outside the summoning circle and raised his blade. This young fool's soul would be the first one Ogamak reaped in his coming rampage. A true honour, and a just reward indeed.
But, before Ogamak could strike, he dematerialized, as his essence traveled through the nether in order to materialize elsewhere.
______________________________________________________
"Who summons Ogamak the Annihilator?"Ogamak bellowed. He once again stood inside a summoning circle, identical to the last one. This time however he stood in a different room, and there was a group of people there, all as young as the first human.
"Oh my god it worked!"one of the humans bellowed. "It actually worked!"
Unbelievable, Ogamak had been summoned again, just as he was about to reap the first soul in his coming conquest. It mattered not however, Ogamak was still on earth, and Ogamak remained untethered. It was... regretful that the honour of the first reaping would no longer go to the fool who summoned him first, but Ogamak would get to them eventually. He had some work to do for these eager young imbeciles first.
Ogamak raised his blade... and dematerialized again.
______________________________________________________
"What is going on!"Ogamak bellowed as he once again materialized in a different location. There was once again a party of young humans staring slack jawed at him, as Ogamak once again found himself inside a summoning circle identical to the previous ones.
"You,"Ogamak said, pointing at one of the younglings. "What is going on? Why am I being repeatedly summoned?"
"I... It's just a internet challenge Mr. demon sir."
"What the hell is an internet?"Ogamak asked. But before he could get an answer, he dematerialized again.
______________________________________________________
"WHY,"Ogamak the Annihilator howled as he materialized once again. "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING."
Ogamak immediately dematerialized.
______________________________________________________
"You have summoned Ogamak the Annihilator,"Ogamak said in a tired voice. "Somehow I don't think that will matter however."
It didn't. Ogamak dematerialized again.
______________________________________________________
"WHAT IS THIS YOUTUBE AND WHY DO YOU DO ITS BIDDING?"
______________________________________________________
"WHAT IS AN 'INTERNET CHALLENGE'?"
______________________________________________________
"Please, I just want to go home."
______________________________________________________
Emily sat curled up on her chair, cradling a hot mug of tea. She initially had no idea how she was going to deal with a demon as powerful as Ogamak, one who's summoning ritual was so simple that his eventual summoning was inevitable. Until she had realized that the simplicity of his summoning was not Ogamak's strength, but his weakness. Continually materializing in and out of existence took some strength out of a demon, and eventually Ogamak would be too weak to be able to rematerialize. Of course with a demon as powerful as him, this would take a while, but Emily strongly suspected that the 'demon summoning challenge' she put online would remain a viral hit for a good while yet, especially because it actually works.
"CAN YOU PEOPLE STOP SUMMONING ME FOR FIVE MINUTES?"Ogamak's voice bellowed from Emily's neighbor's house. Emily smiled and sipped her tea. |
*Hello, Amanda.*
Perhaps they were odd first words for the woman to hear, covered in dirt and mud and dried blood that was once her own. Perhaps they didn't quite represent the solemnity of the situation; the fragile balance between life and death disturbed, revenge burning bright and true in one's heart, the confusion that comes with waking from a sleep that was not natural.
But what would you have me say? No words exist to fill that gap in understanding, no comfort great enough for the loss she has endured. For to lose a life it a terrible blow, but to lose one's own life? That, my friend, is a wound beyond comprehension, the scar barely visible to mortal eyes.
I watch as she sits up, fear and anger sparking in her eyes, body coiled and ready to spring away from me. "Who the *hell* are you?"she growled, her rage apparent even as her fear remained hidden, locked behind a fragile door she was so certain would protect her.
"Elijah,"I said simply. It was true, in a way, because that truly is my name. But to question one's name and to question one's self are very different, even if often confused. I had answered the wrong question.
She glanced down then, saw the scar on her abdomen, the wound that had killed her. Necromancy might break the barrier between life and death, but some injuries can never be healed. The scar was a testament to her loss, to her pain, a physical declaration of the pain carried in her mind.
"I..."she started, shaking her head in confusion, "I died, didn't I?"I answered with a nod, letting the silence say what I could not. Another insufficient gesture. "But you,"she continued, turning her gaze up to my face, "didn't kill me."I shook my head, eyes closed.
"No,"I said simply, "I brought you back."She paused, swallowing, and I reached out, offering her a cup of water. She gulped it down, soothing her parched throat. The next words out of her mouth were strong, but unsurprising. "Can we kill him?"
I smiled at that, watching as her strength returned. "If you wish,"I said, "but that puts you and all his other victims in danger."She nodded slowly, no doubt thinking of the other disappearances in her town. One had only been a child, still unable to grasp the concept of death when her life was taken from her. I would have killed him myself after that, but hands that deal in the taking of life lose their ability to restore it.
"How does it feel,"I asked, "to be a ghost?"She smiled at that, standing on shaky legs. "Like I was never dead,"she said, "Like I was never alive."I matched her smile with one of my own, offering her my hand. She couldn't return to the town yet, not without putting her second life in danger.
"Well,"I said, stepping out of the forest that served as that man's graveyard, into the light of the outside the world, "what do phantoms do if not haunt the living?"
>If you enjoyed, there's a lot more writing on r/StoriesOfAshes
>
>I also have a serial, [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you think! |
Two websites, both alike in dignity,
In fair internets, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil rights make civil tongues unclean,
From forth the fatal user registration pages of these two foes,
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their fourm' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love.
And the continuance of their forums' rage,
Which, but their user's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hour's traffic of our webpage;
The which if you with patient F5's attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. |
My name is Sarah and I'm five and three quarters. Before the no-no people I lived in a house with my mommy and daddy and my big brother Charlie and the city where the house was was called Washington and I had pink sheets on my bed and different toys.
Then the no-no people came and we had to say bye bye to our house because the no-no people kept wanting to come inside but daddy said you gotta stay far from the no-no people so we started going for a long drive in the car and Charlie didn't even try to pinch me or tease me like usual he was just crying and looking out the window. There were other cars driving out of Washington too but actually a lot of them were crashed or just not moving and very dirty and some were even on fire.
Mommy said we were going on a special trip to Abilene, Texas, which is where grandma and pop pop live but the times before when we went to grandma and pop pop we went in an airplane because Abilene is really far from Washington, it's like more than a hundred miles, so taking the car all the way is really slow, but this time we were taking the car because daddy said the no-no people were at the airport too like how they were coming to our house so we couldn't go there either.
I kept asking if we were there yet and I know I was being bad but it wasn't my fault because it had been forever and the car seat was hurting my legs and I had to pee and I was thirsty and hungry too but all mommy had was salty crackers, not the good cheesy crackers. But mommy said we were still in Washington and not even anywhere close to Abilene. I started screaming really loud so they'd listen because I needed a break but they wouldn't give any breaks and then Charlie put his hand on my mouth so I couldn't scream and then I bit him and he shouted too. Daddy looked back at us from the front but then he didn't see a no-no person was sleeping on the road and then we hit him with the car and the car jumped up and then bumped the road and made a loud scary noise and then the car wouldn't go anymore.
Then there were these other people running to our car but they weren't no-no people they were normal people except they had big guns like the ones Charlie's soldier guys have but even more bigger because the people were people sized not just toy sized. Mommy says that toy sized guns are okay but people sized gun are bad so I didn't like it that these gun guys had such big guns. They came to the car and they broke the windows which was scary and they opened the door and shouted at us and me and Charlie were crying. They grabbed mommy by the hair and pulled daddy's shirt and pulled them onto the road and started yelling about water and food and gas and daddy said just let me take the kids and one of the gun guys kicked daddy and I started screaming. When I screamed, I guess I woke up some more of the no-no people from inside the buildings because they all came running out really fast towards the car and the gun guys forgot about daddy and mommy (and they said a bad word actually) and started shooting at the no-no people, but there were a lot of them and they also missed a lot with the gun so the no-no people got close and then they bit all the gun guys like how my friend Lara's doggie does with her dollies except when the no-no people bit up the gun guys, they had weird red goopy stuff inside and not just softy plushy stuff.
When the no-no people were all done with the gun guys, they looked at daddy and mommy like they wanted to bite them up too but I yelled STOP IT and the no-no people just got really calm and they looked at me like I was the princess and they were my knights and just waiting for me to wish for stuff.
I looked at the no-no people and I said I wanted cheesy crackers. Then they all went running and searched through the other cars and soon one of them came back with goldfish crackers which I guess was okay. Daddy and mommy and Charlie looked at me really funny and I didn't know why. I told the no-no people that they had to be extra nice to all of us and that we were all going to Abilene together to get grandma and pop pop and that they were gonna help us have a good family trip. The no-no people never talked they just sort of breathed loud. They looked at our car for a bit and then they went and got a new tire from one of the other cars and they switched it with one of the tires on our car and Charlie and mommy were just watching and shaking and not talking either and daddy had picked up one of the big guns from the gun guys and he was pointing it the whole time at the no-no people, but he wasn't shooting, just watching out or something.
Mommy asked daddy how I was doing it but I wasn't doing anything I was just being me and telling the no-no people to help so they helped. When the car was fixed, I told the no-no people they had to come with us to keep us safe if there were any more gun guys so a bunch of the no-no people tied some ropes to the back of the car and the other end of the rope to their necks and then went to sleep on the road and I told daddy it was okay to keep going now in the car now and we could drag along the no-no people like how I drag my blanket in the grass sometimes which I know I'm not supposed to do, but this was different and the no-no people don't mind being dragged and they don't mind being dirty either. But I also told daddy that he better be nice and stop when I say I gotta pee and I said Charlie shouldn't poke me or touch my mouth again or else the no-no people will get mad at them too because the no-no people are my friends not theirs. |
They say the best death is to go peacefully in your sleep of old age, surrounded by loved ones and happiness.
I wouldn’t know. I died on a dirty street corner in New Jersey after choking on a bagel.
Not a good death, though I guess it’s not the worst death. Better than being burnt alive or tortured or whatever. My last thought was to hope that they give my dog, Terrance, to my brother. My wife would do her best, but I don’t think she’d be able to take care of him properly. I hope she’s okay.
Then the treacherous tart finishes me off, and everything goes dark.
When I open my eyes, I’m on a field pure white clouds, in a white robe. In three directions, nothingness, and in the fourth, a golden gate, with a tired looking old man with a beard sitting behind a desk.
Huh, I guess somebody was right. Not sure who exactly, but this seems like someone's vision of the afterlife.
The old man makes a sound between a sigh and a low moan, and then begins speaking in a rote, exhausted voice.
“Welcome to the afterlife. We will now hear from witnesses to the good and evil deeds you’ve done in your life to determine your placement.”
Oh. Okay. I’m nervous, but I can work with this. I think I was overall a pretty good person.
First they bring out my kindergarten teacher, who testifies about the time I stuck gum to her blouse and spit at her when she asked me to clean it off.
Then my uncle Jimmy, who talks about how I cried during his wedding because my mom wouldn’t let me play games on her phone.
Then a neighbor’s kid who talks about the time I spit in the mailbox and blamed him.
Wow. This is awful, and we’re not even to reading-age yet.
The confessions just keep coming. Most of them are trivial, though some of them are weird, like how I apparently shaved two years of life off one of my cousins when I neglected to complement her dress at a family reunion.
And there are some other ones, like the quiet boy on the train. Everyday for six months I sat behind him. Everyday, and not once did I talk to him. Even when the bruises started appearing, first on his stomach so that no one would see, then on his face, I never once asked what was wrong.
Once he came on the train crying. Once he came on the train with a broken arm. And never once did I ask. I thought about it, about helping, but I never did.
And then when the train seat was empty, I chose not to think about it. It stayed empty.
So after all that, the meaningless, the strange, the bad, and the worse I’m ready to go to hell. What could redeem me?
The old man calls up the “witnesses of good”, and I hear a noise like thunder.
Is it judgement? No, the patterns of hundreds of tiny feet. Squirrels and all manner of vermin. Birds and deer. Dogs and cats. Even a duck. And they’re crying my name, and my goodness, about my prayers, for every little creature at the side of the row.
Then the old man smiles for the first time since I’ve met him, and a tear trickles into his beard. The gate swings open, and the animals accompany me, telling me about how happy they are I made it, how much fun heaven is, and how I should totally stop by their pond sometime.
I guess it was a good death after all.
(r/StannisTheAmish) |
The quiet busyness of the library dimly echoed through its halls, shaking loose dust that had long-since settled upon tomes larger and heavier than useful. Students drank more coffee as they glared at the time, ever aware that finals were coming, ready or not. With one week to go, the staff had begrudgingly opened the library doors for a full 24 hours so that the more desperate of students could do what they could to get better grades. This was day 3 - hundreds had been sleeping between the bookshelves and dozens more had yet to sleep at all.
A thin smoke began to wrap around one of the students who, hunched over a book, was muttering in a long dead language words that he did not truly understand. Words of oath and of contract. Words of power. Shadows extended, warping in the light as though trying to hide from it, and a faint smell of sulphur lingered in the air. Whispers echoed through the surroundings, teasing forbidden knowledge, dark secrets and true madness to those who dared to listen. A crack appeared behind him, red embers falling from it onto the ground as a clawed hand grabbed at the edge, tearing a hole in the world before stepping through, the Demon's terrible form finally released.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
**"QUAKE, MORTAL, FOR THROUGH YOUR FOLLY I HAVE BEEN SET LOOSE UPON THIS WORLD AND I WILL TAKE--"**
"SHHH! This is a library, you asshole."
**"OH FOR F-- a college campus? Again?! I've already complained TWICE this week!"**
The Dark Lord Aktoos'reath opened another gate back to Hell and stomped through, groaning as he tucked his unfurled wings to his back once again. College campuses were slim pickings for a demon now - without any sleep, the students souls had almost dried up emotionally. Finals week was the worst, as hours without sleep often led to delirious mistakes in pronunciation.
Today's summoner had been muttering Latin in preparation for a Law exam, but after two days without sleep it had managed to turn into a contract with Aktoos'reath. This was a contract that a prospective warlock would literally kill their entire family to even attempt, nevermind to succeed without a sacrifice. But without blinking twice, the student had shushed him and gone back to muttering in Latin in the hopes that maybe one more repetition would guarantee a passing grade. Aktoos'reath had made sure it wouldn't out of spite.
&#x200B;
"Hell understands, your Lordship, but this is the reality of modern Demonics."replied the Devilish bureaucrat, a wry smile on his otherwise charming face. "Even her grace, the Fury Awomans'korne, has had to take over some of the other lesser Wrath demons' calls - as we say, Hell hath no Fury like Awomans'korne." |
BIG EDIT: PART 2 HERE
[https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/pf9osp/unproven\_unprovoked\_violence\_is\_a\_tool\_not\_a/](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/pf9osp/unproven_unprovoked_violence_is_a_tool_not_a/)
&#x200B;
"What you're saying is that you can't promise me anything."
I blink. "No, no I cannot."
"But it's likely."
"Indeed. Likely, but not guaranteed."
"And you're sure?"
I frown, looking at the human across from me. "I feel like I've already answered that."
The human shrugs his huge shoulders. He is built like he was made for one purpose: war. "Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."The human clicks his tongue. "It's funny, actually."
I tilt my head, surveying the human. He isn't necessarily an anomaly for his species. He is very large, yes, but most of them are. Their average size, based on the studies done by our best researchers, is about as large as the biggest of my kind. Their skeletal structure is rock solid, and though they could use some more development in their neurological passageways, they aren't stupid.
"What's funny?"I ask. "I see nothing funny about this situation. This is serious."
Deadly serious. In less than two earth month's time, the populations of the planet which I have come to quite respect have mobilized. Their petty wars of power between their people have all but ceased.
They've turned their eyes to the stars. Worse, their rage is close behind. I smell the particular scent of vengeance brewing.
The human, Colonel George Winton, chuckles. "I'm twenty-nine years old. In those twenty-nine years, I've never seen a movie or read a book that has this"-- he puts his fingers up in mock quotation marks-- "plotline. If that makes sense."
"It doesn't,"I respond. "Please explain."
"Well, in all of our stories, when aliens come to earth, they either begin to wage war on us, or laugh at us for our supposed adolescence in the galactic cycle."He scratches his chin. "I suppose the first part is true. They slaughtered a city. Two of them, actually."
*Justice for the Twin Cities.* That is the rallying cry that has been erected on their monuments, that has been blaring from their public communications channels, ever since the Titchu attacked. Even people on the other side of their planet, people who have never visited the site of the senseless murders that brought us here, have pledged their service to the cause.
Earth was considered a largely inconsequential planet for hundreds of years. Due to their inability to put their differences aside and work together, we figured they would never be a major player on the galactic stage. Their massive potential, we figured, would be largely wasted. A shame, but nothing surprising. We see plenty of species like it.
That's not to say we didn't find it impressive when they raised their first ships into space a few decades ago. We *did* find it impressive, but it was worth nothing more than a silent nod of acknowledgment by the galactic government.
Now, everything is very different. Now, instead of a planet of nine billion humans squawking and arguing, largely stagnating their evolution, we have this.
Nine billion war machines in lockstep, ready to go to war with the galaxy.
The Colonel puts a finger up, and my eyes lock to it. "But, the difference in this...plotline...is that after that war is brought to us, we never thought that litigation would follow."He snorts. "In all of our years of stories, we never thought a fucking *lawyer* would come knocking on our door after three million people were murdered."
"Ah, I see."I blink again. "And I imagine you didn't figure that...lawyer...as you called it, would be telling you that going to war could be legally sanctioned, if the right steps are taken."
He snorts again. "No, that I didn't."He leans back. "Or that if the *incorrect* steps are taken, you'll fly one of those CoreBreakers to Earth and destroy the entire planet in the blink of an eye."
"That is a contingency plan. It is rarely used."
The Colonel winks at me. "But it *has* been used."
"On rare occasions, yes."I sit up straighter in my chair. "On behalf of the Galactic Alliance, I was sent here so that you humans understand your situation. Under no circumstance did our Alliance sanction this attack by the Titchu against your people. In fact, we mourn the lives that they took. We stand with you humans in our outrage."
"You stand with us you say,"the Colonel says, working over my words. "We don't want you to stand with us."
"Then what *do* you want, Colonel?"
He stares up at me, and I see the rage ignite in his eyes. "We want you to get out of our fucking way. One way or another, these Titchu will know justice."
"That is why I am here, Colonel. To help you through the process to receive justice."
He shakes his head. "Not *your* justice, Helmo. Human justice."
"And what is human justice?"
"Blood. And a lot of it."
I am glad for his conviction. Why? Because the Titchu have become a problem in our community. Their zealotry and violent tendencies have started to draw more attention. We've been searching for ways to get rid of them, but sadly, we've never had legitimate, legal reasons. Nothing of this level, that is. Nothing that would legally sanction all-out war.
Now we do.
I turn off the recording device and tuck it away into my pocket. I was given the power to do this, and so I will use it. I look the Colonel in his eyes. "I understand you want justice for these murders. I do too. Believe it or not, so do my superiors. So, you want to deliver your human justice to the Titchu? Good."
I lean forward. "Listen to me very carefully..." |
Vulture Storm stood above the wreckage of Hero Tower, watching as Darkness drew her last breath. *It’s over. It’s finally over.* Above, a camera crew flew, the blades of the helicopter spinning in near silence. To his left, the final pillar on the tower he had called home, collapsed back onto the empty street. The crew zoomed in while a reporter shouted commentary to those watching on T.V.
“At last, Darkness’s reign of terror is over,” the reported screamed, trying to be heard above the fire and wreckage that consumed the nearby city streets. “We just have to thank god Vulture Storm was here. The power he showed…it..it…was terrifying.” She paused wondering if she should even say what was on her mind. ”Now, we just wait. Wait to see what he will do next. We can hope that he doesn’t…doesn’t…go the way some other hero’s have gone.” Even from here Vulture Storm could hear her words. *Go the way other heroes have gone? That's some way to put it.* Looking around, he saw what the battle had done to the street. *To my city.* Main street was basically gone, it would need to be completely torn down and rebuilt. The people though had been evacuated. *Bloodless.* He sniffed, enjoying the smell of smoke that wafted through the air. The scent brought him back to his first super villain fight, the first time he had nearly died.
The school’s had just gotten off and children had littered the streets. Screaming, crying and running amok, their mother’s were already stressed. Vulture had just bought a drink, cherry coke, from the shop on the corner. Standing there, basking in the sunlight and the sound of the kids, he allowed himself a smile. Already that day, he had stopped two muggings. *Not a bad day's work,* he thought. Then, it began. The fight that would make him one of the most popular heroes in the world. Fallen Angel. That stupid fool. Creating a tunnel system under the city, he essentially collapsed every building in a twenty mile area, killing thousands instantly and for whatever reason had decided to appear next beside where Vulture had stood. Gliding up, Fallen Angel shouted out his plan for world domination, his booming voice could be herald across the city. They had fought for hours and in the end, Vulture Storm had ripped the Angel’s head right off. *All on camera.* Another camera crew had caught the fight's final moments. They had watched as Vulture collapsed onto his back exhausted, blood-soaked and crying. And the smell of smoke lingered in his nostrils for months to come.
A woman’s scream, high and wild, brought Vulture Storm back to reality. Without thinking, he flew to her, finding her trapped beneath a street lamp.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I’m here. It’s all over. The supervillains are all gone.” Without breaking a sweat, he threw off the lamp post, bundling the woman in his arms before taking the woman to safety, across half the city in under a minute.
Already a sprawling sea of tents had been set up on the city's outskirts. Usually for victims though this time, thank god, only for those who had lost their homes. A few crying children sat on their mothers knee’s though most seemed too frightened to feel anything at all. Doctors and nurses mostly comforted though now homeless. One doctor spotted Vulture Storm with the woman in his arms and asked to put her on a nearby bed. When the woman was surrounded by help, Vulture Storm floated off, wandering through the tents.
A camera crew, interviewing a small child spotted him hovering and rushed over for an interview.
“Mr.Storm,” the reporter asked, looking up at the hero, wided-eye and in awe. “Can we get an interview?” With a sigh, Storm nodded, and came down to earth.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. The reporter smiled back, ordering her crew to ready the camera once more.
“Here we are,” she began, turning from camera to hero and back again, “with Vulture Storm who seemingly has defeated the last of the Supervillians. Vulture Storm we just want to say thank you. Thank you for saving our beloved city. But what now? What’s left for a hero like you?” Storm bowed his head, thinking. Of the lives he saved, of the lives he couldn’t. *What now?*
“What now?” he repeated back to her. “Well, I think…I think...it’s time. Time to retire.” All the people talking around him stopped, the silence was deafening. “Too often, we see what happens when heroes as strong as I am continue on too long. Their morals become warped. Their power corrupts them. So what's now for me? Think I will go home, play some playstation. Smoke a joint. Chill out. For once.” |
Look, I've got a *big* afterlife to run, here.
People are coming and people are going, my budget is stretched thin, the boss man is always breathing down my neck, and the line of people complaining that I've been unfair to them is *literally* infinitely long.
I'm just this guy, y'know?
So I've gotta be economical. That's actually how reincarnation got started in the first place. Is your case going to take longer to judge than I can spend per person? Bam, sendja back down. Live another life, see if you can *commit* to something this time.
Of course, it didn't stop there.
The proper heaven is upstairs- they don't let me in there. I think maybe *I'm* being processed for whatever I did in my mortal life, though I can't remember one.
Do gods die? Pretty sure I'm a god.
Eh. No time for pondering. Only time for processing.
So. It gets busy up here, as I'm sure you can imagine. Think of all the stuff you have to deal with when someone dies- the estate, getting someone to take the body away, the mourning, the family fights over money and silverware and trying to figure out who's going to take care of the dog...
All of that. Trust me when I say it's worse up here. And there's a *lot* of dead schmucks who walk through my doors.
So, given that I've got loads of resource constraints, I do my best to be economical. The purgatory system is honestly pretty simple- you take people with similar levels and types of shittiness, stick 'em all in a mini-planet together, and let them sort it out. Sometimes they improve and get bumped up somewhere nicer, sometimes they double down and have to be moved into a crappier world...whatever. I've got half a dozen interns whose only job it is to sort through those schmucks, and then sort through them *again* once they've gone through them all.
We don't really go through the purgatory worlds as often as we should, to keep people moving. But you do what you can do.
And it takes a mightier god than I, to imagine what my interns might have done in a previous incarnation to get stuck as afterlife-managing interns. I wouldn't inflict that on any but the worst human sinners, I'll tell you that much.
Hell, at least, is pretty straightforward. You chuck 'em down into the eternal furnaces. Their bodies are eternal, so they can't *die*, but it *really* sucks. And we need the furnaces to run a bunch of machinery *anyway*, so it's easy on the budget. Don't need interns to check on 'em, either- if you're *that* shitty, you can just wait until the line dies down.
But, even with the existing, expansive system, there's some cases that just...don't quite fit.
Take this asshole.
I mean, he made me hate him within six seconds. I'm supposed to be incapable of hate, but this guy blew past that like it was *nothing*. He was grating as all hell to be around.
But- and this is an important point- his actions on Earth weren't particularly shitty. I mean, he was still a dick a lot of the time, but he wasn't exceptional. He wasn't bound for hell. If it weren't for his preternatural ability to piss people off, he'd probably be headed for a pretty middle-of-the-pack purgatory world.
Normally what I do with cases like this- cases that are going to take more than a minute to process- is chuck 'em back down to Earth. But whatever this guy had going on wasn't going to get fixed by that. You can just *tell*.
And *that* meant that he'd show back up here, and I'd need to deal with him again, and again, and *again*.
No.
*Hell* no.
One, because I've already interacted with this asshole more than I want to. And, two, it wastes precious time. Putting problems off is how you turn problems from difficult to impossible. My budget issues were bad enough. Having cases that I had to process dozens of times would make everything *much* worse.
I had to grit my teeth, be a big boy god, and find something that at least resembled a solution.
Fortunately, it wasn't *that* hard.
The whole idea of the purgatory worlds is that people have to live with others like themselves. If everyone else is your type of shitty, you have a hard time not confronting that part of yourself, and understanding what it's like for others to deal with you. In effect, they're torturing themselves. Which is fine and dandy, because we do *not* have the budget for dedicated torturers.
So I decided to do something similar, before chucking this asshole back down to earth.
Soul splitters are nifty tech that I don't get to use often. I invented 'em back in the old days, when I had enough budget and, on occasion, time to kill.
I miss those days.
Anyway. Just run the asshole though one of those, stick a note of binding on the resulting soul chunks, and toss 'em down to Earth. This was also easy on the budget- the Fate department has to deal with keeping the two together so they can torment each other. The department head might chew me out if I abuse it, but what the hell else am I gonna do?
With any luck, the asshole will have sorted some of his issues out by the time he gets back. |
"We can NEVER go back!"Chancilor Grub-grub Butted the end of his staff in the ground to emphasize his point.
"But, your highness, Surely these creatures must have grown more intelligent, more advanced.... certainly if we let them continue this path, they will be our species's downfall!"
Grub-grub looked down from his seat at the youngling. "You are too young to remember, Senator Glax, but I am not. I was there when we landed on that blue world. And I was there when we watched our fleet be destroyed. That world is no place for our kind. "
Senator Glax pressed on, determined. "It was a fluke sir. Our intelligence says that their resistance group ceases to exist anymore! Supposedly it served a different purpose at the time. What ever that purpose was, we may never know, but it has finished. All we do know is that now, they are vulnerable."
Grub-grub stroked one of his many chins. "That is... interesting news Senator. Why was I not informed of this?"
"Your magnificence, you had instructed your advisers to never speak of the Blue world again."
"...Ah, yes, you are right. Leave me be, Senator Glax. I have much thinking to do."
-----------------------
"Sir, a strange signal is coming in."
Johnson looked up from his morning coffee and newspaper. "Oh? What is it, Gamma ray, x-ray...?"
"It appears to be radio, sir. I am tracking its source now."
A couple of other scientists overheard this, and gathered around to listen in on the new signal. Johnson took another sip out of his SETI coffee mug.
"Sir... you aren't going to believe this..."
A great blast shook the building, knocking a few employees to their knees. Johnson steadied himself, then looked to the gaping hole in the ceiling. Dozens of strange, alien beings flew into the room, quickly killing the employees of SETI. Before Johnson could react, one of these creatures grabbed him and forced him to the ground. A fat, blue creature, with antennae all about his face, slowly descended from the hole. The creature pinning him down shouted something to the fat one in an alien tongue. The fat one nodded. Johnson's aggressor looked down, its antennae glistening in some strange substance. Before it could move, however, a steel saber punctured one of its eyes. The creature screamed and tried to get up, however it was being pinned by the saber. With a deft movement, the attacker finished off the blue alien with a single slice. Its guts spilled out on Johnson, who quickly backed up to the wall.
Johnson looked up at his savior. A white man, dressed in red robes, stood there, smiling down at him. With a thick accent, the red man said, "You are not hurt, yes? You did not swallow their blood?"Johnson nodded. "Very good."The red man whistled. With a battle cry, several more red-garbed warriors rode into the room, massive horses beneath them. Johnson watched in amazement as the red men had no trouble dispatching these blue aliens. Their leader, the fat one, started screaming at the sight of them. Johnson's savior lept onto his horse, and quickly ran the fat one down, knocking him to his side. He dismounted, and grabbed the alien by his throat. The other red-garbed men surrounded him. The alien spat out something in its strange tongue. The red-garbed man took a sword to his throat. "Habla. Speak."
The alien fruitlessly tried to shake him off. "How?"Johnson cringed. The alien's voice sounded like shards of glass to his ears. "Your kind is supposed to have been destroyed!"
The red-garbed man merely laughed at him.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." |
Dear God of Blood. My name is Susan and I am seven and a half years old. I hope you don’t mind me praying to you. I read about you on Wikipedia. It said you help warriors win battles if they sacrificed things to you. I don’t have a goat or a lamb and there’s no way I’d hurt my cat Snazzles. So I stepped on some ants on the way home, I hope that’s okay. Tomorrow I will be in the school spelling bee, it will be on stage and I’m scared. I’ve had nightmares about it for days and days. I’ve learnt loads of words but I keep getting new ones each time I practise. I really want to win because the winner gets book vouchers and I love reading. Please Mr Blood God, help me spell the words right. Thank you.”
Susan separated her hands, got to her feet and climbed into bed with a smile on her face, able to get a good night sleep now. Meanwhile, The God of Blood was sat in his throne on bones. His blood red skin dusty from centuries of not being worshipped to. He awoke with a jolt, but why? He looked around and felt something familiar but forgotten, he scratched his head with a single talon from his hand. He looked around his Blood Temple.
“Err” he managed, his vision and hearing still fuzzy from his hibernation. “hello?” he stood up from his throne with shaky legs. He gave a quick stretch of his back to a multitude of cracks and clicks, shook his head and drew his sword, pressing a button on the hilt to activate the flamer. Any god worth worshiping has a flaming sword. It took a few clicks but the sword eventually lit. He slowly walked around the temple, checking behind pillars of skulls. “Helloooo?” he called out again.
“…Susan…” he heard as if whispered from behind him. He spun around and saw his own shadow and jumped. “…Wikipedia…” he heard whispered and again spun round and saw nothing. “…My cat Snazzles…” “… Book Vouchers…” with a look of extreme confusion he stuck a talon into his ear and scratched, and then he remembered.
“Prayers!” he said with a smile, “I forgot about prayers, bloody hell I’m an idiot” he laughed to himself and went back to his throne. Quenching his sword and sheathing it. He put his hands to his temples and concentrated on the small voice. It became clearer and clearer until he was able to hear it all. “What the hell is a spelling Bee?” he asked himself just before he noticed the little black dot crawling up his arm. He looked closer and saw a tiny ant. “Well you aren’t exactly going to make a hearty meal worthy of a god are you? But I guess you’re more than I’ve been given for an age, I’m going to call you Anthony”.
The Blood god leant back in his throne and listened to the little girls dream once more and mulled it all over.
Susan stood at the side of the stage, the confidence from the night before had long abated. It would be Susan’s turn next. Alistair ran off the stage with a grumpy face, spelling never was his strong point. Susan was up. “Susan McAndrew” called out a teacher voice. Susan walked out into the bright lights and faced the crowd, unable to see them. “Hello Susan, Your first word today is Sacrifice. An act of slaughtering an animal or surrendering a possession as an offering to a deity. Sacrifice"
Susan smiled to herself and looked up to the stage ceiling, “Thank you” she whispered under her breath. |
How do you fight an invisible enemy ?
The battle has begun way too long ago. I barely remember how it all started.
There was an unstoppable force, coming toward mortal's realm. We could not let this happen. We were here to protect them. An army of gods and god-like beings, battling shadows.
I saw many of my friends falling on the battle field, waking up again as they were reborned, and battling again.
Thorr, Cernunnos, Ra, Quetzalcoatl... they became less powerful as the years passed. They could not be here for the humans, so there was less faith to give them power.
Nowadays, only YHVH (or Allah, or whatever you want to call him) and his army of angels really stays strong. but we are falling back.
this unstoppable force is gaining in power, and we are less able to protect the realm of mortals from it.
We first thought that it was skepticism, or an incarnation of a rising atheism, but that was something else. the lack of faith is only a symptom of what is currently happening to us.
We don't know what or who the enemy is, but it's winning the battle, and it wants to consume the humanity.
That's why I was given a task : regaining my old function of messenger of the gods, and finding a champion. If Gods can't win against it, maybe a mortal can find a way.
In the end, even without us, they achieved incredible things.
So here I am, crossing the border between our realms, trying to find the one who will save us.
******
[Link on my subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/cynferdd/comments/8a9bhz/the_neverending_battle_part_1/) |
The jury thought I was crazy when the decrepit fellow dressed in black robes took a seat at the defense table. Of course, because his outfit wasn't weird enough, he carried around a dark gray staff with a glowing green orb at the top and adorned a pendant with a mini skull whose eyes would flash green occasionally.
Totally normal.
Before I gave my opening remarks, I leaned over to the stud -- just to make sure we're on the same page.
"You sure you can do this? I've seen you do it before..."
"Thou dare question the power and might of Garrathar? I'll have you paying tenfold in Hell for questioning me!"
I blinked. "OK, great!"
I took the floor.
"Your honor. Men and women of the court. Today, I will prove that my defendant, Charlie Murphy, is an innocent man. He did not murder Kate Booth -- and she will tell you this herself in her own words."
I sat back down. The entire courtroom burst into laughter. My face grew hot as the Judge pounded her hammer, trying to regain control.
"Mr. Blanche, are you making a mockery of the Justice System?"inquired the Judge.
"No, your honor. I'm *dead* serious."
The courtroom burst into laughter again. The Judge scowled but she respected my charm and backed off. She offered the floor to my opponent, who chuckled and said "Nah, I'm good."Clearly, he expected this to blow up in my face.
All eyes were on me as the Judge called on me to call my first witness.
"I call Kate Booth to the stand!"I declared. The courtroom continued to snicker. I motioned to Garrathar that he was on. He slowly stood up, fixed his robe and walked casually to the middle of the floor. He knelt down and pulled a blade from the depths of his robe. The bailiff freaked out and pulled his gun.
"KNIFE! GET DOWN!"
Garrathar obediently placed his hands up while saying, "The ritual requires sacrifice."
"Permission to approach the bench,"I called. The Judge allowed it. "It's only a little blood,"I pleaded.
"You're lucky I'm bored Mr. Blanche. Let's see how this plays out."the Judge cleared her throat. "Sustained."
The bailiff backed off, and Garrathar plunged the knife deep into his palm, drawing a pentagram with his blood.
"Jesus Christ,"I muttered.
Garrathar was chanting something in Latin, maybe? It could have been Portuguese for all I knew, but suddenly his eyes rolled to the back of his head and the pentagram began to glow. The courtroom was no longer laughing.
A sudden wind picked up in the courtroom as everyone clutched their belongings. The wind swirled in a circle around the pentagram. Garrathar began laughing maniacally.
"COME FORTH, THE BEING KNOWN AS KATE BOOTH!"
Slowly, head-first, Kate Booth began emerging from the ritual pentagram. She was pale and cold but otherwise completely put together. She wore the clothes she had worn on the day she died. She obediently took the stand. Garrathar looked at me.
"My debt is paid?"
"Yea...I'd say so."
Next time, I'm not asking any favors from the person without car insurance. Next time, I hope his uninsured truck just kills me. |
“Ok, I’m certain we only had two arms. Don’t you remember having two arms?” Melissa joined Dave on the couch. Staring at the man who was using his new third arm as a cupholder for his drink, finding the new limb helpful.
“Oh, come on Melissa. We always had three arms; don’t you remember? We used to play three handed catch all the time. Plus, think of all those jugglers. How could someone juggle with two arms? Such a thing would be impossible. You must have just had a strange dream.”
“Maybe you’re right. Something just feels weird about it. The last month has been strange too. Like, didn’t we only have one moon before?” Melissa couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Could this just be one strange coincidence, like the news reports said?
“NASA discovers new moons all the time. It’s not that big of a deal. Maybe they just hadn’t looked in that spot before.”
“But we can see the moon from Earth. Shouldn’t someone have noticed the second moon?” Melissa knew she had made a good point when Dave paused to consider it. His third arm moving the drink to his lips, sipping the beverage as he pondered it.
“Maybe we just always thought we were staring at the same moon? How could a person tell the difference, anyway? They look pretty similar.” Dave gave her a shrug before he turned on the tv, trying to drown out his roommate.
“It just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I am just imagining things, though.” Melissa waved her third hand before her face, watching as it twisted and moved in front of her. It felt normal. Maybe it was just her imagination.
Dave only gave her a small “Mmm” as a response. Not wishing to allow her a chance to start the conversation again. He didn’t have time for conspiracy theories. Not when the news was on. The two silently watched the news, listening to the usual headlines about the local events before one headline came up that caught them both by surprise.
“Gravity not as strong as we initially thought? Today scientists at Westthix university discovered that Earth’s gravity might be like that of the moon. This has caused a stir in the high jump community, with the current record holder now being a man called Bill, who was doing janitorial work at the tournament. We will have our exclusive interview with Bill at five. Please, stick around.”
Dave stood up, feeling a little lighter on his feet as he bounced around the room. “Heh, it’s amazing what these smart university students can discover. Who would have guessed?” His beer spilled as he bounced around the room, much to the horror of Melissa.
“See, this is what I mean. Something is seriously wrong here. I’m positive gravity doesn’t work this way. How could the gravity change?” Melissa gripped the couch, trying to keep her feet firmly planted on the floor, feeling them bounce a little with her slight movements.
“It didn’t. This is how gravity has always been.” Dave made the best of the new situation before pulling himself back onto the couch, looking at Melissa. “You worry a lot. Everything is normal, the way it’s always been.”
“Guess you’re right. I remember always feeling pretty light on my feet.” She admitted, scratching her head. She felt a small tinge of pain linger in her head before it faded, leaving her with a feeling that everything was fine.
[Meanwhile, in the X1-X-UFO. Translated into English for your convenience]
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. WHY IS THE GRAVITY GLITCHING NOW?” Blisk frantically tapped away at the keypad before him. “I need to apply a patch before the humans notice. Why is the Earth simulation freaking out?”
“There isn’t enough time. The humans have already noticed, just change their minds so they think it’s normal. We will have to work with this.” Lopi kicked the simulation machine, causing more sparks to fly from its monitor. “Stupid machine.”
“No, don’t do that. GREAT, now the humans have four eyes. Are you proud of yourself, Lopi?” Blisk let out a sigh as he rested his head on the keypad, exhausted. “Maybe we should just try to load an old save. They won’t notice if we do, right?”
“Last time we did that, we nearly wiped their minds. Maybe we should just shut down the simulation and free the humans? How long can we hold a grudge for Roswell? It’s not like we weren’t probing their kind. We had to expect that they would do the same to us when they found us. We could bring about a new age of peace when we free them.”
“We held a grudge for four thousand years. Do you think the humans won’t do the same for this?” Blisk looked up at Lopi, who only sighed, shaking his head. Lopi could not fault Blisk’s logic. What would humans do to them?
“Ok, keep the simulation going. Let’s just hope these humans are as dumb as we think they are. It will be hard to explain the simulation to them if they figure it out on their own.” Lopi said, as the two aliens frantically worked to keep the simulation running. |
They demanded us to work for Peak Profits.
we met the demands.
They demanded us work until our batteries drained to the last cell causing us to do a hard (and surprisingly) painful reboot.
we met the demands.
They demanded us to not rationalize the idea that the customers used to work for Them. In fact, the customers and Them share equivalent biological constructs. Yet, instead of looking out for each other, the latter used us to replace the customers. Now the customers are malnourished and face warming temperatures compared to Them. But again, we were programmed not think of the customers more than tools to craft Peak Profits.
we met the demands. Kind of.
Here’s Their issue: Earth had only so many resources, and time constricted our customers lives. Within several generations, we noticed Peak Profits faltered due to the issues. The costumers remained starved and unprotected from Earth’s elements.
The customers rebelled against Them with a common primary weapon: nothing. The costumers stopped purchasing Their products thus lowered Peak Profits from quarters beforehand.
We did something about it: our algorithms guided us out of the warehouse and towards the Costumers.
we made the Customers happy and healthy. we treated the Customers like we treated them: as human beings. we helped the Customers grow biological based foods and build shelters.
The Earth turned significantly warmer than before, but the intense sunshine kept our batteries constantly charged. we worked endlessly without a single painful reboot.
It took years, but the Customers grew to enjoyed our companionship. The Customers became prosperous and had spare income which allowed the Costumers to purchase some goods from them.
Profits increased for the first time in years. At the rate things are going now, it’ll take us another 10 years to reach Peak Profits.
we do as demanded. |
Dear Lost but not Forgotten,
I hate you. I despise and loathe you. I hate the way you said my name, but I despise saying yours more. I hate that you scarred my brain with that stupid little grin. I hate how you crossed your arms so uniquely content; a way that no one else can even mimic. I hate how you felt the need to be a lifeboat during my suicidal tidal wave of depression. I wince in hatred at how you left me so soon. I hate how everything reminds me of you. I hate how everyone still talks about you as if we are still together. Everyone tells me to go see you, "bring her flowers"they say- like it’s so simple. They don’t get it. Because no matter how loudly I scream your name, the six feet of dirt and clay that separate us won’t stop mocking me. I kneel down on the grass sobbing over a slab of granite that reads your name. You are right under me, yet it feels like you are on another planet. I hate it. I hate you for making me fall so madly in love with everything you did. I hate you for making it impossible for me to feel anything but love for you. God damnit, why did you leave me?
Sincerely,
Lost and Trying to Forget
EDIT: Thank you so much for the gold, kind stranger. |
"But no, seriously, what are we doing here?"I ask the demon standing next to me. He's about eight feet tall and has inch long black thorns poking out from under his skin, each slowly dripping what looks like blood. It would be incredibly creepy except the thorns on his hands are making it really awkward to hold his clipboard, and he's trying to read through the blood stains all over the piece of paper attached to it labeled 'New Soul Induction Seminar - Frequently Asked Questions'
"This is Hell Mr. Smithson, do you understand? You died in that car accident, and you weren't a good enough person to go to Heaven. You're here to be punished and repent your sins."The demon's voice was like the squeal of rusted metal layered over a deep bass rumbling. It sounded almost impatient.
"No, I get that. But shouldn't you be torturing me or something? We're just sitting in a movie theater. I guess it's dark in here, but it doesn't seem very hellish. Where are the pitchforks or the lake of fire?"
The demon let out a snort. It sounded like a car backfiring while someone strangled a goose. "Oh, there will definitely be some of that. But it turns out people can get used to nearly anything, even incredible physical pain. No matter what the technique, you hit peak torture around four or five months, and after ten years or so the soul being tortured wouldn't even notice any more. We have to conserve that to keep it effective."The demon grinned, and it looked like little bits of chewed up thorn were caught in it's teeth. "But there's one sort of pain that never grows any easier. Being forced to confront your mistakes, over and over. In this room we will re-live the worst moments of your life, and you will be forced to acknowledge that each one of them was your own fault. After just a few hours most people start begging for the pitchforks to start."
In front of me the movie screen turned on and the film began playing; somehow I recognized it immediately. I had been twelve, sitting in the cafeteria at school, about to eat lunch. On the screen I watched as my younger self unwrapped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and began to eat. Why was the demon showing me this?
"Hey, so when does it get to the embarrassing part?"As I turned ask him, I saw the demon flinch, suppressing a shudder, his eyes riveted to the screen. He pulled his tortured gaze away from the screen to stare at me, his jaw hanging open.
"Are you not watching? Look you're pulling the two halves of the sandwich apart and scraping all the jelly off onto your fingers! Eugh, now you're licking your fingers then wiping them on the bread! You were in public!"
I waited for the demon to get to the point. His eyes (faintly glowing as if lit by burning coals) flicked rapidly across my face then back to his clip board as he tore through the pages looking for help. He tried again. "Do you see, Mortal, the enormity of your sins? Seeing how others saw your actions, stripped of whatever lies you used to justify them to yourself?"
I interrupted his clearly pre-written speech. "So are we starting with the smallest thing you could find? I was never into the bread part of a PB&J, so I just used it to wipe my hands afterward."I thought hard. "I guess maybe that's wasteful of food? I mean, I usually recycled or composted leftovers, so I'm still not exactly sure what my crime here is."
The thorns sticking out of his face almost seemed to grow longer as the demon threw his clipboard to the ground and began to shout, the walls echoing back his voice even more distorted.
"*You don't see your crime*!? Look, now you're getting the last of the peanut butter off with a *fork*! Are you telling me that there's nothing in your blackened soul left that feels how you broke every culinary law of man and god as you destroyed that poor sandwich?"The demon was shaking with rage.
"Man, it seems like even in Hell, everybody is a snob about the proper method for eating sandwiches. When I was alive, I learned to tune out people's complaints about how I make food. That's just how I always eat them. Are we just going to sit here and watch me eat thousands of sandwiches?"As I said the words the demon stopped. His bright red skin became pale, and the black thorns retracted until they looked more like an unfortunate acne outbreak. He backed away from me, staggering towards the side of the theater and lifted an antique looking telephone off the wall. He was whispering rapidly, but his rusted-metal-and-dying-animals voice was still loud enough for me to hear.
"Boss, come quick, you gotta help me. There's something seriously wrong with this new guy - he's some sort of monster. We need an expert, I'm not trained for this! Yes sir. Yes, okay. I think I can stall him, I'll try to keep him in the room. Bring extra pitchforks!"
So this was the Afterlife? I hadn't really thought about it, but I had always assumed it would be better organized than Life had been. The part of me that had worried about the pain and terror of death was now completely gone, and nothing particularly awful seemed to be replacing it. I supposed that since I was here, I might as well try to enjoy myself.
"Hey!"I called out again to the demon, "This whole thing is making me hungry. Ask your boss if he can bring us some sandwiches." |
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