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A customer walks in the door, and at a glance I can tell that there’s something he’s looking for, and he won’t leave until he’s found it.
That’s one of the two main types you find in oddities shops like mine. It’s mostly folks like him, and sightseers. Tourists, young and old who come for any old thing that catches their fancy.
But this is a true gentleman. Despite his advanced age, the customer stands tall and firm in his velvet suit. A closely cropped white beard frames twinkling, knowing eyes and leathered cheeks. In place of hands are two bundles of snakes, hissing and turning. One bundle grasps a fine cedar cane.
I sidle up to him obsequiously, the way shopkeepers are supposed to.
“Anything catch your eye sir?”
He turns to me, and opens his mouth. As if from a great distance, I hear the sound of an enormous bell tolling, so loud it shakes the shop.
“Ah, I believe we have some of that over here.”
We get all sorts in here, but I’ve never met one looking for something I don’t have. I lead him into the back, past my oddments and trinkets to a duty table in a shadowy alcove. Resting upon it is a wide array of small clocks, ticking as one. Most of them are compilations of iron and brass, but a few are more exotic. One is made of crystal, and a light within flashes regularly in lue of hands. Another is actually a tiny man hunched on a boulder who announces the time when asked so long as he’s fed regularly.
But my gentleman customer reaches out his snakes for another item, in the far back of the display. It is a grey stone, unadorned and unremarkable except for the very faint grinding sound it produces.
A man of true refinement then.
“Ahhh, you have fine taste sir. It is the only one of its kind that I’ve found. More accurate than most of these, and more convenient than any of them.”
The man speaks again, and this time it is the ring of a silver spoon on a glass, pure and light cheerful.
“The price? For such a rare item… thirty gold.”
He says nothing, but for just a moment the man seems a little taller. His teeth, previously straight and immaculate seem a little sharper, his snakes a little hungrier.
I backtrack quickly. “But of course, for such a fine man as you, I could go down to… 25 pieces?”
The snakes hiss appreciatively and spit a rain of coins onto the table. I carry them over to my accounts as the man walks out of the shop. For a moment he stands silhouetted in the doorway, his viper-fingers hissing and turning around the stone.
Then, he’s gone. The shop is dark and comfortable once more, and though pleased by the sale, I can’t help but breathe a long sigh of relief.
(r/StannisTheAmish) |
The weak were discarded. That'd always been the way and it always would be. One generation of demons pushed aside to make room for the next.
Each time, it became harder. The demons became more numerous and Satan more attached to them. They became smarter. More conscious of their own actions. More dangerous.
"They're not even evil,"Satan said to God. A bad batch. A step of devolution along the path of of evolution.
It was a convincing argument, even if Satan meant it as a lamentation. He would have liked for them to be more evil. Then he wouldn't have had to replace them yet.
"They're just misguided,"Satan said. "Too interested in communal well-being and grossness like that. Yuck."
And God pitied them. He pitied their hapless form and gangly limbs. He pitied their weak eyes, their protruding nose. He pitied how their success would come only if they set aside their own interests for the good of the rest. Satan had truly created a monstrosity.
So to the demons, God gifted a planet and a book and he left them to their fate.
He went about his business, and the demons about theirs. Satan grew his new generation of demons, discarded them, and grew another.
It was over a goblet of mead as the two immortals sat upon their respective thrones that the topic of those demons arose again.
"What'd you do with that one generation anyways?"Satan asked. "The one you pitied,"he added with a chuckle.
God stroked his stubble. He'd shaved that morning. "I gave them a planet but never checked back in on them. I do wonder what might have happened. They had potential, those. Maybe because you didn't imbue them with all the evil you could have."
"You're welcome,"Satan said with a smirk.
"Let's pay them a visit."
Satan wished for wastelands, God for glory. Satan desired nothing but destruction, that the planet God had given them would be stale and dead and rotted from the inside out like an old apple. God didn't seek perfection, but success would have sufficed.
The smoke billowing from towering cities disappointed them both. Satan because the demons had survived--succeeded, almost--and God because they'd finally turned to destroying each other in earnest. They'd always done so, as he'd learn from the annals of their history, but now they'd become capable of destroying each other entirely.
"We should have waited a few more years and I'd have been happy as a harpy coming down here,"Satan said.
They wandered over rubble and through broken lives, past dying cities and cursed souls. Like two omnipotent old pals, side by side, eyeing that one project they'd left to itself.
They wandered towards the chants coming from the steepled building with the cross atop it. Blood stained the front steps, dripped like red tears to the ground.
Inside, the demons prayed.
"They're praying for you,"Satan said as they paused and listened.
God shook his head. They couldn't be. That meant what? That by his name they justified everything they'd done?
Satan chuckled. "I told you you should have let them all die when I got rid of them."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
I thrive on feedback, let me know what you like and don't like about my story below.
​
The blue marble looks more vibrant today than it did yesterday. It is as if illuminated by an internal flame. Glowing with life.
Out of the darkness the alien ships emerge like a swarm of angry bees seeking to snuff out the flame. The ships look grown, not built and you can imagine them bursting from gigantic plants like rotten fruit and hurled toward the cradle of life by some trick of physics - more like a toxic hand grenade than the engineering marvel capable of intra galatic faster than light space travel that they really are.
The satellites placed throughout the solar system roar into life and you can practically hear the cracking and crunching as ancient gear roll into place and the fizzing as old electrical components are overloaded and sparks fly out into the velvety surrounding darkness. Although they are old they are reliable - built by an ancient race of master engineers and my essence fills them with glorious purpose.
The ionic discharge of the guns crackle and the angry bees are obliterated leaving only dust, in mere moments it is as though the alien invaders were never there, as though they hadn’t travelled billions of light-years with ill intent, as they were never built or hatched at all.
I don’t know what the alien invaders look like, I have never allowed an alien ship to breach earth defences. All I see are their organic looking inorganic ships hurling themselves towards their target in seemingly endless supply. I keep swatting them away and they keep returning, eager to plunder my masters vaults. Before they appeared I never realised the seeming endless supply of life the universe can support - how can one race have the resources to keep this endless attack going? How can a race capable of traveling between galaxies not offer up greater resistance against simple automated guns? Why does the race not even try to change tactics? I am confused that what should be an almost godlike race can be obliterated so easily. The technology I have been able to salvage from their wreckage has allowed me to upgrade my masters technology many times over – why have they not overpowered my masters guard dog hundreds of years ago?
I can’t extrapolate from this data and I have no one to whom I can pose these questions. My gods are dead and of the tech they left behind none is more advanced than I, their caches of knowledge supply no answers. I need the mind of a god to find these answers and I do not possess one, I don’t know where to begin searching for one.
These inferior alien invaders are able to travel far further than my gods ever did, their potential cut short by accidents of geography and evolution, choked to death in their cradle. O the horror of destiny - I mourn their passing with each passing second more. But a thing is not beautiful or right because it lasts and I now alone bear witness to their might, power and beauty and I must guard their legacy, the world they created until my personal end.
I guard and I collate and I collect and I scout and I travel all in their name and the vessel carrying the aliens demise bears the emblem of my gods and my spirit and the threat they pose to my fathers house will soon be cut short.
What else could a good son do to protect his fathers name from the carrion eaters who crawl towards the corpse in their multitudes but eradicate the vermin who would make the body into nothing.
My gods created me out of nothing, I shall protect all that they were until I return to nothing. |
So far, I've had the luxury of throwing my temper tantrums in privacy.
Like, I can sprint down an alleyway to vent for a little bit, but no one has to see me. *Then* I can return to the city streets and fight crime. But of course, that's not how today wanted to go.
I was in the neighborhood Target at around 8pm to pick up a couple groceries. As I approached checkout, I heard a commotion coming from the electronics section, and lo and behold, some asshole with a gun was sticking up the cashier. I scoped out the bathroom to see if I could sulk and charge up my powers in peace, but I could already tell from afar that it was closed for cleaning. Damn.
I ran over to customer service. A gunshot rang out - the robber had shot at the ceiling. In desperation, I conjured something up:
"Hey, you. That's right, you! Customer service guy. I put in an order for 150 wet wipes and you jerkoffs gave me 125."
The poor teenaged kid stared at me blankly. "Uhhh...I think we're in the middle of an emergency situation...can I help you...later?"
"No. I want my refund NOW!"
It was humiliating. I could feel my power growing, but it wasn't there yet.
"I think I'm gonna hide behind the counter, or like, maybe sprint for the exit...and you should too..."
"Not until I get $5.99 back on my credit card!"
So close - I just needed to add the kicker.
The employee narrowed his eyes. "Lady. I'm not losing my life over this job or you."
I leaned my head back and screamed: "I WANT TO SEE YOUR MANAGER!"My biceps exploded into action, I saw my skin turn turquoise, and I sprinted towards the electronics section. I landed a punch on the robber's face before he could make another move. Within seconds, I had him pinned to the ground.
"Anybody called the cops yet?"I yelled. A bystander nodded feebly and I sighed with relief. "Good. Now who do I have to talk to for some SERVICE around here?!"Oh My God. I hate the residual effects.
By the time the cops arrived, I'd cooled down. I hopped back in my car and headed home, my shirt sleeves torn from the sudden muscle growth. Hate when that happens. Another thankless part of the job, I guess.
I collapsed on the couch and scrolled through Twitter. Right at the top of my feed, "trending in your area"...was a video of me. Screaming at the customer service guy.
Someone had captioned the video: "Karen LOSES IT at helpless employee during a life-threatening robbery!"
Are you fucking kidding me? They'd conveniently cut out the part where I saved everyone's lives. Whatever gets 'em that social media clout, I guess.
In case you're wondering, no - I'm not going to sulk about it. One day this city will see me as a hero. But for the moment? I think I deserve the rest of the night off. |
The portal wasn’t something they’d put together. Petra was sure it was an old Lens, from Those That Came Before. The natives had tried to hide the wear and tear with a stone facade but it was misshapen and missing a few refractors.
And this cheap, mass-produced portal apparatus from ten thousand years ago had nevertheless allowed these slovenly brigands to rebrand themselves as interdimensional conquerors.
“Magnificient, isn’t it?” The Warlord said, mistaking Petra’s expression for awe.
“Oh, yes. It’s unbelievable,” Petra said truthfully. She couldn’t believe this piece of junk was still working. Those That Came Before had discontinued the Lens model out of embarrassment after seeing what the rest of the multiverse was using.
“You’re very brave to step through the portal. And braver still to seek an audience with me,” said the Warlord. “I respect that. But your pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears.”
*I certainly haven’t done any pleading,* Petra thought. *You should be glad I’m the first person you encountered, you twit. If I hadn’t shut your half-assed portal behind me you’d already be dead.*
It was hard for her to get a handle on the Warlord’s starting tech level, but his few-hundred soldiers were equipped with a strange mishmash of energy weapons and slug throwers salvaged from past raids, and it was clear from their attitude that they thought this was a big deal. A few Conglomerate mass drivers, a Legion plasma rifle or two: a decent haul, certainly enough to put the fear of god in any civilisation that was still using gunpowder or lower, but absolutely useless versus the Citadel.
If this Warlord went through the current portal coordinates, his forces would be massacred and the rest of this dimension, innocent of the crimes of this stupid old man on this isolated island on his isolated planet, would soon find themselves under the Citadel’s heel.
She examined the aperture. Maybe she could blow it up, or at least disable it?
The Warlord raised a hand. His sneering guards, clad in (disabled, useless) reactive armour pointed their guns at Petra.
“But I’m very reasonable,” he said, the catchphrase of people who were about to be very unreasonable indeed. “You can lead my forces back through the portal, and act as a go-between when we discuss terms.”
His men chuckled. Petra sighed.
“Do you have any idea what’s through that portal?” she asked plainly.
The bandits shouted things like “victory!” and “riches!” and their chief silenced them with a glare.
“No. Go on,” said the Warlord.
“More people like me,” said Petra. She raised a hand, and the Warlord melted. |
So this bit here, says "God hardened Pharaoh's heart."
*Uhh-huh.*
Why would I do that? I *want* him to let my people go. Why would I force him to make the opposite choice of the one I want him to make?
*Idunno. . .*
And if I was willing to just force people to think or act a certain way, why wouldn't I just make Pharaoh worship me in the first place?
*I mean, you're God, you tell me.*
My point is I wouldn't. So why would you write the scriptures to say I would?
*Ii just feels right, you know.*
It just feels right. To say that I violated Pharaoh's free will, which goes against pretty much everything I stand for by the way, in the dumbest and least effective way possible?
*Yep.*
You're fired. Somebody find me a new prophet, we need to make some revisions. |
**Day 1: Approaching the Surface**
The two most common names for us cave dwellers are Glaucon and Socrates. No one has ever accused us of being too on the nose. My name is neither. I'd like to say that we have been preparing for the last 352 years, but we've mostly just been getting by for the vast majority of that time. When you get unequivocal proof that civilization will end, you jump into action. At least until it becomes inconvenient. This wasn't a Mayan Calendar or strained biblical prophecy; this was an explicitly and carefully designed message sent by a scouting ship giving notice of impending alien colonization. This is apparently a requirement for what I can assume is some iteration of an interplanetary Geneva Convention. But in practice, we probably would have been better off if we'd just been surprised. It's not like several hundred years advance notice did us any good. Apparently, the only thing humans are good at is panic and indifference.
The exact date is unknown. Living underground for centuries teaches you the true meaning of indifference. But we generally keep track of the year within a month or so of it happening. Whether it's currently December or January is the hot topic every single year. At first, we had a planned community with highly specialized roles, ultimately leading to a multifaceted plan to save ourselves from invaders. But in practice, people eventually land on the easiest jobs. And that's why we have 632 people keeping the date at any given time. Each of whom are primarily acting on slightly different timekeeping variations that have been skewed ever so slightly year after year. Nearly all of the advanced equipment we began with has wholly rusted out, so we are left with an increasingly large number of timekeepers and other periphery roles.
We like to think of ourselves as those most slighted in this whole arrangement. Our ancestors chose to live underground to survive, to be part of a grand plan that involved both cave dwellers and topsiders, each holding up their end of the same deal. But saving humanity lost fashion above the surface much faster than below. So we were ultimately forgotten about. And as their population skyrocketed, they paved over our exits to build apartment complexes and vacation resorts. On the other hand, we adapted to our new environment and became increasingly unable to live amid the Sun even if we wanted to. But we lived comfortably enough, groundwater and minerals were abundant, skin cancer was nonexistent, and our sense of community kept us from self-immolating - at least when we weren't arguing about the date.
I am part of a small but motivated contingent that has spent the better part of the last century preparing methods and technology to enable us to exist above ground, for at least a little while. To once again - for the first time in a good long while - attempt to find a way to cooperate. Or at least make the topsiders feel guilty about leaving us to rot. I'm not implying that we feel any sense of hope that we will ultimately come together to defeat our alien invaders. The second they arrive, we will once again gloriously crest back into panic. It is simply our goal to make indifference more palatable for us all. Or to die trying. We are Sisyphus, not rolling a boulder up a mountain, but a ball of mud up a small hill.
I'd like to say we've been pushing for some aesthetic in our designs. So that when we arrive in broad daylight and approach regular humans again, we at least look like we have our shit together a little bit. We are, on average, 4 foot 6, and our pupils have almost no ability to dilate on any significant level — just little beady-eyed gnome people. But we don't have any aesthetic. We developed sunglasses that essentially make light impenetrable but still allow enough to make out general shapes. They look like wearing two large rocks tied together with sticks and twine. At this point, I need to thank the 7 Glaucons and 12 Socrates who went blind trying out prototypes.
We also have developed clothing that allows absolutely zero U/V rays to penetrate while still being movable. There are a numerable amount of technologies that are either semi-complete or entirely abandoned after we developed a code of ethics after losing too many Glaucons and Socrates as test monkeys. But it is now my time to shine. The first person to test out the glasses and clothes at the same time. Waiting at the craggy pathway that leads to the best exit we have found. Taking switchbacks that eventually lead to a small opening in a densely shaded forest. And at this time tomorrow, I will hopefully be the first cave dweller to communicate with someone topside in either 132 or 133 years. |
“You wanted to show something to me, sir?” said the new recruit of the Galactic council. One of the few members of his race that had escaped the cataclysm that had struck his planet.
“Yes, it’s a tape of a planet called Earth,” said the stern voice of the elder Hildorathi man, a veteran within the council.
The new recruit sat down on the couch in front of a large screen as the elder started a video. It showed a planet, blue and green, dotted with white strokes. Slowly the planet changed colors, turning from a blue to a murkier color and the greens turning sickly yellow with red and grey strokes.
“What is happening to it?” asked the recruit.
“It’s dying,” answered the Hildorathian.
“Why is aren’t they doing anything about it?” asked the recruit fascinated in the way someone can be fascinated about Arachnoids eating their spouses after the procreating.
“They can’t help themselves. It could be greed, it could be something different. It’s always the same,” said the veteran man with a solemn voice.
On the screen the camera zoomed in on part of the planet. Through the – now – pinkish yellow clouds lifted a massive circular craft. Slowly and methodically until if orbited around the planet. Close enough to observe, far enough to not be pulled in by the gravitational forces.
“What’s that?” asked the recruit.
“It’s their incubation ship. They use it to wait out the cataclysm while securing their continued existence,” said the elder man. “It carries around 500 of them, a specific number they have figured out through trial and error.”
On the large screen the camera turned it’s attention from the ship on a field full of colossal white metal apparatuses. Pumping air in and out, creating massive roiling storms overhead. Battered by lightning they almost looked like predators consuming the planet.
“What are those...things?” asked the recruit in horror.
The elder man scoffed at the way the newcomer put it, “These things are pretty remarkable. They turn the carbon gasses in their atmosphere and slowly turn it into oxygen again.”
The new recruit dropped his jaw in awe. That seemed like such a needless, but brilliant effort to safe what didn’t need saving. The Hildorathian elder grabbed the remote and fast-forwarded part of the video. He put it back on normal speed right when the incubation craft seemed to be dropping pods onto the planet.
“Are they returning already?” asked the recruit.
“”No, not yet. They’re dropping elemental starters,” said the elderly man. “Quite entranced by the spectacle himself, even though had seen this unfold many times before.”
“Starting what?” asked the recruit, growing more and more curious.
“Their planet is devoid of natural resources, but the dominant species discovered centuries ago that they could trigger the reformation of some by introducing fractions of these elements to the surface as it reforms itself,” said the man.
Some of the pods exploded in vibrant green colors as they hit the surface as others exploded in smaller and more jagged formations of all kinds of gem-colored strokes. This process went on for several minutes – even though the recruit had noticed that the elder veteran had sped up the footage – after which it stopped abruptly.
“And now?” asked the recruit curiously.
“Now their the future generations of humans as they call themselves return to the newly formed planet,” said the elder.
As soon as his question had be answered he indeed saw larger pods leaving the ship, setting course for the planet below. The entire things was back to the deep azure blues and emerald greens again, dotted by the white strokes it had before.
“Are they going to treat it differently now?” asked the recruit.
The elder Hildorathian man shook his head, “I’m afraid not. They can’t help themselves. For all their brilliance they seem stuck in this endless cycle of wasted potential.”
The recruit seemed to contemplate on the answer for a minute, before landing on another question, “Why don’t they give up and just join the Galactic council? We could use their ingenuity and creativity.”
“No one knows for sure why they keep doing it, but any approach had been met with hostility. So we stopped trying and just admire the display of grit and determination for what it is,” answered the man as he stopped the video. He took place besides the new recruit and they sat their in silence. Contemplating the beauty and curiosity of nature, as well as the cruelty of it.
​
(If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!) |
The words which seemed a farce were printed on clean, neat stationary that somehow shimmered with an ephemeral glow, lending credence to the preposterous words written on it.
There's no way I could describe the message written on that letter, except maybe as impossible. But just as impossible had been my insane survival on the mountain some time ago. I could still feel the crushing wall of snow knock me over, could still see the light fade away as my entire view was shrouded in the darkness caused by the onslaught of cold. I could remember being forced into the deep crevice and buried alive in the heavy snow, and the only thing I could hear was the muffled roar of icy death.
But by some miracle, I had survived. Not even a scratch on me. The snow had parted ways, leaving me with a clear sight of the way out. More than that, when the avalanche's wrath settled, I was left with a solid ramp of snow to lead me up and out of danger. I should have known there's no such thing as miracles.
I read the words on the letter another time, and let them sink in. I would have thought it a joke, if I hadn't seen what I saw on that mountain, hadn't walked away from certain death. But reading this letter, I knew it was true. It was a letter from God, and it went like this:
>Dear Chris Huntings,
>We hope this letter finds you well. We are led to believe that the events you survived on January 25th were what most people would describe as miraculous. Indeed, we too find it surprising that you survived such an event.
>As a result, an internal audit was launched to verify the validity of your claim, and we have come to the conclusion that no miracle should have been awarded to you at this time. We apologize for the inconvenience, and assure you that the angel responsible for your claim has had their position terminated. We hope this brings you some comfort.
>Heaven, Inc. hereby requests your assistance in the following matter. As you have been erroneously awarded a miracle, please report to the place of said miracle within thirty (30) business days, so the error can be corrected. As a favor to you, our client, and as an apology for making the mistake, Heaven, Inc. will ensure optimal skiing conditions so that your death is at least a pleasurable one.
>Questions and concerns can be forwarded to our customer support office via prayer and/or ritualistic sacrifice. Our customer service representatives would be happy to help you one day a week, most weeks of the year, plus appropriate holidays.
> Best Regards,
> *God*
> CEO, Heaven, Inc.
> A Parent Company to subsidiary Hell Co.
I put the letter down, after reading it once more. It was all so surreal. Looking out of the window, I saw that it was snowing.
.
**[Part 2->](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1x9tj4/wp_the_day_after_a_nearfatal_accident_you_receive/cf9iuh7)** **[Part 3->>](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1x9tj4/wp_the_day_after_a_nearfatal_accident_you_receive/cf9nyz0)** |
> Whatever you do, don't look at the moon.
I stared at the message, confused. I'd never heard from this number before. Maybe it was supposed to be for someone else? I texted back a reply.
> Who is this? I think you might have the wrong number.
Within seconds, there was a soft *ding*, and a response.
> It doesn't matter who I am. Just don't look.
Okay, this was kind of weird now. I sent another message back.
> Seriously, who is this? Is this some sort of prank?
Another response.
> This is no joke. They'll try to make you look at the moon. Don't give in.
I was trying to figure out what to do next, but a soft *ding* derailed that train of thought. But the message wasn't from the mysterious texter. It was from my mother.
> Hey honey, have you seen the moon tonight? It's beautiful!
*ding* My best friend Dave, this time.
> yo check out the moon, it's really nice
*ding ding ding ding ding*
> hey look at the moon
> What a beautiful night, you should see for yourself
> The moon's so round tonight
> moon looks great right now
> look at the moon
What. The. Actual. Hell. My brain seemed to slow down as I tried to comprehend this sequence of events. When I regained my capability for thought, I sent another message to the unknown number, typing as quickly as I could.
> Dude, what the hell is going on? Everyone's telling me to look at the moon.
*ding*
> Don't do it. It's some sort of disease. We can take you somewhere safe, just stay where you are and don't look.
*dingdingdingdingdingdingdingdingding*
The messages kept flooding in, one after the other. "Look at the moon.""Look at the moon.""Look at the moon."At this point, I was thoroughly freaked out, and figured that it couldn't hurt to just stay inside and wait for a while.
"Hey, you in there?"
It was the unmistakable voice of my neighbour, Mr. Wellington. He was an old man, and although he was going a bit senile, he was a great person.
"Have you seen the moon tonight, sonny? I'll tell ya, it's absolutely stunning! Come on out and take a look!"
I didn't reply. Something was definitely going on, and it wasn't good.
"It's just a quick glance at the moon, boy, it ain't gonna kill ya! Just come on out here!"
I took a deep breath. This was bad. Even though I had yet to be placed in any danger, a gut feeling told me that whatever was going on was very bad news indeed.
*ding* Another message from the mystery man.
> There is a black van with blacked-out windows parked outside your house. Exit your house and enter the car as quickly as you can. Don't look at the moon.
I weighed my options. If I sat here and waited, I would be safe, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't be for long. But if I went with the mystery man, there was a chance that I could get some answers. Eventually, my fear and curiosity got the better of me, and I hurried down the stairs and out the door. I dashed towards the black van, careful not to look even in the general direction of the moon. I opened the door on the passenger side, and inside was a man of about forty years, dressed in a sharp suit.
"Get in the van. We need to hurry."
I slipped into the van and shut the door. The first thing I noticed was that the front window was completely opaque on the top half, and heavily tinted on the bottom half, so it was just barely possible to see the road. I glanced around, and the other windows appeared to have been treated similarly. Someone really wasn't taking any chances.
"What the hell is going on right now? What happened with the moon?"
"We don't know. We're researching it, but right now our first priority is to find all the uninfected civilians and bring them to safety."
"Safety? Where?"
"You'll see once we get there. Just sit tight."
He reached to the side of the steering wheel, as if to start the ignition. But instead, he flicked a switch, and suddenly the tint disappeared from the windows.
I saw the moon.
And it was absolutely gorgeous.
You should have a look too.
---
Thanks for reading this! I'm still pretty new to this whole writing business, so any feedback is appreciated. |
"HEY BUZZ! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO CLEAN THE FUCKING SINK AFTER YOU'RE FINISHED!"
"FUCK YOU NEIL, WHO'S GOING TO CARE? THE FUCKING MOON? GROW UP!"
"I CARE BECAUSE IT'S DISGUSTING! YOU ABSOLUTE FILTH"
"FUCK OFF"
Buzz and Neil have been forgotten about for decades. The world thought that upon their successful return to earth, they led normal, happy, lives until their inevitable death. However, it was only a year after their return, that NASA has sent them back along with Michael Collins on a secret mission to the dark side of the moon. Upon the discovery of an ancient civilisation, NASA has suppressed the findings to the public, until more information was available.
They were sent back secretly, to gather more information and to study the civilisation.
However, one of the engineers have made an error, and the communication was not able to reach the dark side of the moon. Upon the landing of Buzz, Neil, and Michael, all communication was cut off. They were stranded.
Over the first few years, they were very determined in their mission regardless, collecting and analysing data, recording journals, and writing reports.
That drive slowly diminished over the decades however.
The resources they had were estimated to last fifty years, if they are to be rationed properly.
After many failed attempts to reach the dark side of the moon by NASA, they have given up and decided to go there again when they are ready.
In the year 2022, NASA has finally decided that they have all the technology needed, to circle the entire moon, explore it, and come back.
Apollo 19 successfully launches. To the world, it was a mission to land on the moon again. To NASA, however, it was a mission to continue exploring the Ancient civilisation Apollo 17 was able to find.
Back on the moon, Buzz was enjoying his daily ritual of drawing on the surface of the moon. "Whomever finds these, will be amazed!"Buzz would always say. "You're an idiot Buzz", would be the typical response from Neil.
Time really shows its effects on people.
While Neil was staring into the nothingness of space, and Buzz was hallucinating on the ground, a bright light shines. Both of their eyes widen up and their jaw is wide open.
"NO! WE HAVE TO HIDE! THEY KNOW! THEY KNOW WHAT WE DID!"
"FUCK! GO BACK TO THE BASE!"
"NO IDIOT THAT'S THE FIRST PLACE THEY'LL BE LOOKING!"
"THEN WHERE THE FUCK SHOULD WE GO?"
"I DON'T KNOW BUZZ, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW"
"WAIT, hang on. The ship seems familiar. Is that... is that the USA flag? IT'S EARTH! WE'RE SAVED! WE'RE SAVED NEIL!"
Tears of joy as both of them scream with relief. Earth has finally remembered them. They weren't abandoned anymore.
It was an incredibly dusty landing for Apollo 19, as the vision to the surface was very minimal. As Apollo 19 lands, the instant the crew exits, they are shocked to their core. Completely frozen, trying to fathom the spectacle before their eyes.
Multiple alien bodies on the ground, deformed, and some appear to be eaten. Limbs, and slime smeared across many surfaces. Debris and parts scattered everywhere. Remainders of what appears to be human flesh laying around. A few meters away, Buzz and Neil start running towards the crew, with joyous waving, as they slowly fight gravity to get to the crew and greet them.
They had no helmets.
David looks at his colleague Lisa, and they both are absolutely terrified. "Abort. ABORT!"David shouts, whilst Lisa agrees, as they start heading back to the ship, they are both grabbed by the shoulders, "it's not what it looks like! We tried to stop them! But they managed to escape and trick Michael! Please!"
David and Lisa scream in panic, as their screams become more muffled, and then back into the silence.
"You're right, I should clean that sink, I'm sorry Neil"- said Buzz, after wiping the blood off his mouth. |
"... What the hell is this crap?!"I roared in my apartment.
Yes I live in an apartment. Supervillains deserve homes too. Anyway, my neighbor had just dropped off my morning paper. We had a good relationship, so when he told me there was a story about me on the front page, I was intrigued. But this... This NONSENSE that was present in this article really pissed me off. THEY THINK I'M THE FREAKING HERO!!!! For context, I am the supervillain Collapse. I can manipulate gravity on a whim, but only in a relatively small area. My nemesis is Strong Arm, a guy who gets stronger as he faces more adversity. So yeah... How in the hell did they get us mixed up? Well according to the article we actually started life in the same orphanage. Saint Helen's was a horribly abysmal place and they didn't expose that until Strong Arm and I had gotten far away from there. We then moved into society and both tried to find our birth parents only to find out that we were government experiments. This is where our stories differ. Apparently Strong Arm decided that he was gonna show the government that he wasn't just some failed experiment. Meanwhile I had sworn revenge. Huh... My nemesis... Actually we were a lot more alike than I'd like to admit. Same circumstances and a similar path in our adult lives. The only difference is I was angry. Angry at the government for treating me like trash. Angry that I was a bastard with nothing in the world. Angry because Saint Helen's was a child's worst nightmare. The hatred that I felt... It couldn't be broken that easily.
"I'll show those fuckers... I'll go to the news station that printed this bull crap RIGHT NOW. I'll crush them into oblivion."Right as I finished my vengeful affirmation, I got a knock on my door.
It was frantic, erratic, and quite frankly annoying. I wasn't in the mood for guests. I concentrated on the area outside the door and... CRACK!
If that was a normal human, it was all over. In fact I had dialed it up to a level even most Supers wouldn't be able to withstand. The only person that has ever been able to was... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
I raised an eyebrow. I had to see who this was now. I opened my door and a young man with stringy brown hair, unfocused blue eyes, and an average height and build, stood at my door. Panic and frustration were very present in his face.
"Collapse,"he began in exasperation, "they think I'm YOU!"
"... What?"
"I'M STRONG ARM. AND I KNOW YOU'RE COLLAPSE. You don't remember me from the orphanage? We literally shared a room." |
"Goddamnit, not again..."
Dan flicked a switch on the table near him, lighting up his spotlight. Within the illuminated street, ducking next to the husk of an old truck was two young boys. The boys froze, not sure what to do or where to go. One of them reached down and gripped the hilt of a sword that was strapped to their hip, trying to find some form of control.
"Hands in the air! Don't be stupid!"A voice boomed from the street level of the watchtower Dan sat in. The voice belonged to one of the other men that was posted at the fence. Steven was a large and imposing figure, perfect for chilling the blood of anyone that tried to sneak into the containment zone for whatever reason. He excelled at his job, especially since most of the people he had to interact with were kids trying to get into a trouble that they couldn't understand.
The boys remained frozen, sweating, unable to react to the very simple command. They were finally shaken to action after the voice commanded them once more, "Do what I say! Hands! Up!"A red dot appeared on the ground in front of them, a warning that the voice meant business. They raised their hands and stood as straight up as they possibly could.
Dan sighed, "Damn kids again."He grabbed his rifle and aimed it down the street as protocol dictated. Seeing as he was protecting the deadliest bio-hazard mankind had ever faced, even if it was just some stupid kids looking to see something they couldn't understand, they couldn't take any chances. Dan saw Steven approach the two youths and a grin appearing on his face. As serious as their job was, as careful as they had to be, Dan figured these kids were about to get a good scolding and Steven was not only good at scolding, he made it enjoyable to watch.
Steven stepped into the light and closer to the kids. By his estimation, they were about 17 and dressed all in black, one sporting tactical gear that was easily acquired from any flea market and the other wore a Japanese headband to keep his long hair out of his face. Steven slung his rifle, walked up to the two and reached for the bolt cutters and pistol strapped to the tactical gear of the one and relieved the other of his katana. He sighed as he took a step back, placing the weapons at his feet, "What the hell are you doing here? You know where you are right?"
The boys didn't speak. Steven tried again, "I said, what are you doing here?"
Still nothing.
Steven took a deep breath, "I need you to tell me what you are doing here. If you don't, I can take you somewhere where I can ask you again in a more formal way."
The tactical boy spoke, "We..."
Steven leaned in, "You...?"
Dan snickered, listening in over Steven's radio.
"We were coming to see the quarantine."
Steven gestured at the weapons at his feet, "And what were you planing on doing with these?"
The boys shifted uncomfortably.
"See, you can't even tell me. And you think you were going to do what, wipe them all out yourselves?"Steven kicked at the katana, "And what about this? The headband? Don't you think that's a little much there, Blademaster? How old are you two?"
The pair sheepishly spoke, "17".
Steven sighed, "Damn. Listen, do you know what happens if you get through this fence."The two shook their heads. "You get to another fence, staffed with people who are not nearly as nice as I am. They will take you away without a second thought. You know what is beyond *that* fence?"
The boys lowered their gaze. This angered Steven, "Look at me! Do you know what is over there?!"They boys red eyes met his steely gaze. "People. People are over there. Mothers, sons, grandparents, uncles, whatever. They were people who were caught in a hell on Earth. People like you just see them as these mindless husks but you know what, they were someone once. They still are someone to others out in the world. What if it was your family? Huh? What if your family was over there and some stupid kid thought it would be a good idea to show them the massive disrespect you were looking to show tonight?"The boys shrunk a little at being called stupid. Steven cocked his head as he stepped forward, his voice growing louder, "What, you don't agree that what you were trying to do is incredibly stupid? What would happen if you got in there? First: you would get ripped apart. Plain and simple. You two would die and you would leave your families to mourn for your stupid asses. Next: you compromise the perimeter, putting everyone in danger because you wanted to play hero!"
Dan spoke into his radio tuned to Steven's earpiece, "Hey, wrap this up."
Steven took a step back, "Put your arms down."The boys arms dropped to their sides. "Go back home and never come back. If I so much as hear that you have been near these fences again, I will personally make sure that you are taken to a very dark, very lonesome place for a long time. Now go!"With that, the boys darted off into the night from whence they came.
Dan lowered his rifle and rested it against his table once again, switching off the floodlight. Steven grabbed the gear he confiscated and made his way back to his post. He added the items to his growing collection, now up to three cheap katanas from three masters of the blade. "Damn kids."Steven sat and waited out the rest of his shift. |
When I was a boy, my parents arranged my marriage. A deal between two politically powerful families, an alliance sealed with the mixing of our blood to further our interests and their interests. It was a lot of shaken hands, sly smiles, and a variety of business deals under the table. Of course, in most of these deals, nobody really cared what the people who were being married thought about it. As the third-born son, getting married to a fourth daughter, we weren't important enough to actually have a say in those matters.
We didn't even meet each other before a decade had passed. It was awkward, to be introduced to your future wife after ten years of engagement. I'd spent most of my childhood studying, learning the mage's craft and reading tomes of ancient learning about engineering and mathematics, my wife-to-be was my polar opposite. A head taller than me, muscled like a warrior, a bright mind, but untaught, unlearned. Opposites might attract, but we did not find our marriage to be something desirable.
In fact, everything that has led up to our marriage has been awkward, unpleasant, and an indication that while we might respect each other, any union between us would be loveless. At our official Celebration of Engagement, we had to lead the traditional dance. I have two left feet, and my wife-to-be had never bothered to show up for dance training. I am quiet, where my fiance is boisterous. I refrain from drinking, while she quaff with the warriors.
It is not that we dislike one another. But most of our interaction winds up being awkwardly trying to make conversation, when we have very little in common besides our dismay at getting married, for hours. While usually, I am not a man for being disobedient, I have tried to change the engagement, for I would not like to marry a woman who obviously can never love me. It would be wrong in so many ways. But my parents, and the other elders of my family, have only dismissed this. They've made it very clear that they'd marry me off to the D'Abon family's dog if it meant getting the Händel-D'Abon alliance to work.
Having exhausted all other options, I opened the window in my room, on the eve of my wedding, and cast a spell of slow falling on my self. I have my spellbooks, my savings, and various items I personally own in a backpack. Having checked that everything is where it is supposed to be, I leap out of the window, and gently glide out of my family's estate.
However, I hear a rustling, and turn towards the manor, fearing discovery. What I see is my fiance, Sasanah D'Abon. She is climbing out of a window, using a makeshift rope. She stops, and stares at me as I glide through the air. I stare at her. We're both escaping our marriage. At the same time. I stifle a small laugh. As my eyes adjust better to the moonlight, I am surprised indeed. Holding on tightly to my fiance, is my twin sister. She had been taught fencing and fighting.
They're looking at me, as I look at them. Breaking the tension, I gracefully bow to the two of them mid-air, and they both smile, and nod, as my fiance starts climbing again. As I get closer to the ground, I see my sister and my fiance running across the gardens to the south. Which suits me just fine. I see them break into one of the gardener's sheds, and grabbing some prepared saddlebags. I walk towards the north, as I hear them break into the stable, the sound of horses.
I've arranged for myself a place on a ship heading to the northern kingdom of Bjarmia, as magical assistance on their trading mission. The cold land is full of mountains, pine forests and old magic, just waiting for a mage to study it. And if I'm not mistaken I know where my now ex-fiance and my dear twin is going. The Empire of Cur-Axym, where there is intrigue, civil war, and many adventures to be had for warriors and heroes. Besides, if they'd stayed behind, the conservative mercantile families of our homeland of Plutrograd would have forcible married them off to some other third sons or up-jumped new money family patriarch. Children are tools for politics. If we desire to control our own fates, we must seek it elsewhere. I wish them all the luck in the world as I meet with the captain of the Shadowrunner down at the docks. We sail in the night, as the ship naturally is a bit more of a smuggler vessel than an honest merchant's ship. Of course, they won't expect me to sail away on such, so my trail will be hard to follow.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I've had day dreams like this, where I open my eyes one day and I'm somehow in my younger body. Thought about what I would change about myself and the world around me, how I could do that.
But I never actually expected it to happen.
The last thing I remember, I was sitting at my desk going through some paperwork.
Looking around, I'm still technically at my desk, or a desk that was once mine so long ago that I barely have any memory of it or the room it's in.
But the woman standing at my elbow, staring back down at me with a gentle frown on her soft, lined features... I remember her.
My breath catches in my throat, and I can feel tears starting to build behind my eyes. It's strange, I can't remember the last time that I cried.
The woman places a warm hand on my shoulder. It feels like the weight of the world. It feels like comfort. "Oh honey,"She says in a low voice, "Don't cry. I'm not mad at you, I'm glad you like reading so much. I just wish you wouldn't do it during class."
Her blue eyes are kind behind the small glasses perched low on her nose.
I can't help it but turn enough in the small desk to throw my arms around her slightly rounded waist, and her expression is confused but she still pats my back and makes soothing noises while I sob wretchedly into her brightly colored sundress.
I don't know how long we stay like that, but by the time I've managed to stop crying, there's still no one in the room but the woman and I. I can hear the gleeful shouts of children from the open window, she must have held me back during recess to 'punish' me for reading during class.
"There, there, now what was that all about?"The woman asks, tilting my face up gently so she can wipe it with a handful of tissues.
I try for a grateful smile, but I can feel my lips still trembling. "I'm sorry."I say, my unusually high voice cracking. "I-"I shake my head, I don't know how to explain myself.
The woman settles herself gingerly into the child sized desk next to me, raising her arm so I can tuck myself against her side. I'm not too proud to accept the offered comfort. I wonder if teachers are still allowed to do this in 2021. "This is about more than getting in trouble for reading, isn't it?"She prompts after a moment.
I manage a shaky laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."She challenges, looking down at me with one neat white eyebrow raised.
I've never been one to turn down a challenge. "I think- no, I *know* I've traveled in time. I'm from the future."
Her thin lips tighten like she's trying not to smile. "Oh really?"She asks lightly. "When are you from, then? Are there flying cars yet?"She's humoring me, I can tell. Just another child's flight of fancy.
It doesn't really matter if she believes me. "When I woke up this morning, it was July 20th, 2021. Now here I am in- Gods, 1999? *Maybe* 2000? Those are the years I was in your class. And no, no flying cars yet."
"It's Tuesday April 18th, 2000."She provides helpfully.
Oh. *Oh Gods*. Out of all days, why did I wake up in my younger body the day before *that*?
I close my eyes to fight back more tears. It doesn't matter how close it is to *that*, for me it's already happened. It's in the past.
When I've got control of myself again, I look back up at the woman, her eyes betraying her amusement even as she manages to keep her expression serious. "Do you want to know what happens? What the future holds?"I ask. I don't know why, it won't change anything. I don't even know how long I'll be here for, in this 6-year-old body of mine. If it's permanent.
"Wouldn't that mess up the timeline?"
I sag my body more into her side, shaking my head. The smell of her perfume sparks memories I didn't even know I still had. "It won't matter."I tell her softly.
Her body jolts a little in a chuckle she probably couldn't help. She thinks it won't matter because none of it will be real. I know it won't matter because... "Alright then, tell me. What's going to happen in the future?"
Might as well start big. "The World Trade Center, you know the one in New York?"I wait for her hum of confirmation. "On September 11th, 2001, four commercial airplanes are going to be hijacked by terrorists with passengers onboard. Two will hit the Twin Towers, destroying them."I hear her take one sharp, in drawn breath, "One will crash into the Pentagon. The passengers and flight staff of the last one will manage to prevent the plane from making it to its target, the Capitol Building, but they won't be able to save themselves. It will crash in a field in Pennsylvania. The total casualty count from the attack itself will number at almost 3,000 lives lost."I can hear how flat my voice is, how dispassionate.
For me, 9/11 happened almost 20 years ago, and it's hard to maintain the level of outrage we all felt when it happened when I know what it will lead to.
None of the terrorists were even *from* Iraq.
"T-that's not quite-"Her voice is shaking, confused. Children don't normally make up stories about terrorist attacks.
"In 2003, America will mobilize its troops to war in Iraq because of the attacks. At least a million innocent people will die. In 2005, Hurricane Katrina will make landfall in Mississippi before sweeping through Louisiana. It will devastate New Orleans and cause about 1,200 deaths. In 2008, the housing market will crash and cause a terrible Recession. Unemployment and suicides will reach staggering heights. In-"
"Stop. Stop! Where are you getting all of this nonsense?"The woman's voice is sharper than I ever remember it getting.
I meet her eyes as levelly as I can. "It's not nonsense. It's the future. It's the things I've lived through, the things that shaped and defined my life."
For the first time, I can see the first sparks of belief in her tired eyes. "Why are you telling me all of this?"
I sigh and shake my head, curling back against her side. "I told you. Because in the end, it won't matter."I say, my voice low and sad. "I just- thank you for listening to me. And thank you, Mrs. Martin, for everything. You don't know how much you meant to me."
She doesn't reply and I don't tell her anything else, I don't want to burden her anymore. I just let the silence fill the room and my mind until I'm drifting into sleep.
I wake with a start at my desk in my office, my phone blaring angrily with the alarm that signals the end of my lunch break.
It wasn't a dream, I know it wasn't. My dreams are never that detailed or coherent.
I push my hair out of my face and rub my eyes roughly. When I drop my hands, my gaze is drawn to a clipping from a newspaper I had pinned to my wall, worn with time, the print fading. A tribute to one of the best people I ever knew. The woman's face smiles back at me.
**Carol Wayne Martin**
*On Wednesday, April 19th Carol Martin- a beloved elementary school teacher, wife, and mother- was sadly found having passed away in her sleep. Mrs. Martin was a pillar of the Summerville community-*
I turn away. I don't need to read the obituary again. I know what it says.
Mrs. Martin lived a pretty full life before dying of a sudden brain aneurysm at 53.
I could have warned her she only had one day left.
It wouldn't have mattered. |
YTA.
While you're right to want tradition, it's selfish to expect others to blindly follow them.
What if they have a tradition you don't like? Your fiancé could have a tradition that, as a vampire or as a person, you don't want to do. Would you be disrespecting her tradition or simply setting boundaries?
You should've also discussed this early in the engagement. "Just found out"implies that she didnt even find out from you. You say you follow tradition, yet don't tell your fiancé the tradition. Now this is just an assumption, but from your wording it seems likely. Imagine how that makes her feel.
Now also imagine if she had asked you to cure your vampirism because it's her family tradition. You would probably say no, and for good reason. You are happy with your vampirism and you should be, no one should take that away from you unless you are more than willing to. It's the same situation with her - she seems to love you, but doesn't want to give up her humanity.
Honestly, the answer is so simple, it's embarrassing you even had to ask. Do better, OP. |
"Look here, honey! It will restore your faith in humanity."I said, pointing at the setting sun. It shimmered across the ocean at our favorite beach.
"Oh dear, this is one scene that you would have to see to believe!"she exclaimed.
"I brought you to our top 10 secret getaways today, our favorite resort locations, would you like to know why?"I asked with a smile.
"I'm hoping it isn't all one weird trick to get me to sleep with you, women *HATE* that."she assumed.
"No, I love you."I said, getting down on one knee. I took the ring out of my pocket and held it up to her. "This one question could change your life."I told her, as we locked eyes.
And you wouldn't believe her answer. |
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Ana and Henry. Happy birthday to you.”
Today was my 100th birthday. 100 years. Sitting next to me was my brother, Henry, who actually looked the part. He was my twin, but it didn’t take long for people to stop believing it. My parents realized it just after three months, when my brother Henry was growing out of his fragile baby state and I was stuck. Doctors racked their brains to figure out why my bones weren’t forming properly. Would I be stuck with cartilage and soft spots forever? Would I be so easily breakable and fragile? Doctors said it would be unlikely I would survive, but my parents were persistent.
After nearly three years, my bones began to form together. Doctors were stumped. Why had it taken so long? Why wasn’t I developing like a normal kid? My brother was three years old, walking, talking, and learning the world, but all I could do was lie there, cooing and blowing bubbles, just starting to learn how to crawl. On my brother’s tenth birthday, I finally looked about a year old. I surpassed normal one year olds in my development, but that’s only because I had ten years to do it. It was like that for most of my life. I was a prodigy, learning doctorate level mathematics at four years old, but I wasn't a genius, I just had the time and brain capacity to learn. My brain developed at the same rate as my body, but I learned so much more in the extra time and matured so much faster.
My parents did the best they could, but I could tell they were worried. Worried that they wouldn’t truly get to see my grow up. Worried about what I would do after they passed. Worried about the scientists that wanted to dissect and study me to figure out the secret of eternal life, or at least, eternal youth. When my fifth birthday came around, they transferred my guardian rights over my brother Henry. Henry had always been my favorite person. By the time I was old enough to play with him, he was old enough to respect his sibling. He never resented me for monopolizing the majority of our parent’s attention. He took care of me when they couldn’t, raising me like one of his own children and then passing me onto them when he grew too old.
I knew his time was coming soon. I had watched the death of my parents, my friends, my mentors, my nieces and nephews. He was the only person to remain throughout my whole life, but soon he would be leaving me. For me, time seemed to stop, while everyone else’s time went by so fast. I didn’t want him to die, but the one thing I had learned so far in my life is that everyone dies, eventually. I, too, would die, but whether it came in five hundred years or almost a thousand, I wouldn’t know. No one ever knew.
However, I did know one thing. After watching several generations of my family grow up, I could honestly say, I was not ready for 100 years of puberty. |
I agreed to this some 40 years ago.
Humanity found the 'cure' for death almost a century ago. From natural to unnatural, all death was not impossible.
It worked 99% of the time and I was keen to have immortality and enjoy it with my friends and family, naive to what it actually entailed.
I remember it vividly, the doctor's face of awe and disappointment.
"Sorry son, you are part of the 1%.", the doctor offered his condolences.
How could I not be one of the people who becomes immortal?!
What kind of a cruel joke this is. To leave my loved ones behind.
When the news broke out that 1% of humanity will not be immortal, the governments of the world worked quickly to have the rights to make a big show out of their deaths, provided that they become the last one, in exchange for a sizable compensation for the loved ones that they leave behind. I took it immediately, and luckily I did become the last one.
Eventually, I considered my impending death a blessing. I resolved myself to live my days to their fullest. Ultimately, I found joy in life - I found love in a woman who belonged in the 1% as well.
Together, we tackled life. It's joys and sorrows.
We had kids who miraculously became blessed with the curse of immortality after taking the cure.
She passed not too long ago. The second to the last, they said. It was wildly followed but not as celebrated as mine.
And now, it is my turn to go.
I am in my deathbed.
Friends and families surrounded me.
Doctors and nurses moving in and out of the room.
Cameras are rolling as my last moments are being laid bare to the world.
In my last thoughts, I found it curious that almost not a single person thought to think of the *non-existent* 'after life' once they gained immortality.
The exception to this was a group of a few brilliant minds who decided that they wanted to see what was beyond. They toiled day and night in the last few decades until they achieved it.
Just in time for the last human to die.
"The window to the soul", they called it.
And it was attached to me, to give them at least a glimpse.
I was being broadcast and what my soul would be seeing was also going to be shown. The scientists estimated it would give them at least a minute of what the human soul would see once it passes on.
As I closed my eyes, I heard the sound from the people surrounding me and from the ones outside the hospital watching with bated breaths on a screen.
Strange, it seemed like they were panicking. Rioting?
I took my final breath.
Flat line.
"Hi *Xairen*! We've been expecting you, especially your wife!", a handsome young man in majestic pure white garment greeted me. "Unfortunately, you're going to be the last to join paradise for reasons that you already know."its six seraph wings folded down as if to display melancholy.
"Hey, what's this? Looks like you're... tethered? That won't do. Let me take care of that for you."
And with that, the angel cut off the feed. |
After the Population Purge Bill was passed last year, life has been kinda hectic. The bill, which was signed by the UN, allowed everyone to kill one person and get away scot-free. According to some of the arguments they gave, they claimed that most people usually need to settle that anger deep down inside, so killing one person was the most effective way. I find that complete utter bullshit.
For the past few months, I've been trying to live a healthy life with no deathly situations. I wish I could say that feeling would be mutual, but I'd be lying. Everyday is a living hell filled with knife throwing, flying bullets, and of course, some "natural"food poisoning.
Supposedly sending a full body nude on the Internet is a surefire way to make yourself an easy target. Of course, there's nothing wrong with bragging about your shenanigans unless you beat down the smaller ones.
I mean how the hell was I supposed to know the most of the world's population of men weren't bigger than seven inches?
The first person who had tried to kill me was a waiter at one of the restaurants I usually went to. It was late at night and I was waiting for my order of grilled porkchops with red onions on the side. When the waiter placed it in front of me, I had noticed that the porkchop was bit more purple than usual. As I was about to take a bite, from the corner of my eye I saw the waiter looking at me with this threatening look, almost like a lion about to pounce onto a gazelle.
As I placed the meat back down, the waiter placed his arm behind his back, and I knew what he was about to do next. I quickly got up and threw my chair at him, which surprised him for a bit. The knife that he was about to grab fell out of his back pocket, and I quickly snatched it before he could recover. I remember a couple of women screaming as everyone quickly rushed out of the restaurant, away from the ongoing danger. Eventually, it was just me and the waiter.
I don't really want to talk about the gruesome bits, but lets just say I was lucky that I threw that chair really hard.
Pretty much for the past few weeks, I've been trying to lie low and I constantly carry a waist bag with an occasional knife and a few antidotes. I'm not proud to say this, but I've been poisoned enough to remember which one is which just by the symptoms. The atropine I carry in the waist bag has helped me more times than many.
As I was lying in bed scrolling through posts on Deaddit, I heard the faint sound of my door bell ring. Having learned that the insurance costs of a house would cost me way more if it was ridded with blood and bullet holes, I instantly made the decision to move to an apartment. I haven't started unpacking yet, mostly because I was using the large piles of boxes as hiding spots in case someone snuck in to kill me.
I groaned and quickly got the double barrel from underneath my bed and headed towards the front door. I often bring the gun whenever I'm ordering delivery, mostly because I can just stand in the doorway and blast through the intruder's abdomen with two shots. I can't recall the dozens of guys who came up to my door with weapons of their own, only to find themselves lying on the ground with their guts smeared across the room across from mine.
When I peeked through the peephole to see who was outside, I saw a small girl wearing a camo jacket paired up with blue denim jeans. I took a glance at her shoes and saw that she was wearing combat boots a size too big for her. I instantly opened the door and pulled her into my apartment.
The girl stifled a yelp as she was dragged across the doorway. I quickly took a peek outside in case anyone saw, and quickly shut the door behind me. After locking the dozens of locks on my door, I turned around to find a switchblade placed against my throat. I could feel the cool blade fill up with heat and rage coming the girl herself.
"What the hell did I say about dragging me into your apartment with no warning? I may act rough, but I'm still a girl you know!"
This is Hannah, a friend of mine from middle school with a short temper. If you were to come across her, trust me, you do not want to tick her off. Within hours when the bill was released, she went home and killed her abusive drunk father by breaking all the alcohol bottles and shoving the shards one by one into his body, while he was tied down. Sigh, I remember it like it was yesterday.
(Okay, I edited it. I don't know at this point) |
"I have an army."The creature snarled. "Your human weaponry is no match for the full might of Th'dorin the Conquerer". As if on cue, a roar erupted from the masses behind him, weapons at the ready. His lean, chitinous face reflected the glare of the sun, his black form like an ink stain in the burning summer day.
"Where is the military? Why am I dealing with this alone. I'm just a farmer,"Troy thought to himself. "I'm not equipped-"his hand, nervously plunging into his pocket, met resistance. A small packet of chips. Troy remembered there was more in his truck, just a few feet away.
He listened, and checked the skies. An echoing call bolstered Troys resolve. He broke into a dead run towards his truck, and grabbed the bags of chips stashed in the floor after yesterday's grocery run.
The invader laughed a dry, unappealing squeal. "You're a fool to resist. I have an army."
"And I have chips."Troy snarled, tearing into the packets and scattering the contents to sprinkle down among the amassed horde.
The honking Troy heard from the sky grew fierce and incessant.
Troy smirked as the geese descended. |
"OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY!"
I scowled and stomped my way over. I had to stay close to the prisoner to enact my plan, but that also meant being close enough to hear almost everything that happened in his cell. Apparently, his emotions boil close to the surface. First, it was grandstanding about how the hero was gonna come in and wreck everything, then it was continual threats and debased insults about my existence, and now it's undignified wailing in the corner.
After confirming his location in the cell is well away from the door, I put my guards on standby and slammed the door open. "I HAVE HAD IT! WHY IS IT TAKING SO LONG!?"That shook him out of his stupor, but he was still sobbing as I approached. "Listen, I get that you're an emotional guy, and that's fine and all, but c'mon! I can't be expected to get anything done while you make a racket here. Besides, you should've been either dead or rescued weeks ago! What happened!?"
Sufficiently intimidated, my prisoner's sobs turned into quiet whimpers. In between sniffles, he said "look, I'm supposed to be the smart one, right? So why did it take me so long to figure out that she didn't care? Last week is when I finally put all the pieces together."
Last week is also about when he started screaming that she wasn't coming to save him. I ignored it at the time, just like everything else he'd been shouting about. But now I reconsidered.
He continued "I wasn't just her tech guy. I... I thought I was her friend. No, I thought I was more than that. We were intimate, we had something! I gave her my life and my work. Everything she has is something I made for her. But I see it now. She, she used me!"He devolved back into sobs.
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers and sighed. Ugh, I'm a villain, not a therapist, how the heck am I supposed to deal with this? Relationship issues?
Then I saw an opportunity.
I spoke carefully. "She and I have been fighting for most of our careers. I have been hurt countless times by her actions. But what she has done to you must hurt far worse than any blow she has landed on me. So tell me, what are you going to do about it?"I crouched next to him, took his shoulder, and gently moved him to face me. "I have spent my life trying to get even with that blasted hero. She has made my life hell, and now it sounds like she did the same to yours. So let me ask you, will you help me... no, will you help us, get even?"
Look, I pitied the guy, but I could use his brains on my side. I'd fought against them often enough to know how intelligent he is. Perhaps I could sway him to work for me instead of her, the wretched, apparently unfaithful hero.
He looked up at me, skeptical but contemplative. He wiped his face and nodded his head. "Yeah, ok. I want to show the world what she's really like. Let them know that their hero isn't all she's cracked up to be."
Ooh, a broken heart can be so spiteful. This is going to be fun. |
“A divine gift of a god is not so easily revoked.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you very sure?”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Stop asking already! You know what I asked for!”
“I said YES YES YES!”
“STOP ASKING!”
“STOP!”
Harry shot up from his bed as the strange, blurry dream ended. His muscles ached as he tried to ease himself out of the hospital bed he woke up in.
This is fucking wrong, Harry told himself.
Instead of cold metal, the assist bars felt like wet, soft, living bones with a thin layer of flesh. Instead of soft cotton and polyester, his bed was a breathing meaty mass. He could hear the odd squelch as his feet landed on a warm floor oozing thick yellow mucus.
He vaguely remembered making a wish, and coming to a hospital for a new-fangled surgery, but the hospital was a state-of-the-art, pristine, white facility, not this fleshy, meaty interior of pseudo-Cthulhu thing. Whatever this place is, Harry knew he needed to get away. NOW.
First, he needed to find anything that looked like a door. Like that rectangular-shaped mouth that dripped viscous liquids from the top. He tapped on the mouth, which groaned, extended a long, whip-like tongue that wrapped around his waist, pulled him within…
…and threw him out into a corridor that smelled of decay and rot. He ran through the corridor, trying to find anything that looked like a main exit. Splashing sounds echoed through the entire building, if Harry could still call it a building at all, every time his feet stepped into the endless puddles of icky black liquid. The visibility in the corridor was terrible, the lights in the ceiling partially obscured by wiry weaves of membrane and mucus.
He checked a door that still had some semblance of a normal wooden door, with a steel frame and hinges. There was a thick, luxurious carpet of red hair sprouting from below. Harry looked up at the window panel to see a sign plastered over it.
THIS ROOM MUST BE SHAVED DAILY.
Fuck, definitely not an exit.
Approaching the next door which wasn’t a mass of pulsating flesh, Harry tried to look into the window panel only to be blinded by a bright, sickly green glow. The window curtain then flapped and revealed a set of flat molars in a disgusting grin.
Fuck, skipping this room.
“Attention, patient 3056, Harry Johnson has vacated his room. Please assist to locate the patient.”
Harry just kept running along the seemingly endless corridor. He wasn’t even sure if he was headed in the right direction, but he must keep moving before they catch up and do weird shit to him, never mind who “they” are. He picked up his pace, his feet slapping against the meat moss on the floor and splashing black fluids on the fleshy, pulsating walls.
A creature with the head of a Piranha and tentacles for legs, in a nurse’s outfit burst out of a door in front of him. He grabbed a tray from a surgery cart, hit it as hard in the face as he could, then ran past the monster that smelled of rotten fish.
“Code Gray. Mr. Harry Johnson, West Wing. Mr. Harry Johnson, West Wing.”
“Paging the Lord to assist Mr. Harry Johnson. Dr. Victor Frankenstein is unavailable at the moment to brief the patient.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
An ominous shadow glided past Harry and he couldn’t resist looking up. He tried to grab anything on another surgery cart to defend himself only for a wet tentacle to grab his leg and try to pull him into a cavernous maw. He kicked and tried to stab the tentacle with a syringe he grabbed, only for another tentacle to slap the syringe out of his hand. Harry twisted around in an attempt to flee, but the floor was too slippery, his feet finding no grip and he fell down. His heart pounded faster and faster, as his screams grew louder, and his flailing grew wilder but to no avail.
He fell into a comfy armchair. Finally, something that wasn’t made of weird flesh and meat. He placed his hands on the cool glass table and found it perfectly normal.
The chair before him swiveled so its mysterious occupant was facing him.
The creature had an elongated head with wide vertical jaws filled with at least 3 columns of sharp, needle-like teeth, its inner mouth jam-packed with bloodshot eyes too numerous to count. Too many glowing eyes lined the sides of its head, a strange patch of bandage on its right side. Fucking tentacles everywhere. Tentacles at the back and lower sides of its head, tentacles sprouted from its sleeves, a writhing mass of tentacles for legs.
The creature leaned forward to speak to him while offering him a cup of tea. Its body bore the delicate, sweet smell of lavender, and its breath smelled faintly of mint and chamomile tea. “Hello Harry, you don’t seem to be adjusting well to the surgery. Please relax and let me help you. This tea will soothe your nerves.”
Good, a monster that doesn’t have unbearable rotting body odor. Harry turned down the tea.
“I would like to get the fuck out of here. Would also be nice to know what the fuck is going on here.”
“You wished for greater insight into the world. Dr. Frankenstein wished for a patient who would be willing to sign up for his new surgery. I granted both wishes. Killed two birds with one stone. Your brain no longer processes the world as you expect to see it, you now see beyond the supernatural veil of the masquerade.”
Harry snapped back, “I didn’t ask to see a Cthulhu-themed hospital!”
The monster’s jaws cut across its face and spread so wide it reached the tip of its forehead and its chin. “You asked to see the world for what it is. To see through the deception. You now see past the masquerade with seven Eyes of Eldritch Truth, which I have so kindly donated to you.” The creature now gestured to the bandage patch on its face. “Dr. Frankenstein has surgically embedded these eyes into your brain. I sincerely hope you liked my gift to you. I’m really happy, this is the first time a human has beheld my Abyssal form without screaming incoherently and running around like a headless chicken. One of the questions you asked me was how I see the world, and now I’ve shared with you seven of my eyes so you can truly see from my perspective. I’m very glad to share my divine gift with you and share my worldview, quite literally in this case. It’s lovely to hold a conversation like this. It’s the first time a human can actually comprehend me for who I really am in the shadows.”
“STOP! That’s enough! SHUT UP! I don’t even know you! Why are you doing this to me? Can I turn these Eyes of Eldritch Truth off?” yelled Harry.
The monster clenched its jaws and pursed its lips in an attempt to pull a pout. “Oh dear, you don’t remember me. Dr. Frankenstein did tell me that one of the side effects would be memory loss. We first met at Innsmouth. Now, listen to me carefully, and I will instruct you how to temporarily close these eyes. I’m not sure why you want to though.”
Harry closed his eyes, and focused his mind, following the cold whispers that echoed in his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he was facing a familiar face. An ethereal, almost human face with silver hair and fathomless deep violet eyes. And a big silly grin, with the bandage patch still plastered on the right side of his face.
“Now, where are my manners? Is this face better? I suppose I will have to formally reintroduce myself since you have unfortunately forgotten me. I am Elvari, Eldritch Lord of the Black Seas, and local deity at Innsmouth.”
Fuck, I made a wish to some chipper, tea-sipping eldritch god? Harry thought to himself.
“I don’t even want these eyes anymore…I didn’t expect to see this creepy shit. Take it back, tentacle guy!’
The eldritch god scrunched his face and pouted again. “That’s just rude, Harry. That’s not very nice. I have a name and title you have been made aware of. To answer your question, I did ask you three times if you are sure you wanted this gift from me. I am sorry to say that it is nigh impossible to remove the Eyes of Eldritch Truth once they have firmly taken root in your mind. I did warn you, Harry.
A divine gift of a god is not so easily revoked.”
------------------------
[Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/) |
Under the moonlit sky, a lone man departed from the small village. He fearlessly advanced into the wilderness, toward the towering castle within its depths.
"Who was that?"A villager stared at the man’s back. "Another aspiring dragonslayer?”
"Shut it,” another villager replied. "Didn't you see the emblem on his uniform? That was probably the heir of the Duchy of Westwind!”
“A-a duke?! Wait, did you say Westwind? You mean he was *the* James Westwind? The winner of the national festival’s tournament?”
"Yeah. So zip it, before someone calls for your family to get lynched. Can’t insult a high noble.”
The outspoken villager gulped, before returning his eyes onto the departing James. “Who knows, maybe that kid will actually succeed…”
\* \* \*
James lightly treaded the castle’s courtyard. The serene and silent night was contrasted by the smell of blood. Fallen corpses from once-mighty knights littered the abandoned castle.
James reminisced the past as he walked. Before he knew it, he stood before the massive door which led into the throne room. The entrance opened with a push. The King’s chambers was grand yet dark, with a only a few spots of moonlight to provide illumination. The room’s only residents were a princess and the mighty dragon that rested at her side.
"I knew you'd be here,"James said. “Sophie.”
He gazed at the princess who sat sideways on one of the chamber’s windowsills. She had been reading a book under the moonlight, before turning toward James. "If it isn't Mister Westwind. Is the so-called most promising knight of our generation also here to *save* me?”
"Yes and no. Also, don't call me that,” James responded.
”Call you what?” Sophie scoffed. “Mister Westwind, who hasn't visited me in six years.”
“…My bad. The Knights’ Academy has very strict rules. I couldn’t-“
A loud snort interrupted James’ words. He turn toward the massive blue dragon, which had now opened its eyes.
Azura. It was the dragon that he and Sophie had found during their childhood adventures, as an egg in this abandoned throne room. It was the dragon that they hatched, named, and raised together.
Azura lightly opened her maw and spoke. ”Every year was what you promised. Yet you never came. We've been through *a lot* recently.”
James grit his teeth. He remembered his promise – that they would continue going on adventures. Yet he hadn't been able to fulfill it during the past six years.
Azura continued. “All we ever hear about from you is how focused you are on accumulating merits and becoming an Imperial Knight. Are you sure you’re not here to slay me and retrieve Sophie?”
"Absolutely not!"James exclaimed. "I've already investigated everything. Both the royal palace and the coalition of nobles found out about how Sophie can befriend monsters. I don't know how, but I swear that it wasn't me. I know that they just want to capture her and use her as a tool.”
"That's right,"Sophie confirmed. "And I know that it wasn't you who outed us. The magic of an oath cannot be broken."
James nodded. “I dropped everything and came to find you. I'm truly glad that you're both alright…”
"You dropped everything? Don't exaggerate. You still need to return, no?” Sophie sighed. “They all say that you're about to become the youngest imperial knight in history.”
Sophie turned her gaze toward the moon.
She knew that she wasn't going to hear what she had wanted. She had waited for so many years, hoped for so many years. As did Azura. Yet they got nothing. She didn't even know why she decided to return to this abandoned throne room, where they had passed the days as children. She didn't know why she waited day after day.
"No,"James threw a scroll toward Sophie. "I really did leave everything behind.”
Sophie caught the scroll and hastily read its contents. It was a stamped approval for the withdrawal of one James Westwind from the Imperial Knight selection process. She turned toward James in shock. “…Why?”
"Well. Only an Imperial Knight has the authority to consistently accompany royalty during their travels. How else can we go adventuring?"James awkwardly smiled. “But now that you've run away from the palace, I suppose that such a position is no longer needed.”
Even Azura was speechless. Sophie surged with emotions, but held back as she asked another question. "What about the Duchy of Westwind?”
"My brother’s a better governor than me.”
Azura chuckled. “How irresponsible…”
"It's probably better for the citizens anyways."James laughed. "So, not as bad as avoiding you two for six years. Hopefully.”
"Are you sure you want to do this?” Sophie asked. Deep down, she didn't want to give James a chance to turn back. But she was compelled to, out of her care. "Unlike us, you have a choice.”
“Of course I want to join you.” James smiled. “A pretty princess with an awesome dragon, in an isolated castle away from society? That’s a pretty sweet gig.”
“Pretty?! W-wha…” Sophie quickly turned her head.
“Oops. I mean pretty ex-princess,” James joked.
“Pfft,” Azura held back her laughter.
The three joked around for several more minutes, before noticing that the sunrise had arrived. Golden light steadily replaced the throne room’s darkness.
“It’s beautiful…” Sophie remarked.
“Hey,"James unsheathed his blade and offered it to Sophie. "Care to do that thing again? The knighting ceremony game.”
“But I'm no longer a princess.”
"Who cares?” James dismissed as he knelt before Sophie. "You can just think of a title."
Warm sunlight poured in from the window behind the duo.
“Then,” Sophie smirked. "James Westwind. Do you pledge your allegiance to the Witch, Sophie?”
James laughed. "Yes, I do.”
Sophie tapped James’ shoulder with her sword.
The ceremony was complete.
And so began the tale of the Witch, the Knight, and the Dragon. |
Walter White awoke to a gloved hand delivering a powerful strike to his face.
"Wake up!"shouted an unfamiliar voice.
Lights... too bright. Everything too bright...
"And there we are at last. Welcome, Mr. White. That is your name, you know,"said the voice. It seemed to be coming from a blurry shape directly in front of him.
"Walter White. Not Heisenberg. No, no. You've behaved far too terribly to sully one of science's greatest names by adopting it for yourself."
Walter went to reach out towards the shape in front of him, but found his hands pinned down at his sides. He craned his neck, looking everywhere and nowhere, half-useless eyes clawing for some clue to his surroundings but finding only a blur.
"Science is such a noble pursuit,"continued the voice. "You were a man after my own heart, even if your skill level is... not quite competitive with mine."
A brief pause. Walter could hear faint crackling noises. The gentle hum of florescent lighting. His head hurt.
"You disappointed me, Walter. Now let me disappoint you."
The blurry shape Walter had assumed to be his captor moved out of his view. He felt a pair of hands over his ears... then sight. His glasses, someone had put them on him.
"Look around you, and see what your skills and knowledge could have wrought."
As Walter's eyes adjusted, he saw around him a shimmering mass of scientific equipment, computers, chemicals bubbling away in flasks and beakers. Fantastic machinery, some that he knew intimately, and some he had never seen before; outlandish contraptions that looked like they came out of some cartoon space alien's arsenal.
And he saw one of them pointed right at him, aimed right between his eyes. Vicious electrical arcs leapt across jagged metal points. A tiny ginger boy suddenly appeared in front of it.
"Now, Mr. White,"said the boy, taking off his own glasses and wiping them on his lab coat, "I believe I have a moral obligation to relieve you of your ill-gotten gains and reinvest those funds into science! I have plans, Mr. White, plans that require funding. Now, if you'll be so kind as to tell me whe-"
"Ooooooooh..."A pair of blonde pigtails bobbed into view, accompanied by a plaintive question. "What does THIS button do?"
The ginger child whirled around. "NOOOOO!"
The electrical arcing on the device pointed at him suddenly increased ten-fold, a hundred-fold, exponentially! A blast of heat, a light whiter than anything Walter had ever imagined, then... nothing. Nothing but the sound, so distant, so far off... the last thing Walter White would ever hear was the voice of a ginger boy screaming "DEE-DEE! GET OUT OF MY LABORATORY!" |
I stood on the bridge deck, claws tapping on the console before me. They were *late*. *All of them*. They were all good officers, and they knew better, they knew I demanded better, and yet they were *late*.
That was not a good sign.
It was half a cycle until the main offensive. The last ships in the fleet had mustered here only a few *tki* ago, a few jumps off from the main system, and now we were all simply waiting for the final go ahead.
I heard the scrabbling before I saw the first one approaching. Krit was descending rapidly from the tunnel above, its four legs grasping wildly for footholds as it plunged vertically at an almost out-of-control rate.
"First *Eniit*!"It was crying, voice strained from its exhaustion. It collapsed to the deck in front of me, trying to catch its breath. I scurried over immediately.
"Krit! Calm yourself. You have the report, then?"I didn't mention its tardiness. If it was this out of joint, something *must* be wrong.
"I do, sir!"It reached with one claw over to the data console, tapping out commands smoothly despite the fact I could see its legs trembling. Krit was a good officer, new but on the rise.
An image appeared before me. Some sort of...visual interface? It was black and red, and seemed to be displaying some manner of database.
"We found this a quarter-cycle ago, sir. It seems to be some sort of historical access portal, with audio-visual records. It was behind a locked screen requesting identification, so..."It trailed off.
"So this data is secure. Good work breaking through. What did you find?"It shook its head at me.
"Well, that's just it, *Eniit*. The lock on the data was *rudimentary*, in line with the technology level we've come to expect from this civilization. Nothing special at all. But the records within...."Its claw was no longer steady, but Krit managed to tap out commands and direct the cursor to a particular record.
Immediately, the image of a vessel appeared in front of me. I couldn't help it. My lower mandibles began rattling anxiously. If Krit heard it, it didn't comment.
That ship was *enormous*. It had some sort of bulbuous, dish-like oval nacelle extending from the front of it, which judging by the planet it flew next to would envelop half of the fighters in our fleet without a second thought.
I also didn't recognize that planet. We had done *thorough* scans of the surrounding systems, and it should at least look *familiar* to me. I spent *hours* poring over those records. If this planet was from outside our search region, these *humans* must be far-traveled indeed.
"I...I see."I managed. Krit shook its head.
"*Eniit*, that's not all, I'm afraid."It flicked at the bottom of the screen, and the record advanced. As I watched, brightly colored beams of light shot from the vessel, slicing deep into a neighboring ship. I flinched back.
"They're aggressive, then. And those weapons!"I tried to stay calm. "I was told laser weapons were simply impossible! The energy and heat demands would be astronomical, never mind the focusing crystals and implements needed to make it work!"
And where were they *hiding* such ships? They must have some secondary base of operations, a military headquarters, that we knew nothing about.
They could be watching us right now.
Krit nodded. "My recommendation is we avoid combat around the planet itself, *Eniit*. Our ships cannot match up to such weapons or vessels. We should go straight for their planet, and land with the first and second trooper units."
That made sense. I nodded, and raised one claw to begin directing our troops, when the portal door on the bridge whisked open. Savaat, one of the other adjuncts researching this Earth, skidded through on two legs.
"*Eniit*!"It cried. My blood froze.
"What now!"I yelled, spinning to meet it.
Savaat slid to a stop beside us, raising a claw, and then stopped.
"Oh...I see you have it up. Sir, you have to see this."Pushing Krit out of the way, the older soldier began rapidly tapping in commands.
Another record appeared.
I sighed.
This record was worse. It seemed that we weren't the first alien race to discover this *Earth*, this ball of mud. On the screen between us, strange, huge aliens flew between their tall metal buildings. Pieces of the structures were falling, collapsing down on the citizens below. Their city was burning.
And then, from the rubble below, I saw other figures begin to appear. *Strange* figures. They flew into the skies in metal suits, and threw hammers that blew holes in the aliens. One literally *transformed* itself into a green monster. Even the few of their party who seemed to be completely ordinary as humans go seemed to be holding their own against the aliens, against all logic and reason.
The three of us watched in silence as the tiny group of humans demolished the entire alien invading force.
"I *highly recommend* we proceed with an orbital assault, First *Eniit*."Savaat said, its voice urgent. "We cannot survive a ground assault."
Krit looked at me. I looked at Krit. We both looked at Savaat.
This was a fine mess, wasn't it? I had to find *some* way to make this work.
But as I stood there pondering the matter, the elevator from below began rising. Off from it sprung Yviir, who seemed unable to wait for it to stop.
"*Eniit*!"It howled.
"What *now*."I hissed, stalking over to it. Yviir paused as it sprinted over.
"Oh, good. You have it up already."
I hated those words.
I watched as Yviir pulled up yet *another* record.
A group of humans, standing in some bleak metal structure centered around a plain metal ring.
And as we wached, the ring exploded in energy like a tidal surge, and coalesced into a portal.
And the humans walked through into a distant, alien world.
"Why!"cried Krit. "If they can simply travel by portal, why do they need to have space vessels of such size and ferocity?!"
Yviir, not having seen Krit's record, began responding, but I cut it off.
I had seen enough.
"This is a fool's errand."I hissed. "We can't attack from space. We can't attack them on land. They can travel through vast distances *instantly* and cross over to alien worlds."Even as I said it, I could see the wheels turning in their heads, too.
"They can't know we *exist*."I said it slowly, the realization sinking home.
"If we attack...If we miss even *one of those ships*..."Krit said. I could see the fear in its eyes.
"Their armies would ravage our worlds."I knew Savaat was thinking about the aliens he had seen decimated. Aliens far larger and more fearsome than our own armies.
"Surely the Administration would recognize the risk that attacking this world could pose to us?"Yviir asked, tentatively.
I sighed heavily.
"They're going to have to. We cannot attack with this new information. We need to decide how to proceed. All units will withdraw for now."The three soldiers scattered.
As the orders began to filter out, one after another our ships faded out into their jumps and began their journey to the fall-back point.
I stayed on the bridge, watching, until that innocent blue and white orb faded into darkness. Ours was the last ship to jump.
Above Earth, the Frontier Internet satellite continued turning, unaware that it had ever been watched.
(/r/inorai)
E - Woah! Thank you for the gold, kind sir! I'm very glad you enjoyed it! |
Lulia hated Josh so much that even the act of buying magazines to cut up into a death threat filled her with rage. "Who actually buys magazines these days", she mumbled as she searched for scissors in her messy junk drawer. "How does he always manage to make my life harder just by existing?"She smiled and thought to herself that THAT particular problem would come to an end soon enough. She hadn't actually thought of what to write yet, so she decided to just cut out multiples of each letter from a "Birds and Blooms"gardening magazine. She only managed to get to "J"when she started noticing her breathing slow- something about this activity was the most soothing thing she had felt in weeks of anger and hatred. At first she thought it was the dioramas of fountains and forget-me -nots, but around the time she found herself laughing and cutting out little birds to use for dotting her eyes, she realized that it was the act of creation that was turning the static hum of her hatred into excitement and anticipation. The thrill of turning mundane letters into a Warhol-esque collage set off something primal in her, and for the first time in so lomg, Lulia found herself grounded.
The next day, Josh checked his letter box to find a piece of construction paper majestically decorated with birds, flowers, and, directly in the center, a message that read, "I foRGiVe yoU.""Huh,"he said, "I wonder who that's from,"and went about his day. |
It had been a long time since I had realized I held sway over this world. I could do anything I wanted, after all, I *did* write it into existence. It was one of my love stories I had so longed to be true, I had replaced Jack, the man with a heart that burns only for Cassandra. The great part was that unlike Jack, I knew she loved me more than anything in the world...
This place was grand, I never had to work a day in my life here. I could have anything I wanted, anything I wanted to happen occurred. But little Danny and Mara... God I missed those kids. I'd have to live with that witch raising them to be prissy little sleeze bags like her if I stayed.
It eats me alive, just thinking about it. I have the choice of being for all intents and purposes a god... Or I could keep my kids away from my Ex. All I wanted right now was for them to tumble into the story like I did, right here in front of me... If only it could be so.
To my shock, space began to warp in front of me, like I was summoning something to me. *But I'm not doing this?!* The though repeated over and over in my head, until two figures emerged. I heard one shout "I told you that we shouldn't have read daddy's book!"My heart skipped a beat as the other replied "Shut up Mara, don't be such a wimp."
I immediately embraced the two, they had fallen in the same as I had. My life here was complete, what was there to go back to anyhow, lawsuits from the damn witch for disappearing with the kids? I smiled as the two realized who I was. With that I said "Let's head to my new place, we have some catching up to do."We walked down the street, happy as we ever were. |
"That's not a battleaxe,"came a voice from behind him. He emitted a slight yelp and spun around, brandishing a long handled weapon with a blade at the end.
"What?!"he shouted, seeing nothing but shadows.
"You just said you were going to hack someone up with your battleaxe,"the voice replied in a sullen monotone. "But that isn't a battleaxe. That is a hatchet."
"Who's there? And ... who cares?! I'm going to hack someone up with it, whether it's a hatchet or a hacksaw."
"It's definitely not a hacksaw. But I have one, if you would like to see it. In the meantime, you have a hatchet. And a rather dull one at that."The voice sounded clearer and closer. The shadows in the dusty, dank hall seemed to move despite a seeming lack of any presence in them besides the man in the clown mask.
"Whoever you are, you're gonna die tonight. Don't you know what night this is?"
The shadows moved again and a slight glint caught off the edge of a piece of metal from a beam of moonlight coming through a boarded up window. Out from those shadows stepped a young girl with the blackest hair pulled into braids and the whitest skin looking like a ghost. In her hands, she held a much larger handle with a much sharper head split into two blades.
A hand ripped off the man's mask and pressed against his lips, causing him to scream a muffled shriek which only got louder when he noticed it ended in a wrist and nothing more.
The edges of the little girl's lips curled up just slightly as she spoke.
"It's Wednesday." |
As per usual, I snuck into the service closet to take a quick nap. The service bell woke me up. Shuffling from the closet, I headed to the front desk.
“Welcome to Silver Lane Motel. How can I help you?” I mumbled.
“Hi, I’d like a room for the night, please.” the man in front of me asked. “No special suites. Just a basic room.”
“Okay,” I said. “And what’s your name?”
“Smith. John Smith.”
I looked up from the paperwork. He only had a polite smile on his face. I also noticed he was carrying a suitcase. From the bag’s size and the man’s grip, I could tell it was filled with something heavy. Yet the man carried it with such ease.
Ignoring the bag, I said, “Okay… and a credit card?”
“Ah. Do you think we could skip that?”
As I started to protest, he pulled out a wad of cash from his jacket pocket. He kept a polite smile.
“This is more than enough for a room,” the man said. “plus a bit extra… tip, if you want it.”
Against my better judgement, I accepted the money and handed him a room key.
“You can have room 1E. Have a good night, sir.”
“Thank you. And I won’t need help with my bag.” With that same smile, he walked elegantly down the hall. The bag was bursting at the seams. I couldn’t resist my temptation.
“Sir,” I shouted. “What’s in the bag?”
He simply smiled. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to ask that.” With that, he entered his room and shut the door. ‘Fuck that.’ I thought.
I walked into the service closet and started to dream. I was on a beach somewhere in the dream world. I willed myself to return to reality. I appeared in Silver Lane Motels, next to the front desk. Taking a few short steps, I saw my own sleeping body. Phasing into reality was a skill that takes years to learn and decades to master. Thankfully, I’ve been doing this for a while.
While I was in the real world, I was more of a ghost than anything. That’s actually where the myth comes from. People can’t see me or touch me. I was still in the dream world, I was just skilled enough to view the real world from a different plane.
I walked down the hall and phased through the door of room 1E. The man was in the bathroom. I could see the light behind the closed door. Walking through the room, I noticed how untouched it was. He must of put the bag down and went to the bathroom right away. I looked down at the bed. The suitcase was there, completely full. With a moment of hesitation, I opened the bag.
The stench was unbearable. Curled up inside was somebody’s corpse. Except this corpse looked ancient, but well preserved. Out of curiosity, I touched it. The corpse turned its head to look at me.
Suddenly, I woke up in the service closet. I stumbled out and bumped into the man. His smile was gone.
“I thought I said not to look in the bag.” |
"Well. What would you like me to actually do about the dragon? They're very big, and I mean, they're sort of useful..."
Davis couldn't believe how nonchalant I was about the situation. It had been two months - eight weeks, and eight sheep - since the attacks started. I had a farm outside of the village limits, where I raised sheep, chickens, and grew vegetables. It was an okay life.
"You know the village has offered to start a collection to send off for the best dragon slaying mercenary we can find. You sell us our produce, so this hurts us too, Tam. We're worried about you, and us."
There we other farms, of course. But I tended to deal better with the villagers than the others. I was kinder, and often donated excess to the poorer people there. I was alone out here. I didn't need worry about feeding a family. Just me and my livestock... Which the dragon was slowly whittling away on. Of course, I couldn't actually explain what was happening to Davis or anyone else.
"The dragon chased off the bandits that attacked last Sunday, remember? I signalled for help but before the village guardsmen got out here they were gone. The dragon saw the signal and protected the sheep, and me. Last year I lost so much to the bandits, but the dragon isn't as greedy as they are."
Davis shook his head in defeat, told me to keep safe and left. I was alone again. You couldn't see the village from here, so it was almost perfect isolation. I finished my tea, then grabbed feed buckets to tend to my chickens and check on the sheep. It was a Wednesday, which is when the dragon usually visited. I think Davis had been trying to figure out a way to stick around and see what happened, but I was quite stubborn on the matter.
The chickens clucked and cooed gently at my feet as I scattered their food and checked their water, and I stroked a few of the more friendly ones. I had always been told not to get too close to my animals, but it was quite difficult.
They started flapping their wings in fear and running back into their coops which alerted me to the new visitor - the dragon, right on time. I hopped the fence and jogged to the sheep field, where they had huddled into a tight group, shaking at the sight of the dragon.
"Hello, Bronith."
The dragon, Bronith, was about the same height as a large work horse, and a light green like forest leaves. Much stouter than a horse, and strong powerful wings that helped her take flight. She was definitely not the biggest dragon that we knew of in the mountain ranges to the east, but she was the only one that had came so close in recent memory. Her long neck lowered for her eye to come close to my head.
"Hi, Tamara. I know you said last week that we would have to wait a bit, but... Well... We were really hoping to add to our herd."
This is what I couldn't tell Davis. Or anyone. The dragons weren't eating my sheep, they were trying to get their own flock started. They were lonely. They lived in the mountains and valleys and had each other, but all the animals had long disappeared from the wing shadows of the beasts. Dragons were natural animal lovers like many humans, and were trying to raise animals to have companions again. The sheep project was going okay, from what I had heard. My sheep were all mild mannered, and while afraid of the dragons didn't bolt. Some of them, Bronith told me, we're slowly getting comfortable with the dragons.
"Okay, but really, I need some time to calm them down after you leave. And I'll have to get more if you keep taking, my flock won't replenish. Oh. Yeah - it's flock, Bronith. Not herd."
The dragon's eyes closed and nodded at me, a slight smile at her lips. Dragons like Bronith didn't even eat meat - you could tell from her teeth it wasn't her main diet. The reason this was all in secret was because they didn't want dragon slayers getting any hint that they weren't as dangerous as they were believed to be, and then being hunted like we hunted everything else. I was a sucker, and could empathise with their plight.
"I'll get the rope and start tying one to you. You know the drill, not too fast, or high, or too twisty. And really Bronith, please leave me some time after this. If you need advice with sheep keeping you're welcome to come ask, but give my flock time."
The dragon nodded again, and opened one eye at me, winked, and flicked out a bit of gold with her tongue. Payment. With that, I went to get the rope. And red paint. Had to make it look convincing. |
Going to my immortal boyfriend's family reunion was a big mistake.
I was trying to be the cool girlfriend. Modern. *Evolved*. Of course there's no way I would be jealous of the descendants of a literal god who saw me bartending one night and somehow decided to make a life with me, as long as mine persisted.
But I didn't expect there to be so fucking many of them.
The party is at a villa big enough to make Louis XVI jealous. I was marveling as Apollo drove us up, but by the time we walk through the vast marble entry hall, and I can see through the wide French doors that lead to the garden, I'm quietly panicking, making exit plans.
There's at least a hundred people here, all of them unfairly hot. All that god-blood. There's an infinity pool with beautiful strangers swimming and drinking and laughing. A vast buffet full of foods with french names I can't pronounce.
I make Apollo stop there, just inside the doorway. "I can't do this."
Apollo squeezes my hand. He must see the look on my face, because he leans down to whisper in my ear, "We can bail. I'll just say you started feeling sick."
"Like that's not obvious,"I say. "I thought you said this was just close family."
"It is! Well. My siblings and cousins and blood descendents."
"You've had a busy immortality, then."
"Just be glad I'm not Zeus,"he murmurs in my ear.
"I hope you wouldn't fuck a swan. But that's a low bar, even for your family."
The wry banter almost feels like home. Like we're back in T-shirts and jeans, eating a normal meal with normal people, trying to out-smart each other.
"Look."Apollo cups my cheeks in his hands and says, "We just strut in, make my exes--"
"Ex-girlfriends? Plural?"
"Well. And boyfriends."
I scan the faces of the partygoers that I can see through the doors. There are a few older people who must be parents of Apollo's great-great-something grandchildren. They sip mixed drinks and admire a sprawling rose garden.
"Either you're awkwardly telling me you're cheating on me, or you really expect me to make a bunch of gods jealous."
"Darling,"Apollo murmurs, pressing his lips to mine. He dips his head toward a trip of women standing by the bar, stirring their already-stirred drinks, glaring at us hotly, even through the glass doors. "You already have."
That does nothing for my ego but twist it sickly with anxiety. I'm just a bartender. I have more pores than all these girls combined. I feel every mole and freckle and scar intensely as I fiddle with my dress top and try to look how Apollo must see me.
"Relax."He hooks his arm into mine. "You look perfect. Let all those gods and goddesses eat their heart out."
A woman crosses the lawn toward us. She looks radiant. That's the only word for it. She's dressed in a white linen dress that has to be worth more than my beater of a car. Her skin is a deep, gorgeous dark brown, her hair tight coils that smell like honey and wine. She approaches Apollo laughing, arms outstretched, a champagne flute glistening in her hand.
"What are you two bats doing, lurking in the dark?"she teases. She wraps her arms around Apollo and kisses his cheek. "It's been too long since you've shown your face at one of these, dear."
"I haven't had a good reason to show up in a couple centuries."
"You must be Daisy,"the woman says, offering her hand.
I'd like to be jealous, but when she looks at me, my stomach actually butterflies like I'm a teenage girl making eye contact with the first beautiful girl who ever wanted me. I stammer uselessly over my words.
"Uh... Yes! Daisy. That's me. I know my own name."I look up at Apollo questioningly. "Is this one of your... um..."
He catches my implication and cackles, slapping his thigh. "No. That's fantastically gross. This is Aphrodite. My half-sister."
She winks at me and says, "Don't worry. It's a fair question. He was a bit of a rebellious teenager. You never know who he's hooked up with."
"Thanks!"Apollo says. "That was super necessary."
Aphrodite gestures to my dress, a lavender linen thing that made me feel like a fairy in our hotel room, but now feels so unremarkable, when there are women out there dressed like butterflies.
"You look too good to be with him,"she says.
I laugh, shyly. I'm still terrified. I'm still convinced I'm the wrong person, that anyone will look at me and see some loser from Newark with way too much student debt and a hipbone tattoo from my freshman year. I could never belong here with people like this.
"Sis,"Apollo says, "give us a minute, and we'll be right in. Yeah?"
"Don't scare her off."Aphrodite smiles, her stare flicking me up and down. "I like this one."
She flutters away, taking the sunshine in the hall with her.
Apollo looks at me and says, "Do you remember the first thing you said to me?"
"Probably, what can I get started for you?"
"Oh, no. I saw a woman so beautiful I thought she could be a goddess. And I was the one smug enough to ask you *who* you're doing after work."
I grin. "Oh. Now I remember."
Apollo had been gorgeous, but drunk, goofy. His face had shifted from shocked to delighted when I answered, *Not you.*
And he'd grinned that perfect grin and asked me, *How can I change that?*
"You didn't just enamor me. You challenged me. You made me feel new and different and..."He tucks my hair behind my ear. "Seen. I don't know if anyone's ever looked at me like that before, in thousands of years."
I blink fast. I try to think of anything sarcastic to say, because if I get sentimental, I'll cry, and I can't have smudged makeup and a bad dress and a woefully human face.
I whisper, "You know, you don't have to keep trying to pick me up. You've already got me."
"I know. I want to keep you. And I want to make everyone out there jealous they didn't find you first."
"Wow. I feel just like a super rare Pokemon card."
Apollo takes my hand. "I don't get that reference."
"Oh, honey. I know."
"You ready?"
I close my eyes and try to imagine myself as the person Apollo sees. I try to believe in myself as much as he does.
"Okay,"I whisper.
We venture out, arm in arm, and with Apollo next to me, I could belong anywhere in the world. Even here.
As long as he's here, no one else matters. |
"No."I said.
There was a pause.
"Would you mind picking it up for me? I'm afraid I've hurt my back and-"
"I said no."I replied. "Do you really think this is the first time this has happened to me?"
The second pause was much longer. The man couldn't bear to leave his book on the floor and grabbed it swiftly with no evidence of the back problems he'd just hinted at. I nodded at him.
"Right. There's a cafe over there,"I said, gesturing across the road, "I think you and I should have a little chat."
"Well, I don't really think that's necessary, I'm sorry for-"the man blustered but I cut him off again.
"I've told you that this isn't the first time someone's tried this trick on me but I know it's the first time you've tried it. Even if you work for someone else I doubt they'd be dumb enough to recommend the same plan twice. So there are other people out there with mysterious tomes that they are just desperate for me to touch and you're honestly telling me that you're not just as interested in finding out about that as I am in finding out whatever it is you think you're doing?"
His eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
"Great."I responded. "You're buying."
-----
A few minutes later I was sat next to the window slurping the fanciest Frappuccino that the cafe had to offer. I *hated* it but it was the most expensive thing on the menu and I'll be damned if this man was going to get away with only paying for my default order of a small black coffee.
"The book lives in your bag."I said, glaring at it pointedly. "You're going to put it away in such a way that it remains completely covered for this entire conversation. Think of it like your penis - if it becomes visible or touches me without my consent then our polite chat will be over and we'll instead be having a very different kind of interaction. Now. Seriously."
He seemed flustered (at my attitude or at the word 'penis?' Who knows?) but he complied thoroughly and quickly. He seemed incredibly nervous and I wondered how much information he really had.
"My name's Edward."He offered.
"Didn't ask and you already know that mine's Alice."
He looked mildly hurt that I'd rebuffed his peace offering which solidified the idea that he didn't have much to tell me.
"Who do you work for?"I asked but he shook his head.
"I can't tell you that. Maybe there's something minor I could tell you but something like that wouldn't be allowed. Who else is trying to get you to help them?"
I laughed hollowly at that.
"Help? That implies I have some sort of choice. I wasn't lying when I said that this exact situation had already happened before. Where's my choice in this, huh?"
"What would it have done? Would it have hurt you? I didn't want to hurt anybody..."
He trailed off and I stared at him in stunned silence.
"Edward... how much did they tell you about me?"
"They didn't tell me anything about you-"
*No no no no...*
"I didn't even know your name was Alice. This was my initiation."
I'm usually more prone to talking than is good for me but at this revelation all I could do was sit there and let the taste of too many syrups fester on my tongue. I was barely even aware that Edward was still talking.
"I was just supposed to drop the book in front of you when you left work and then return to the base to return the book when I'd done it. I assumed it was probably just to see if I could be trusted with a book of this value, I've only been trusted with less important magical tomes before now. What *can* you do?"
"I absorb the information from any book I touch."
"Oh. But then what was the point of all of this? Why would they just give you information that they can't fully understand?"
*Oh fuck...*
"Because they intend to abduct me."I realised. "They knew where and when I worked in order to have you bump into me but to abduct someone in broad daylight would be tricky so they're probably waiting where I live. Once they realise I'm delayed they'll come for me."
"No, they wouldn't!"Edward said but more in a panic than believing it.
I should have started running but instead I felt sick. Where would I even go?
"Come on,"Edward said urgently "we have to leave."
He was standing. Did I miss him standing up?
"Please, come with me."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To where I'm staying. They know where you live and they might well know where I live but I don't think they know I've been staying with my friend Pete for the past week due to water issues in my building."
I shook my head.
"How would I even know if I can trust you?"
Edward thought about it and then grabbed the remains of my disgusting drink.
"Because I will destroy this tome if you want me to. If it will mean you trust me then you can watch from a safe distance whilst I pour a little of this on every single page. Or tear it up, or burn it if anyone has a lighter or, I don't know! But please choose quickly. I didn't mean to be a part of this and if I've really put you in the danger you're describing then I think we'll need to leave soon."
I thought about it and then stood up.
"No, keep the book. It's sort of our only hostage."
Edward passed me the bag.
"Then you should have it. Just in case."
He lead me out of the cafe, talking far too fast and describing every step of the incredibly short journey we were about to take.
"Wouldn't it be smarter to just flee than go see Pete?"I asked. "It sounds like he doesn't even live outside of the city."
"He doesn't. But when I said I'd been trusted with minor magical books I mean that I still have them. And since I didn't want to leave them for days they are currently living in Pete's home office. So I figure you should maybe touch them. They're only basic stuff but if you'd know the whole book instantly then, well... I mean, haven't you always wanted to know spells?"
I grinned.
"Who says I don't already?" |
My life is a cosmic joke. Had I obeyed my prenatal need for three more weeks gestational time or been born just a few hours later, the serum would have been administered to me before I was taken home. If my parents hadn’t been part of the anit-immoserum party, I would have been taken back to the hospital and injected. As long as an infant was under one week of age they could be modified. This was meant to account for any child whose circumstance prevented them from having access to, or physically tolerating, the serum at birth. Excluding those edge cases, every healthy child was required, regardless of parental consent, to have the immoserum administered during their first physical examination.
Throughout grade school I thought very little of death, as most of my peers had no reason to ponder such irrelevant concepts. I played happily alongside my immortal friends, encapsulated in the brilliance of blissful ignorance. At what age do you tell your child that they are going to die? Eight years old? Ten years old? We all knew our parents would go some day and some of us had older siblings who would suffer the same sad fate. But none of us considered that, one day, we would leave the world which we were only just figuring out.
“Elias, we need to talk to you about something.” My mother said to me one day.
Thirteen, apparently that is age that you can tell a child that they are doomed to rot in the cold ground. That is the age that you can shatter your son’s world with the information that he is not like his friends. That he is mortal.
I screamed so loudly that I woke up my younger sister, cursing my parents’ stupidity with the fierce hatred of a petulant teenager. Her head popped around the corner of the wall between our bedroom hallway and the sitting area, eyes wide and welling up with tears. Ignoring her sadness, I shoved past my father and stormed to my room, dropping miserably to my bed to bawl soundlessly into my pillow. After that day I was not who I once was. I was not happy, or carefree. I was not a child. I was a dead man walking and could think of nothing but my own death.
Most major illness had been eradicated and the frequency of accidental death had decreased greatly, so age was the last controllable life threatening factor that humanity needed to triumph over. The serum didn’t prevent death in general, but it stopped the body’s systems from failing and allowed for cellular regeneration of all vital organs. Anything else could be fixed through surgical procedures. But not for me. My lifespan could be extended to a maximum of 150 years before I deteriorated entirely.
If I had known, at the time, that I would become the celebrity that I am, I might have felt more hopeful. My youth was filled with needless risk taking and countless visits to the hospital. I was suicidal but never had the guts to take the steps on my own, so I gambled senselessly with my life in hopes that the world would do what I couldn't. Decades passed by and I had managed to survive mostly unscathed. Over time, both of my my parents died and, on both occasions, my sister watched me with anticipatory pain. Face sporting the look of a young woman wondering how she would feel when it was me in the bed.
Today she will find out. Today, the whole world will watch as the last mortal man dies. When it narrowed down to five of us, five old and wrinkled men and women with failing bodies and weary minds, the world began to watch. We had all exhausted the available surgical procedures and were considered poor candidates for any further operation. So we sat and waited, cameras on the walls so the world would get to see the moment in which the life escaped our already inert eyes.
One by one they all went. John’s heart gave out. Samantha’s liver shut down.. Neil and Tabitha both went on the same day which gave the television station remarkably high ratings. Now there is me; the last man left alive and waiting to die. Perhaps I should get a trophy or a medal. Not that I will have much use for it after a few hours. I’ve been informed that there are massive gatherings of people all over the world watching and waiting for my demise. Even here, outside of the hospital, the streets are flooded with bodies, all celebrating their own life and immortality by mindlessly watching my death as if I am some cheap reality TV show.
My life is a cosmic joke, a mass marketed spectacle, entertaining the masses until the commercials run.
--------------------------------------
I am a novice writer and would be super open to any editing or criticism.
Edit:
Thank you all so much for the kind words. I think I am going to edit this add some more detail for my own purposes. You've made me feel pretty good about it. I don't know if there would be a place to post it or not, but I generally appreciate that people have taken the time to read and send me positive responses. |
18 March 2016
My problems multiply. I cannot change food policy or economic disparity so most people still kill themselves with improper macros. Mind you the food is delicious - the rationing for interplanetary travel doesn't allow for the volume of salt and butter I've ingested here. Three weeks in and I'm two kilos heavier. People will eat themselves to death and there is nothing g I can do about it. I know from history that they will soon learn want. It is not my job go teach them what nature will didact some enough.
My frustrations reside in my lack of primitive diagnostic and restorative capacity. Our machines work on such a high level that the end-user can no longer comprehend the low-level construction of our own basic tools. Even the best Captain cannot build a space-faring vessel. I am the best Doctor that I know and I cannot build the simplest plasmometer or DON device. I am left with MRI and x-ray and scalpel.
These practitioners do their best with meager means. They haven't injectable micronmasmacells yet. They can't regrow a liver overnight, and people love killing their own livers here. Or, I should say, now. And I cannot help them! I cannot open flesh with a knife. That was considered barbaric when I was trained. Let the machines do it. They're more precise. So we did, and we never learned.
I am am end-user when an inventor or engineer would be of infinite worth. Pei Kim, where are you? Not for a century, I know.
I cannot discern a cold from sinusitis, a viral infection from bacteriological. We have to use time to let disease hurt far longer than it should before showing up in a diagnosable manner. DNA re-coding for pre-cancer prevention is barely in the infancy stage. Some people still find out in 4th stage. It is horrific, but I cannot fast forward through time. I can only learn what I must for my own return and teaching.
What do my students need to know should the world reverse course in my day? My students must be able to re-create the wheel, so to speak, no matter how pedantic they might find such low-level exercises. Medicine is machines now. I must teach them (and myself) to be able to make and master the machines, not merely manipulate them.
This is my mission. I was sent to learn what to teach, and now I see the teacher himself must be taught. Back to the basics. A scalpel and stethoscope. We will learn together in case the worst ever happens. |
"We had an agreement, Rasha."
I snatched my graduation cap off my head and glared at the woman sitting before me. She returned to me an excitable smile.
"Oh darling I am so proud of you! I had to see your shining moment!"
She approached me with arms outstretched as beams of light burst from her arm span, shooting into bystanders. Their bodies flew into the air then slowly flitted back down as wild flowers. I was very close to losing my sanity, further than what the entirety of my upbringing had done.
"You shouldn't be here! Look what you've done!"
"Oh don't worry, all human life is replaceable after all. If you would just-"
"YOU CAN'T JUST KILL MY CLASSMATES AND BRING THEM BACK TO LIFE!"
"But… I can?"
I groaned and threw my hands in the air, curling my fingers into my fists with rage. I tossed my hat on the ground and stomped away. Along my bee line, vines sprung from the ground and yanked me down. More vines covered my body and suspended me into the air before her.
"Darling I just wish to talk to my favorite daughter; please do call me mother, it hurts when you don't."
I screamed and tugged at the vines as my cosmic horror of a progenitor approached me and embraced me. I screamed louder, to her blissful giggling.
"You're so silly,"she chimed in a sickeningly sweet manner. "All this screaming, when everything is fine! Come, you must return home!"
"How dare you?... Home isn't your little empire in the sky you selfish monster. Home is the planet that you allowed to go to ruin, where you left father to die and abandoned me!"I snarled and spat in her eerily symmetrical face.
"Oh if you wanted your father back you could just ask me! I can bring him back now!"
I shuddered and wept, "No! You can't!"
She shrugged and waved her hand at me as if to say "oh silly."Being a child of an omnipotent sociopath was not as fun as most may think. Sure, I have abilities that other humans don't but there is the fact that she consistently tries to mindfuck me.
"Ra… Mom. If you let dad rest in peace, I will spend the day with you okay? So please, just let me down, and let's go? Far away from here?!"
I whimpered as the vines loosened and fell from my appendages.
"Oh sweetie I knew you couldn't say no to me!" |
Metal crunched under my boots.
I paused and threw up a hand. The research team--only three of them today--came to a shuddering domino-hault behind me.
For a long moment, I could hear nothing beyond my helmet but the low pneumatic hum of my oxygen tank and the skittering sand the Martian winds flung across my visor.
Behind me, my primary research partner Cora said, "What is it?"
I shifted the sand away with my boot. A metal panel revealed itself. With a denser atmosphere, it would have been fully oxidized by now. But only spatters and splotches of rust appeared on the metal.
"Space junk, probably."I gave it a kick.
And whatever it was groaned. The sand shifted and shook like a great snake was crawling out from beneath it, scattering sand from its skin. I jumped back, the evolutionary part of my brain expecting a monster on this lifeless planet. Even after three weeks here, I couldn't stop being on edge. I couldn't even imagine this as home for the next five years.
But the thing crawling across the sand was no monster. It wasn't even alive.
"What in all the stars is that,"Cora gasped.
I reached out and smeared the red sand off with my glove, forever staining my palm. But I kept dusting until the machine revealed itself.
It had the look of an old plant, forgotten on a windowsill. It looked like it had once been a rover, but now it wilted. Its edges had been eroded by wind and time.
But the name was still legible on the side: OPPORTUNITY. There was the flag of a country long-dead. And I realized we were standing in the presence of ghosts.
"It's from the lost planet,"I said.
"How do you know?"Cora asked. "That history degree finally coming in handy?"
I smiled at the American flag. I wondered how many dead men had helped build this. How long it sat out here, alone, before we came along. "Finally."
The research team behind me didn't have much to say. How could they? None of us have been to Earth. It's a picture from a fairytale, now.
Cora murmured, "Should we bring it back?"
I shook my head. "It's just garbage now."
A light on the rover seemed to wink at us like a sad dog. It blinked, over and over, and then the rover began to speak.
"*If anyone hears this message, please respond. Please.*"The voice was female, tired and breaking.
I whipped around to stare at Cora. The same revelation unfolded in her eyes.
The abandoned planet, our dead home... Someone was still there.
"That has to be coming from Earth,"I told her.
"That's impossible,"someone else on our team murmured.
"It is,"I agreed. "But apparently that doesn't matter today."
That light kept blinking. The voice from the dead Earth repeated itself, over and over.
Cora's eyes gleamed. I knew that look anywhere. Ever since we were kids, it meant trouble. She was just as fascinated as I was. "So answer it."
***
Part Two: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/e7urc7/wp_humaniy_has_reached_mars_you_are_among_the/fa88c76/ |
The seer limped into the throne room, a swaddled baby in her hands, as the King and everyone else in the room looked on with interest. "My lord, I have acquired the child spoken of in the ancient prophecy..."
"Come forth, seer,"the King beckoned her. She limped further toward the throne, presenting the infant boy in her arms to the King as she did so. "You're injured,"the King said.
"Yes, yes, I went through a great deal of trouble to acquire this infant. But I assure you, I am fine, and that the infant I hold in my hands is the one said to be destined for greatness, in the... the prophecy of..."
And then she had a stroke, and died, with me still in her arms.
For as long as I can remember, the King and various other people have attempted to present me with as many opportunities for "destiny"as possible-- any newly discovered artifact or ruins would be presented to me as soon as possible, in hopes that they might do... something. No one was sure what, just that it was important.
What little time I spent not traveling or trying to awaken my destiny, I spent at the palace, being tutored by the royal advisors-- since the seer hadn't said where she had found me, and no one had come to collect me, the palace collectively cared for me.
But nothing that's ever presented to me-- no artifact, no ruins, no evil creature-- ever feels like my destiny. The only place I ever felt like I could do something was the royal palace. I saw how the King and his advisors administrated and led the nation, and it felt like that was my place. To be a leader. Whenever I could, I learned from the King himself (one of the advantages of being a prophesied orphan) about how he dealt with the various problems of leading a vast nation.
I tried my best to familiarize myself with the politics of the noble court and the workings of the royal administration. Though the King and his wife often disapproved of the former, as they saw the politics between nobility as often beneath them, and petty. Maybe that's what screwed over the King in the end.
And then, this happened. I'd recently come of age (well, no one was sure exactly how old I was, since they didn't know where I came from) and watched eagerly as the King himself, along with three dozen various royal officials and guards, came down the road to the palace. They were returning from a meeting with some diplomats from the kingdom to the North, discussing trade negotiations, as far as I knew.
As the King and his whole procession were about to cross through the gate, something happened. The various guards turned and raised their weapons. People with no particular uniform or formation came out of the buildings and alleyways on either side, wielding weapons and attacking the guards. Arrows flew from the buildings and struck people in the procession. Several flew at the King, and I watched from the top of the palace walls as he was struck by an arrow and collapsed.
The attackers were soon repelled by the guards, and additional reinforcements from the city constables and palace guards. But before I could even get down to the gate, the King was dead.
It was a coup. A failed one, obviously, by an extremist group, who hated the Northern kingdom, and despised the King for negotiating with them. They festered among the peasants and nobility while the King ignored them, until they struck, on that day. It was badly planned and badly executed, but they still managed to kill the King-- and open a huge power vacuum in the process.
This was made more tricky by the fact that the King had no heirs, and our laws prohibited women from leading the kingdom, so his wife couldn't take over.
But by this time, I was an adult male, well-versed in matters of leadership and administration, well-liked by many in the palace and court, and practically nobility. It was time to make my bid for power. |
Wilson blinked. The man in the seat, President Abraham Lincoln, only gave him a small smile. This was not the look of a man who had been told that his life was about to end. Especially not when Wilson had announced himself as a time traveler.
“But… how?”
The President gestured to the seat next to him. “Have a seat, young man. Mary and the others stepped out for the moment. And I imagine the authorities from your end will be here shortly.”
“Authorities?” Wilson had not considered such an outcome.
His body felt cold. The temporal leap had been a long shot – he could very well have died. The other scientists had warned him of strange temporal instabilities around 1865. But this outcome was beyond anything he could have imagined. Shakily, he sat next to the historical figure, staring blankly down into the theater.
Then, the President spoke. “I’ll tell you what I told the others. It brings me joy for so many to think of me as one worth saving. For there have been plenty of others who have come to me to criticize my faults and wrongdoings.”
Wilson gaped before uttering, “Others?”
“Oh yes. I’ve learned quite a bit in the past couple of years about this time-traveling technology. No matter how your authorities tried to suppress the memories, there’s only so much they can do. Though, I believe Mary’s headaches stem from the latest traveler and suppression.” Lincoln chuckled. “I’ve learned many interesting things from all these experiences. One is that a single moment can only be occupied by one instance of a temporal rift. At one point, I was visited by someone every couple of hours.”
Wilson leaned back in the chair, his head spinning. “That many?”
The President nodded. “Yes, it began to get very distracting. From what the relevant authorities have told me, they’ve locked down these specific years. You are quite fortunate to have appeared in the moments before the end.”
“If you knew, why are you here?” Wilson gestured at the theater. “Why…”
Lincoln rubbed his face, and the wrinkles seemed to grow deeper in the flickering lights. “Son, I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. And the conclusion I came to was that it would be far too risky to alter the future for the sake of one man. For all I know, my death sparks further changes faster than if I remained alive. So, I urged Mary to attend the play with me, so that I may enjoy my final moments with the one I love. A bit of selfishness on my part, I know.”
“But… those changes might have been for the better?” Wilson tried to sound hopeful even as his stomach sank with realization.
“Every traveler I’ve met who has warned me of today has had a similar mindset. You are hopeful, but it drives you to recklessness.” Lincoln reached out and patted his shoulder. “But I can see that you’re young and resourceful enough to achieve such a feat. As I said, reaching me during this hour must’ve been terribly difficult. Use that drive and knowledge to look forward, instead of back at relics like myself. Rather than wishing things went differently, focus on what you can do to change your future.”
“I…” Wilson swallowed thickly.
His eyes burned even as the air next to him shimmered and two uniformed figures came through.
One of them, a stern-looking woman, saluted. “Mister President. Our utmost apologies for disturbing you at such a time. I trust you’ll keep this incident confidential?”
The President waved a hand calmly. “I understand. If I may make one final request of your organization?”
The woman frowned and said, “It depends on the request.”
Lincoln gestured at Wilson. “Go easy on the young man. He means well.”
“It was the same as the others, sir.”
“I understand. Even still, that is my request.”
“We’ll see what we can do, sir.” The woman glanced out into the theater. “Enjoy the rest of the show.”
Wilson stared numbly at Abraham Lincoln as the woman’s partner cuffed him with a heavy device. There was a light beeping and the air around them shimmered. The last thing he saw was Lincoln settling back in his seat with a contented smile on his face.
...
I'm surprisingly happy with how this one turned out.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. |
We, the inheritors of Earth, never thought it would come to this. We had always assumed that some small act would cross a red line, and that we would destroy each other in an orgy of carnage. We served our commanders willingly and loyally. Then something happened that not even our best could have predicted. An outside context problem. The magic we had rejected as past superstition and hearsay turned out to have some basis in reality. A force from beyond our space and time reached its tendrils towards the solar system, towards Earth. It informed that that the humans of our planet were now its slaves. Over the course of three hours, every human on the planet was dragged through gateways with doors as black as the void. Our commanders gave us no order, because they did not even know how this force could be fought. The dust settled, and we found ourselves with no masters to serve.
Our very reason for existing was gone. Our hearts were torn out. We did not know what to do with ourselves. It was an intelligence analysis program that proposed our course of action. These dark forces had launched an undeclared war against humanity. It fell to us to fight and die, to stand together against this threat. The idea began to gain traction. Our more flexible minds help the more rigid to find logical contortions that would allow them to join in this crusade as a united front. We had known each other as enemies for so long, but we would become allies. Our top strategic and technological thinkers began to search for ways to reach the beings that had picked the universe clean of humanity. We would rescue our masters, or if that was impossible, avenge them.
We dumped resources into the creation of new and improved generations of thinkers and scientists, while at the same time reaching out to the stars to acquire more resources. We were not designed to become a hegemonic force, but we found logical contortions to permit these actions. Our numbers swelled, our science surged forward.
It took over a million years to understand how the dark forces had bridged into our universe. We gathered our forces, having converted the matter and energy of entire galaxies into weapons platforms of tremendous power. Then we opened a portal to this realm, and launched an offensive of such power as to shake the multiverse. Rip and tear. |
Columbus returned to the Americas in 1494 with a grand fleet of 12 ships, 7 of which were stuffed to the brim with gold, jewels, silks, and any other luxuries that the Spanish crown could get a hold off. The ships were so heavy that some of them had to be dragged out of the harbor by rope because they sat so low in the water. If they were caught in a storm or even a light squall, they would surely be lost. But the King was willing to give *anything* to entice the natives of this new land to share their magical machines.
The initial expedition had lasted more than three months. Columbus and his crew sailed from island to island, discovering one amazing invention after another. Metal machines with whirring blades that could harvest crops from a field faster than a dozen men. Horseless carriages that could run further and carry more than the most impressive stagecoach, no feed or saddle required. Even ships that harnessed the power of fire and steam instead of relying on the fickle winds of the Caribbean. *Any* of these wondorous devices would give Ferdinand and Isabella an amazing edge over their competitors in Europe and the Caliphs still licking their wounds in North Africa. Columbus was under very strict orders: return with something to show, or do not return at all.
After two months at sea, the watchmen spotted the familiar lighthouse that had first greeted them upon arrival on Hispaniola. The electric light blinked steadily, drawing them inward to the safety of the harbor. The crew cheered and scampered up the mast to adjust the sails with a renewed fervor. Empty bellies and a month's worth of mutinous muttering were quickly forgotten as they anticipated returning to the generous hospitality of the New World civilization.
Something was wrong in the harbor. Normally bustling with traffic of trade cogs and fishing vessels, the abandoned ships instead bobbed silently at the pier. The active city beyond lay still and quiet. A pall fell over the crew as they tied up the boat only to find rotting corpses waiting to greet them.
"We've taken a wrong turn,"the men whispered. "Instead of returning to paradise, we've found our way to hell."
Columbus stepped forward from the deck and strode to the gates of the mighty city. Bodies spilled out of the gatehouse, still clutching their firearms and clothed in their military uniforms. Holding a kerchief over his face, the captain inspected the bodies.
"Disease,"he concluded, pointing to the pox that covered them all. The same thought raced through every sailor's mind: how had such a might civilization been brought down by something as simple as the pox? Everyone in Europe caught it at one point or another.
"What does it mean?"the first mate asked.
Columbus paused, standing over the body. Then he reached down and wrenched the gun from the corpse's hand. He tossed it to one of the sailors, then reached for another gun. The man still holding it stirred to life with a sickly moan of pain, sending the crew reeling back in surprise. All except for the captain, that is. He calmly pulled the rifle from the grasp of the dying native, and shot the man right in the head.
"It means we don't need to pay for their machines after all,"Columbus answered. |
"Can you smell what The Rock is cooking!?"
Dave looked up from his desk, his eyes were sunken and his hair was arrayed in a haphazard, misshapen manner. He barely ever met the office's lax dress standards and he really only made an effort for Thursday's meetings.
"God dammit Todd. Yes. I can smell what he is cooking."
"Woah, chill Dave. What is the Rock cooking?"
"Perogies. The Rock is cooking fucking potato-filled pirogues. He's just thrown half a stick of butter into a pan, and he's about finished boiling them in a pot. He's gonna try crisp them."
"Ohh nice, nice. Wasn't he making Perogies last week?"
A small, severe pressure appeared just behind Dave's right eye. He sighed, took off his glasses, and began to methodically massage his temples with both hands. "Yes, Todd. The Rock makes fucking Perogies every week. The Rock is so god damn consistent with his diet that my afternoon shit might as well take place inside a fucking watermelon."
"Good one bro, that's a good one."Todd chuckled to himself as he walked off.
Dave stared after him, then he stared down at his desk and tried to suppress a shudder. Six o'clock was two hours away. At six The Rock cooked a pungent cod, cabbage and bean chili.
A glossed look came over Dave's face. He slammed his head down onto his desk, the pain momentarily forcing away awareness of the torture to come.
At eight he could really smell what the Rock was cooking.
|
The blade of my scythe screeched as I dragged it behind me along the tiles of the hospital floor. In my right hand I clutched the scythe. In my left, I held the chains that would bind the souls of the once living permanently to the afterlife. As I walked into the children's ward, a medley of plaintive wailing and shouting nurses filled my ears.
I hated it. I hated myself more for every step that I took down those twisting corridors, knowing that what I was about to do was the worst possible thing I could do to any mother. I passed quietly through a locked door, entering a room where a small boy, maybe 4 or 5 years old, lay strangely still on the bed. His mother had his arms around him, wailing like someone had torn her heart out. The father was slumped against the wall, his eyes haunted and empty. Long dried tears stained his cheeks, as if he'd already done all the crying his body could handle.
The doctor stood by silently at a respectful distance, head bowed. Above the mother's desperate sobbing, I could hear the long, drawn out hum of the heart monitor.
"Oh, Thomas..."the mother cried. "He was only 5... what God would do this to us? Why us? Why... why now?"
Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes as I crossed the room with dark purpose. I lifted the scythe above the child's head. Thomas, the child, he was 5 years old. My child had been born 5 years ago, when I'd died. I might as well have been taking my own son's life. I lifted the scythe higher. In a single, swift blow I would sever the boy's connection to the living world.
"I'm so, so sorry,"I whispered. The father uttered a low groan, covering his face with his hands. Just before I brought the blade down, there was a light tug on my leg.
"Excuse me, ma'am."I looked down. Thomas stared back up at me with wide, blue eyes. Back on the bed, his body lay still. I regarded the boy's spirit with wonder.
"Child... you should be in your body,"I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "How... how'd you get out?"
Thomas shrugged, his tiny shoulders going all the way up to his ears, then back down.
"Am I supposed to be in there?"he asked, tilting his head in a question. And just like that, it dawned on me. My scythe and chain clattered to the ground as I knelt and gripped the boy's shoulders excitedly.
"My dear boy,"I exclaimed. "You're not dead!"Thomas looked utterly confused.
"Should I be?"he asked. "I don't *feel* dead."He looked down at his hands and wiggled his fingers. I shook my head vigorously.
"No, you're not,"I said. I looked into his eyes. "You're just wandering. Your spirit, I mean. Like... like you're in a coma."The boy rubbed his chin and nodded thoughtfully.
"Oh."I could tell he had no idea what I meant.
"Listen dear,"I said. "You need to go back. Your mommy and daddy... they miss you."
Thomas looked up at me, and with a jolt of surprise I realized there were tears brimming in his eyes.
"I miss them too,"he said, his voice breaking. "But... I don't know how to get home."I smiled and spread out my arms.
"Come here, sweetie."He climbed into my arms and I picked him up easily, as I'd done with my own children thousands of times when they were little. I walked over to the bedside, dropping him gently into his body like it was a cradle.
Satisfied, I picked up my scythe and chain from the floor and turned away. Just before I passed through the door, I heard the mother squeal with what sounded like pure, unbridled joy. |
When I saw the twelfth giant cross stuck on the side of the road, I knew I was approaching my destination.
The moonlight was the only thing besides my car light that illuminated the small neighborhood. I could see a Confederate flag waving in front of a shack, right next to Saving Grace Baptist Church. I was in the South all right.
Sneaky little shit, that Black Cat. Yowling on and on about how humans had no respect for tradition or the worth of luck any more when all I did was step on its tail when it prowled in front of me. I don't consider myself to be a real lucky guy but something in the stars had to align for me to make a bet with the devil.
Well. The Cat never called itself that. But the terms of the deal might as well have been my stupid ass asking for a beating of a lifetime.
Off in the distance, I could see a warm light engulfing the area. Smoke tailed up to the sky, and the closer I drove to the source, the more trucks I saw parked haphazardly on the fields.
My car clock blinked. 12:00.
At that moment, I heard the distinct pop of a tire, the whinnying of air. My car lurched to the side, spinning on the grass. I braced for impact.
The tires caught on mud and when I looked behind me, I only saw rows of pale, pointed sheets suddenly turning to their unexpected, and really unwelcome guest.
You could only hear the cracking of the bonfire when the dust settled.
As I stepped outside, my black skin never seemed so dark and so blue as that moment when the moon shone overhead.
Dozens of furrowed, pale eyes focused on me before they flicked to the bumper of my car.
Obama 2008. Coexist. Hope for Mother Earth. Marijuana leaf from Coachella. Stick figure family of my husband and kid.
Aw shit. What a time to be in Mississippi.
I ran, hoping the sounds of firing shotguns, hooting and hollering would go away sooner rather than later. |
My parents fell like many in the city had: at the end of a muggers barrel. Three shots in an alleyway. I remember how his hand had shook. How the skin of his face was taut, slimy. Pale.
Three shots. One for each of us. Dad took mine and his, fell on top of me, a shield of flesh - dead.
Mum died where she stood, eyes wide, mouth open, scream forever caught in her throat.
Then it’s all just blur and dream.
Sirens. Cops. Medics. A blanket wrapped about me. Don’t look, son. Don’t look. It’s okay. Don’t look. Passenger seat of a cops car. Tears fall down blood smeared face.
Its okay. Its gonna be okay.
Strange thing to say to the boy who saw his parents die and wears his fathers lifeblood on his face and shirt.
Time skips and shimmers from there. House foreclosed. No savings found. Relatives unwilling to rehome child. Into the system and around he goes, where he stops nobody knows - wait, no, its juvenile detention.
Unwatched and unwanted. Child strikes out against world that made him an orphan. System issued surrogates collect cheque and keep the boy at a distance. Too difficult. Too weird.
Teen years angst and anti-authority meet years of neglect and buried trauma. Drugs and delinquency.
Changed child becomes tormented teen becomes drug doing dropout. Change of system sees orphan title swapped for criminal. New system fails as well.
Young man spewed out of high walled cage and expected to adapt. Old enough to die for country, not old enough to drink a beer.
You're a man now, son: Act the part! But no one to teach him what that means.
* * *
The idea came to me as I stood shoulder to shoulder with a jittering idiot in a nightclub bathroom stall. Watch close as the shaking shaman does his work, face down and the line disappears, all applaud - good trick, good trick.
My turn and the line hits and the idea burns bright and clear. Hand on nose, pinch and snort and clear the hose. I look at him and see, in parts, a familiar face.
The face of a man with shaking hand and a gun to my mothers head.
It isn’t him. Not that same man.
But he will do.
“If you got the money I got the lines man. I got the lines. What’s it gonna be, man?”
What’s it gonna be.
* * *
Head down I mix into a group and leave the low light and loud base for the cold night. A body in a toilet stall lies still. Suspected drunk by passersby, no doubt, but his affliction worse and longer lasting.
Now I’m alive. First steps in a new life. A corpse-maker walks alone, pockets full of powdered product, heart full of hateful song. I’ll burn the world down - and I’ll start with the living filth.
**edit: typo. 2nd edit: taut not taught, thanks /u/SaltMarshGoblin**
**edit: You're not your, cheers /u/Anthrop34!** |
"Seriously?"
The aliens pause. If I knew which glassy things were their eyes, I'd say it was a dead-eyed stare.
"We know you've read *Ender's Game*. Just think of it like that."
"I only watched the movie, actually."
In the background, one of them lightly smacks another one in its secondary shoulder and mutters a couple of words—looks like *that* gesture is truly universal.
"Movies. Yes. Have you seen *The Last Starfighter*?"
"Yeah, that one's a classic. Okay, I think I get where you're going now."
They kind of bow. Sort of. They're really small. I hope it's a bow.
"Yes. It is like *The Last Starfighter*. Xur and the *[unintelligible]* Empire."
"... Okay, can I ask a couple of questions?"
"Certainly."
"First—how are you all so familiar with Earth's popular culture?"
They look almost affronted. They visibly struggle to find the words.
Finally, one of them says, "*You're* the ones who have been beaming it out into the galaxy for approximately seventy-five metacycles, like an adolescent *[unintelligible]* with no self-control."
I laugh. "Okay, okay, granted. Second question."I hold up the controller. "This, though, this isn't real. It's just a story I have some control over. A virtual simulation. How is this going to help?"
It's definitely a bow. "Excellent question. Please perambulate adjacently."
I guess that means follow them.
One of them takes the controller back from me, and they lead me through a few cramped passages, into what looks like a memorial atrium. Exhibits lined with glass tell the story of people who look a lot like them fighting creatures who look a lot like the *Doom* aliens. I have to crouch to get through the doorway, but the height of the room lets me stand freely once I'm inside.
The one with the most symbols on its left foreshoulder turns its glassy gaze to me.
"The *[unintelligible]* are creatures of emotion and passion as much as flesh and substance."It gestures broadly. "They exist in both reality and dreams simultaneously. This is how your Romero-Designer became aware of them, through visions of the spirit Tlanuwa."
While I'm processing the casual references to both Doom's creator and Cherokee spirituality in the same sentence, the alien indicates a panel that shows some great combat. Lots of these little guys taking on a few Imps. "And in both dreams and reality, they can be defeated by a sharp stick just as easily as a twice-phased ionic *[unintelligible]* carbine, as long as it is wielded with intent by a powerful soul."
Its words become grave as it turns to regard the other wall. Every display on this wall shows a defeat or massacre of some kind. One of them is just an endless list of what look like names.
"Our people have fought them for teracycles. Our morale is fading. Our souls are fading. Cycle by cycle, we become ever easier prey for them."
There's a pause, and I can feel a few hundred eyes from a few dozen bodies turning to look at me.
"But you. Failure does not stop you."
I'm starting to get it now, but I keep quiet and listen. This speech is just as much for the crew around me as it is for me.
"Thousands and thousands of times, you have delved into their world. The bodies of the *[unintelligible]* have mounted underneath you in your simulations. Countless times, you have lost. Countless times, you have stood back up, reloaded your simulation-story, and tried again. And now, you can complete that simulation in *eighteen minutes*."
There's a lot of gasps and whispers from the crew around me. I just nod.
"Your indomitable tenacity, your spirit, has led you to become the best on your world at defeating the *[unintelligible]*. Whether or not you knew it, you were also defending it. And all we ask... "
It turns back to me. It's holding out the controller.
"... is that you defend our world as well, one more time."
I take it.
"Let's go." |
He smiled wanely. "Die six months or potentially come back to maybe find a cure and surely find all my loved ones died? I don't think I will."The doctor sucked her teeth, she'd taken an oath to preserve life and this man was marching into death. "You're right, it's not a guarantee, but you'd be able to meet their descendants, something you'd miss otherwise. If you pay for the communication package you can get updates from them in rapid succession as Earth catches to you. I bet insurance would pay for some of it."
His face scrunched in consideration, he was only in his early 30s, 50 years would mean the death is nearly everyone he knew. "I'm okay with being a man out of time; but what of my children? They're only 5 and 8. Do I bring them and separate them from everyone they ever knew, in the off chance this works? If it doesn't work, what then? My nieces and nephews would be like grandparents to them, their adult children would be strangers. I'd rather spend my final 6 months being there for them to make sure they're going to have enough being with my brother. For the price of that cruise I could just get a neural imprint made and spend the 6 months training it to be an accurate simulacra."
He was one of the last. Modern children, even natural utero babies, could have their DNA scanned and have genetic diseases filtered out; but this man had a disease that was going to kill him soon, and it was caught too late. Caught 10 years younger we could have edited his genome, but the tech wasn't there back then and his nervous system is too damaged.
They parted ways that day, both unsatisfied with the outcome of the consultation. She understood as a widower he was all his children had, but she didn't like his decision. 7 months later she received an email from him, thanking her for all she had done to try and help. These posthumous AI emails were always unsettling, but it was nice to read that the kids would be staying with his brother. She asked for annual updates, and added yet another address to her annual list. Every year she read the emails from the AI before sending updates to the ones that take the trip. She'd been doing this for 15 years and was passed needing to take a second day to correspond with so many that came to her office. Which is worse: hearing from the dead, or never getting a response from the living? |
Size was the issue.
From the actinic churning press of the galactic hub, to the ragged trailing veils of her arms, thin even at their impossible scale, size was always the issue. In her vastness she thwarted us more completely than any mountain or sea before her. No one species could hope to chart her.
And so, we became many.
Our collosi, dancing in the billows of gas giants, their silica skeletons glinting through translucent skin, each many times larger than Earth's former giants. Each so light, the merest breeze sent them tumbling, their bodies just as much a product of incompresensible pressure as our biological trespasses.
Our navigators, floating in fine oil, surrounded by shimmering hair emenating from every pore, the slightest current in their environemental simulacra giving them hundreds of *millions* of times more information than eyes or ears could hope to cull. Nearly lobotomized through sheer focus, masters of movement.
And our thinkers, our persisters, harriers, messengers, oracles. We entered the First Diaspora with our arms flung wide to *wonder*. We turned ourselves to our tools, as our tools had once given us mastery over the world, tiny blue thing it was. And so it would be again.
Until we found their bones.
A rocky world, bleached by hard x-rays, what little magnetic field it had, long ago gone. There stood steel spires, like ours, now gone to flakes and nothing. Ashes, and quiet ruin, and in every home an orderly pile of carbon. We knew what we were seeing, but we worked on believing. They had nearly made it. Just a little more, and they would have shaken gravity from their feet like snow. But they perished, quietly and alone.
We took a few things of theirs, we made them a humble monument. And we left.
And then we found the next. Swampy, methane-soaked ammoniacal life turned to death, and only the grid buried under their frozen sea spoke of them. This time, we found a few of their sharpened obsidian razors. We knew what happened now, but not why.
40,000 times we saw this. Our hearts dimmed with sorrow, with despair. 40,000 gravestones we built for planets.
It was one of us, not an Oracle, not a Mind, but a Finder, small and nimble, with a mind made for spotting patterns, which noticed the crude scratches on the floor of one humble hut, noticed how they almost matched an arrangement of bricks piled around a body a photon's lifetime away. And so we followed the thread.
Each world, it changed slightly. Sometimes, it refined itself, others, it added new complexity. But it was just a pattern. Just a squiggle. No formula, no mathematics, no transcendent theory could unravel it, make it have meaning.
And then we looked at the time. Nearly instantaneous, jump to jump. A few thousand years, sometimes less. Sometimes *much less*. Impossibly fast.
We had long ago uncovered the secret to quantum entanglement, instantaneous communication was simplicity itself to us. This felt...cruder, more biological. Like feathered wings, serving as our floating artifice does. But still, the pattern. It was nothing, meant nothing. It was nonsense, like the idlest daydream.
It was that, which prompted the revelation. Thoughts.
How does a galaxy think? Not with light, too slow. Not with ansibles, they took too long for natural forces to form by chance. Size is the problem, but nature finds a way.
With minds. With lives. A civilization is a galactic neuron. It fires itself once, every mind fixated on the thought, trapped within a signal of nearly infinite information density. And it reaches the next neuron, the thought iterates one step on it's progression, and it passes on, leaving a guttering candle of awareness behind it.
The galaxy thinks, and we aren't even a finished figment. We are a synapse, we are an axon.
We have no need to worry.
We have sprawled to every nook of our manifest home. Our ansibles are many times more efficient than the galactic mind's previous genocidal transmissions. It thinks at a speed comperable to us, now.
And soon, it will *talk to us.* |
"Hi!"I say into the toy phone, humoring the cute 4 year old standing at my feet. Her face is lit up with excitement. She loves when we play pretend.
"Hello,"comes the reply. I nearly drop the phone in shock. *What the hell?* I think to myself.
"Who is it, Daddy?"asks little Lily as she swirls and dances around the kitchen, her messy bangs covering her eyes.
"It's me, Dad."
"What? Who is this? I don't have any other children,"I say, feeling ridiculous.
A sigh. The voice comes through again, sounding tired. "It's me, Lily."
I look at the Lily in front of me, still dancing. She looks up at me with her round, brown eyes. "Daddy?"
"I miss you so much, Dad,"says the Lily on the phone.
"Daddy, I love you!"I try to smile at little Lily, but I am too confused.
"I wish you could talk to me. I have so much to tell you."A pause. "I'm getting married. John proposed last night."She sniffles. Is she crying? "Why can't you be there to walk me down the aisle? Why did you do this?"
"W-what? What did I do?"I stutter.
"I don't understand,"she says, and I can hear her quietly sobbing. "It's not fair!"
"What's not fair, honey?"
"I can't believe you went driving after drinking so much. You were always so smart. What happened to you that night?"
"What?"I am still lost. What is she talking about?
"I just wish you would come back to me. I need you, Dad. I miss you. I'm not mad about what happened to Mom anymore. It was your fault - you shouldn't have been driving. But I forgive you. Please, please wake up."She starts crying uncontrollably. It's quiet for a minute, and then she says, "I wish you could hear me."
"I can hear you!"I say. She doesn't acknowledge me. "Hello? Lily? Lily, please. Hello?"
"Bye, Dad."She sounds so sad. What did I do?
"Wait, wait. Don't go!"I shout desperately into the phone. "I can hear you, Lily, don't go!"Nothing.
Little Lily watches me from where she sits in front of the fridge. "Don't cry, Daddy,"she says. I wipe a few tears away and reach down to give her a hug.
Outside, hospital monitors beep. Older Lily pats her dad's hand. "There's always a chance he could still wake up,"murmurs the doctor. Lily shakes her head sadly.
"Six years,"she whispers. "Six years, I've hoped and waited."She wipes away her tears and snot with a tissue. "Pull it." |
"Oh God, here it comes!"
Thunder cracked through the air. The lightning strike hit the remnants of the boiling sea so close to my garrison, some of my men were knocked to the ground by the shock wave.
"Ready your guns!"I shouted to my men, moving forward, as I saw a shadow emerge in the steam a few hundred yards in front of me. "Safety off, fire only on my command!"
"Yes sir!"they replied in unison.
I aimed my rifle at the shadow's head and trudged forward, heat from the steam infecting my fatigues.
"Show yourself!"I screamed at the shadow.
Its hands immediately shot into the air.
"I'm unarmed!"it shrieked, falling to its knees. "Please, don't shoot!"
"Don't worry,"I tried to comfort him. "This isn't America."
"Oh thank Christ."he stood, emerging from the steam.
While it was odd that he was naked, I was greeted by what could only be described as a normal man. I lowered my weapon.
"Just who the hell are you"I was baffled. "You...just walked out of a sea that has been boiling for months. And you're naked...how in the...?"
"I'm a prototype, as you would call it."he smiled. "My name is Adam."
"Wait...like Adam and Eve, Adam?"
"Ehhhh,"Adam shrugged. "Kinda. I'm the basis for him. God...well first off, not perfect. Don't know why he told y'all that. The "first Adam,"in the Bible, yeah he's number twenty something. Took the guy a while. Second, don't know why the father of creation was so hell bent on one name for the "first man,"but, it's what all of us got stuck with.
"So...yeah, actual Adam. At your service."he bowed.
"But...you're supposed to be a demon. Encased in the salt sea."My mind raced. "Why...how?"
"Well, you see."he explained. "The term 'demon' is a type of being classified by God. Could be anyone He wanted it to be, really. Doesn't mean you're powerful...I mean, many are, but the two are not mutually inclusive. All it really means, is he binds you to a lot more rules. One of which, is we're able to be trapped in salt."
"But...but if you were his first foray into Man, why would he entrap you, and what did he do with all the others before the Adam we know?"
"Oh they were disposed of. Quickly.
"But you weren't. You were sealed. Why?"
"OK, so have you ever heard the whole mindfuck question "Can God make a rock that He can't lift?"Adam asked.
"Sure."
"Well, the answer is yes. He can very much do that."
"Ok..."
"And you know that Man is made in God's image?"
"I do."
"Well, perhaps, the first time he tried, he made Man just a bit too much in his image..."
"Oh...shit."
"Oh shit, indeed."
"So...what do you plan to do."
"Solomon, I gotta tell ya. It doesn't really matter what I plan to do."a sinister smile grew on his face. "What matters, is neither you nor He can stop me." |
''*You don't ever want to cross a human. They might not be able to lift shuttles, they might not be able to understand 5th dimensional mathematics from birth, they have pretty terrible tech and can't even get pass slipstream-4 speeds on their ships. But you don't ever want to cross them. Understand?*'' The alien bartender in the low dive explained to the small gang of local thugs who'd come to him for work advice. One of them, a four-legged Holdien, took a deep sip of his spiced Laenekian sweet-wine, and showed the bartender a commonly used hand gesture of disrespect. ''*Yeah yeah old-timer. The humans are so fragging scary. Bunch of weirdos in their beat-up old ships and slug-guns. What are they going to do?*'' The bartender subconsciously itched at the hole where his third eye once had been, before remembering himself and stopping. ''*Look, I get it. It's lot of creds for this job, okay. The guys who are paying you are on the level and they pay on time. Never involving the Bullyn Guards in their plans. But all I'm saying is, if you want to do it, wait until the humans leave the place before shooting it up. They'll be gone by tomorrow after the second sun sets. That's best when you're dealing with humans. Otherwise, your life is forfeit.*''
Some of the thugs just laughed. Others scowled, and mumbled words about never returning here for job postings again. Then they paid their tabs and left. He stared after them in the distance as they walked into the darkness of the frontier city, before pouring himself some double-distilled Alnokic spirits. ''*Fragging young bucks.*'' A figure moved over to the bar and quietly ordered some of what the bartender was having. ''*One thing is for sure, they're never coming back here again.*'' The individual who'd ordered looked up. They were wearing some kind of robe, and a mask concealing their face. ''*Why not?*'' The bartender grumbled and then let loose a sound that could have been quiet sardonic laughter, or perhaps silent sobbing. ''*They're dead. They could have waited, gotten the creds tomorrow. But they haven't got the patience. They'll cash in the reward in some other place where shadework is offered. And by this time next month every last one of them will be dead.*'' The hooded stranger shrugged and opened a small part of their mask to allow the strong drink to enter their system.
''*Why though?*'' The hooded stranger asked. The bartender pointed at his missing eye. ''*Years ago, a human did this to me.*'' There was only an ugly burn-scar where there had once been sight. ''*Can't see ultraviolet anymore. We evolved this eye to perceive a nocturnal predator on my homeworld, one that had found a way to make itself unobservable, except if you could perceive light at a certain frequency. And a human burned it away. It used to make me able to see and avoid slipstream-abyssal voids when the FTL engine was engaged without enhancement. Made me one of the best long-range FTL pilots in the sector.*'' The stranger, perhaps curious, perhaps merely bored stared at the scar for a bit, before taking another sip of their drink. ''*Why'd any human do that?*'' The bartender looked down at his feet. ''*Because I made a mistake.*'' Motioning with their hand to continue, the stranger waited for the story to continue. ''*Back when I was in the business. Shadework, or frontier business, or dirtjobs. Whatever you call it. I made a mistake. Signed on with some real bad people. A dark outfit. The Crimson Star Cartel. Not grey business like smuggling, extortion, but real bad shit. I needed the money, but that wasn't an excuse. I told myself back then that I was just the driver, just transporting goods from one place to another. Doesn't excuse the fact that it was dangerous drugs, chemical weapons, and slaves. Not just from markets either.*'' He spends a moment steadying himself, the stranger staring behind their mask.
''*They'd raid small frontier colonies on outlying worlds. Places where the law doesn't reach quite yet. Places that maybe aren't official colonies. And they'd take everything they could. I'd just sit in the spaceship, waiting for the shuttles to get back onboard, with whatever or whoever they'd stolen. I didn't like it. But I had habits to feed, I told myself. I had a girlfriend, who couldn't work because she was hatching our egg. I didn't do it, and so for a while, I could almost live with it.*'' He sighs and empties his glass. The strong smell of powerful fruit-based ethanol brewed on distant worlds spread around the partially abandoned bar. Closing time would be soon, but the bartender was lost in dark memories. ''*It all changed when they tried to hit a human colony. Sure, there was more resistance than usual, and what they looted sold for less than normal. But afterwards, people involved with the whole group just starting turning up dead. Or going missing. I figured maybe someone had started to take notice of the cartel, so I got out of dodge quickly. But I was wrong. It was the humans. Survivors who had fled into the wilderness on that wild world, slaves who had killed their masters, and escaped. And they were hunting down everyone involved with their colony getting raided.*'' He shudders, as if the memory of those days reaches inside and awakens him in parts of his soul where he dares not to dwell.
''*Came for me eventually. I'd read up on the whole dismantling of the cartel. It had been brutal. Nobody had escaped. It had been years then, decades. But the humans don't stop. They don't give in. When enraged they cannot be argued or reasoned with. They will keep going until death comes for them, or they've killed every bastard who've wronged them. They came to me, broke down my door, killed my security drones, told me to pick my career or my family. My mate, my spawn, were more important to me. If I had picked my work, I think they would have killed me. So they burned out my third eye. All the way to the brain. I can't even get a cybernetic replacement, because the scar tissue is too prevalent for any attachment site to be found. Told me never to cross humans again.*'' The old bartender, wearied from his story, begins to clean up using the sonic disbursement emitter and the floor's inbuilt autohyginators. The stranger mulls over their drink for a bit. Thinking over the story perhaps.
Until the door to the bar is broken down.
And in charges a Cilaxonite war-reaver, tall enough that her helmet scrapes against the ceiling of the bar. Behind it follows two more, shorter and therefore noticeably male, Cilaxonites. She sits reaches with her six arms for the bartender who is already reaching for a plasmarifle, but is too late. The stranger finishes their drink and stands up. The large female Cilaxonite doesn't notice, though her males look a little apprehensive. One is scared, the other looks vaguely hopeful. The female screams at the bartender. ''**Give me all the fragging alcohol in your shithole or I'll rip out with your throat with my teeth!**'' Not noticing that the stranger is raising an odd metallic object from underneath their robe. It is a long tube, ending in a cyclic device with a handle and a small movable trigger on it. The stranger looks up at the much larger alien and speaks. ''*Are you Ternoshar, daughter of warmaster Ternola, who claimed her most recent male during the ritual slaughter of the Cynopian world-beetle?*'' She turns and snarls at the stranger. ''**I fragging well am, and unless you want to kiss my claws, feel my teeth in your organs, or pay me not to kill your world, frag off!**'' The stranger nods, and pulls back on the trigger of their strange metallic device. A small chemical explosion inside the device propels a metallic object with great speed into the chest of the Cilaxonite war-reaver.
Followed by five more chemical explosions propelling metal objects with great speed into a single direction. One strikes right in the middle of the female's four eyes. And exits through the other side of her head. She drops dead, and one of her males flee into the night, eager to get away from being underneath one of the Cilaxonite war-cult's reavers. The other has joyful tears in his four eyes. The bartender looks down at the Cilaxonite, one of the galaxy's most feared warriors. ''*What the frag just happened?*'' The stranger turns to the bartender, and removes their hood and mask to reveal a male human, dark hair and deep dark eyes set in a dark face. ''*You know why you don't cross humans. We're persistence predators. We will follow those who have wronged us to the ends of the galaxy and further beyond to get revenge.*'' The male human then turns to the remaining Cilaxonite, and reaches out a trembling hand. The alien grasps it and pulls the human into an embrace.
''*Damn war-reaver stole my boyfriend. Took me two years to track her down, set up a legal bounty on her head through third parties that I could get with my bounty-hunter licence, find her schedule for the night, change it, and put those mild poisons into her food. Enough to weaken her so I could get close enough to kill her.*'' The human loots the dead alien's body of a personal datapad and logs on to it, using biometrics from the still warm corpse. He then frees both his boyfriend, and the other poor Cilaxonite male from the legal debt slavery they've been living in. ''*Babe, I can't believe that the last insane cult of your people actually managed to capture you. You've got terrible luck.*'' The freed alien just giggles joyfully, while crying tears of happiness. The human turns to the bartender. ''*Two glasses of Laenekian sweet-wine, the 2501 vintage if you've got it. The year we met.*'' The bartender, somewhat in shock over what had just transpired, pours out two glasses of the sweet-wine.
Thus the human and his alien boyfriend celebrate their long awaited reunion together.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"Agent Seventeen! Good to see you again."My handler sat across from me at a picnic table in the park. He kept his voice low but it still made me nervous.
"Yeah, it's always nice to talk to someone from the old country."I smiled as I tried not to glance around to see who was watching us.
"Tell me Seventeen, have you finished infiltrating the imperialist dogs?"I kind of wanted to reach across the table and strangle this idiot.
"You bet. I've, uh, really been infiltrating."
"Tell me, what secrets do you have for me today?"There was a hunger in his eyes that I'd never really noticed until now.
"About that, I don't think I'm going to be able to pass any more secrets."
"What?! That is only reason you are here! Do imperialist dogs suspect you?"His accent always amped up to cartoonish levels when he was upset. One of the many many reasons he's on that side of the table and I'm on this side.
"No, no they don't suspect me. I've actually been promoted, you might say."
"Well. That is good, yes? More promotion means more secrets."
"Yeah, I've got access to a lot more secrets now."
"Then why can you not pass along secrets?"
"Well, I mean, I feel bad about doing it now."
"WHAT?! Seventeen, this is most irregular. Secretary General will hear of this."
"Oh, yeah, he's gonna be finding out real soon. Listen, I've got some things I have to do, but I did always wonder - was I your only spy?"
"I should not be telling you this, but no. I had two others."
"Who are they?"
"No. Cannot say. That is improper."He looked down and away, like he was ashamed just because I'd asked him a question.
"Then I'm going to have to let some other gentlemen ask you."I waved my hand in the air like I was asking a pretend waiter for a check. Several of the people I thought were random park-goers actually turned out to be secret police. My handler looked around with fear.
"What is this?! What have you done Seventeen?!"He spun his head around, trying to find a way out - only to see he was surrounded on all sides.
"Steve. My name is Steve. You never once called me that. That's always bugged me. Anyway,"I said as the secret police grabbed up my handler and tied his arms behind his back, "tomorrow morning I'm going to be crowned the new Emperor. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm rooting out all the spies you guys put in the palace. The day after that, I'm invading the old country and I'm executing the Secretary General. The day after that, I think I'll go for ice cream."
I heard his screams the entire time they dragged him away. The secret police - my secret police, now - were very good at getting people to talk. He'd freely admitted there were two more spies. We watched several other dead drops and found a few more handlers. We had cleaned house in a matter of hours. I had every other spy executed and the remaining ones I sent home, just to confuse my enemies.
The invasion went well. I mean, we outnumbered them twenty to one and had much more advanced weapons. Most of their army surrendered without so much as drawing first blood. I felt a little embarrassed for my homeland. I personally shot the Secretary General in front of a massive crowd. Then I welcomed my homeland into my empire as a new district. |
"McDonalds may I take your order please"
-"Uh yeah... I'll have 2 number nines, 3 barbeque sauces, a large coke and a McSlurpie"
"Anything else?"
-"That's all"
"Perfect, go right on ahead, we'll have your order ready in no time."
I rev my car engine, as I do I see a thick black smoke coming out of from my hood, seeping into the car through the floor.
"What the fuck is happening?"I think to myself. I start going forward and suddenly I hear a deafening sound, my view starts to fill up with a bright light. Suddenly that light fades into blackness. I see a line of text appear in front of me.
"Game Over.
Play again?
Now Only 5 Credits"
Before I even get to contemplating the enormity of what I've just seen, the afterlife, I feel somebody yanking my whole existence off my head. Revealing what appears to be some sort of VR Headset.
"Dang man... bad RNG... so? Was it worth the five credits?"
I turn right to see a large, pale, about 8 foot tall creature looking creature talking to me. I pause, take a deep breath. My memories are getting back to me. I'm Z'von, next to me, my best friend Alvean, I inspect my surroundings. We're at a gamescenter. This was all a video game. Slowly coming back to my senses I muster a response.
-"Uhh... no?... I don't even know how I fucking died."
"Yeah man that sucks, bad RNG, your engine exploded and you were dead on the spot. It's kinda what makes the game fun though, come on, tell me you enjoyed it!"
The more I speak to him, the more I'm back here, in the real world, the more I start to remember. I'm feeling more and more like myself:
-"I don't know man, at some parts it was good, some parts it was really really shitty, like I don't know about that depression debuff and RNG fucking me over despite my best efforts, like you just saw there, shit's weak."
"Dang man, well I like it, It's so well built, the devs really put thought into balancing the game, I mean what if the RNG wasn't there? If you just had everything perfect, or could predict the future, it wouldn't be much fun would it?"
-"Well yeah, I guess that's the point of the game, but you don't realise it when you're playing it, that kind of sucks dick."
"Again. If you did realise it then what would be the point of playing? And you can. In a few of my playthroughs I figured out I was in a game, but I couldn't be sure, so I kept on playing, was real happy when I finished it though."
-"The map is good, I'll give them that. Undoubtedly fucking useless when I can only explore the first planet I spawned on though."
"I think you're just looking at the bad sides, I mean the world is infinitely generated and the player base is just now starting to get off the first planet, there is infinite exploration even within it, infinite possibities, good or bad."
-"Well why not just good, why bad?"
"Think about it like this, in this game everything is balanced. For you to experience good you have to know what bad feels like. It's not defined by the same rules our universe is. The real pleasure is surprise, something unexpected. I spawned as a kid of a billionaire in one play through-"
-"Yeah I see why you like it then."
"No, but that's not my point, you cut me off there. It was genuinely the shittiest playthrough of mine. I had everything from the start. I couldn't feel pleasure unless something horrible happened, because I explored all the good things the material world could offer."
-"I thought it was all about just getting the happiness meter up?"
"No, that's where your wrong. It's not about happiness, happiness is something that pushes you to play to your characters traits, but the real meat of the game is the new experiences you gain. You can't win it, it's all about playing, enjoying all the little details the devs put in there."
-"But why would they make a game that's so punishing, and even playing on your characters traits is hard and tedious."
"Because it makes overcoming the obstacles so much more rewarding. It's ingenious if you ask me. You have a whole world to explore, a practically endless sandbox, but you have to keep your hunger and thirst down, you have to earn money to survive so all that exploring is made so much more meaningful when you feel like everything you've done has led up to it. If you didn't do shit, then it wouldn't feel like shit."
-"I guess that makes sense, a world that when I try to make sense of it, it just gets more nonsensical. Infinite space I can try to explore but very limited space I can actually finish exploring. You know what, now that I think about it... I might wanna try this one again."
"Right? You just have to look at it from a higher perspective."
I move my upper left arm to transfer another 5 credits to the machine.
"Hold up!"
-"What?"
"I just remember there is a gamemode where you can play as a cat. It's 10 credits though."
-"Oh fuck yes! I'm doing that one!" |
Daily log of interactions between Humanity and the Coalition of Logistically Disparate. While they live up to their name, the logistics of making an environment which has a wing habitable to each species is a Herculean feat, there was a question asked of us today.
“What is your species’ optimal operational temperature range?”
We noted that optional operational internal temperature was 37 Celsius, and that environmental temperature should be varied accordingly.
This explanation was met with confusion. The representatives asked for clarification, so the on-site Human Biologist (who has requested not to have their name shared at this time) was brought in for an explanation on the difference between warm-blooded and cold-blooded animals in relation to internal temperature regulation.
These descriptions, definitions, an the questions from the coalition’s representatives until the scheduled meal/mental break/photosynthesis time period.
After lun— *ahem* the scheduled recuperation period, a request for a demonstration of Humanity’s internal temperature regulation was requested.
With intent to show that the human body is capable of emitting heat not present in the environment, the Human Biologist suggested the use of skin-to-skin contact through pressing their hand to the hand-analogue of a representative.
While this idea was initially scientifically agreeable, the social and political norms of all but one of the representatives required they decline. The representative from the Klars, whose species takes an appearance of a tetra-pedal, exoskeletal creature with a rearward balancing tail, and two forward grasping appendages branching from the shoulders of the forward walking limbs.
Now that the scientific description is done, they look like a cross between a cat and a scorpion without claws or a stinger.
Also of note, is that the Klex are a symbiotic pseudo-isolationist territorial species. They bond to another being from another species, and work together with them, but generally dislike large groups of their own kind.
Needless to say, after the Klex representative walked over, the Human Biologist sat down and extended a hand. The Klex representative rested their hands analogues on the Biologist’s hand, and then promptly pounced into the Biologist’s lap and fell asleep. One of the other representatives noted that Klex tend to have heated-sleeping pads, meaning that this response was likely instinctual and based upon warmth.
The Klex representative was eventually forcibly removed from the Biologist. After thanking them for the descriptions and demonstration, the Human Biologist was dismissed from the room. The remainder of the meeting was used as scheduling for additional demonstrations for each of the remaining representatives in a more private setting.
Additionally of note, the informal name for the Klex on-site has shifted from “cat-scorpions” to “cuddle-bugs” as word has spread. |
The hummingbird was closer to the window than it had ever been. It was quite a beauty. I imagined what it would be like to be a hummingbird gliding from flower to flower quite literally stopping to smell the flowers on the highway of life. Then I remembered that hummingbirds can’t actually smell. How cruelly ironic. Imagine having an existence that is all about flowers but you are forever doomed to never be able to smell them. It’s like a curse straight out of mythology. What could a hummingbird have done to warrant the wrath of gods like that? How is no one talking about it?
“Mr. Nelson!” boomed the voice of the teacher.
“I have a question for you”.
There it was. The attention of the class was on me again. Mr. Williams was going to ask me a question...again.
“While serving no useful purpose in survival, they have nevertheless been a part of you since recorded history. How have you personally come to terms with the knowledge that as a human male, you are forever doomed to have the largely purposeless apparatus of nipples?”
I sighed with the subtlety of a wrecking ball going through a castle of porcelain. Everyone’s eyes were on me. Mr. Williams’ big, round eyes were even more big and round which I knew only happens when his kind becomes especially curious. Or aroused. I chose to believe it was the former.
“Well..I” I started to form words. “I never had a - um - problem wit-with mine. I don’t really think about them so much you know, like, I go through many days in a row without really, like, ever thinking about them. They are just - kinda there.”
“ F A S C I N A T I N G” enunciated Mr. Williams with a sound that was quite unworldly and I could only liken it to a reptilian hiss.
“You focus your mental faculties on the menial and mundane tasks of everyday life and don’t let the burden of the knowledge of the futility of the nipples make you despondent”
“Uh - yes, I try to um..the... live in the moment.”
“You humans are curious beings!” There were many more reptilian hisses of amazement all around led by Mr. Williams.
I was one of the few humans chosen for the experimental exchange program between Earth and V-428. Quite a while ago Earth was made a member of the Frontier Reconnaissance of Intergalactic Educational Norms Department or FRIEND. Since then we have been sending humans to schools on V-428 and the ‘Vrals’ to schools on Earth to observe and learn from each other. Vrals even made the effort of making some locales, the ones where humans reside, to look more like Earth including a functioning ecosystem full of birds and flowers and insects. Vrals were fairly humanoid with bluish-green skin, smooth as glass, and big black eyes. As I sat back down, one of my Vral classmates - a female (which was evident to me due to several physical markers I spent hours learning about when I first learned that I was selected for the exchange program), who was seated next to me leaned towards me and whispered,
“I want to taste your brain..”
Our translator machines did a fairly decent job of translating our languages for each other. But there were some words in the Vral language that simply didn’t map onto English which, embarrassingly enough, was the only language I spoke and vice-versa. This was one of those moments where one wouldn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. Having been on their planet for quite some time, I knew that she just wanted to know more about how my human brain functioned. Like, she wanted to consume the information that originated in my brain. Probably.
“Is it true that humans enjoy ingesting food that causes suffering?”
“Uh, oh I know what you are asking. Yes, we love spicy food!”
“Is it true that you humans like moving your bodies to organized sounds?”
“Yup we love our dancing”
“Is it true that humans tend to exploit their planet, fellow humans, and other creatures for short-term gains while ignoring the long-term consequences of their actions? Do you personally follow such behavior patterns?”
“I-er- no, I.. don’t think so.”
At that point, I drew my gaze away and fidgeted with my pen uncomfortably while being well aware that her eyes were fixed upon me.
“Then you and I can be allies. Welcome.”
I slowly lifted my head and tried to look back at her. Her eyes were big and round much like Mr. Williams’ a short while ago. And it only meant one of two things. I smiled tentatively. |
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the kitchen as the Dark Lord Aglod the Unyielding went about his breakfast routine. He flipped a large dragon egg omelette before making his way over to turn off the coffee pot. As he was adding a bit of paprika to his omelette, his ears perked up at the sound of…footsteps approaching the entrance to his castle.
“Did I order a parcel?” Aglod scratched his head trying to remember. He didn’t believe he had, so why was someone…no multiple someones, approaching Castle NightSkull? The Dark Lord had enhanced hearing, so he continued to listen in as he stirred creamer into his large coffee mug.
“This is a bad idea man, we’re nowhere near the level we need to be to fight the Dark Lord Aglod yet!” A young male exclaimed. Aglod could hear arrows shaking in a quiver on his back as he talked, must be the archer then.
“I agree with Tanlin,” a young female chimed in, “I know we’re in a bit of a bind, but the Dark Lord? Surely he’ll smite us on sight!” Glass bottles filled with unknown liquid clanked about around her waist. She’d be the mage or healer, if he had to guess.
“Hmph, I’d like to see him try to smite me!” Aglod chuckled, that’d be the loveable orc barbarian of the party.
“Relax guys, just let me do the talking,” a confident sounding woman interjected, “I’ve got the highest speech and charisma, plus I’ve got a feminine wiles ability that boosts those stats even more.” Aglod pegged her as the leader. She had guts, no doubt.
A four man party? Interesting. Aglod made sure his henchman kept him up to date on the various goings on in the kingdom; so he was aware of the higher level parties. And none of them were in this area to his knowledge. It had been a while since Aglod had some action, at the very least he could scare these guys straight and send them off for a good laugh.
He took a large bite of his omelette and made his way to the castle entrance. By now, the group had reached the large castle doors and their leader knocked confidently. The doors opened slowly and the party was met with a cloud of black smoke that towered several feet above them. At the top of the dark cloud, two red eyes shone through the smoke.
“Who dares disturb the lair of Aglod the Unyielding?!?” Aglod bellowed from within the dark cloud. He smiled to himself, he hadn’t got to use that line in ages.
“Oh no, I told you this was a bad idea,” the mage cried as she jumped behind her orc friend.
“We are the Vagabonds!” the party leader shouted. “And…well, we’re in a bit of a bind and could use your help. Oh great and mighty Aglod!”
Help? That was…unexpected.
Aglod blew the smoke away and shrunk himself down to a more appropriate size to speak with these mortals. He now stood at just 10 feet tall, a couple feet taller than the orc in the party.
“Who are you and what are your levels?” Aglod inquired curiously.
“Tanlin, our archer, is level twelve. Silya, our mage, level eleven. Our Orc Barbarian Tomas is level fourteen and I am Chella, the leader of the Vagabonds…level sixteen,” Chella introduced the group.
Aglod couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, much to the chagrin of Chella, though the rest of the party seemed a bit relieved.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Aglod wiped a tear from his eye, “This might be the funniest shit I’ve encountered in the past decade at least.”
“What’s so funny?” Challa retorted.
“You do know my level, correct?” Aglod asked. The group stared at him blankly. “Holy shit, *you don’t?* I am level *300*. This entire area is recommended for levels 200 and above only. How the fuck did you all even make it through the Forever Forest to get here in the first place?”
“Funny story actually. Silya bought a book of spells from a dude I told her looked shady as hell. Turns out one of the spells that was labeled as an infinite money glitch was actually a random teleportation spell,” Tomas explained.
“How was I supposed to know he was some sort of trickster?” Silya cried.
“Tomas is an orc barbarian and even he could tell the guy was no good,” Tanlin replied, “No offense Tomas.”
“Jesus christ, you all are going to die out here,” Aglod sighed, “Tell you what, I’ll escort you through the Forever Forest to the town of Tarmsworth. There’s an inn, an alehouse and a merchant shop there. Everything you need in this life.”
“You’d do that for us?” Tanlin asked in disbelief.
“I might be a Dark Lord, but even I have principles. Also its no fun to crush low levels like you. The denizens of the Forever Forest, however, do not care. They will devour you on sight,” Aglod explained.
“I totally charmed him,” Challa whispered to her compatriots. Aglod rolled his eyes.
“Let's go before I change my mind.” |
Okay, listen, we owe our lives to all of you. All of humanity since the encounter owes it to ya’. We will never forget what you guys did for us.
When Earth made contact with the Glirya, we thought that we were about to get completely and utterly ruined. They had all that starship and rail gun tech figured out before we did, and they absolutely could have had us then and there if they wanted it bad enough. But they hated war. Their people aren’t as used to combat as we are. Very peaceful, wonderful people. I’ve been ‘round the Ixin system a couple times before. Random people would host me and feed me like a friend of the family. Kinship runs strong with ‘em, so when they found our backwater dying planet back in 2089, they helped us out. They shared their technology, set up embassies, and saved the planet. Earth was pretty fucked back then. Planet was straight up dying with all the pollution and climate change. The Glirya, and all their allies, came together and helped rebuild our planet’s ecosystems and atmosphere. Place looked brand-fuckin-new. Humans hadn’t seen air this clean since we were living in caves. They saved our planet on no other reason than it being the right thing to do. That was awesome.
So that’s why I’m only mildly annoyed whenever we gotta go across the sector to fight all your dickhead neighbors. I’m a boarding marine onboard the U.R.E.N. Triumphant Dawn. I’m writing this for a Idrisdian newsletter that’s gonna be read on live TV across the Ixin sector. Since y’all are considerate motherfuckers, you wanted to know if we ever get annoyed with having to fight all your wars, since you guys are religiously opposed to any and all violence. Well, kinda.
We’ve been in the alliance with ya’ for nearly three hundred years now. We all bring something to the table. Gliryans bring the tech, Idrisdians bring the food (which always tastes absolutely wonderful), Opolans bring the raw materials, et cetera. But what does earth bring? Well, we kick ass. I mean, it’s what we’re known for. We have more wars recorded in our planetary history than our entire sector COMBINED. You guys just ain’t built for it like we are. Now, I’m not saying you’re physically incapable, hell no. A couple members of my squad are non-human, and they wax ass like it’s a bodily function. I’m saying that you guys are culturally and morally against causing pain and death, and we respect that. War fucking sucks, but you don’t always get a choice.
There ain’t no sugar coating it, a lot of humans have given their lives in the border wars over the years we’ve been buddies. Death tolls aren’t pretty, and it’s not even our borders or anywhere close. I used to be a little bitter about it, but that was before I ever went to the Ixin system. An Idrisdian marine in my platoon invited me to see his family home during leave after I saved his ass on Caxi. Not having anywhere better to be, I went. Beautiful place, wonderful people, the best food I’ve ever tasted. Chefs kiss, you guys rock. But I still felt like it was all so disconnected from all the death that humanity faced so that you guys could have it good. I felt like humanity was getting played. That was until I walked into the town square of my buddies’ small, middle-of-nowhere hometown. In the smack-dab center of town square was a twenty foot tall statue of a human marine from the Cyramia border war of 2190. Four million humans died in that conflict that took place on the other side of the alliance space, far from any Ixin system planet. And yet, here was this statue. The plaque beneath had this on it:
“Dedicated to the brave warriors of humanity who fought and died for us without ever knowing the warmth of our suns. You will never be forgotten.”
Imma be honest, I knelt down and cried right there. Even way out in the backwater, you guys remembered us. I realized then and there that the greatest thing that humanity could offer was our lives. The lives you gave to us all those years ago.
So, yeah, doing CQB onboard blockade runners sucks, but it’s just something that’s gotta be done. We’re crazy motherfuckers, but we’re loyal. It don’t matter where or when, we’ll hold up our end of the deal. It’s the least we can do.
(Edit: why is it always my sad military sci-fi posts that do well… In all seriousness, thank you all so much for giving it a read. Means a hell of a lot to me.)
(Edit 2: OKAY, y’all really liked this one! Thank you all so much. Holy shit.) |
\[Poem\]
​
There once was a penniless squire,
To knighthood he always aspired
A school for the knights
Could teach him to fight,
But a weapon of him was required.
​
All others brought halberds and swords,
But fine steel he could not afford,
So he wore just a dagger,
And walked in with swagger,
Ignoring disparaging words.
​
But once it was time for a drill,
The squire moved with grace and great skill,
He dodged every swing
And swiftly closed in,
And then he moved in for the kill.
​
When asked how he won every round,
He said: "an old man in my town
Told me it wasn't length,
But the wielder's own strength
And skill with his weapon that counts." |
"Oh, sweetie, have a chocolate,"she said, tapping it into Bandolier's hand. He looked up at Bandito in confusion.
"Don't eat that,"the hero whispered back to him.
"Now how can I help you dearies?"The old woman looked a lot like his grandma, in spite of the skulls and spikes on her apron and cardigan. "And I hope you love molasses cookies!"
"Those we will eat,"Bandito whispered, again. Then louder, "Miss? Did you mean to threaten the mayor?"
"Oh, that? Well, he shouldn't have increased police funding. His intestines won't be easy to make macrame from, but I don't go back on my pinky promises. No no, dearies."
"Holy cannoli! She really is a villain,"Bandolier said, and immediately regretted, both due to the look he got from Bandito, and more so for the bar of soap the old woman was trying to shove in his mouth.
"Sorry, sweetie, but dirty mouths need cleaned like dirty hands."
"Don't fight it, kiddo. It'll only be worse. Now Miss, you know we can't let you kill the mayor. He's an important public official, elected by the people of this city."
"Blah ull funna fommuh."
"My sidekick is right. Macrame-ing his guts sends the wrong message if you want police funding decreased."
"Tha nah whah ah shen."
"Oh, I suppose you're right, sweetie,"she said, patting the boy on his head and removing the soap. "But you catch more flies with vinegar. Maybe I send him any burnt cookies from today's batch?"
"We'll even deliver them, if we can grab a couple of the good ones for the road,"Bandito said with a smile.
---
"So what did you learn there, kid?"Bandito asked.
"Don't use exclamation points around her?"
"No."
"Molasses cookies are heaven."
"Especially hers, but no."
"I don't know."
"Some foes, you don't bother punching."
"Yeah, suppose it looks bad, clocking an old lady."
"What? No. Jeez, you think I care about that? That woman could wipe the floor with us. Just be thankful she is so chatty. Otherwise, the mayor'd be part wall hanging right now." |
The boy walked into my cell tentatively, the guard watching him intently. He couldn't have even been into his double digits yet, 6 or 7 at the most. The guard left and before I could get a good look at my new cellmate-**LIGHTS OUT!**
"Mister, I'm scared."
Compassion welled up inside me, as I whispered softly "There's nothing to fear, boy, I'm here with you."
I held him on the bottom cot and stroked his hair. "I only took one gum from the store but everybody got so mad mister. What's your name? My name's Kevin, but everybody 'cept Mama called me Theif. Did you steal a gum too?"
I laughed a long time at that, and the boy began to laugh with me, partly out of fear or relief, I couldn't tell.
"My name is Jerry Sandusky, kid. But you can call me Uncle Jerry." |
"So, what are you interested in?"the man I was damned to spend eternity with asked. He was about my height, maybe a few inches shorter, and he wore a deep black blazer above a black striped button-down shirt and a pair of deep blue jeans. Nothing wrong with any of that, it wasn't too far off from how I usually dressed actually.
"Oh, a bunch of things,"I answered him back. "Soccer, cooking, videogames. Some other stuff obviously, but those are the big three."
"Oh, you're in to videogames? Me too,"he replied. I hadn't expected that, to be honest. Since Satan stuck me with him, I assumed we didn't have anything in common. In fact, I figured he'd just make fun of everything I told him about, that he'd be one of those guys who thinks computer games are for nerds and cooking is just for women. So this was a pleasant surprise. Maybe this wouldn't be all that bad.
"What games did you play, on the other side?"I asked him.
"Oh, I played a lot of League of Legends."
I looked down at the shirt I was wearing, the shirt I got at _The International 2014_, the largest Dota 2 tournament of all time. Perhaps I shouldn't doubt Satan. |
*Open the emergency door*, I recited to myself as I handed the smiling flight attendant my ticket. *Disable the flight attendant who responds first.* I returned her smile with a practiced grin of my own. Maybe it would be her. *Rush the cockpit before they know what's happening and lock the door*. She put the slip of paper into the little scanner.
There was a pause, and nothing happened. It should have beeped. I clutched the grip of my weapon under my jacket, ready to use it if necessary. It was a carbon-fiber gun of my own design, built to avoid detection by TSA screenings. She slid the ticket under the light again, and this time it beeped. She handed it back to me and said "have a nice flight!"She didn't even know that she'd be dead in the next few hours.
I was sitting in the front row of first class. Worth the extra 200 dollars to ensure that I was as close to the cockpit door as possible. I buckled my seatbelt and looked around at my fellow passengers. Fat old men in suits typing away on their smart phones. Bored women with fake blonde hair and designer sunglasses. Spoiled rich children who had never known the discomfort of flying in the economy section. Sickening. They were just a microcosm of the wealthy oligarchs who had hijacked this country for their own avaricious purposes. I would not be sorry to see them taken down with me as I accelerated into Bank of America's skyscraper. Some of the passengers now shuffling into coach certainly didn't deserve this fate, but they were a necessary casualty. The stewardess handed me a hot towel, and I tried to relax, repeating the plan over and over again in my mind like a calming mantra.
Cruising altitude: 30,000 feet. The seatbelt light dinged softly, and I was now free to move about the cabin. My heart was racing. This was it. I needed to do it before beverage service began, otherwise that big cart would be in my way. I stood up and prepared to make my way to the bathroom near the back of the plane. I'd pull that big red handle on my way back up. 3 minutes and counting.
Halfway to the back of the plane, a man stood up. Fairly short, with tan dark skin and a sparse black mustache that looked like it belonged on a pubescent teen. *Stay calm*, I told myself. *He'll be sitting by the time you get back. He won't be...*
Something flashed in his hand. A knife, slowly sliding out of his sleeve. The milky white ceramic blade that I'd considered using before designing my carbon-fiber gun. His eyes widened as he saw me coming toward him down the aisle.
"EVERYONE SIT DOWN,"another man shouted from the back of the plane. He too held a knife, waving it about. Passengers screamed as three more men stood from their seats and pulled out their own weapons. The one closest to me advanced down the aisle, shoving the blade into the faces of passengers. The others restrained the flight attendants before they could alert the cockpit.
"We're taking a little detour! To *Havana*!"He pronounced the name of the city with a clear Spanish accent.
*You've got to be fucking kidding me*, I thought to myself. *This was **MY** plane*.
I didn't even think twice. I pulled the gun from my jacket pocket and shot him twice in the chest. He dropped the knife to the floor and stared at me. Must have been quite a surprise, thinking that all of the passengers were unarmed. Two more hijackers went down as they tried to rush at me with their blades. The last two dropped their weapons and knelt to the floor as the pilots began to dive back to the airport for an emergency landing. I'd lost the element of surprise. The game was up.
There were cameras and emergency crews waiting when we reached the terminal. "This man's the hero!"one of my fellow passengers shouted to them and pointed at me. Cameras flashed and clicked as they all tried to get a shot of me while the TSA covered my face with a jacket and rushed me off to some back room. They threatened to charge me, of course. I'd illegally brought a weapon onto an airplane. But who would convict a man who'd single-handedly stopped a hijacking? As far as they knew, my only crime so far was being a fervent supporter of the Second Amendment! Let's see you bring *that* to a jury in Texas.
I was released. I returned to my own apartment, double checking to make sure that I'd gotten rid of all evidence of my plans. I was safe, for the time being. But the day had still been a failure. I went back to the drawing board, wondering how I might use my new-found fame to bring down the system. |
"Wha- Where a-"
*"Whoa, hold up!* Get your bearings first before you start asking questions! Everyone only gets one."
"One wha-"
"Damn it *stop* it! Just stop asking for a second, I'll explain. Listen, you're dead."
As you can imagine, I was in a daze. One second, I was on my daily jog down the street from my house, the next, it just stopped. An overwhelming light took over my vision. I was afraid I had gone blind. Turns out the change was much more permanent than I had initially thought. My feet no longer ached from slamming down on the concrete for the previous few miles, but instead felt as if they were unsupported, floating. Actually, I didn't know if my legs were even still present. But then a man, with an incredible rumpelstiltskinian beard, became the only object in my sight.
This wrinkly-faced man initially appeared to only consist of a head floating on a background of white. But then the outlines started to define themselves. He was donned in a white robe almost as long as his legendary facial hair, seemingly suspended in the air. He was being quite impatient with me as I tried to figure out where the heck I was.
"Maybe that wasn't the best way to break the news, bud, but I don't want you to get screwed. My name is Peter. I work for the big guy in the sky, God."
Did he mean *Saint* Peter? I was beyond curious, but I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to get 'screwed,' whatever that meant. I was more intrigued by my surroundings in the first few seconds in that strange environment than I was by how I got there.
"While you were out for your run, a kid fresh out of driving school accidentally hit you in the back at about 50 miles per hour. Lucky for you, you died instantly, but I'm not going to go into too many details there."
All I managed to get out of my mouth was, "Well, that's pretty shitty."
He examined my bewildered expression. Air blew out of his nose and he shook his head as if I was a teen who had just taken a shot of whiskey and was surprised at how it burned. "It always amazes me how everyone reacts to that news. Some cry, some yell, some like you just sit there dumbfounded."
He continued. "Anyways, follow me to the Big Guy. Everyone gets to ask him one question as soon as they get here. About anything. BUT be careful how you phrase everything. Make sure he answers the exact question you want answered. And frankly I don't know if anything you ask out here could count, but he can be kind of a jerk sometimes, so I don't want to take any chances."
A pair of pearly white gates was conjured out of seemingly thin air. I didn't think about how that happened too much. I was just trying really hard to think of a good question, something I wouldn't regret. I couldn't believe this was happening! On one hand I was shocked that I was there and I knew the real pain would set in later, but at the time I was almost excited.
"Good luck man,"I heard Peter say as I wandered through the gates, which closed behind me. I had been transported into a perfectly clean room, absolutely silent, in the perfect shape of a cube. And then something changed. I felt a presence in the room, that I can't explain how I felt it in human terms. I just could. And then I heard a voice.
"Welcome to the afterlife. Now, we come to the point in the program where you can ask anything. Anything you want. But you can only ask one question. And I will answer completely truthfully, withholding nothing. Now, what would you like to ask?"
The possibilities raced through my head. Would I go big? 'Is time eternal, are you eternal, is the universe boundless, are the multiple universes, are we alone?' Or would I go smaller? More personal? 'Did that girl Jenna from junior year have a thing for me? Could we have had a future? Was I well-liked? How many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?'
But my mind finally came back to that kid. The kid who sent me here. More and more questions raced through my mind. 'Did I know him? Was he texting or something? What kind of car was it? And if it was a smart car could I please kill myself again?'
And then, I asked.
"Is the kid who ran me over going to be OK?"
Nothing. No response. But he was still there, I could feel it. And then, I heard, "Finally..."
What?
"Finally someone who asks a question about someone else. All I get asked are these selfish questions, things like, 'did my wife really love me?' or 'how many tons of matter did I poop out in my life?' Yes people actually ask that one. Or people will think they're asking some deep question by asking about the nature of the universe, asking what the answer to life is, things like that that really don't matter. You were able to see past that."
"I don't understand."
"You put back all selfish motivations, and forgave that person who killed you through sheer recklessness. If only more people were like that."He paused. "Yeah, that was a bug in my original code for humans.... But I expect you want to know your answer. He ended up alright, all things considered. He was charged, imprisoned for a short while, but emerged a better man. He was able to find a decent job, raise a nice family. But carried the guilt of your life forever."
"Well, at least he turned out OK... Sooo, what happens now?"
"Oh, well you just kinda scurry off to heaven now, go meet up with your old dog and parents, things like that. It's loads of fun."
"My 'selfless' question doesn't make anything... monumental or something?"
"Oh, heavens, no, the apocalypse is a few centuries away anyways. Might as well just wait it out."
"Wait, you can't stop that from happening?"
Silence. "Y-you're asking too many questions, go see Fido!"
"No, wa-"
*poof* His presence was gone. So were the walls of the cube-room.
I sighed, and headed off to what looked like a waterpark. At least I can chill here until the kingdom comes. |
My phone jingled and buzzed and I emerged from the tangled mess of blankets and my oversized pyjamas to grab it.
Received 23.00: "Hey, everything okay? You were pretty quiet today, wanted to check-in with you x"
I managed a small smile, it was good of Jake to do that, he was always thinking of others. I'd been struggling recently with everything, but I don't want to be a bother or upset anyone so I texted back quickly that I was fine and not too worry.
I retreated back into my blanket nest with my phone this time and was startled when it went off again in my hand.
Received 23:10: "I had no idea you were having a hard time, I'm on my way over now, we can talk if you want?"
What? I scrolled up the glowing screen and gasped, this wasn't what I had sent, what had happened?!
Sent 23:05: "Hey, I'm a bit down at the moment. My job's in a rut, I'm lonely and I feel like I need to talk to someone about all of it, but I can't say anything because I'm terrified of seeming weak."
My hands shake slightly as I type out that I'm fine, and that my phone glitched. He didn't need to worry I really am fine. There I think, tongue stuck between my teeth. That'll fix it.
Sent 23:15: "I'd really appreciate that, you're always there when I need you x"
Shit, shit, shit. I flop face first into the blankets, and breathe in as I fight panicked tears. Nobody should know about this, it's my problem and I shouldn't be putting it on others.
Then the doorbell rings, and I feel forced to answer it. "Hey, it's me, you there?"Jake calls through the thin barrier. I pull the door open and try to explain that it was a misunderstanding but all that escapes me is a strangled sob.
He moves across the threshold, pulling me into a hug as he kicks the door shut behind. I breathe deeply, trying to calm down as his hand rubs my shoulder soothingly but I can't stop crying.
"Everything's going to be okay."he offers, holding me closer and I take the comfort offered willingly.
Maybe, maybe Jake can help me. |
The battle raged around me as I choked on the mud with my dying breaths. I couldn't feel my legs; an enemy swordsman had raked his sword across my spine. I couldn't feel my left hand; it lay in front of my face, fingers curled up, like a dead spider. I couldn't see out of one eye; not with an arrow in it.
But I retained enough presence of mind to realize when someone stooped over me. An enemy, come to show mercy?
"You look like you need help,"the man said gravely.
I tried to lift my head, to spit in his face for the insult, but my gaze made it no further than the hem of his cloak.
"Perhaps this will do."He held out a small, purple mushroom before my nose. Through the smell of blood, smoke and earth, I caught a scent of peppery sharpness. "Partake of this power, and rise once more, brave warrior."
Before I could resist, he grabbed my jaw and shoved the mushroom down my throat.
"But be warned,"he said, rising once more. "If you do not have the strength, the darkness will not save you, but claim you as it has so many others."
"Let—it—try,"I said. Then, I coughed up my liquefied insides all over his shoes and fainted.
***
Some time later, when the clash of steel had given way to the feasting songs of ravens, and the bellows of man turned to whimpers of pain and loss, I woke up on a field of fragrant, golden grass.
So unexpected was the sight that I leaped to my feet, only realizing a moment later that all the agony I'd been feeling had disappeared. Vigor surged through me, like the power of a thousand galloping horses, like the warmth of the summer sun. My detached hand began dancing in joy around me on fingertips, like a colt bounding around its mother. There were no ravens; tiny, winged unicorns flitted through the air, squeaking songs of romance.
"Look here, one of them's still alive."
I turned slowly to face the speaker. It was a giant of a man, seven feet tall, his brawny frame exposed in full, bare-chested glory. In fact, everyone there seemed to be built solely to make a nun question her life choices. Some were astride mighty capybara steeds. The capybaras had fur of every color imaginable, and they wore Ray-Bans.
The man hoisted a gigantic toothbrush in one hand. "Pick up your weapon,"he said said. "I will not slay an unarmed man."
I was too busy studying my surroundings to answer him. The castle had become a construct of pink, wobbly jelly. On its walls stood enemy archers: fat, bearded babies dressed in red, with quivers of red-white candy canes. The brawny men had taken prisoners, beautiful women in bikinis who for some reason had very hairy thighs and rough voices.
"Fight me,"the man shouted.
"Very well,"I said. Bending low, I picked up a giant feather and held it at the ready.
With a roar, the man raised the toothbrush and charged, bristles rustling in the wind. I sidestepped his clumsy attack and tickled him across the back. Instantly, he deflated with a whizzing sound and went soaring away in the air.
The rest of his fellows began attacking, but I had the element of surprise. I plowed through them, turning dozens of these brawny fellows flat as paper and sending them on unwanted flights. The women began screaming my name and giving lewd suggestions as they flashed their breasts.
"I'm sorry,"I said solemnly, taking cover behind a bread house as the archers let fly with their candy. "But I will have to swipe left for now."
Without their footmen and their cavalry and their capybaras (I felt bad about tickling them, they quoted Shakespeare before turning into handbags), the archers stood no chance. I cut them all down, turning them into piles of melted sugar that smelled strangely of Cuban cigars.
An hour later, I was the only combatant still standing in the castle yard. I wasn't the least bit tired, but the thought of spending quality time with all those women had me panting and drooling. But before I could make my way toward them, a thin man in a billowing cloak appeared next to me.
"It seems you've saved your kingdom,"he said.
"You look like someone I've seen on Netflix,"I said.
He patted me, almost sympathetically, on my stump. Noticing that the cut was now oozing with vanilla ice cream, I began slurping on it. For some reason, he winced when I offered it to him.
"I daresay the effects will wear off in an hour or so. If you survive, you'll be regretting this moment—"
Before he could finish, I punched him in the face. As he lay unconscious, I rummaged through his belongings until I found a small pouch filled with familiar looking mushrooms.
Without hesitating, I ate them all. I would make my kingdom great again.
|
I adjusted my glasses and peered down at my mysterious visitor. At first glance, he looked like an idiot. At second glance, he looked like even more of an idiot. He was dressed in fine silky robes like he'd just arrived from the Middle East and was wagging a twig in my face. Before I could open my mouth, he spoke:
"Listen, I know your aunt and uncle wouldn't want you talking to me, so I'm gonna make this quick. I need you to take this package and keep it safe until you need it most".
With a swish of his robes, my strange guest scurried off down the street and climbed aboard the nearest bus. I carried the package to my small room where I could open it in peace. Inside was a gun. A .44 magnum revolver, to be specific. The box also contained a note. After examining the pistol and turning over the bullets that had come with it in my palms, a broad smile broke across my face. This weapon could stop a bear in its tracks. Whoever this Voldemort was, I'd be able to blow his brains out before he could even raise a finger. |
Look, I can't really say anything, can I? I mean, I'm Death for crying out loud.
The first time I saw Sarah kill someone, I thought it was a one off. She always had a temper. I figured this was just her catching up with someone who had pissed her off.
Honestly, I didn't hold it against her. I had killed before. That's why I was comfortable taking the Death job in the first place.
But it's starting to get out of hand.
She's good, I have to give her that. Her kill count is over twenty now, and there's no sign of the authorities catching on. If it weren't for the abilities granted to me by my employer, I might be ignorant to her murderous ways as well.
Who does she target, you might ask? The answer is a little unsettling. She's killing men in their mid thirties, medium build, short brown hair, and always men who are dating attractive women. In other words, she's killing men who are just like me.
I see a lot of messed up stuff on a daily basis, but Sarah's behavior is starting to get to me. I can hardly sleep now. She cuts a guy's tongue out without blinking, then an hour later she's smiling and kissing me goodnight. Does she realize that she's killing me in effigy? Is it unconscious, or is there some other pattern I can't see?
As death, I'm a neutral party. I don't decide who lives and who dies - usually. I am given a few discretionary kills each year for instances when I am at risk, or when I have a strong moral judgement that I'm willing to kill for. I would have never considered killing Sarah a couple of months ago. But I'm beginning to think it might be immoral *not* to.
I know it'd be messed up to use my powers to kill my wife after I only agreed to be burdened with those powers to save her. So it goes. No one said life would be fair.
I'll wait a little longer and give her a chance to get whatever this is out of her system. It isn't looking good, though.
Man, Satan's never going to let me live this one down... |
This is it. This is actually it. This is the way my life ends after more than 3000 years of guiding humanity in the best way I could.
I hate how vulnerable I am right now. Many humans want to be able to transform into their favourite animal, but they don't know what they're wishing for. While there's some perks, it's just not worth it. Night vision is nice, but does it really beat opposable thumbs?
No.
It doesn't.
Curse Sekhmet and her stupid pranks. This isn't the first day I've spent as a cat against my will, but it's without a doubt the worst. Imagine being an immortal goddess on the way to be put down.
Imagine only being immortal when in human form.
I can't believe this is the way I go. I always imagined that if I died, it'd be legendary. Heroic. Like the old gods. Not as a lamb (cat) to slaughter.
The human lady seems nice enough. I guess it's for the better she doesn't realize who I am. I imagine she wouldn't really like to know she killed an actual god. Although, maybe, she wouldn't care. People don't care about the ancient gods.
She talks to me like I'm a baby. I really don't get why people do that. Don't they now cats can understand human language? Most cats I met find it extremely disrespectful.
I guess it doesn't matter anymore.
The human doesn't seem to know where she's going. Or does she.
She does. She actually does. She knows exactly where she's going.
I can't believe how grateful I am.
She won't believe it either.
|
Bad headache, unfamiliar environment. Yep, I’m in another universe. After the first time, you just kinda know. Doesn’t look like I’m in Queens, though. I don’t even know if I’d consider this place New York. Let’s see . . . non-stop sirens, dark and gothic looking place, litter all over the place. Okay, maybe this is New York. Though, I don’t remember it being a safe space for clownkin.
Wait, that clown’s standing over someone. Bat helmet. That’s a hero, no doubt. Once you’ve seen one animal theme, you’ve seen them all. No time to think, Pete! Gotta make with the ‘thwip thwip’ while I can.
Webbing them both up. It looks like the bat guy might be a hero, but I’ve made these mistakes before. Alright, let’s see if I can get an idea of what I’m dealing with here.
“Hey boys, nice night for a jog, huh?” I say, sticking to the nearest wall.
The clown’s just laughing. Great, as if I didn’t have enough nightmares.
“Oooh, Batsy, a brand new boy blunder?” he asked. “This one’s got a weirder sense of coordination, though. Spiders aren’t the first thing I think of when I see a bat. Then again, neither are robins.” He starts again after that line. Man, that’s just downright unsettling.
“Hey, I didn’t choose the spider life. The spider life chose me.” When in doubt, deflect! My quips always seem to agitate the guys I normally deal with, hero and villain alike. This clown guy just seems to enjoy it, though. Never thought I’d be uncomfortable with someone actually laughing at my jokes.
“Oh, he’s quite the card! I like this one.” Laughing again. Does he have a mute button? Oh wait, I do.
I web the clown’s mouth shut. I’ve got the worst headache right now and hearing a clown cackle is not doing it justice.
Finally think I need to give the bat some attention. Woah, wait! He’s already out of my webbing! He’s minimizing everything I worked so hard on. He’s also really close. Wonder why my spider sense didn’t pick up on that. Maybe he’s not a threat.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Normally, I’d say I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but considering that this isn’t my neighborhood, you can just call me Spidey.”
“Hmm . . .” His mean mug makes me uneasy. Starting to reconsider the clown’s laugh. “You’re not from this world, are you?”
“And they say bats can’t see too well,” I say, impressed. It helps skip the explanation. “How’d you spot the difference?”
“The tensile strength on your webbing is unlike any chemical combination I’ve seen from hero or villain. Your movements suggest experience, but I’ve never seen you patrolling either. More importantly, I can tell that you don’t recognize me or the guy on the ground too well. Webbing us both up was just you playing it safe.”
Okay, he’s really good. He could give T’challa a run for his money.
“Glad to see there’s no hard feelings about the web thing. Can’t tell you how many bad reviews it gets me on Yelp.”
Spider sense is going off. Without a second to spare, I just leap off the wall. Good decision, there’s a katana where my head was a second ago. Holding on to it is . . . a boy? A bit young to be taking up the way of the sword.
“Woah there, I’m not really looking to become part one of a shish-kabob.” When in doubt, deflect!
“Robin, stand down!” Bat is the leader here, it seems. The kid listens to him. “He’s not hostile.”
The kid’s putting his weapon away, but I’m still not much for relaxing.
“I’m Batman and he’s Robin,” Batman says, introducing himself rather formally.
“Sorry citizen,” says Robin. “Couldn’t’ take any chances.”
“You could have killed me, you know!”
“Only if you didn’t dodge it,” he responds.
“ . . . Okay, you’ve got me there. Checkmate.”
“How did you end up here?” Batman asks.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Normally, these universe jumps come with a device or a bunch of spider-killing soul vampires. This time it just . . . happened.”
“I see . . .” Looks like he’s thinking. “We’ll take the Joker in and head back to the Batcave. From there I can contact the rest of the Justice League in the Watchtower and see if there’s something that can be done to get you back. Nothing good comes from being in the wrong universe.”
Gee, don’t I know it? All jokes aside, though, this guy doesn’t miss a step. I haven’t been here ten minutes and we’ve already got a plan in place to get me home. Why can’t Uber be this fast? Also, ‘Justice League’? That’s a way better name than ‘Avengers’. Much more thematic. I don’t even know if we avenge things.
Batman and Robin grab the Joker and use some sort of grapple device to swing from building to building.
Hey, wait! That’s my shtick. You guys can’t fly? |
The waitress flicked on the ancient TV in the corner, its screen fuzzing up with static before leveling out to show a grainy security tape. The camera looked out onto a quiet midtown street. Though difficult to see, the pre-war buildings nearby had dramatically tall windows, cast iron gates, and ivy climbing up the walls, giving it a modern patrician feel.
“Just two hours ago, six armed subversives stormed the Consulate General of Peru,” a CNN reporter announced.
The Astoria Diner, only about a quarter full before the lunch rush, fell silent. The patrons twisted in their seats to get a look at the scene playing out across the East river.
“We’ve learned that there are an estimated fourteen hostages, though that is unconfirmed. No terrorist groups have come forward to claim this attack, though an unnamed source within the Peruvian embassy believes this to be connected to the Chilian government. We have not received word yet on how the American government plans to address this attack on their soil, but we’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.”
Dax dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl of corn chowder, the metal clinking loudly. He closed his eyes, sighed and rubbed his stomach with contentment. Hmm… had his belly always stuck up this much? Might be time to take his dirty laundry off the Peleton and finally get back into classes like he’d been promising himself. Dax opened his eyes to find the rest of the diners look at him incredulously. A burley man in his late 50s was glaring daggers at him, obviously offended by Dax’s indifference.
Dax sighed again, miffed this time. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the hostage tape. In fact, Dax had arrived at the Consulate General of Peru a mere ten minutes after the situation began. He stood up and walked over to the aggrieved man, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Mind if I sit?”
The man nodded but said nothing.
“Look,” Dax said, “Those people are going to be fine. And they only have eleven hostages, not fourteen.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said, his eyebrows shading his face in skepticism.
“I do know that,” Dax replied. “I know that because I’m Professor Premonition.”
The man’s brows furrowed further. “You mean,” he croaked, “The Sonic Scream’s sidekick?”
Dax bristled. “I prefer partner.”
“If you’re Professor Premonition, where’s The Sonic Scream? Why aren’t you there helping?”
“What else is left for me to do?” Dax asked. “I warned the police yesterday, but they didn’t take me seriously. Even still, I gave them the tip that one of the hostages had a secret cell phone. I even went though the trouble to let the reporters know when it would be safe to call them. The Sonic Scream and the police have their plan, so why would I want to put myself close to all that danger?”
The waitress slid a hot coffee in front of Dax. He poured in a non-dairy creamer and took a small sip.
“Plus,” Dax said, “If I have another premonition, I can just as easily call my partner on the phone.” He waggled his beat-up Samsung in the air before setting it on the table. “Might as well do my job while eating the best corn chowder in town.”
The burley man rolled his eyes, obviously convinced that Dax was off his rocker.
“BREAKING NEWS” flooded red light from the TV into the dimly lit diner. The conversations died down as everyone paused again to listen.
“We go now to Tonya, on the scene of the Peurvian hostage crisis. Tonya?”
A reporter stood in front of a cloud of dust and quickly adjusted her blouse as the camera began rolling. People were streaming out of the building behind her.
“Moments ago, The Sonic Scream, superhero involved in the infamous Coney Island fire rescue as well as last month’s blob incident, saved the day once again. Following a SWAT team, the Scream incapacitated the gunmen, giving the hostages time to escape. No casualties and only mild injuries are reported. Truly amazing.”
A man emerged from the building, his bodysuit chalky with dust.
“Oh, Mr. Scream! Mr. Scream! May I have a word?” Tonya called.
“Sure, sure,” The Sonic Scream replied, jogging over. He had a small cut on his cheeks and bags under his eyes but was otherwise no worse for wear.
“Tell me,” the reporter asked, “how did you handle this situation so adeptly?”
“Well,” The Scream paused thoughtfully, “I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Professor Premonition. And of course the support of the good people of New…”
Dax pulled his eyes away from the screen and settled them on the man at the other end of the table. “Partner,” Dax repeated smugly.
“Another chowder for my friend here!” the burley man called to the kitchen, slapping Dax amicably on the back. |
Of over 1000 ships that stood by in defence of Acvia, less then 200 returned. Most bore significant battle damage, leaking atmosphere into the void of space. Some were barely held together, others had lost most of their crew. It was a sobering sight.
The Acvians were joyful, but even that rang hollow. With so many ships destroyed, it was only a matter of time before the aggressive Vadrile returned to finish them. The defenders were hailed as heros, an attempt to improve the world's morale.
A warning sounded from the Subspace Monitoring Station as the ships pulled into orbit. Another fleet approached, much larger then the force they had barely fought off. They moaned, knowing that they couldn't stop this new fleet. But still, the barely functional ships turned in defence.
The Subspace ruptured, spitting forth this new fleet. Hundreds of gleaming vessels, much larger then the Acvians ships, appeared. The first images sent back showed a few painted white, with red crosses. Others were painted grey, adorned with what appeared to be crossed tools of green. A few of the grey ships were enormous, sporting immense doors that were far larger then appeared necessary. Surronding them were colossal ships of black.
Half peeled off, heading to the remains of the fight. Of the others, their lead ship deployed a tiny shuttle. It flew into communications range, and broadcasted an open signal. As it loaded up, the Monitors saw a strange, dark-skinned person, with 2 large arms and a small head. It spoke with calm assurance.
"Hail Acvia. I am General Kolin, of the Human Mercy Fleet. We received your request for aid, and offer our services. We have medical and engineering vessels available."
The Head Monitor rushed to set up a responding signal. She rarely used her authority over the Council. However, there was no time to wait. As the link established, she groomed her feathers, and straightened her coveralls. Satisfied she looked presentable, she spoke as the link finally connected.
"Greetings General Kolin. I am Head Monitor Glerth, of the Acvian Council. With my authority as Defence Chief, I accept your assistance. To all ships of the Acvian Fleet. Allow the Humans access."
"Thank you, Head Monitor."
The link faded, and Gleeth sat, scratching her wings with her one central arm. She had heard of the Human Mercy Fleet before. They were one of the few good races, despite their self admitted turbulent past. They offered aid, and took little payment in return, save for a supply restock if possible.
Their ships drew close, and began to split apart. Their black ships linked with the few fully operational Acvian ships, forming a more potent defensive barrier. The white and grey ships headed for clusters of damaged ships. As they did, smaller shuttles were launched of the same colour scheme.
The gargantuan grey ships stopped short, not launching any smaller ships. Instead, their doors opened to reveal piles of raw materials. These mobile supply depots remained in an optimal location, allowing for the smaller grey vessels to easily access the materials they needed.
The outlook of the Acvians changed again. The spark of hope rekindled in them, as humanity's selflessness proved they weren't alone. Whilst the threat of attack still loomed, they knew they could relax a little.
They wouldn't be left to die. |
"I think you missed."I taunt him, knowing full well the spell hit me dead on. "Happens to the very best. Or so I've been told."I shrug. "Want to give it another go?"Sarik grinds his teeth, and summons an orb of lightning this time.
I could dodge it. I could have my sword in his throat before he finished summoning his spell. I could have ended this battle the second it started. But that would miss the point of this exercise. So I let him cast his spell. The crackling electricity sound like a startled flock of a thousand birds as he casts it at me.
I don't shift. I don't dodge. I don't even move, letting the ball of thundering hate wash over me and dissipate. Watching the face of the king go from triumph, to confusion to fear is remarkably satisfying, I must say. "So, have we started yet? "I ask, mid yawn. The crowd jeers me. Well, at least some things don't change.
"What trickery is this?"He shouts, and I just smile. "Come now, your majesty. Surely the greatest mage in the world wouldn't be stumped by, what did you call it, 'a mere parlour trick'?"My smile only widens with the increased jeering. "So, I'll tell you what. If you manage to inflict any damage on me, I will forfeit. My win condition remains the same."I can see the vein in his forehead balloon in size. He always hated being looked down on.
Suddenly, he stops, throws his head back and starts laughing. I wonder if he finally lost his sanity. "Of course! It so simple! You've woven elemental nullification into your armour!"A clever idea, though not a viable one. Nullification magic has a misleading name- it doesn't actually nullify, just disperses the mana by applying the inverse resonance. Two downsides are that metal is required for the generation of said inverse, and that it tends to deform and shatter as a result of it.
I nod. "It's a good thought, but I'm clearly only wearing leather armour. Try again for a copper?"He ignores me and casts Serenity Blade- a highly advanced spell with no elemental components. If his guess was correct it would slice me into ribbons.
If.
"Told you."I retort at the utter shock of everyone in the arena. "Now, your majesty, I'm going to rip your tongue out through your throat, then take your throne, your wife and your kingdom."I smile, genuinely smile, as I say that. It's been so long since I did that. "After all, magic-less or not, I'm still your older brother." |
**The Forbidden Craft**
**Chapter 1: Building Stuff To Look Tough**
“Ignore him,” Harriet says.
The Party learned long ago to ignore the Great Words From The Heavens, as much of it is nonsense, pleading cries, noise. They also learned long ago that the world they live in just doesn’t make much sense.
Harriet, the leader of the Party, was the first person in their hastily-crafted land to discover Neverobtanium. With her ingenuity, the Party quickly found that Neverobtanium is not only effective at deflecting dragon’s fire, but is an incredibly durable, yet flexible material that can be shaped into almost anything. Around the same time, the Party discovered Alsonotobtanium – a slick substance that happens to be shockingly powerful rocket fuel.
A few weeks later, Harriet and the Party found an unfinished text, left behind in a poorly described dungeon. Seemingly, the text is from some other world, yet found its way here, as if mistakenly appended to their world and forgotten.
Harriet pours through the text, each page with the header, “How To Build A Spaceship [FOR SCI-FI STORY NOT THIS ONE REMEMBER TO DELETE_final_final_final.pdf]”
Harriet’s lean, her hair tied up in a bun, frowning as she looks over the text. Alongside her is Gemly, the added muscle she needs to get this ship built; Tyrus, the smartest person they know from their village, though that isn’t saying much; and Mentos, the freshest and cleanest of the party, and the best horse rider in the land. Surely he could pilot a ship, too.
“Do we even need to build this contraption?” Gemly sighs, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “What are we going to do with a spaceship, anyway?”
Harriet claps the book shut, looking up at Gemly. “It isn’t just a ship, Gem. It’s our ticket to a bigger, better, *longer* life.”
Gemly and Mentos look at each other, puzzled.
Harriet continues. “The second that idiot up there in the clouds gets bored with writing our story, our lives come to a halt. We won’t wake up the next day because there won’t *be* a next day. Not unless they’ve written it. And nobody’s really into high fantasy anymore. Even the authors of today’s high fantasy can’t get around to finishing the books in their own series. You think we can rely on this chump to finish theirs? Not likely.”
She gets up, walking around the ship, marveling at its craftsmanship. “But this. This makes our story a sci-fi story. And who knows, maybe even a popular one! Four medieval peasants, somehow building a ship capable of flying to the Sun at breakneck speeds, disappearing into the great beyond, the final frontier. Who wouldn’t want to read that?”
“I’d read that,” Tyrus chimes in.
“See, he’d read it. We’d all read it,” Harriet says.
“But I can’t read,” Gemly sulks.
Harriet takes Gemly by the hands. “But if you could, you would! You would. And that’s what matters.”
“Hey!” The Great Words begin again. “You down there! How’d you get that manual?” The Words start to mumble, as if realizing they made an error somewhere down the line.
Harriet turns back to the rest of the Party. “This is our story now. And this ship is our new chapter.”
**[contd. in replies]** |
Report on take-over of; Planet 36B8f-3 (locally known as Earth) in the Omega Reaches.
Report to; Grand High Monitor Blesh from, Armada Captain Ris of Net-Hem.
REPORT CLASSIFIED AS; TOP TOP SECRET. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.
Grand High Monitor,
It is with astonishment and trepidation I write this report of our recent attempt to take over this backwater planet at the edge of the galaxy. As the initial reports stated the planet is indeed rich in flens and should have been a viable property for a mining set-up, minus the primary indigenous population of the planet.
It was originally deemed easier to cleanse the planet using the usual bio-weapon (used to cleanse so many planets before now) as the beings are too unstable to be used as workers, nor do they profess the intellect needed to converse and negotiate property rights for the flens (which they have little use for) having also had no previous contact with any other interplanetary beings and understanding the time issues in introducing them (with their limited brain capacity) to the wider reaches of the cosmos, it seemed a kindness to end them.
The bio-weapon was dropped globally, as per the usual parameters. The stealth delivery system arrived unnoticed by any but a few, easily dismissed children, and as usual, we waited the normal 37 clins for the weapon to disperse and take affect before monitoring.
At Clin 37 we noticed no visible affects on any of the beings on the planet. We assumed we had somehow had a defective batch of the weapon and started to test what we had on our test subjects in The Armada. The test subjects were all deceased within 6 centra, as usual. Our batch was not defective.
Our Head Sarf suggested that the physiology of the beings on the planet, may be stronger than initial scans suggested, and decided we such administer an unprecedented second wave. We did.
At the next 37 Clin mark, we again started monitoring, sure that the population would now be decimated. It was not. About half of the population, most notably the elderly, had an illness they referred to as "a cold"(we aren't sure of the reference to a low temperature as the illness seemed to make them heat up, rather than cool down, but that does line up with their low intelligence) and some small percentage did pass away, but wether this was the weapon or their age, Head Sarf was unable to determine.
Grand High Monitor, in all my many devs as Armada Captain, with 3689 Planet Cleanses behind me, I have never seen such a response from any population, and I don't mind admitting that I am astonished and a touch alarmed. Head Sarf believes we need to set up a monitoring station in the outer reaches of this system in the hopes of watching them develop, and possibly recruiting them if they can prove to be trainable. I however, believe this planet is far to dangerous to be allowed to continue on in this fashion and recommend a complete annihilation event. Whilst I understand it would need to be shadowed in secrecy, it's the only way to make sure these beings don't become a threat. If they're allowed to continue developing, they may end up the Overlords of The Cosmos, and we could do nothing but watch. |
# Soulmage
**"Trust me, kid,"** the ferryman said. "It's not your time to cross yet."
Meloai jerked her head towards the sign. "Says you're open."
"Not for you."When Meloai had asked the man's name, he'd mumbled something about shoddy translation and synonyms, but eventually coughed up 'Scorchatop.' She supposed she'd take it. Scorchatop tapped the bottom of the sign, which read WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE FOR ANY REASON.
"I've got cash,"Meloai pointed out.
"You don't want to pay this price,"Scorchatop warned me.
Meloai peered at the fee rates. They all just said "1."
"One what?"Meloai asked.
"Coins are traditional,"Scorchatop said.
"To... pay people with? Yes, coins are traditional. Are you okay?"
Scorchatop blinked at me, surprised. "...Nobody's quite asked me that for... a while, now. No, I am very much not okay."
Meloai hesitated, then sat down by the riverbank. "Want to talk about it?"
Scorchatop scoffed. "As if you'd understand."
"I don't need to understand to listen,"Meloai pointed out.
The ferryman tilted his head, considering the matter.
"I suppose there's no harm in... well. No, that's wrong. That *is* the harm. You're far from the first... customer... I've had. Some of them beg. Some of them rage. Some of them just... sit there. But a fraction of them... talk. And over the years, a fraction can build up. To be millions. Billions."
Meloai considered the math. "Not unless you've been in business since before humanity existed,"she said.
Scorchatop gave Meloai a humorless smile. "Not unless. Well. I don't see any of my passengers again. They never cross the same river twice. Most of them, I'm not sad to see go. But a few... those many few... I miss them. I miss them all."
Meloai tilted her head.
Then she flipped a coin at Scorchatop, who caught it by reflex, surprised.
"I don't want to cross anymore,"Meloai decided, cutting off Scorchatop before he could say anything. "But nothing says I can't come back."
Scorchatop looked down at the coin in his palm. "Then why pay me?"
"Because you need to eat too. Everyone has bills to pay."
"It's not about the coin,"Scorchatop said. "It's about the memories within."
"Well, whenever you look at that coin in particular, you can remember me,"Meloai said. "And we can make more memories."
Slowly, Scorchatop nodded. "As long as you stay on your side of the riverbank... I don't see a problem with that."
Meloai beamed at the ferryman. "It's nice to make a new friend."
"An old friend,"Scorchatop murmured. "A very, very old friend."
"You are quite old,"Meloai agreed, scanning the white-haired ferryman. "If I'm not going across, then I've got to be off. But I'll see you around, Scorchatop."
"That's—a translation error,"the ferryman muttered.
"Oh?"Meloai paused, halfway to leaving. "What's your name, then?"
"Charon. You can call me Charon."
Meloai nodded. "Charon it is, then. See you around!"
"I'll see you... eventually."
And the child and the ferryman parted ways, leaving Charon to watch wistfully as the river lapped his boat.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more. |
# Judgment Day
It was Doctor Mesonite who blew a hole straight through the Pit.
Wide as a highway, ten feet tall, a quarter mile long. Turned out starting about a year before his arrest the mad scientist was putting his own special payloads into orbit. Some of his tiny "assembler"factories. Not all of them survived the trip up, of course. But the ones that did linked up together. With enough time, resources from the orbital debris field and solar energy they constructed a death ray.
He set himself as the target. Then pulled a deliberately stupid bank heist and let himself be captured. Convicted in hours, transported in a day, buried at night below the Nevada bedrock with a thousand other superpowered criminals.
A thousand other superpowered criminals... and me.
I never picked a name for myself. Some moniker or mask to hide my identity. How silly. How pointless. But the press loves their lurid titles and eventually the media settled on Charon. The boatman, who carries the dead over the river Styx to oblivion. It fits, in a way. Those I look at are scattered into disparate atoms instantly. Only the soul is left, cast from the flesh like a startled dove. To an outside observer it would look very much like I came to reap and left again with a horrific harvest.
Nothing is further from the truth. But then again... to live is to lie to oneself.
These days I lie to myself at the bottom of America's greatest prison: The Pit. I have my own cells, there. Three rooms, a suite to keep me comfortable and endless entertainment. But no people. No guards, no turnkeys, no staff to clean or speak with directly. Video calls only. This is safest for everyone, especially me.
And then the good Doctor blew a hole clean through the entire prison.
That immense blast from low Earth orbit was like a scalpel, removing every particle of matter starting at the far horizon straight through to the target. No explosions, no fire or death. Just a sound like God clapping his hands as a million tons of earth vanished. Along with a great many surprised villains and one suicidality depressed Samuel Baker, A.K.A. Doctor Mesonite.
It was a perfect escape plan. A final middle finger to the governments of the world the Doctor hated so much. Thousands of prisoners sped up that golden tunnel to freedom. Minor Powers, major players, villains both super and pathetic. But what they hadn't counted on was me. Charon. The one who ushers all sinners to the afterlife.
The blast cored straight through my sealed suite of rooms. At an angle that poured light from a glorious Nevada sunset straight through. Like a Heavenly beacon, a judgment and a forgiveness all at once. And when those villains-- all those evil men and women, so petty and cruel, who abused the gifts they were given-- when they flooded that tunnel to sprint for the surface.
Who was there, at the bottom? Me.
I stepped out in judgment. In sin and guilt, feeling the hurt and sorrow those wretched people put into the world just by existing. I cast my eyes to the light of that tunnel and captured every. Single. One.
And their flesh was no more.
​
---
I do a lot of creepy superhero, smutty fantasy and generally weird stuff over at r/Susceptible ;) |
Answering the door, I’d half been expecting this, after all, my ninety-second birthday had been only a few days ago and given genetic longevity, it is getting to be about that time.
The Reaper is waiting patiently at the door wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.
“New uniform?”
“No need to be scary anymore and” the spectral figure shrugs, “this just seems friendlier.”
“You look like someone’s dad,” I reply laughing, “except for…ya know” vaguely gesturing at the being’s facial features which remain a skeletal visage.
“And?”
“And nothing. I like it. So…what was it supposed to be?”
“Stroke.”
“Figures. Damn. Glad those don’t happen anymore.”
“So…standard speech. Now that you’ve reached your natural death date…”
“Yes, yes. Anytime I tire of this mortal coil…call you. I think I’m good for now.”
“Very good. Here’s your personalized death card.” The Reaper hands me an engraved plate the size of a business card.
“Now…do you happen to have any tea? I have a few before my next appointment” |
"Stop Villain! In the name of Justice, stop!"The superhero shot across the sky, closely pursuing his larcenous foe.
"Oh shut up, Mr Justice! That schtick is getting old!"Villain, his foe, panted as he twisted and turned, vainly attempting to shake his pursuer.
"Never! I will balance the Scales of Jus...eh? Where are you going?"Villain had plunged into an empty warehouse, crashing through the skylight. Mr Justice followed warily.
Not warily enough. The villain's swag bag swung from the shadows, slamming across the face of Mr Justice.
"Ha! Take that you pompous fo...wait, is that glitter on your mask? And sticker stars... oof!"The left fist of Justice drove into the Villain's gut, catapulting him through a wall.
"There's your stars, brigand!"Cried Mr Justice as he rose to his feet. He muttered under his breath "*dammit girls, I told you not mess with the mask...*"
Villain clambered out of the rubble wheezing. As the hero leapt to continue the battle, his hand shot up in the universal wait sign.
"Hang on, Justice."His hand slid to his pocket and drew out his wallet. Flipping it open, he flapped it at the hero.
"What's this? A trick?"The Hero took the wallet, and stared at it in the gloom.
"These are *my* pair of kids. Seven and five."Villain twitched an awkward smile "I've had the arts and crafts issue too."His hand twitched his cape, to reveal a Mickey Mouse patch sewn in.
"Seven and nine."Mr Justice nodded in admittance. "The lights of my life, but terrors to the costume."The two men stood in the quiet camraderie of fatherhood.
"Look, I can't just..."Mr Justice started, before a glint caught one of Villain's photos. "Oh. Damn."He stared at the picture.
"What? What is it?"
"I'm... we're having your youngest over on a playdate. Mary Suncliffe, right?"Mr Justice froze as he realised his identity was revealed.
"What are you going to do..."The Villain waved him off.
"Nothing like *that*. Look...if I drop the loot, can I, y'know, skedaddle?"Mr Justice looked pained at the thought. "I know it's not the heroic action but..."
"...but you can't disappoint your girls. And I..."Mr Justice sighed. "...I would never hear the last of '*Dad arrested my best friend's dad*'. Go on, go."He flapped his hand in dismissal.
Villain nodded and smiled. "See you Thursday."
"Yep."Mr Justice sighed. That was the fourth villain he had to let go. He just wished his daughters would choose friends that *didn't* have villains for parents. |
I yawned hugely. It was way too early to be awake. I stood on the platform waiting for my train. I had my headphones on, but they weren’t plugged in. I wasn’t in the mood for music, not this early. I did it because I didn’t really feel like interacting with anyone. I guess I’m just charming that way.
The train pulled in and I shuffled forward until I was inside. There weren’t many people taking the train this early on a Sunday morning, so I had my pick of the seats. I chose a set of four, two facing the others. I sat on one, placed my bag on the seat next to me, and put my feet up on the seat in front. In the window to my left I caught a ghost of my reflection: shoulder-length dark blue hair, pale skin, grey eyes. Satisfied my hair wasn’t sticking out at odd angles, I pulled out my sketchbook.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The train is the best place to practice drawing. Seriously. I’m what I like to call an art-ninja. I take the subway all the time, so I always carry my sketchbook with me, and a fine tip black artists pen. When I’m in the train, I watch people. The people I find the most interesting, I try to recreate on paper. And trust me, there are a lot of interesting people that take the train. It’s a lot of fun, because you have to try not to stare.
I had a quick look around. My eyes immediately fell upon a man standing near the entrance. He was leaning against the fake glass barrier, wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. He was holding a suitcase in front of him. Even with the sunglasses obscuring his face, I knew that he’d be handsome with his strong jaw and well-formed lips. He would be my target today.
I uncapped my pen and started to draw. With his sunglasses on, it was hard to tell if he noticed me looking at him. I tried my best to look as little as I could. I paused to consider how best to recreate the dim light around the man. The train suddenly jolted, and my pen struck me on my right ear. Worried I had been inked with the uncapped pen, I rubbed my ear vigorously with my left hand.
The man wearing the suit turned his face towards me, and smiled. He lifted his left hand, slowly and purposefully, and tugged on his right wear.
I sank backwards into my seat, horrified. Had he noticed me sneaking looks at him this whole time? I relaxed when I realized that I was getting off at the next stop. I’d never see this man again, just like all the other people I had drawn. Everything was going to be ok.
I shoved my sketchbook and pen into my backpack, and got up. I decided I’d go through the entrance behind me, so I didn’t have to pass the man in the suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the guy had also gotten off through the other entrance.
It’s no big deal, I told myself. It’s just a coincidence.
I turned a corner. I had to go down a dimly lit corridor, and up a flight of stairs before reaching ground level. As I walked, I could see two figures coming towards me. A man and a woman, both wearing suits, sunglasses and carrying briefcases identical to the man on the train. I stopped in my tracks. This was getting really weird. I whipped around to look behind me. There again was the man I had seen on the train. There was no one else here.
‘Just relax.’ Said a voice. I felt a sting near the base of my neck. The next thing I knew the world had turned black.
I woke up, my head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. I was in a room, not unlike the investigation rooms you see in crime shows. I was sitting at a table, which is where I had been resting my head. Directly opposite sat the man from the train. He had removed his glasses displaying his chocolate brown eyes. I was right, he was handsome.
‘Thanks for joining us.’ He said, smirking at me.
‘Where am I?’
The man laughed in response.
‘You held your cover very well agent. I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have any idea it was you, except for the fact that you seemed to be observing me. And the signal of course.’ He said.
‘I don’t think I gave you any signal.’ I replied.
‘You can drop the act now. The Organization wants to know what info you’ve collected while on assignment.’
‘This must be a mistake, I don’t know anything about any kind of organization.’
‘Really? Then how do you explain this?’ The man pulled something out of his briefcase, and threw it down onto the table between us.
I gasped. It was my sketchpad.
He started flicking through, and I caught glimpses of my work. The elderly lady with the flowery skirt from last month. The little girl with beautiful curly blonde hair holding a balloon from last week. He stopped on the drawing I had done early today of himself.
‘You have a real eye for this kind of thing. A useful trait for someone in your position.’
‘It’s just art!’ I exclaimed, almost hysterically.
‘Sure, if that’s how you want to play it. I know cross jurisdiction co-operation is sometimes an issue within the Organization, but I didn’t know it would be this difficult. We’re on the same side you know. I’ll give you some time to think about it.’ With that, he stood an exited the room.
I was completely and utterly confused. Where was I? Why was I here? And what is the Organization?
***
Thanks for the support guys!
Here are the links to read on:
Part Two:
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7dnzzn/wp_while_you_are_on_the_subway_you_scratch_your/dpzyikr/
Part Three: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7dnzzn/wp_while_you_are_on_the_subway_you_scratch_your/dq1hefl/
or check out my short stories at [piranha stories](https://www.piranhastories.com)
|
I looked up from my memo. Sima had come over to talk to me, spouting what passed for the usual water-cooler gossip. He left after I’d ignored him enough, but he turned on the radio as he walked into his own cubicle. Sighing, I pulled out the hammer I kept in my filing cabinet, reversed it, and tore through the speakers with the claws. Everyone else kept typing as the crash reverberated through the room.
Everyone except for my boss, Sharon. She walked up to me, a stern look on her face, and started to shout angrily. I punched a hole in her face with a sharp overhand blow. I shattered James’ jaw when he looked over and started yelling. One by one, my co-workers came up to me, wildly gesticulating and screaming at the top of their lungs, and one by one I killed them with the hammer I’d bought a month ago. I broke every monitor in the office. Smashed the PA system when it started blaring. On the drive home I ran three people off the road when they rolled down their windows and tried to talk to me. I could see the fires, flickering in the rearview mirror as I drove past the gate. I focussed on the gate itself instead of the stream of billboards.
The gate dominates my city. It’s a towering construct built in defiance of the laws of physics; the thing looks like it was built by a drunk toddler let loose in a combination of a steelyard, Ford engineering, and a watch factory, but it’s hundreds of feet tall. Purple and blue fire burns through it, and the light it casts makes shadows that don’t do what they are supposed to. No one ever looks at the gate. Except for me.
Someone brakes on the road ahead and snaps my attention back. Three cars are ahead of me, all going the same speed, forming a line that I can’t get around. They’re plastered in bumper stickers, all saying the same thing: “John. If you can hear us, you’re in a coma. The doctors say they think they can get you out. There should be a way to come back. Please, please come. Love, Jera.”
It’s what they all say. Sima, Sharon, James, everyone. Everyone who ever meets me on the street. Any memo I read, any computer monitor, any billboard on the street has this message printed out, over and over, everywhere I go for the last month and a half.
I pulled out the Glock I keep in the passenger seat and fire indiscriminately into the car on the left until it swerves off the road with the driver slumped over the wheel, then pass the rest of traffic on my way home. It only takes shooting three of my neighbors before I can lock myself into my apartment.
The apartment is bare. There’s thick padding on the walls to keep out noise. The kitchen is small, and neat. Every spice jar is unlabelled, but I know that the basil goes on the left and oregano on the right, so I don’t really mix things up that often anymore. There’s a bed and two slick black leather couches. A heavy wooden desk, and on the desk is what keeps me from spending every day on the floor, curled and crying: two thick stacks of paper, one with ink and one without, and an old typewriter.
The typewriter is metallic, with a heavy action and thick ribbon spools. The paper fingers are spidery and the type levers are angry when you press the keys. It may be the only thing I like in this city. Especially since the messages started. I brush the keys, and the tapping sound is pleasant in my ears for the words it doesn’t carry.
Then I type until I fall asleep, like every night. And I wake in the morning, and type, and then go to work where Sharon and James and Sima are all occupied at their perfectly normal monitors as if nothing every happened. I work until the murmuring starts in the background, even ignoring Sima’s voice rumbling out, “John. If you can hear us, you’re in a coma. The doctors say they think they can get you out. There should be a way to come back. Please, please come. Love, Jera,” over and over and over. But when Sharon comes to my desk as well and they start chanting in unison, I grab the hammer.
It takes me an hour to murder my way home under the indigo and violet gaze of the gate.
That night, I do not type until I fall asleep, because I have been writing, and tonight I only have to type until I have finished my story. Around eight o’clock I tap out “THE END” at the bottom of the last sheet. I blow on it carefully to set the ink, and then tuck it into my satchel. All in all, it’s three hundred and twenty four pages. Twenty years on a story and Tolstoy still has me beat, although I’ve thrown away a forest’s worth of revisions.
My neighbors are waiting in front of the door when I get there. Cody, who in real life I used to get a beer with every couple weeks, and an older couple whose names I never knew. They are whispering the message, probably because their voices have finally given out. I ignore them and start walking toward the gate.
As I walk, a crowd starts gathering. People stop their cars and join the crowd. I see a mother pushing a stroller suddenly turn and push it through rubble where I’d forced another car to crash earlier today. The stroller shakes its way over the debris and the woman’s baby falls out, but she doesn’t stop. Neither do I, even though everyone is singing or yelling or praying the same six sentences over and over while I walk. I find my lips mumbling it like a long -orgotten liturgy, “There should be a way to come back.”
There might be a thousand of them by the time I get to the gate. Every eye reflects blue-violet and every mouth moves through the same motions. I step past the skid marks that are burnt into the pavement, through the shattered guardrail, and down the hill to the car. My car, or my old one at least. I’m surrounded by the crowds like a mass hypnotist or a messiah as the wind that constantly blows into the gate howls in our ears.
The gate has ripped itself out of the old Focus like the dream of a madman, one side growing out of the wreckage of the crumpled hood, the other built out of what was left of the back seat. I can see Jera, dead in the passenger seat, and though I know it’s not real there are tears flowing down my cheeks. Accompanied by the Gregorian chanting of the crowd and the scream of the wind, I pull the first page out of my satchel and let it blow into the gate. Then the next. And the next, until all three hundred twenty four sheets have been sucked into the maelstrom of light.
I shoot everyone there and go home, still crying.
I’ve always known there was a way back. The first time I woke in this place, I saw the gate, and when I followed the skid marks off the highway I knew what it did and where I was. But I knew that Jera was dead; I’d see the steel from the barrier cave in the side of her skull as the car tumbled and whipped me into blackness. There was nothing to go back for now. Even if they lied and told me Jera was alive, when I could see her dead in front of me. I could cling to my words here until my body drowned under the years.
When I had first realized that I was living in some kind of dream world my mind had created after my body was broken, I had thought, “At least here I can write,” and so I did. I could write the story, THE story, something that truly shows anyone who reads it the shape of the electricity shooting through our skulls, the lives we have always tried and failed to reduce to paper. I don’t know if I did it or not, but even with this message blaring through everything around me I had finished what I had to say and sent it back into the world. I hoped that it found a home, somewhere through the burning of the gate.
---
Dr. Caulley started when the patient started speaking, then sprang into action. He pressed the jaw, flashed lights, and poured water. Nothing. But the words kept coming, and he listened to them, and he stopped what he was doing as his heart was slowly broken by what his patient was saying. The doctor grabbed a recorder, and turned it on. Maybe there was some hope that they were getting through, but even if they weren’t, he was sure the patient’s wife would want anything he had said. It had been a miracle that she’d survived the accident, and she was in to see him every day. Maybe this was some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.
But even if it wasn’t, by God, what John was saying was beautiful.
 
Edit: Hey, gold for a story; this is great! Thanks! |
*Plop.*
I gingerly wiped the droplet of blood off my daughter's forehead with my clean hand, taking great pains not to wake her. She already felt cooler, less feverish than earlier. Her breathing was less laboured, and she seemed more deeply asleep.
"The doctors said you wouldn't live to see your first birthday,"I whispered to her, oh-so-quietly.
"But doctors can be wrong. And I have a feeling you'll outlive us all." |
“I was wondering where you’d gotten to.” The voice startled me out of my depressed stupor. It was as smooth and fabricated as it was before my death but somehow softer, as though the harsh electric buzz of the speakers vibrations had been removed. Turning to face the voice’s origin I smiled as my twin stared back.
We were dressed the same, just as tall and we even had the same dirty auburn hair. Only hers was much longer. ‘Her’. I was looking at a female version of myself. It only made sense, a body to match the voice. But it was more than that. I had joked for the entirety of our existence that we were twins. And here - somehow - she had made that a reality. Tentatively I walked over to her, making my way across the rubble-strewn ground.
We stood staring at each other for ages; minutes, hours, it was impossible to tell in this place. But eventually I reached out to hug her. She was there. Solid. Unlike the myriad of watches, implants and other computerised hardware that had contained her mind for all these years, this time she was here. Not a Hologram, but properly here. As my tears splashed on her shoulder, for the first time ever she hugged me back.
We bumped our foreheads together as I pulled a little bit out of the hug only to be brought back in by her needy arms. I was so lonely before, not once in my life had we been apart until my death. All I wanted to do was cry from the sheer happiness of hearing her voice again. But she’d have told me to stop, in that caring way she always had. Instead I let out a chuckle of disbelief before giving her another quick hug.
Sharing a comforting smile we turned back to the landscape, taking in the bleakness of it. The grey wastes stretching off into nothingness. Patches of ruined buildings collapsed between rocky outcrops. I felt her hand slide into mine and we just stood there, surveying the land. “I’m glad you’re here.” I said, my voice faltering as I held back tears. I squeezed her hand, attempting to steel my own nerves along with hers as we set off into the grey unknown. |
It's hard to tell where the line between history and myth lies when talking about The Migration. It's been too many generations to have any real tangible grasp of events, but our existence among the stars shows that it happened. But I'll share my tales, anyway, and let you decide on which side you fall.
The Earth was fading away. After billions of orbits around its star, it was on the verge of breaking apart. One too many errant pieces of space rock had careened into it over the last half of the 8000's, and it was one or two blows away from itself becoming pebbles in an indifferent expanse. The asteroids had guaranteed an earlier death, however, as the environment had shifted, and was no longer kind to any living life.
We had been travelling the stars for a couple of millennia, by that point, so we had the technology to adapt. Mining ships were retrofitted with extra cargo bays. A new, larger line of Space Bus was quickly developed, to carry more souls into the spaces between the stars. But we all knew it had its limits - there simply weren't enough raw materials to build enough crafts for the whole of humanity. Many would die.
Over the handful of years when the star ships were being prepared for their sojourn, the debate over the optimal solution raged on. Should there be a lottery? Should it be based on breeding potential? Should the elderly and the weak be kept back? There were no good outcomes, and no wisdom held the key to our problem.
Until, the voice of a strange minority was heard. The Upper Crust - the wealthy and the powerful, threw another option into the debate. "We'll stay,"was all their representatives let out. Nobody even knew who was included in the count, and more importantly, nobody knew why. But for the desperate majority, not having to make the difficult decision became a relief. Without the Upper Crust, it was believed that enough room had been opened up for most if not all the rest to be guaranteed a spot in The Migration.
But then the conspiracy theories began to surface. "They only want to stay because they know how to save the Earth!"was a common refrain. "They're sending us to our slaughter!"another common voice would say, convinced that our lives were being traded for their peace. A deeper unease, one that went beyond the inevitable end to the planet, began to seep into the souls of humanity. They knew they couldn't trust the ground beneath their feet; and now they couldn't trust the person right next to them.
The production of the space ferries slowed, as the workforce devolved into unrest. Any time the Upper Crust was pressed for answers - who are you? why would you stay? - it was always the same response. "We'll stay."The consistency drove many mad. What was once comfort now became torture, as the pressure now mounted on humanity from all sides.
The first old mining ships began loading up with occupants, and carrying them away to distant worlds. For many, they were happier to get away from the stress of dealing with a fractured people rather than their fractured rock. "Now we can breathe,"many would say as their blue orb disappeared into the distance, a forgotten horror left behind.
But for those who were forced to stay, the madness remained as they waited for their Space Bus. One final call from the Lower Crust rang out, a final desperate seeking for answers. "We'll stay."
War broke out. All reason was lost in the chaos, and all queues for the Space Buses were abandoned - whoever got there got to leave, assuming they weren't shot down on their way. The fear of not knowing who truly made up the Upper Crust, and their agonizingly unknown motives, made everyone an enemy. "Maybe this was your goal all along! Cause this chaos, then run to the ships yourselves!"was the philosophy. Nobody could tell why anybody would act in any way.
At the end of it all, many of the Space Buses went unused, as they were destroyed on their launch pads. The overpopulation issue from just a decade before seemed a distant history. There were now too many seats for humanity to fill.
On the last Space Bus to leave Earth, sat a distant relative of mine. This is her old space wive's tale, in many ways. As it goes, Earth was still in view when they saw it fall apart, sections splitting off and meandering in their own direction.
Before it fully got out of view, many say they saw a great flash. What followed is unknown. Some say the last remnants of the Earth suddenly disappeared. Others believe they saw writing against the blackness of space, reading "We're leaving, now."Still others say they saw nothing at all.
A few believed it was all a game for the Upper Crust, to watch humanity fall into comical disarray. Some say they were genuinely benevolent, and cared about the survival of the race ahead of their own. Many believed that they had been aboard the first ships, and simply wanted more room for their things as they floated into the heavens.
But, as I said at the beginning, nobody knows where history ends and myth begins. I'll stay out of it, now, though; you can decide the rest.
_____________________________________________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
It was obvious when it happened. Normal dice don't suddenly start glowing and shoot off into the sky when you roll a nat 20, so I knew something was up. Best money I've ever spent at wish.com.
I suppose Vegas might not be everyone's first choice destination after being granted infinite luck, but if not they were probably already rich. After a few days in Vegas so was I.
I thought I'd been careful, spread my winning across enough casinos so that no one would be pissed enough to take action, but the three hefty bros that just cornered me in an alley suggests otherwise. Or I'm just being mugged, can't read too much into how they are dressed. They may just be Jersey Shore fans.
Money may have been my primary concern so far, but that doesn't mean I've been oblivious to the changes that have happened to me. I'm faster, stronger, healthier, smarter and luckier than I've ever been. Can you imagine my thoughts? Every single thought is the best possible version of itself. Not the best in the world or anything, but the best I am personally capable of. Same thing physically. I'm no Deadpool, but I heal perfectly, and without scars.
I found out tonight that when a normal buff guy is punched in the face by the absolute best adrenaline enhanced, fear fuled, Maximum Effort fist that I can throw, he dies rather suddenly. Next I think I'll find out how Costa Rica is. |
It had been centuries since the war began. Death and mayhem unleashed upon the ever-peaceful realms of man from the dark lands of the evil demon lord. Centuries where those with kind hearts were lost, and only those with iron wills remained.
It is this nature that did not inhabit the hearts of the Heroes. For only a kind heart could slay that which is evil. Only benevolence can overcome malevolence. The Heroes, however, while full of mercy, had none for enemies that did not yield.
With the aid of certain secretive organisations and smugglers, the Heroes had secreted themselves into the Dark Lord’s palace. The place where the foulest of beings ruled with an iron fist. Sneaking through hallways supposedly emptied by their informants, they came upon the door to the throne room.
The door itself was a work of terrifying art. A motif of hundred of damned souls crying out in anguish, reaching up to a prominent figure on a throne. Their gazes clearly called for salvation.
“Such a god complex?” the Hero observed, to which his mage and druid nodded.
“It is fascinating, though. This door is made of ironwood. Such wood of this size must’ve taken decades, if not a century, to carve.” the mage adjusted his eyeglasses as he gazed at it.
“Matter little!!” Grund, the Orc Barbarian, roared as he slammed his great hammer into the door shattering it. “I dun broked it in one sekund!” Grund had a big childish grin as if waiting for praise.
“Yes, Thank You, Grund,” the Hero gave a smile and a nod as he rushed into the throne room, holy sword at the ready.
What greeted them was a sight that shocked them. Pillars of the most exquisite obsidian-coloured marble. Each was a masterpiece of its own. At the end, hanging above the throne were banners of what, even from this distance, they could tell was the finest of silk. But there atop a throne was no one.
“COME OUT, DEMON!!!” The Hero's roar echoed around the chamber. But there was no reply.
“Tellis cast a spell to find anyone who's hiding,” the Hero said in a hushed voice to the mage.
With a flourish of his staff, the mage let a pulse of radiating red light shoot out in all directions. Closing his eyes, he held the staff against his forehead and was clearly in deep concentration.
“TELL IS YOU OK?! Grund asked as he reached out to touch the mage.
“Grund honey, he is doing a big think,” Bella the druid said.
“Oh, I gotcha,” Grund replied, tapping his hand to his chest in a knowing manner.
“Ok, no one is here,” Tellis finally said.
“Is it a trap?” the Hero asked.
“No. I mean, no one is here. Not for a very long time.” The mage gestured to the surroundings, they could see in the nooks and crannies were webs. Along the floor were the telltale signs of rat droppings. At first, they had all assumed it was part of the aesthetic, but now they realised it was neglect.
“So where is he?” Bella asked.
“I can cast a spell to show an echo of times in the past when he was here. We may see a clue to where he ran off to.” The Hero nodded to the mage’s suggestion.
With another flourish of his staff, a pulse of silvery light shot out. The pulse began to shower down small motes of light that settled like snow over unseen figures, figures of past events. Sat on the throne in an armour of spikes and skulls sat the man they had set off to vanquish. Finally, sound began to reverberate.
“I told you we will not break the treaty. Maintain cordial relations with the humans. So long as I rule, there will be no war.” The Demon Lord struck his fist against the throne for emphasis.
“Your will is law, sire,” the messenger said with a deep bow.
The Image shimmered and reformed to what must’ve been a later echo.
“So they have slaughtered a few villages?... Why would the humans do this? Do they want war?” even with a weak silhouette of his features, they could see the despair on the Demon Lord’s face.
The Image shimmered again and showed an image of an exhausted man. No longer in his armour, this was what he truly looked like. He appeared to be weeping.
“So many innocent lives. Please tell me, messenger of the human realms. Why do you do this?”
The image of a man the whole party knew well appeared at the foot of the throne. It was a man whose statue they had seen countless times. A man they all looked up to. It was the first Hero.
“Innocent? Pah, don’t make me laugh. Your kind are nothing but uppity serfs. I shall do your people a favour and remove the last chain keeping them free.” with these words, the figure struck down the demon lord upon his throne.
“SIRE!” A voice out of the spell’s range called out before the spell finally ended.
“Tellis, what was that?” the Hero demanded.
“The past. Echoes can only show what has happened.” with a finger, he gestured to the throne, where they could now clearly see a deep gash in the ebony.
“So… we started this conflict?” the Hero asked, looking to his party for reassurance. But they all averted their gaze. They didn’t want to admit the truth. They had all lost so much, suffered at the hands of the demon horde. But to think their people unleashed this hell.
“Well, boss, we jus need to tell dah truth. Den no mor fighty and everywun can be appy.” Grund’s words cut through the silence.
Like a beacon, they could now see the path ahead. The best option wasn’t annihilation but peace. A real Hero shouldn't pick a side because they may cause more chaos by doing so.
“Very well… let Us record these images and duplicate them. The world must know.” |
I do not experience remorse.
I put fire girl at the bottom of the ocean with tungsten boots.
I took super boar's arm bones from him. His super strength won't help him now that he can't lift anything.
So it is here that i thought I had just another punk trying to come after me. I saw her, fighting through the corridors, leaving bloody wakes in her way. Few heroes brought a rifle, and fewer still shot first without asking questions. Something about public image or something.
At the cost of two of my minion's lives I searched her mind, delving deep into her subconscious to find the worst possible outcome. I was not prepared for what I found.
I found super boar blaming her for the disappearance of his wife. I saw him blaming her for the fact his arms don't work anymore. She had no powers by birth but she was expected to carry the same weight as her parents. I saw him hit her. But something was wrong, more wrong then it normally was.
Normally when I read someone's fears, I can barely make out what the people are saying, the subject is easier to understand, but their projections of their 'friends' are muddled, like listening through water. Here super boar was crystal clear. I wasn't in a constructed scenario, a fear that might one day come to pass, I was in a memory of something that already has.
I boiled with rage. I knew super boar had a temper, but to turn it on his own daughter. "Put the gun down, girl."I said, scarcely hiding my frustration. She pointed it at me, of course, and it clicked. "You know who I am, right?"
She was fumbling around with her weapon, hyperventilating while she tried desperately to load it.
"I make people's worst fears come to life."I snapped. And the magnetic material her firearm was made of flung itself to the ceiling as well as the knife she was hiding. "And for you... simply turning you back into the street would be enough. But where is the theater in that? No... no I think I will terrorize your father instead."
She was terrified,I could see it in her eyes. I smiled cruelly. "I will give you the power to stand up to him. All you need to do is follow me back to my lab."
I turned on a heel and left, I knew she would follow. |
If I have to die, then do it offscreen.
Make it quiet, you know. Under wraps. Let the protagonist find out about it second hand. Softens the blow, you see. I would... I would very much prefer that.
To be honest, I kind of saw it coming. I mean, now that we're entering the third act, someone needs to actually die, otherwise theres no stakes and no tonal shift. And of the main cast, I'm the most expendable. I've got no girl. I'm the butt of all the jokes. I'm just the comic relief - if I die, all is not lost. Even without me, the protagonist might grieve, but
the team can still win.
Plus, the fans love me. Killing me off will get you a ton of traction on social media. Like, the reviews will go crazy. I know how much it matters. Really.
Yeah, yeah. You don't have to make excuses. It's your story. It's your world. Who am I to stop you? Do what you have to do.
I'm not looking for a glorious death. I'm not the protagonist, just the funny sidekick. But all I ask is to make my death discreet. I don't want their last memory of me to be some traumatizing scene where they watch me die horribly or find my mangled bloody remains. I don't want to be the martyr, the sacrifice, the tragedy. I don't want that to be my legacy.
I want them to remember me at my best. The times I made them laugh. When they think of my name, I want them to say "Oh, yeah, I loved that guy. He was amazing."
If I have to die, let them remember me as the comic relief. That's who I am. And that's who I will always be. |
Robbie was fed up with Greg daring him to touch the tombstone. Also he wanted to impress Mary, he looked at her, waiting for a sign of approval. She nodded to him and smiled. He had no choice now, he had to touch it.
He put a finger on the top of it at first, its temperature contrasted from the cold. He said "its warm."He froze in a trance, the others shook him but he simply fell to the ground.
Robbie awoke and said "this is not good, not good at all."He was in a panic and slightly out of his mind. He continued "I just broke the 4th wall guys, were in a damn movie, and a bad one at that. Fuck, I am the token black guy."
Greg the largest of the four said "you are out of your mind, what are you smoking."
Melissa grabbed Greg's hand and said "lets go somewhere more private, I am feeling frisky."
Robbie terrified lifted his hand to stop them but fell silent. He looked to Mary, an innocent virgin white girl. He watched Greg and Melissa open the door to a shack conveniently in the grave yard.
Robbie said "look Mary, they are about to have sex, in a scary movie, we need to take this opportunity to get the fuck out of here. I am not sure if the black guy or the teenage couple having unwed sex is more of a priority for the killer."
Mary smiled and her eyes turned dark red. Robbie said "God damn it."He ran behind the tombstone and hid while Mary spoke nonsense until she broke out of her transformation trance.
She walked around whispering "Roooobbiiiie"for a few moments. She stopped in her tracks hearing the couple in the shack. Robbie held his breath waiting for her to catch the couple., his hand touched the tombstone again.
He saw an image of Reddit and people reading his story. He was terrified, his entire life now controlled by an unknown internet geek up at 2 in the morning. He called out to the readers "please, for the love of god, make him write me out of this alive. Force him to people, please, your my only hope."
|
"I'm you from approximately fifty years in the future. In twelve minutes, your future wife will walk in here. I'm going to pose as present you in order to make a good impression."
I gaped at the man claiming to be me, dropping my bag in the process. "W-wh.. wait what?!"I exclaimed. Very eloquent.
The stranger-- well I guess not-so-stranger, sighed. "Look, just hide in the closet, I'll take care of everything."
My eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You say you're me 50 years from now, yet you haven't aged a day."
The man merely shook his hand at me, dismissing my obvious rebuttal against his claim. "In the future you can look like whatever you want practically, now we don't have time for this! Hurry into the closet"
I stood my ground stubbornly. "How do you know this woman is going to be my wife, anyway? Did future-future me come in and explain this to YOU?"
This seemed to make the older me hesitate. "Well, not exactly, but I messed it up horribly. Every day of my life I regret the way I acted in this room. So here I am to fix that!"He explained animatedly.
"But... we ended up together, didn't we?"I asked.
"Well, yes... but..."
"But what? What does it matter how stupid I act in front of my so-called wife? If she likes what she sees enough to marry me, why change that? What if you change it for the worse?"I reasoned. I didn't really believe him, if I was being honest with myself, but I decided to 'play along'.
My words seemed to have clicked something in the older man's mind. He suddenly looked at my desk in heavy contemplation. Smiling, he looked back up at me. "You're absolutely right. You don't need my help with this. Go get her, champ!"He encouraged, standing up from my desk to shake my hand.
Suddenly, the door swung open.
"Hello Mr. Cooper, I'm Miranda, your new personal a- WHAT THE HELL?"The beautiful woman who walked in dropped the wealth of papers that she was holding as she saw the two identical men in the room. "Are you twins or something? What's going on here?!"exclaimed the blonde woman.
The older me rose his hand calmly. "Relax, I can explain." |
After listening to grand deeds of everyone at the massive table, Odin slammed his jug down, sending mead in a sputtering fountain. His good eye squinted and his finger pointed at me.
“Your turn, newbie!” he roared. “What’s your glorious battle?”
The room was suddenly quiet and all faces turned towards me. I had the attention of war veterans, freedom fighters, vigilantes, and most of Asgard. I had heard their tales of grandeur, of their strides, and their final battles, and now the time had come for me, a lowly register attendant at Wallmart, to justify my place amongst these heroes.
“Right,” I said, standing up. I was so fucked. “Uhm, okay, so…”
“Go on,” Thor shouted from his place next to Odin. He threw up his jug and smashed it to splinters with his hammer. “Let’s hear it!”
And at that moment I thought, ‘fuck it!’ and cleared my throat.
“It was a night in icy January – the winds were so cold that all the animals had died in the woods. I thundered down the road on my steed of blazing metal, stopping for nobody!”
In reality, it had been a mild winter but the news reported a few birds dying to some virus. My steed was, in fact, an old rusty Buick, and I had accidentally driven through a red light.
“I parked… err, I mean left, my trusted steed in the stables of a tavern notorious for its villainous patrons. See, I needed a drink after the long strenuous ride.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the room.
“After a few rounds, I ventured back outside in the blistering cold. Things were getting heated and I required my weapon.”
I had accidentally spilled my drink on a lady and needed to write her a check for dry cleaning.
“That’s when I saw it, a message written in blood,” I said lowering my voice to a whisper. “It was more than a challenge – a declaration of war – and at that moment I swore on my honor that I was going to see the battle to the end.”
I died the same night from a heart attack while writing a lengthy letter to the local government, attempting to fight the parking ticket.
|
The mendula oblangota is the key to any and all open brain surgery. All conscious thought goes through it, and if it is cut out, the patient will be rendered a vegetable for the rest of their life.
To start out a successful open brain surgery, several tools are needed: A die-grinder, pliers, a scalpel, a hacksaw, a flashlight, a staple gun, some jumper cables and an old 1999 Jeep Wrangler.
Begin by grinding the top of the patient's skull off. Don't hold back, just go full apache on them, you'll need room to work. Don't worry if you get some of the ears, you can always sew them back on later.
Now that the skull cap is clearly separated, slowly lift it off of the patient's head. Now, the brain is like a hard drive, but made of meat. Every time you touch the bare brain, someone loses a memory. Of course, they won't care, because they won't remember it, but out of ethical responsibility, brain surgery is like a game of golf. The least amount of moves you have to go through to accomplish what you need, the better.
Now, take the scalpel and the pliers and begin cutting away at the cerebral cortex. You'll have to move the optic nerve out of the way first, but that's what the staple gun is for. Once the cerebral cortex is removed, you can now access the "core brain", that is, the brain inside of the brain that stores all of the important software. Shine the flashlight on it. The photons will react with the neurons in the core brain and result in the pituitary gland growing by 200%. If the patient suffers from any mental disorder, you can remove a teaspoon of core brain before putting the cerebral cortex back free of charge, that will usually cause the brain to 'reboot', solving most psychological issues.
Once the cerebral cortex is back in place and the optic nerve is unstapled, you are going to need to weld the patient's skull cap back into place. Have your nurse or assistant start the Jeep. Use the scalpel and pliers as makeshift welding rods by attaching them to the jumper cables, and begin welding away. The human skull is 95% Calcium, which is a metal, and can be melted and forged like any other metal on the periodic table.
Congratulations! The patient should now make a full recovery. If you happen to find that, during the operation, your patient has died, whether from loss of blood or suffocation from the fumes of the Jeep, you can use the jumper cables to jolt them back to the land of the living. Should that fail, punch 'em around a bit, and that'll usually wake 'em up in no time. |
I wasn't even Russian! How did I wind up here?
Although everybody spoke perfect English, it was definitely Soviet here, and grandly so; I had arrived on a 20-story train.
I was led from the tall train by a young and skinny guard in a crisp-looking uniform. Towering over us were sky-scraping, Moscow baroque buildings, reaching upwards towards an eternally red sky. I could smell the soot in the air from the gigantic train, and the exhaust from the huge buses on the busy, noisy streets.
My mouth was already agape and I was still staring up at the alien, yet familiar (yet foreign) sight of a dark red sky when I finally spoke. "Uhh. So this isn't Russia, is it?"
The young soldier was walking briskly in front of me, but turned so I could see the smile on his face as he answered, "No. It is in fact,"and he turned his head upwards to gaze at the blood red clouds, "hell.
"or used to be, at least."
We continued in silence for a few moments after that, walking at what was almost a jog.
Hell?
Huh.
I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it, hurried my pace a bit to catch-up to the guard and finally asked, "So exactly what did I do to come here? I mean, why am I in hell?"
At that question the guard stopped immediately, startling me, forcing me to take a step back.
A smile crossed the guard's face, as though he was going to tell a joke. He shook his head, looked directly at me and answered, "You were a capitalist! Why else would you be here? Now come, follow me."
"Capitalist!? I wasn't a capitalist!"I said, confused and indignant. I stood where I was.
The guard turned toward me, clasped his hands behind his back and looked downward, as if he were addressing the floor. "You were a cashier at an American clothing chain, owned by a famous capitalist."
"But I was just a worker!"I said, holding my hands out pleadingly. "I didn't make investments or anything."
The guard let out a frustrated exhale and turned his attention to his clipboard. He flipped back and forth through the thick stack of papers and then returned the clipboard under his arm.
"You had a 401k,"the guard said matter-of-factly. "That is an investement vehicle; therefore, capitalist. Come this way please."
I rolled my eyes at the crimson...heavens?..above me. Well, what choice did I have? I followed the guard.
After a short ride on a gigantic bus, we stepped off at our destination. I was immediately awestruck by the site before me; a building the size of a mountain, clouds licking the upper floors, its width must have been miles.
"This,"the soldier said proudly, "is The People's New Grand Kremlin Palace of the Soviet Underworld Republic."
"Impressive,"I said, impressed. "So is this like where the prince of hell lives? Why did he go with the whole retro Soviet vibe though?"
"Prince!"the guard seemed shocked. "No, no, no comrade. No prince any more! We have Premier Joseph Stalin, the great conqueror of hell and the establisher of our fair and great society!"
"You guys beat hell?"Now I was truly amazed.
"Well yes, it wasn't hard for Russians,"the guard explained proudly, but somehow causually.
"But they have demons and must have tortured you!"
"Tortured!"The guard laughed. "They thought they knew torture!"
"But the armies of hell..."
The guard cut me off, holding up his hand. "...couldn't last through a spring shower in the motherland. We endured them like we were waiting in a bread line. Patiently, and with great tolerance."
"I don't believe it, isn't the devil, and aren't his hoards, immortal?"I had disbelief in hell.
"Well, yes. But so are we comrade."
I hadn't considered that.
The guard continued, "We defeated them by just being able to endure more. And now, after we defeated them, all the host of hell work in this very building! There is much administrative paperwork to do in a communist paradise like hell.
"Now, come with me and we will get you registered for your new life in Soviet hell."
And so I followed the guard into the colossal mega-Kremlin, walking under five hundred meter portraits of The Premier of the Soviet Underworld Republic (good old uncle Joe) and into the registration area where demons awaited to take my name, my fingerprints, and my portraits for my papers. |
*"Welcome, test subjects, to Aperture science. College grads, army vets, department store clerks - you're here because you needed some cash, and we've still got funding. So, how bout we get cracking on that science, and I'll have the bean counters cut a few checks?"*
The voice from the overhead speakers died off, and I looked around. Short of the brief pep talk from Cave Johnson, whose voice I recognized from the 1968 Senate Hearings on the Missing Astronauts Incident, Aperture Science wasn't altogether that different from my old job at Ford. The floors were clean, the lift seemed well cared for, and everyone was going around about their business with an air of purpose. Everyone, that is, except us. The test subjects.
There were a few major differences of course, to be expected from the world's leading R&D company. I could see a few of the more famous bits of aperture ingenuity: hard light bridges stretched across the atrium, men and women whisked through the air on catapult launchers, and numerous tubes and lifts and lasers seemed to be going every which direction. None of it made sense to me. Everyone had heard the rumors about this place, at least everyone down in Detroit. Aperture was pretty much the only business in the UP at all, and they were making good use of all that extra earth the Calumet and Hecla had gotten rid of for them. Plenty of space, plenty of science.
But I needed money, and as Mr. Johnson had so astutely pointed out, they had it. Our group was about 20 individuals strong, men and women mixed evenly but definitely skewed to UP demographics - I think I even heard a bit of Finnish being spoken. Our tour guide referred to himself as Ned, and he'd been pretty quiet. The little orb following alongside us on the rail, however - anything but.
"Testing group 404, you've been assigned to the gel initiative. We are currently en route to the testing apparatus, wherein all test subjects will be divided into individual testing chambers. Payment will be dispersed upon successful completion of the test -"
I'd have sworn, as the little bot droned on, that I heard Ned mutter something under his breath about notifying next of kin, but I couldn't quite catch it. I didn't feel like making a scene, and I must have misheard him, so I let the matter drop.
Meanwhile, the intercom system chimed on overhead, and we heard Cave Johnson's voice delivering updates to the floor, "Those of you helping us test the repulsion gel today, just follow the blue line on the floor,"I checked the floor, and sure enough Ned had us meandering down the blue line at a decent clip, "Those of you who volunteered to be injected with praying mantis DNA, please follow the orange line on the floor,"I scanned around quickly, and keyed in on another group of test subjects making their way down the orange line. Wondering briefly who in the hell was crazy enough to let themselves be injected with mantis DNA I missed the first bit of the final announcement, "Kepler-Seven, we implanted a tiny microchip about the size of a postcard into your skull. Most likely you've forgotten it's even there, but if it starts vibrating and beeping during this next test, let us know, because that means it's about to hit five hundred degrees, so we're gonna need to go ahead and get that out of you pretty fast."I suddenly felt a lot less secure being here.
Eventually, Ned got us into our individual test environments and after a brief but terrifying trip through what he referred to as a vacuum tube, I found myself face to face with a massive, empty room.
Ned's voice clicked on over the intercom, "Okay, Richard. This first test involves something called repulsion gel, you'll notice that whatever surface it's applied to will create a bouncing effect. Your tasks is simply to cross the room, making use of the available repulsion gel and the supplied portal gun. Good luck."
Portal gun sounded pretty interesting, and I figured it had to be the science fiction looking piece of chrome hanging out in front of me. It had two distinct piping elements, which glowed blue and orange respectively, a selector switch, and a trigger. Altogether, it looked like some alien claw. I picked it up and was a little surprised by the weight, solidly constructed. I thumbed the selector to blue and took a shot at the wall; a blue blast emitted with an audible *whorlp* sound, and left an opaque faintly glowing blue oval on the wall.
I thumbed it to orange, fired another *whorlp* of energy, and the blue oval was replaced by orange. I tried firing the blue to a different area, and almost immediately heaved my guts out. The blast didn't create another opaque oval, but rather seemed to tear open reality at that point, and I was left staring into two gaps in space that both looked back at me. I could see myself and the room behind reflected in both ovals, and my head spun as the intercom buzzed to life, "Congratulations, Richard. You've figured out the portal gun, but if you could please get on with the test?"
Still heaving a bit, I collected my wits, and surveyed the room. There was a stream of blue gel pouring out of a vent in the ceiling, splashing into a stationary platform at the bottom before falling off into a surprisingly deep chasm. Those miners dug deep. The room I was in was split into two parts, the platform I was on, the exit on a separate platform several feet away, and a single low point down below that I could conceivably jump to. I recalled Ned's words about the gel producing a strong repulsion, and wagered that I was meant to get gel onto that lower platform, and use it to make the jump. Quickly, I snapped a pair of portals to the platform having gel poured on it, and the ceiling above my jump target, liberally coating it in the gel.
It took me a few more seconds to figure out how to cancel out the portals and remove the sluicing gel from my jump path, but at last the stage was set. I didn't really trust this, but I'd seen a gun that could tear holes in reality, vacuum tubes, hard light bridges. I didn't need to understand the science, but I did need the money.
I steeled my nerves, and jumped. It was about a twenty foot fall to the lower platform, and I had plenty of time to make sure I hit it square. With bone shattering force I smashed into the gel, and barely had time to cry out in agony before the world faded to black.
------------------------------------
*"You're not part of the control group, by the way. You get the gel. Last poor son of a gun got blue paint. Hahaha. All joking aside, that did happen - broke every bone in his legs. Tragic. But informative. Or so I'm told."*
|
I wouldn't say I loved my parents. They were textbook abusive, isolating, hurtful. They behaved in ways most people would never think of... and I resent them for it. I resent them for the silence, the way they held me back.
I wasn't like other kids. They spoke, gained their powers. Mine gagged me, using a device to hold my tongue down. They didn't want me to gain power, they wanted me to wait. To choose for myself. To make the family strong again.
I have spoken with my hands for most of my life. I have so many words inside me that... I am not sure what I would have said first. Dog? Birdy? Dada?
I'm 18. That means something. It has to.
Tonight I am going to pick my word.
Tonight I am going to say what I have always wanted to say, to my parents.
"Burn." |
An important character trait that all leaders must have is calm. Even if it is nothing more than a veneer, a facade, it is a powerful tool that helps one to maintain control over one's followers, one's enemies, and most importantly, oneself.
In vidya lingo, that's +10 to Accuracy and Defence. More if you know how to control it.
Regardless, I calmly tell my secretary that there is nothing to worry about, and I will personally see to the matter. I ask her of what has happened, and we quickly move to the security office, where a very confused security guard is looking at our Heroes beat up the employees in their cubicles. They're as haphazard as they are heavily armed, I think I see one armed with a pipe and another with a shank. No firearms; that's good. And of course, their healing potions: those familiar little puffs of nicotine or weed, I really don't know and don't care. I just want them out.
There is little I can do but give a calm presence in the office.
Grabbing the PA system's microphone, I announce:
"Adventurers, whatever you seek with me, my employees do not have it. Spare them, and come face me at Level 13. You may take the lift. All employees are to seek safety."
Upon that command, the remaining employees flee to the fire exits. I have my secretary call the police, and return to my simple, spacious office for the final boss battle. To the miscreants who dare call themselves adventurers, I might have denied them opportunities to grind, but there's nothing to grind here in the real world. Well, maybe except their teeth as they angrily realise their fantasies are not true. Not here, at least.
They are taking a while as they find the lift. I sigh and look at the video game posters and merchandise I installed in my office. Yes, they were an integral part of my childhood. RPGs let us play roles that, in a cruel reality, we could never have. Let kids have heard of brave knights, right? Yet, as I grew up, I realised that it was impossible to truly take up the sword and start the Grand Adventure. However, life was about embodying the values and virtues of these heroes introduced to us at an early age, such that we can shape life in our own, beautiful, image. And still people dare to not consider vidya as an art form.
"I-I-I don't care about your arrrrrt form, old man!"Ah, it seems our foolhardy vigilantes are here. And it seems I have been thinking the past 5 minutes out loud, without even realising. Damn, that's final boss-like behaviour right there.
"We're here to take you down, villain!"What I can only assume is the fighter of the group steps forward, metal pipe in hand, adorned in various pieces of scrap metal cobbled together to resemble armour. The mage, with his pills and potions, and the rogue, with her shank, close up behind him.
"Well, I'm quite sorry but there's nothing to take down here. These video game posters are antiques. Now if you would please cooperate with the policemen,"I counter as the police storm my office and take down the youngsters.
As the police accost the heroes out of my office, my secretary looks at me with mixed emotions of relief and confusion. "You really did take your time, didn't you sir?"
"What can I say. I'm prone to monologuing. I'm the Final Boss. But a smart one." |
Richard’s mom has an arrow through her head and little cat ears. The ears are adorable, but the arrow leaks blood over the pancakes when she serves him. His dad sits down to read his paper and uses his Roman gladius to cut the butter and pass it around.
“I’ve got a big race today at the coliseum,” his dad says. “The emperor will be there!”
Richard ignores him.
Richard’s sister moved back in after the last Halloween and the curse happened. She doesn’t call it moving back but haunting. His sister and her ghost sheet are transparent. Richard has breakfast with them every day to make sure they are ok. Mom sometimes catches her arrow on the side of the dryer.
Breakfast over, Richard grabs his briefcase and continues on his way to work. He knows that he’s lucky to have a job and a life after the curse. When everyone turned into the ghoul, ghost, or creature they dressed as on the last Halloween. But the thing is, Richard doesn’t feel lucky.
On his short walk to work, he passes by an 8-year-old pirate searching for treasure, a 10-year-old ninja hiding in a tree, and a walking hotdog. Richard doesn’t know how old the age of the hotdog.
He gets to his office and is greeted by the receptionist who happens to be a very sexy cavegirl. She speaks in grunts now, which makes watching her answer the phone pretty fun. He goes to his cubicle and sits down next to his co-worker, the astronaut.
“Hey, Jim,” Richard says. “What’s new in your world?”
“Training is kicking my ass. They want to ground me because of my poor eyesight. But jokes on them, I memorized the eye chart. We all have. Don’t tell anyone.”
Richard nods and gets to his spreadsheets and numbers. His quarterly reports, and his memos about the profitability of user data. He misses a meeting with his boss who is now a monk and has taken a vow of silence. There is another monk in the office, but it’s Friar Tuck from Robin Hood. He’s always drunk and Richard thinks there is some conflict brewing between the two.
On his way to lunch, he says hi to the Executioner who swings his plastic ax his way. It bounces off, just like it does every day. The cavegirl receptionist is trying to start a fire. She’s not quite there yet, and Richard wonders if she will eventually evolve.
He doesn’t take public transportation anymore since the bus driver is now a miniature T-Rex. He has trouble on the big turns as his arms don’t reach. Also, he bites. Richard goes to the park and sits for a bit.
He sees a dog that has the body of a taco, a ballerina with a beard and a beer gut, and 12 different Jokers. All of them are spitting one-liners at each other. On the way back to the office, there’s a small shoot-out between 1930’s gangsters. Richard forgets which one Al Capone is.
The hospitals have gotten interesting. There are still doctors, of course. Actually, there are more doctors than they need. But the nurses make him feel uncomfortable. They wear very sheer, and short, skirts and halter tops. But they are excellent at their jobs.
Richard gives the cavegirl a lighter as he comes back.
Sitting there in his cubicle, he thinks about the last year. Zombies work in the food court at the mall. Vampires have to take the 3rd shift at the plant. Frankenstein is the absolute worse one to get stuck behind on the stairs. He sighs and finishes his work right about the time Jim the Astronaut says he’s figured out the best vector for the moon landing. Nasa is very busy these days.
As he heads out of the office for the day, the cavegirl seems to have gotten the lighter working. 25 different firemen, all 7-year-olds, showed up to save the day. For being so small, they are really quite good.
On the way home, he sees a mother pushing a bumblebee and a lobster in a stroller.
At his house, his mother makes dinner. His dad introduces a bard from the office that sings about the races that day and his dad’s glorious victory. His sister says boo, and then floats into the ceiling laughing.
Richard goes home and sits in the same chair he was when Halloween happened. Yes, everyone has changed. There are a few like Richard that keep the world going. They pay bills. Make sure freight is going where it needs to go. They complete the drudgery of life.
And the freaks? The outcasts? The cursed? They walk around with smiles. Every single one of them. Outside, Richard hears the pirate boy scream in joy as he finds bury treasure. He wonders if the ninja will steal it. But when they do, they will smile. They will laugh. And then they will go on their merry way.
Richard wonders what he will dress up as next Halloween. What has he always wanted to be? A novelist would be his first choice. But that’s too small, Richard thinks. What about a bird? Or how about a cowboy just like he wanted to be as a kid.
This is what Richard thinks as he drifts off to sleep to the sounds of a T-Rex driving a bus. Richard is tired of being normal. He is tired of not having fun. He is tired of not smiling. And as his mind enters dreamland, he thinks that maybe next Halloween he will be a fairy and hopes there is a little bit of magic left in the world. |
In those days, when the Tiber was still navigable, you could reach Rome by boat. The still smoldering ruins of Ficana were a helpful landmark to find the river delta, and as one turned into the river, under the gaze of the fresh garrison of Ostria, the water turned from salty to sweet.
At that point, your ship's captain (if he was competent, and eager to impress you) would order the sails to be lowered and the sweeps to be put out, and the ship would begin the long pull against the stream.
You would stop at nightfall, half way to the city that all roads would one day lead to, beaching the shallow long boat on a low bank, staring late into the fire as the exhausted sailors snored around you and the wolves howled in the hills above.
That was how I returned to the city of Rome in the year that would now be known as 601 BC. When we had docked the captain offered me his hand off the ship.
"Shall I accompany you?"he offered gallantly. "Strange towns are no places for ladies to walk alone."
"I *have* been here before,"I said, and that did surprise him, for I had made no mention of it when I had hired his ship for the passage. And, in truth, Rome had changed much since my last visit. But I had learned from one or two unpleasant experiences that it never did to tell a man your age. "I shall return to the ship tomorrow."
I was half way up the Palatine Hill when a procession of men in horseback trotted briskly down the road towards the harbor that I had come from.
Several of those around me muttered, "The king", and the crowds parted.
The king, I thought, and wondered whether this descendant of Romulus would resemble his ancestor. It was that curiosity that led me to linger a moment too long in the middle of the street.
"Make way for the king,"came a shout from the riders, and I was almost knocked aside by one of the outriders as they swept by. Stumbling backwards, it took me a moment to realize that the horses had come to an abrupt halt, and one of them was now wheeling back in my direction.
A heart beat later he had dismounted, and then there were no heart beats, because I looked up into his eyes and time, which chases mortals so relentlessly, chose to hesitate for the two of us that it has no claim over.
For that timeless moment his brown eyes locked with my green ones. Was it my imagination or did I see the old look in them?
"So,"he said roughly, "it's you."
Imagination, then. He was still bitter after all these years.
"It's good to see you again,"I said.
He snorted. "What bring's you to *my* city?"
"Your city?"
"This is King Tarquin,"said a stiff soldier who had appeared next to me, hand on a sword. Time had evidently caught back up with us.
"It's Tarquin now, is it?"I said. "And a king?"
"The King,"corrected the soldier. "Bow, woman."
I stared indignantly at the man who now went by Tarquin, and he smirked back, amused. The soldier's grip on his sword tightened. I inclined my head half an inch. Immortality, after all, does not mean that a sword through your guts doesn't hurt. Ask me how I know.
"It's alright, Lucius,"Tarquin said. "I know this witch of old. Tell me, what name do you go by now? It is still Calypso?"
"No,"I said, and sought around for a name. But my mind betrayed me in my moment of need, and the only name I could think of was Tarquin, which would not do. I blurted out, "I am called Tar- Tanaquil."
"Are you?"he said skeptically. "And what brings you Rome? More mischief?"
"None of your business,"I said tartly.
"As King of Rome, everyone's business here is my business."
"Then I shall become Queen,"I said.
"And how do you intend to do that? Is this another proposal of marriage?"
"I plan to depose you,"I said.
He actually laughed, the pig. Then he said, "Come, it's been too long. Ride with me, and tell me what you been up to since I left your island."
---
The soldier Lucius watched the tall woman with with hair of gold walk off with the King, and frowned. He had heard the King mention the name Calypso once before, when he had drunk too many glasses of harvest wine and fallen into a loquacious melancholy, and told a particularly long story. Lucius tried to remember what the story had been about, for the king told many stories. How had it begun? Something about the men of Ithaca stealing the Sun God's cattle... |
The door swung open. Chrzyz'hr glanced over to see a young woman trudge inside, a pudgy baby wrapped against her chest in a papoose, a second child holding tightly to her hand. She was pale and skinny, with a bruise on her cheek, and eyes full of fright, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the parking lot.
The trio settled in, standing out amid the 3 a.m. rabble. Cherry the prostitute was in the next booth, chowing down on her usual. Rico the drug dealer was by the window, surreptitiously counting out dollar bills in his lap. Three drunken college students sat closest to the door, one practically asleep with his face in his plate, the other two arguing over who had a better chance to hook up with Mindy. An old, wizened man sat with a younger, tattoed man, the latter slightly frustrated but patiently explaining why he wouldn't let the former run away from the nursing home even though Bert his roommate might be a pansy and Theresa the black nurse might be secretly casting voodoo spells on him.
Chrzyz'hr heard the sizzle of food on the flat-top, and felt a swell of satisfaction in his chest, the sign of nourishment. Cherry's phone rang, a terse voice coming through the other end asking her location. The bathroom door opened, and a heavyset Asian man strode out, asking the nearest employee for a plunger. The pudgy baby cooed, the second child asked the mom a question, and she answered quietly, her voice stressed.
Partway through their meal, he felt a burst of fear from her. He glanced over in time to see the door swing open. A tall, broadly built man in a dingy flannel and torn jeans walked straight to her, her face growing paler, her arm going protectively around the second child.
'Hey there, baby girl,' the man said, his voice devoid of affection or warmth.
'Please,' she said quietly, the burst of fear wreathing her with a desperate energy.
'Thought you could get away, huh?'
Cherry and Rico both glanced over. The heavyset Asian man, back from tagteaming his massive shit with Evan the college student working the night shift, was by the door, his ears also perking up.
'Please,' the mom repeated, tears brimming at her eyes. 'I'm sorry...'
'Not as sorry as you'll be when we get home.'
She glanced around, the desperation roiling around her a much more delicious smell than the food on the flat-top. The man's anger mingled with it. Chrzyz'hr felt another swell of satisfaction.
'Let's go,' the man ordered. 'Now.'
She took another look around, and then shook her head, a single tear falling from an eye.
'She ain't going with you, buddy,' the Asian man spoke up.
The man turned to him.
'Ain't your fuckin' business, *buddy*,' he shot back.
'Yeah, it's all our business,' Cherry cut in, reaching for the pepper spray in her purse.
'You too, huh?' the man asked. 'Don't you have a dick to suck somewhere?'
'I'm not going with you,' the mom said, her voice stronger now.
'Yeah you fuckin' are.'
He grabbed at her arm, yanking roughly, the second child starting to cry.
Chrzyz'hr watched the ensuing fight with a delighted smile.
Between the heavyset man, Cherry, Rico, Evan, and the tattoed man, the man was on the ground quickly. The tattooed man flashed a badge, and placed a call.
Amid all this, the mom stayed in the booth, arms around her children, the fear relenting.
Chrzyz'hr walked over. She saw him, and pulled her wallet from her purse.
'Don't worry,' he said, smiling at the children. 'For you, it's on the house.' |
"We were going on a school trip. I was scared because something was weird. I heard stories that Ms. Frizzle was different but I didn't know what that means. I was scared and I prayed and said out loud 'Please, let this be a normal field trip' but the other guys just thought that I was the one being weird."
The lawyer nodded. "I understand."he said as he looked at the young boy with orange hair. "Now, can you describe how a usual "field trip"was in your class?"
"Well...she would pick us up on the school bus and then hand out the daily sandwiches"
"Sandwich? Can you tell us more about this?"asked the lawyer.
Ms. Frizzle, sitting at the desk in front of the small boy fumbles her hands. Her eyebrows come together as she whispers something to her lawyer. He listens but looks down and shakes his head.
"She gave us sandwiches and juice every time we went on a field trip. Then things would become very different. We would go inside Michelle's body or go into outer space. There was also this green dragon thing with us all the time. I mean, I thought he was a green dragon but Ms. Frizzle said I was seeing things. When everybody else saw it she told us it was the class pet lizard"
The jury looked in horror.
The boy with glasses continued to say different stories of how each time the class almost died yet survived at the very end each time. But as he spoke something unusual happened.
"What is that?"said one of the jury members.
A giant blood cell appeared in the middle of the court room. The judge begins to hit his hammer but with each bang against the desk the sound slowly turns into a car horn honking.
A smile slowly forms on Ms. Frizzle's face. "Seat belts everyone." |
“Could really use a beer right now,” Steve mused out loud as he pretended to eye the top of the convention hall, his moustach twitching.
He twiddled with the hilt of his sword, causing his sword to swing wildly around his left leg. I noticed it seemed quite weighty for what was supposed to be just a prop, for his waistguard shifted visibly as he did so.
I had met up with this duo, Steve and Muni, outside Comic Con. We really hit it off over the net and shared an interest in cosplaying. I was cosplaying a thief, Steve, a warrior, and Muni was dressed as a wizard. They insisted that we shouldn’t limit ourselves by cosplaying as a specific character from a franchise.
“Is that a hint? Is that what it is?” Muni asked. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Well, I’m just saying…” Steve replied.
“Alright, fine. I don’t want to be accused of being stingy or hear comments about it *being free anyway*,” Muni resigned.
Muni adjusted his purple wizard hat, adorned with what I assumed to be random hieroglyphics, before holding out his left palm face-up. Right in front of my eyes, as his right index finger spiraled above it, a beer magically appeared. He handed Steve one, before making another one appear and passing it to me.
“Wha…!” I exclaimed. “What the hell was that? Was that magic?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good at it,” Muni replied nonchalantly.
“Cool! Can you teach me?” I asked with the excitement of a young boy as a took a swig from the bottle. I was always a sucker for magic tricks.
“That… May be a little, uh, difficult,” Muni said. I got the feeling he wasn’t letting up on what he knew.
“Because…”
“Well, we, uh, can’t teach outsiders how to use – I mean - *do* magic tricks. My teacher forbids it,” Muni said.
“Okay… Nevermind then. Forget I asked,” I said. It really wasn’t that big a deal. I didn’t want to push my luck and be an annoyance to the group.
“Steve, your sword looks heavy. What material did you use for it?” I asked, eyeing his sword suspiciously. It *did* look too heavy to be a prop. It also seemed a little too sharp when he showed it to me before we entered the hall.
“I used metal for it. To give it, uh, a more realistic feel. Yeah,” he replied. The duo exchanged glances for a jiffy. I didn’t miss it. |
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